Chapter 6
Chapter Six
ADELINA
Why did I even try to help Sas? I should’ve let the cartel take his deal, rip him to shreds, and still hold the club to the fire for their money—exactly like they had been speaking about in Spanish. Not that Sas or his brothers seemed to notice.
In fact, they had all stood around looking like pale ghosts. For being permanent residents of LA, they were pretty fucking White. I couldn’t help but notice the Latino population in the neighborhoods we passed on the way into the industrial row, so it never occurred to me that none of these brutes would know how to speak Spanish. That ignorance alone was going to get them all killed.
Maybe me as well.
And here I was, trying to save their asses.
My bad.
I tried the handle again.
Nothing.
Jailed in a warehouse, no matter how nicely decorated, I beat both fists on the door and groaned. Then yelled.
No reply.
Fuck!
I skirted the bed, crossing the space toward the windows, only to find iron bars on the other side of the glass. A fire hazard. Or safety hazard. That son of a bitch really had locked me in a bedroom, like I was a teenager, grounded for staying out too late!
Who the fuck did he think he was?
I slid up the lower glass pane and reached for the bars. At first touch, they seemed solid, but I pushed and pulled on the bars anyway, throwing my weight in to the attempt to escape. Knowing how fruitless it would be didn’t squelch the adrenaline racing in my blood.
I clenched my teeth and groaned with my effort until my hands hurt, and I calmed my rage enough to plop my ass onto the sill. While the huge great room had been decorated in simple but chic tastes—neutral, nothing too masculine or feminine—the bedroom was sparse. A bed dressed in a gray bedspread, an empty closet, a nightstand, and a small ensuite bathroom, that was it.
Nothing personal. No lamps or a TV. I crossed into the bathroom, where a small window could be opened to ventilate the steam. I was small enough, so if I could reach, I might be able to get through.
I braced myself on the side of the bathtub and used the shower head as a hold. I pitched myself up, opening the window. My heartbeat quickened, anticipation building to be out of this fucking cage. Not that I had any idea of where I would go. I would probably walk around the side of the warehouse and enter again through the front doors, showing Sas just how resourceful I could be.
And that he wasn’t getting rid of me that easily.
“Adelina?” asked a man’s voice, coming from the bedroom, and I huffed.
So much for showing off. For now.
“Are you indisposed?” asked Rafe.
“Yeah.”
“Oh. I’ll wait out here.”
The door wasn’t even shut, so if Rafe looked a little closer, he would see me trying to make an escape. Instead, I slid back down to the tiled shower floor and then crawled out. I straightened my clothes and returned to the bedroom with my back straight and chin held high. Rafe waited near the bed, head bowed, as I stalked into the bedroom.
I cleared my throat.
Finally, he lifted his head and gave me a once-over. I’d known him all my life, and even though he’d become quieter since his return, I could still read his thoughts on his face.
“Yeah, I’m still alive.” Seeing me checked a box on his goddamn to do list. “I hate this place,” I snapped.
He frowned and looked around. Scratching at his jawline, he commented, “It’s nicer than some places I’ve stayed.”
“It’s boring and lacks personality.”
“Duchess said no one was living in this room.”
“Who?”
“The older woman that Sas asked.”
“Oh, right.” I guessed I would have to start learning these people’s names.
“Apparently these rooms belong to the club bunnies,” said Rafe.
“Bunnies?” I raised my eyebrows, nearly laughing, but my uncle just thinned his lips, like this wasn’t a laughing matter. He rarely laughed anymore. In fact, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen him smile. It had to be before he left for the Marines.
I took a few steps until I stood right in front of him, looking up. “I’m missing something about bunnies, aren’t I? Tell me they’re not like Playboy-mansion bunnies.”
Rafe gave a curt nod, and I groaned.
“I’m not a fucking bunny,” I snarled. “Or a sweetbutt. Or bitch. Or old lady. Or.... What other derogatory terms do they like to use for women around here?”
“Property.” Rafe lifted a hand to the back of his neck and rolled his head, letting out a crack.
“Goddammit, I’m no one’s fucking property!”
“I know,” he murmured.
“Then why aren’t you doing something about it?” I stomped and balled my fists. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
“I can’t, Adelina.”
“Why?” I flipped my hand toward the door, indicating the men somewhere beyond. “Because you’re one of them now?”
“So are you.”
Clamping my jaw shut, I narrowed my gaze on him. Thoughts tumbled through my head to jab at him until he agreed to see things my way. If he was anyone else under the sun, I would hurl every name I could think of at him.
