Craving Danger (Kings Of Mafia)

“He was last seen in Seattle,” Paulie informs me.

An icy sensation ripples through my body, and I turn to Marcello and order, “Get men to Samantha’s apartment. I want her watched twenty-four-seven!”

“On it, boss,” he says before hurrying out of the living room.

I turn my attention back to Paulie. “Anything else?”

He shakes his head. “I have men watching all the main airports.”

Letting out an angry huff, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Samantha’s number. When she doesn’t answer, and the call goes to voicemail, I say, “I’m coming over.”

Just as I walk to the sliding doors, the doorbell starts ringing incessantly.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter before I bark, “Will someone get the fucking door!”

“I’ll check who it is.” Milo walks out of the living room, and seconds later, I hear him shout, “Boss! Come quickly!”

I rush to the foyer and see Samantha falling into my house. She scrambles to her feet and moves away from Milo and the guards stationed at the door.

Her eyes are wild with terror as she glances around her, and the moment she sees me, she loses all her strength.

I grab her in time, and her body slumps against mine.

Ferocious rage instantly shudders through me as I lift Samantha into my arms, and I see the red and blue marks around her throat.

I hurry to the living room, and placing her on the couch, I ask in a deadly tone, “Was it Todd?”

She nods frantically, and when I crouch in front of her, I see the blood covering her left hand. I take hold of her wrist, and noticing a shard of glass embedded in her skin, I shout, “Milo! Bring the first aid kit and get Marcello.”

“Marcello,” Milo shouts by the sliding doors. “Boss needs you STAT.”

My eyes lock with Samantha’s terror-filled ones, and I say, “You’re safe now, baby. I’m going to have Marcello fix up your hand. Okay?”

She nods, her face way too fucking pale.

Marcello bursts into the living room, and when he sees Samantha, he asks. “What do you need me to do?”

“When Milo brings the first aid kit, take a look at her left hand.”

I lift my hand to the side of her neck and gently brush the pad of my thumb over the darkening bruises.

My rage spirals into chaos, and my body shudders again.

A strangled sob escapes her as her breathing speeds up. Rising to my feet, I take a seat on the couch and position Samantha on my lap.

Cradling my woman against my chest, I press my mouth to the side of her head. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe.”

Milo comes jogging into the living room and hands the kit to Marcello.

Holding my woman tight, I say, “Marcello is going to touch you. Okay?”

She nods before burying her face in the crook of my neck.

Marcello pulls the coffee table closer, and sitting on it, he carefully takes Samantha’s hand.

When he uses tweezers to pull the shard of glass out of her skin, I press kisses to her hair, whispering, “You’re going to be okay. I’ll take care of you from now on. Okay?”

Her breaths rush over my neck as heartbreaking sobs rip through her.

“She needs stitches,” Marcello murmurs. “I’ll have to give her an injection to numb her hand.”

I nod, then glance at Milo. “Contact the men Marcello sent to Samantha’s apartment and tell them to find that fucker.”

“On it, boss,” Milo says before stepping out of the living room to make the call.

I focus on my woman again and brush my hand over her hair. When Marcello gives her the injection, she doesn’t even flinch, which tells me just how fucking traumatized she is.

I pull her face away so I can see her, and the sight of the dark bruises around her slender neck makes a growl rumble from my chest. My body shudders again as the destructive rage fuming in me intensifies tenfold.

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion.

When Marcello is done taking care of her hand, he wraps a bandage around it, then says, “I’ll get her some antibiotics in case the wound got infected.”

I nod at him. “Thanks.”

Milo comes back into the living room and says, “You’ve got a text message, boss.”

I dig my phone out of my pocket and unlock the screen. Seeing a text from Milo, I open it.

Milo: When the men arrived at her apartment, the fucker was unconscious. I told them to bring him to the guesthouse. I’ll keep him in the armory until you’re ready to deal with him.

He sent the text because he didn’t want to talk in front of Samantha and upset her even more.

Franco: Thank you. Make him as uncomfortable as possible.

