Chapter Twenty-Five
Malory
This is all because of me.
I wanted that damned ice cream.
No, no, no.
I… I can’t live without him.
He’s my life, my heart, my everything.
Unlike my father who’s sitting in the passenger seat with another intimidating man driving the armored vehicle.
Both of them wholeheartedly ignoring the meltdown I just had in the backseat at seeing Tyson being dragged away. Bruised, battered and bloody.
One of his arms hanging at an awkward angle, the shot wound in his leg leaving a trail of blood behind.
Lacing my arms tightly around my torso until it hurts, I hold myself together.
I can’t succumb to panic, not right now when he needs me the most.
There has to be a way out of this.
Tyson’s life depends on it and by extension mine because I can’t go on without him.
And I most definitely won’t go back to my previous life like none of this ever happened. Like we never were.
If that’s what my father expects me to do, he’ll be sorely disappointed to find out that his little girl is long gone.
Concentrating on getting my breathing under control, I blink away the tears. Taking deep, calming breaths.
That’s when I notice it.
A weight is pressing into my side where I’m leaning against the car door.
Tyson’s phone.
It’s in my pocket. I’ve forgotten this dress has freaking pockets!
Tyson must have slipped it in there when he squeezed my hip. I thought he was only reassuring me, but the man had a backup plan all along.
I know what I have to do now. Or once I get out of this prison of a car.
Looking through the rear window, I spot an identical vehicle trailing us. Though it’s not the one they put Tyson in.
They are taking him someplace else.
Great, this couldn’t get possibly worse.
And since when does my father keep hired guns as if kidnapping and torture are on his daily schedule.
I barely know the man whom I called dad all my life.
“Who are these people?” My voice is raspy from screaming, and I hate myself for the sniffle at the end.
“No one to concern yourself with, princess.” My father dismisses me as usual.
“Right. I presume the same applies to my brothers?”
His shoulders stiffen yet he doesn’t turn around to look at me. I don’t think the man knows Tyson’s true identity since he’s presumed dead, but he had to suspect this is the Camorra’s doing.
And honestly, I just couldn’t help myself.
The meek girl who let him walk all over her is gone. Along with all the remaining respect I had for my parents.
“Is that what he told you?” He grinds his teeth. “And you trust that man over your own father?”
The bastard is seriously going to deny it, looking for a falter in my conviction to gaslight me.
“He didn't tell me anything, I found out on my own.” I hold my ground.
I need an explanation, if not for me than for my brother’s sake.
And maybe a tiny kernel deep within me still clings to the hope that his past actions are redeemable, that there’s still something to salvage here.
“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” I press on.
“No, they meant nothing to me.” His voice is empty, indifferent.
He truly doesn’t care.
“Were you planning on telling me they exist?”
“Their existence is of no consequence, they’re useless. Not even their fucking mother could offer me the connections I deserved. All because I wasn’t born Italian.” He spits out.
“Only the Russian don’t have their heads that far up their asses to appreciate my potential.”
How can he talk like that about his own children. Without a hint of remorse, without any empathy.
Is this all his children are to him? Tools to be used and when they don’t turn out the way it suits him, he just discards them.
“Do I have any more siblings you failed to mention?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, Malory!” My father barks.
Right, because it’s so far-fetched to believe him capable of that. There are still a few years between mine and Raffaele’s birth that are unaccounted for.
“Would you tell me the truth?”
He has the nerve to look enraged, almost wounded by the question, going back to blatantly ignoring me.
That’s it.
Every ounce of hatred Tyson harbored towards him has been without a doubt well justified. And my father just sealed his own, damned fate.
“How did you find us?”
“I had facial recognition installed on every traffic camera in the city. The SFPD can be very cooperative with the right endorsement.”
Oh fuck.
I haven’t been wearing Tyson’s hat and sunglasses. We’ve become too confident, careless and now he’s going to pay the price for it.
I felt so safe and protected around him that masking my identity completely slipped my mind.
“I was starting to lose hope of ever finding you after my men went missing. Though we got back their dismembered bodies, fucking shredded to pieces, Camorra style. I hear the scum I fathered have made quite the name for themselves in LA.” He adds bitterly, thinking it’s them who had me kidnapped.
Meaning my father has kept up with their lives to a degree, but not enough to know about Tyson’s vendetta against him.
If these people don’t know who he truly is, the threat he poses, it might gain him some time. The time I desperately need.
I’ve been a coward before, all my life really.
Taking all that has been thrown at me without protest.
But Tyson has taught me my worth and I’ll fight with everything within me for what I want. Who I want.
My loyalty is to him and only him.