But he wasn’t someone else. He was my uncle. One who played with Catalina and me when we were kids and protected us at clubs from drunken club leeches. A man who had endured all the nasty things my grandmother used to say about him and his mother. I’d heard Nonna call Rafe’s mom a slut, whore, money-grabbing marriage wrecker, and so much more.
Even after Nonno Ivo died, she would rant at Papà in Italian and throw out all the curses in the book to show what she thought about his cheating on Mamà.
But the only words she’d used for Rafe were bastardo and figlio di puttana? 1 . Not hard to translate the first one, so even though Rafe struggled with his Italian, he could always pick out that word. I didn’t, however, know if he understood the other.
No, I could never treat my uncle that way, because he’d been a constant in my life. And he was standing right in front of me now. Still a rock in a raging river, doing everything he could to deflect the violent rapids from washing me downstream.
Instead, I let out a deep breath. “Doesn’t Sas know I can’t stay in here? Not at this warehouse either. Wasn’t that covered anywhere in the deal?”
Rafe scowled. “I’m not sure Mass thought about that.”
I barked a laugh. Not thinking of others was just like my father.
“And now Sas sees me as his property. I guess ‘property’ is a proper term for women in this lifestyle.”
Rafe tilted his head in a motion that almost pleaded with me to see a little reason. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“He locked me up, Rafe!” I kicked at the bed. “Doesn’t he know that I have enough money to buy this whole warehouse? I have enough money to buy a mansion in LA.” I threw up my hands and paced the room. “Enough, also, to pay off the goddamn cartel!”
“You don’t come into that inheritance until you’re married or turn twenty-six,” Rafe said to my back.
I whipped around. “And that will be when? Tomorrow? The next day? Oh yeah, a week. Goddammit, Rafe, I never felt like an object to be bartered with until Papà decided arranged marriages should be brought back from the Middle Ages.”
“They aren’t as dead as you think, Addie.”
“Don’t, Rafe!”
My uncle furrowed his brows at me as though confused.
“Don’t call me Addie. That name belongs to the innocent little girl you knew before leaving for the military. I am no longer that girl.”
“You aren’t,” he stated—not a question, but an agreement. Rafe spread his feet shoulder distance, clasping his hands behind his back.
How very military of him.
But the stance showed off his form, broad shoulders with defined shoulders and biceps that strained against the T-shirt. His torso tapered to a narrow waist and his muscular denim-clad legs stood at the ready. I looked down, noticing he still wore combat boots. The other MC members out there sported boots, but most had Indian or Harley logos or were straight-up cowboy boots. Rafe’s were military grade, through and through.
I needed to refocus. “How does anyone live in a warehouse?” I asked my uncle, not really expecting an answer.
He kept silent, the pulse in his neck fluttering under his tense jaw.
“Seriously, zio. Do they keep women in all these rooms? I thought someone said they busted the Gambinos’ skin trade.”
“They did. Sas killed the woman who ran it all,” said Rafe, not answering the first question.
“Then why the fuck do they think this is okay?” I paced again.
A muscle in Rafe’s jawline jumped before he said, “I don’t think they lock up women normally.”
“What a load of shit?!”
They should be treating their women like queens.
I scrunched my nose as I ran a hand over the scratchy bedspread. “I sure as hell hope they don’t expect me to sleep on this.”
“It’s better than the floor,” said Rafe, not lifting his gaze from the concrete below his feet.
I marched over and stood in front of him, pointing my nose up into his face. “Are you going to make me stay in this cage too?”
“Adelina.” Rafe touched my chin and then dropped his hand. Worry lined his eyes as he shook his head. “What do you know, tesoro?”
“I heardthe cartel...” I blinked, and when I processed what he said again—what he called me, I shook my head. “W-wait... wh-what?” Maybe I had heard him right on the back of that bike.
“What did you hear the Rojas brothers saying, Adelina?” he repeated. Sort of. More like he pressed the words through his teeth as though I was being daft.
“Not that!” I waved my hand dismissively between us. “You called me tesoro. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes. I do, but right now, I want to know what you fucking overheard them talking about in Spanish.”
“Fine,” I snapped, ignoring how my skin buzzed from where he had touched me and how my heart skipped at the pet name. “They were calling Sas a target. A loose cannon. And I agree that he’s incompetent if he lets shit like this happen and then offers the collector double. It’s bad business.” And the fact that he didn’t listen to me when I tried to help just pissed me right the fuck off.
Rafe nodded. “I thought that might be the case. My Italian sucks, but my Spanish is worse.” He took a step backward, and I stepped forward, refusing to leave his space.