My gaze flicks to Milo, and he nods before he leaves the room again.

Holding Samantha tightly, I rise to my feet and carry her to my bedroom. I kick the door shut behind us before I walk to the bathroom.

Setting her down on the counter, I frame her face with my hands and capture her eyes with mine. “What happened, baby?”

She swallows hard and sucks in desperate breaths before she whimpers, “W-when I g-got home, he w-was t-there.” Her face crumbles and her body jerks with every sob as she cries, “F-Franco.”

I press her to my chest and engulf her in my arms. “I’m here, baby.”

It takes a while before she manages to calm down again. I let go of her, and turning on a faucet, I wet a washcloth beneath the water and wipe the cool cloth over her face and neck.

Marcello cleaned her hand, but there’s blood on her forearm. I clean every inch of her arm before dropping the washcloth in the sink.

Samantha’s breathing returns to normal, then she whispers, “I whacked h-him with a p-pan and managed to g-get away.”

My eyes lock on hers, and lifting my hands, I brush her hair away from her face. “You’re so fucking strong, baby,” I murmur with awe in my voice.

“He…he,” she gasps. “He t-tried to strangle m-me.”

Lowering my hand, I caress the side of her neck with my thumb. “But you stopped him.” Amazed by my woman, I say, “You fought the fucker and won.”

Her features tighten as she whispers, “I was so scared.”

Wrapping my hand around the back of her head, I press a kiss to her forehead. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

She shakes her head, and her eyes darken with a fresh wave of fear. “I don’t know where he is. He can come back. He can try to kill me again. He –”

I capture her eyes with mine and say, “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she cries, her fear spiraling out of control.

Fuck, I wanted to wait until she felt better before I told her I have the man imprisoned in my armory.

Keeping my voice gentle, I say, “When my men got to your place, he was still unconscious in your apartment. They are watching him until I’m able to deal with him. He’ll never get close to you again.”

Her breathing stops, and her eyes widen. She stares at me for a moment then her eyes widen even more. “What?”

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. I’ll take care of the fucker.”

She nods, but it doesn’t look like my words sink in.

Leaning closer to her, I say, “The fucker deserves to die for what he did to you, Samantha.”

She nods again, and keeping her eyes locked with mine, she manages to regain some control over her emotions.

Instead of arguing with me about what’s right and wrong, she lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you. I don’t think I can deal with anything else right now.”

Glancing down, she notices the spatters of blood on her pants and blouse, then she whispers, “I need to shower.”

“Okay.”

When I take a step away from her, she says, “But I don’t want to go home.”

“You’re staying with me.” I step into the shower and turn on the faucets.

“But I have nothing to wear.”

Moving back to where she’s sitting on the counter, I say, “Once you’re better, I’ll take you to the apartment to pack some of your clothes. In the meantime, you can wear mine.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

When I begin to walk to the doorway, Samantha hops off the counter and rushes to catch up to me. She follows me to my closet, where I grab one of my dress shirts.

We head back to the bathroom, and I place the shirt on the counter, then say, “I’ll be right outside the door. Okay?”

She nods, but as I step away from her, she grabs hold of my arm and keeps her head lowered as if she’s ashamed that she needs me.

I turn back to her and tilt my head to meet her eyes. “Do you want me to stay, baby?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and lifting her head, she admits, “I feel safer if I can see you.”

“Don’t apologize,” I murmur while brushing my hand over the side of her head.

She flinches, and it has a frown forming on my forehead.

When she sees my reaction, she lifts her fingers to her ear and carefully touches it. “He hit me with a cane.”

Only then do I see the broken skin on the shell of her ear.

My rage comes back in full force, and I clench my jaw as I fight to get the destructive emotion under control.

I’m going to fucking beat him to death.

I suck in a deep breath of air, and once I’m sure my voice won’t sound harsh, I say, “Never apologize for needing me.”

Her eyes dart over my face. “Okay.”

Christ, I hate what happened to her, but I’m so fucking thankful she ran to me.