The car comes to a halt in from of my old house, and I don’t feel anything. Any cherished memories I might have had here marred by the truth that I was being groomed.
When the doors unlock from the inside, I scramble to get out first, carefully pressing an arm against my side to hide the outline of Tyson’s phone in my pocket.
My father’s hand lands on the small of my back, making me shudder in disgust as he leads me towards the front door.
Everything looks just the way it was when I left months ago. I feel a pang in my chest at seeing my flowers still alive in their pots by the entrance.
The door opens to the echo of my mother’s frantic footsteps sounding from the kitchen as she rounds the corner, charging towards us.
She looks drastically different from when I last saw her.
Her usually perfectly styled hair in disarray, sunken eyebags prominent under her eyes.
“My baby!” She exclaims, throwing her arms around me, making me flinch.
I can’t do this.
I know she loves me in her own way and her intentions might have been somewhat genuine, unlike my father’s.
Even if that meant seeing me married off to a rich businessman like she secured for herself with no regard for my own happiness.
Her love for my father has always been unrequited and I choose to believe that she simply doesn’t know any better, doesn’t know that there’s more out there than financial security and status.
Yet it doesn’t excuse what she did to me. The obsessive control over my every move.
Without Tyson I’d be a shell of who I am today.
“I need to be alone.” I step back and she gasps, looking at the marks Tyson left on my neck with disgust.
I never bothered to cover them up, not that he’d let me. I love showing off that I belong to him.
Shaking her off, I hurry up the stairs without looking back. At this point, I couldn’t care less about hurting her.
I’ve left this all behind a while ago, come to terms with it by finding closure in Tyson’s arms. And now I’m back where it all began.
Slamming the door of my old room, I don’t stop to reminisce about the space I’ve spend most of my life in.
One that’s now almost completely empty.
Tyson really managed to move most of my prized belongings once he knocked me out that night. Even my old stuffed animals.
My thoughtful, rough around the edges man. My heart twists in agony just thinking about him.
I drag the heavy wooden dresser in front of my door, barring the entrance since my mother removed the lock, stripping me of any semblance of privacy.
Whirling towards the bathroom, I shut that door as well before huddling under a thick blanket I grabbed from the bed in hopes that it’ll muffle the noise.
A wave of relief hits me as I take out Tyson’s phone, seeing that it doesn’t have a password.
Well, it’s a burner so it makes sense that he wouldn’t keep any incriminating information on it in the first place. Or he’s been prepared for this exact situation to occur.
I manage to quickly sift the contacts for Raffaele’s number . He’s the one who Tyson has been talking to the most from what I overheard. So, it seems like the obvious choice since I don’t know much about Dante.
And honestly from what little I do know about him, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to meet the man behind those rumors.
It rings once before the man, my brother , picks up.
“R-raffaele?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Malory…” His deep, husky voice echoes from the speaker. “What happened?”
“It’s Tyson. T-they have him.” It takes everything in me not to burst into tears all over again.
“Who took him? Where are you right now?” He urges.
“My father’s men, t-they ambushed us at the Golden Gate Park, then dragged him away half-unconscious. I’m at my old house, my father’s still here.” I explain quickly, keeping my voice as low as possible.
“Good, we’re already in the air. I’m tracking this phone so we’ll get there in under an hour.”
“You’re on your way?” I breathe in confusion.
“Yeah. As soon as I got the signal, we boarded the jet.” He explains like it’s an everyday occurrence.
For him it probably is.
“T-the signal?”
“Tyson called and then immediately hung up about half an hour ago.”
Looking through the caller history I see it. Right around the time my father’s men interjected us, there’s a call that lasted a second. That’s genius.
“I don’t know where they took him, Rafe.” I cry, this time there’s no stopping the tears from spilling over.
“Stay put, I have it handled. We’ll get him back, Malory.” With that he hangs up, leaving me with nothing but hopelessness.
Some time later, I’m still crouched by the door, tying to listen in on what’s going on downstairs.
Other than muffled voices, I can’t make out anything specific but it sounds like they’re arguing.
I’ve never heard my parents fight before since my mother wouldn’t have dared raising her voice at my father.
At least one thing has changed around here.
“I have to deal with something,” My father snaps loudly from the entryway. “I’ll be back for her later. The two guards are staying here with you and that’s final.”
Before I can do anything, I hear the rumble of an engine and he’s gone. To wherever he’s holding Tyson.
Shit.
I text that piece of information to Rafaelle, letting him know who’s all here.
Just moments after, several cars pull up front from the sound of it. But other than a few thuds, it’s deathly silent.