“You’ll have to thank high school for that. And the American culture. Everyone should be speaking more than one language from birth.”
My nonna had only spoken Italian, so I grew up around both Italian and English. She lived in Papà’s building on a lower floor, and I spent a lot of time down there. But since she never liked Rafe or his mother, they never talked.
My uncle took a step backward, toward the wall.
I followed, taking two steps to Rafe’s one, until my chest brushed against him. “The rhythm and the words are similar, if you listen.”
I had backed him against the wall and bed, cornering him. He twitched, his eyes searching the room for an escape, but I wasn’t letting that happen.
With my anger and also my curiosity fueling me, I wanted answers about this business deal. But, if I was being honest, something else drew me to him. He’d ignored the question about tesoro. I had grown up around him, but he’d left for the Marines before I graduated high school. His absence and my maturing through college changed me, made me fill in the gap that Uncle Rafe left in Catalina’s life, and mine, all because Nonna finally told him how he didn’t belong in the Parisi family.
Regardless, I had grown up fast. And now, he knew little about how much of a dog on a bone I could be.
Perhaps later, though.
For the moment, I needed to figure out how not to be a prisoner inside this bedroom. And if it would be mine, I needed to order decorations. My clothes would arrive tomorrow, per Papà’s instructions to our staff, but I couldn’t deal with the scratchy blanket and drab everything.
My comfort, however, could wait. “Rafe, you’ve gotta get me out of this room before...”
He raised his brows, waiting for me to complete the thought.
The problem and situation wasn’t so simple, though. I could help Sas out of the mess he made, but I didn’t want to anymore. I wasn’t Sas’s bitch and didn’t answer to him, but if the cartel was targeting him, they would target me too. We were to be man and wife .
I nearly gagged.
But once we were, our marriage would be legally binding and—even if we openly hated each other—people would still think they could hurt Sas by hurting me. And vice versa. I would be forever the victim.
As I looked up at my uncle—the hero, the soldier—I recalled things from my childhood. How while he was older, he was passed around from one relative to another, no one except his mother truly wanting him there. He hadn’t had a choice then as much as I didn’t have one now, but he did have more access to my father’s dealings.
And we were both better educated now.
“Who are the people out there?” I demanded.
He blinked rapidly, his mouth hanging open. His breath scorched my forehead, sending more tingles dancing across my skin. It took him a few seconds, but then he cleared his throat and averted his gaze.
“I’ve never seen some of them before,” admitted Rafe. “But Mass did show me photos from our intelligence.”
Rolling my eyes, I scoffed. What were we, spies? Leave it to my father to always put his importance above everything else. His flesh and blood included.
“Sas took over the VP position from Angel, who decided to stay in Park Ridge,” said Rafe.
“I know that much.” I hadn’t seen the notorious Angel around, but he was already in a relationship. They needed someone who didn’t have an “old lady” to marry me, which was how I got the oh-so-lovely Sas.
Vice president.
High in the ranks, but stupid as fuck.
Did shit like the cartel happen under Angel?
“Beans handles the books,” continued Rafe, and I snorted.
I smacked the heel of my hand on my forehead. “What kind of name is that? Does everyone here go by something so on the nose?” Weren’t hardcore bikers supposed to have tough names?
Rafe continued, “He’s a numbers guy and has the glasses to prove it. I don’t think he gets much involved with the dirtier shit. Ward—” He waited to see if I recognized the name. When I raised my brows, he continued, “Big guy at the table opposite the Rojas brothers.”
“Ah, okay.”
“Yeah, he’s the club tech guy.”
“Tech?” That was more than just rolling around on motorcycles, wasn’t it? Why would they need a tech guy? I didn’t pay too much attention to my father’s business, but Papà must’ve had one for the Mafia business too.
“Yeah, tech,” confirmed Rafe. “Then Graff was sitting at the island, sketching.”
“The tattoo artist. Belladonna. Got it.” I recognized his name, even without the sketching tidbit. Almost recalled his face too. Most of the MC looked similar as if they might be inbred, but it was likely only their clothes and tats.
Rafe sidestepped me. “I need to get back out there.”
I groaned and placed my hand on his forearm, stopping him. “Don’t leave me in here alone.”
His dark eyes traced the line of my arm up from my hand, and for a hot second, I thought he’d tell me not to touch him. He often jumped when others touched him these days, but not now.
Instead, he said, “I’m part of the MC. Patched and an officer. I should be out there rather than in here babysitting you.”
“Babysitting? Ha!” I rolled my eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Entertain yourself.” He walked toward the door.
“How?”
“You have a phone.”
“Are you telling me to call the police?”