Slipping from my room, I hide by the railing in time to see the front door being kicked down as men in combat gear with bulletproof vests and more weapons than I can count stream in. Some of them wearing balaclavas, most of them dressed in black.
There’s no mistaking the man as he saunters into the foyer with a smirk on his face like he owns the place.
My brother.
The person I wished for so desperately as a child is now standing right in front of me.
His hair the exact dark shade as Tyson’s, but their eyes couldn’t be more different.
There’s nothing emotionless about him.
Beneath the gaze of rich caramel, something unhinged is brewing beneath his easy-going facade.
That’s a stark contrast.
Intricate tattoos cover every inch of skin that I can see, some even running up his skull where the sides of his hair have been shaved off, leaving only the slicked back strands on top.
The dangerously sharp jaw and broad, muscled frame that towers over everyone else making me wonder whether all the Corso men are built like this.
“Hey, baby sis.” Raffaele winks as he spots me stumbling down the stairs, holding onto the banister like my life depends on it.
The other men have poured in, systematically searching every room as I skip the last two steps, throwing myself at him.
He huffs out a breath as our bodies collide. I don’t know what compels me, but I hold onto him tightly like we’ve know each other all our lives.
Then, Rafe’s arms are wrapping around me, squeezing me in a bear hug.
Why does the man smell like he came straight from a stable?
He pulls back too soon, keeping his hands on my shoulders to steady me.
“Don't worry, I’ve got it covered. The cocky bastard is hard to kill, trust me on that.” He grins with confidence I don’t possess. Referring to Tyson and I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“T-the guards?” I finally choke out.
“Dead.”
I nod, letting myself be guided into the kitchen where one of his men finishes binding my mother to the dining room chair with zip ties. Thick duct tape plastered over her lips while she screams incoherently, fighting the restraints.
This is exactly what Tyson went through an hour ago, if not much worse. So forgive me if I don’t feel too guilty about it.
“Do you have your father’s number?” Raffaele’s voice tears my gaze away from her.
“N-no,” I don’t have my phone and never thought to learn the numbers by heart when I’ve always been at home anyway. “But she does.” I turn back to my mother.
“Get it.” Rafe nods towards the man standing behind him, his features a bit lighter than my brother’s.
He’s impossibly taller and somewhat slimmer than Raffaele, but it’s the haunted look in his eyes that puts me off. Like he doesn’t quite see me when he looks my way.
“This is Nestore. He’s the guy for all things technology.” Raffaele introduces the man who simply dips his chin in my direction before walking away.
“You mean a hacker?” I lift an eyebrow as I watch him set up a laptop on the kitchen island.
“You could say that.” My brother retorts.
There’s something off about him that I can’t pinpoint, but if he can find Tyson, he can be death incarnate for all I care.
“Nestore can track your father’s phone. But we can only do that as long as you keep him on the line.” Raffaele explains, handing me my mother’s phone that has been connected to their devices.
“I’m gonna need you to stall, Malory. Can you do that?” He searches my face with caution.
“Yeah… anything.” I fumble to dial my father.
My foot tapping nervously against the hardwood floor as I listen to it ringing for the third time.
Come on. Pick up, please.
Then it stops.
“What?” My father snaps into the speaker, thinking it’s my mother who’s calling.
“Dad,” How I hate calling him that. “I have to talk to you.”
I plead softly, hoping that he’s going to catch the bait.
“Now is not a good time, Malory.” His tone is clipped, but judging by the background noise, he’s still in the car. That’s good.
“I know, but please hear me out.” I beg, terrified that he’ll hang up on me.
It’s now or never.
“I’m pregnant.” I blurt out.
“You’re what!” He yells so loudly I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“I need the father of my child. Please, if I ever meant anything to you, don’t kill the dad of my little girl.” I vomit the words, knowing that giving my baby the female gender might convince him. As sick as that is.
“You can’t be serious…” He starts shouting again, but when Nestore gives me the thumbs up, I end the call midway through, letting out a deep sigh.
Either that just bought us more time or got Tyson killed that much faster.
Leaving my bound mother as she is, we run out of the house, piling into the SUVs without a second glance at the dead guards. Left where they’ve fallen with blood pooling beneath them.
I don’t feel an ounce of remorse. I don’t care about anything else than being back in Tyson’s arms.
Revving the engine, Nestore types the location into the navigation system. It looks like an old warehouse on the outskirts of San Francisco about a twenty-minutes away.
“Are you really pregnant?” Raffaele who’s sitting with me in the back, one arm casually thrown over the seats scans me from head to toe, zeroing in on my flat stomach.
“Nope. I panicked.”