“Or your sister.” He opened the door, and I thought about dashing out.
“Don’t think about it, Addie,” he scolded as if he could read my thoughts.
“I said not to call me that.”
He exhaled. “Just settle in. It will get easier.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.
“Settle in?” I mocked to the empty room in his tone. “Like this is prison? Might as well be. I do have a fucking life sentence!” I yelled at the closed door just before flouncing back on the bed. I pulled out my cell phone, calling Caterina.
The call only rang once before Cat picked up, breathlessly saying, “Lina? Are you alive?”
I frowned. “Seriously?”
“They’re a motorcycle gang.”
“Club, Cat. And I’m with Rafe.”
“Yes, I’m sure our uncle will keep you safe.”
I had no idea why my sister was acting this way, but she was weird sometimes. That came with being in high school. At sixteen, she was still half wallflower and half hormonal, throwing herself at men, but not the boys her age. I suspected she only did it to get a rise out of Mamà most of the time.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
“Nothing.” Her voice wasn’t so innocent. “So why are you calling?”
“I thought you might miss me,” I said.
“No way. I have so much privacy without you here.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
Caterina laughed on the other end of the call. “Okay, fine. I miss you. Do you miss me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“A lot.” My heart ached, and I rubbed my chest, imaging her lying beside me on the bed. I closed my eyes, ignoring the truth. She wasn’t there. This wasn’t my bedroom. And we were separated by four plus hours.
“I miss you too much,” said Cat with a huff. “Mamà has been all over me today.”
“You’re the only one she has left to boss around. She’ll back off once she gets used to the fact that I’m no longer there.”
Caterina snorted. “She wants me to make more friends. Apparently, she thinks I should have friends other than my sister and my book besties.”
“I’m pretty sure she’ll never get your nose out of those romantasy books.”
“Oh! Did I tell you about the last one I read.”
I smiled. “No, but another time.” I would love to humor her, but I couldn’t get lost in fictional banter at the moment. “As for other friends, does Mamà realize how petty the bitches in that private school are? Or the other Mafia princesses?”
“I know, right?” Caterina laughed.
I chuckled too, the weight shifting ever so slightly off my chest. It was always good to talk to her and get lost in the simplicity of our sisterhood. Sometimes it was hard to believe we were six years apart.
“Anyway,” started Caterina, “enough about me. My life hasn’t changed really.”
Ouch! I wish I could tell her how jealous I was .
“What about you, Lina?” She was the only person in the world who called me that, and I loved her even more for it. “Tell me everything.” She was far too excited for my impending death sentence... er, marriage.
I was being dramatic. I wouldn’t die. Not right away, anyway. I had to endure some torture with becoming part of this MC first. Not physically—I hoped—only mentally and emotionally, starting with this fucking bedroom.
Then, I had to figure out a way to manage my fiancé’s loose cannon proclivity. And hopefully, I could keep clear of the cartel after Sas.
What could go wrong? So many things, I hated to admit.
“Sooo, what’s he like?” asked Caterina after only a second of me pausing.
“Who?” I asked.
“Your future husband.”
I sighed loudly.
“That good?” joked Caterina, snickering. “Maybe I should?—”
“Hush, Cat. He’s not old enough for you,” I muttered and then pushed into a seated position. “He’s a biker. Leather. Jeans. Beer. Tattoos. Fat fucking heads.”
“C’mon, Lina, there’s something to be said about bikers,” ventured Caterina, a husky note in her tone.
I waited, deep down hating my younger sister for this. Hating how she would’ve happily handed herself over had she been legal age. Papà might’ve considered her at her current age of sixteen if it hadn’t been for our mother.
“Lina, you still there?” asked Caterina.
I was definitely considering hanging up on her. After—of course—I told her to focus on school and not boys. No men either. She should’ve been thinking about college and degrees and future jobs. I had a fucking university degree and would never get to use it.
Fucking yay for me. I mentally waved my hands in the air.
“Yeah,” I answered, letting that thought disappear to the back of my mind.
“So, like, bikers are really protective of their girls,” said Caterina in her chipper tone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t forced like she was trying to cheer me up.
“I think you mean controlling,” I said. “Over their girls. They call them ‘old ladies’ or ‘bunnies.’ Tell me, which one am I?”
“Why can’t you be both?”
I rolled my eyes, wishing I could be as flippant about it as her. “Because I don’t want to be.”
“I’m not sure you have a choice.”
“This is my life,” I spat. “I can at least make that choice. Take back my life and get out of this. One way or another.”
1 ? Figuratively, son of a bitch. Literally, son of a whore.