Mafia Darling (The Kings of Italy Book 2)

These Italian motherfuckers, always kidnapping me.

The trunk opened suddenly and bright light flooded my eyes. Had we stopped? I’d been too deep in my head, too terrified, to even notice. My chest heaved as I desperately tried to suck air through my nostrils, which were clogged from crying and fear. Deep in the back of my mind I knew I’d hyperventilate if my panic didn’t subside, but I couldn’t control my body.

‘Calmati,‘ I heard Enzo say as he leaned over, the phone in his hand pointed at me. Jesus. Now he was taking pictures of me? What, was there some mafia social media, where they bragged about their killings and kidnappings?

He moved to a different angle and snapped more photos. “I apologize, Francesca. This was necessary, but it’s over.”

In one quick motion, he ripped the heavy tape off my mouth. The burning pain seared my skin and caused my eyes to water. Fuck, that hurt. He flicked open a knife and I tensed. Was he going to stab me? Rape me? Cut my tongue out?

In a flick of the blade he cut through the zip tie around my wrists. I immediately cradled them to my chest, rubbing the deep indentations in the skin. Pins and needles started at my shoulders and worked their way down my arms as the blood flow returned. I winced, waiting for the pain to subside.

Enzo lifted me out because I was too weak to fight him, which I hated. It was like when Giulio found me in the dungeon. I was a shell of a terrorized woman. Mafia men were officially the worst.

Mariella and Enzo steadied me when my legs trembled and I almost toppled over. Shaky and sweaty, I licked my lips. “You fucking asshole.”

He smirked, unrepentant over his evilness. “I know. Dai, andiamo. You may sit in the back seat.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To Naples. No one is going to hurt you, I promise.”

“You held me at gunpoint and shoved me into a trunk. It’s a little late for that, Enzo.”

“I apologize, but I had to make it look convincing for the cameras.” He led me to the back seat and produced a pair of handcuffs. “Get in.”

“Why would I go anywhere with you two fucked-up psychos?”

He raised his shirt, showing me the pistol tucked into his waistband. “I prefer to do this nicely, but I am happy to put you back in the trunk, if you prefer. Either way, you are coming with me.”

I wanted to fight. To run and escape. But we were on a deserted stretch of road, with nothing but flat ground all around us. I wouldn’t get far.

And how could I risk my child? If he shot me, I would probably bleed out to death in the hot August sun.

You will find a way to escape, Frankie. Play along for now.

I slid into the back seat, and Enzo glared down at me. “I will handcuff you and put you back in the trunk if you try anything. Behave and you can sit back here with Mariella.”

Mariella got in beside me as Enzo walked around to the driver’s seat. “There is nothing to worry about,” Mariella said. “Enzo won’t hurt you. This is about getting what he wants from Ravazzani.”

Great. That was certainly reassuring.

And just saying, if she thought we were still friendly, she could fuck right off.

Enzo got in and started the car. I leaned against the door and closed my eyes, exhausted. What time was it? I had no idea how long I had been in that trunk.

Mariella nudged me with a bottle of water. “Here. Drink this. I have a protein bar for you, too.”

I wasn’t too proud to refuse, not as a pregnant woman. “Thank you.” Enzo was texting on his phone, so I asked her, “How much longer?”

“Four hours.”

Oh, fantastic. This was going to be a miserable car trip. At least I wasn’t in the trunk any longer.

Enzo started the car and drove off. “You’ve been staying at the beach a long time, Francesca. Trouble in paradise?”

Though I wanted to curse and scream at him, I said nothing. If he’d been watching the beach house, then he knew Fausto hadn’t come to visit me, that I was staying there alone.

“Fausto has a temper,” Enzo continued. “You must have pissed him off for him to send you to the beach.”

“You can stop trying to pump me for information. He won’t care that you’ve kidnapped me, if that’s what you are wondering.”

“Oh, I think he’ll care very much.” He smirked in the rear view mirror at me. “I’ll soon have the proof.”

Whatever that meant. “Listen, Enzo. You seem like a decent guy, as far as mafia bosses go, so I’m trying to save you a headache here. Even if Fausto wants me back, which he doesn’t, I’m not interested. He and I are through, so your little kidnapping plan won’t work. To be honest, you’re actually doing me a favor by getting me out of there.”

His smirk died.

“You cannot mean it,” Mariella said. “The two of you were so affectionate on the boat.”

I looked over at her and lifted a brow. “Well, guess what? He kicked me out—without parting gifts.”

“I don’t understand this. Parting gifts?”

“As in, I didn’t get to keep my phone or anything else from him.” Except a baby, apparently. Hooray. “So Fausto can drop dead as far as I’m concerned.” I didn’t actually want him dead; I just wanted him out of my life. For good.

Mariella gasped and Enzo frowned. They exchanged a glance in the rearview mirror. I could tell this development was not what they expected.

“I can’t wait to see Naples, though,” I said, changing the subject. “What do you guys do there for fun?”

They began speaking in rapid Italian, too fast for me to keep up and I was too tired to care. The excitement and adrenaline had taken it out of me. Growing a baby was exhausting. Leaning over, I rested my head on my arms and closed my eyes. Maybe they’d drop me off now that they knew a big payday wasn’t possible.

If they did, I could walk to the nearest town and try to call my sisters. Try to arrange a plane ticket out of here, go someplace where I could make sense of my fucked-up life.

Something told me Enzo would not drop me off, though.

Which meant I was going to need to escape. Again.

I could do this. I could outsmart them. Outlast them. No doubt they thought I was weak and silly, the girl in the black bikini from the yacht. The puttanella.

They would underestimate me—as both my father and Fausto had—and I would make my way out of this stupid country. I would disappear to somewhere no one would find me, not even my family. A place with tons of open space and not a lot of people. I could grow vegetables and raise sheep. No, not sheep. They were too cute. Maybe chickens.

A phone rang over the car’s audio system. “Pronto,” Enzo said.

Deep, rapid Italian filled the car, and my muscles instantly went on alert. His voice was clipped and formal, but unmistakable.

Fausto.

I hadn’t heard that sexy Italian rumble in weeks. My chest cracked, little fissures of misery opening up again, all the aches I’d tried to bury. I didn’t want to miss him. I needed to keep hating him. I should keep hating him. He certainly didn’t deserve my forgiveness, the dick.

“Go ahead,” Enzo said in English. “You are on my car’s speaker.”

“Frankie,” Fausto said calmly. “Are you well?”

Frankie. Not Francesca or dolcezza. Frankie, as if I was an acquaintance or old friend. Prickles of sadness coasted under my skin and buried in my chest like needles. If that was the way he wanted to play it, then fine. “Just great, il Diavolo. You?”

He didn’t answer for a long second. “Enzo will take care of you. I will see that he sends you wherever you wish to go—with my blessing, of course.”

A lump formed in my throat and I couldn’t speak. He was washing his hands of me, for good this time. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was exactly as I had told Enzo. Fausto didn’t want me back and he didn’t care that I’d been kidnapped.

At least we were all on the same page.

I could hear him breathing normally, so unaffected, like this was only one of a handful of tasks he had to deal with today.

I never change my mind, not after someone betrays me. You are dead to me, Francesca Mancini.

God, why did that still hurt so badly?

I forced the words out. “Awesome. Tell Lamborghini I said bye. Oh—and rot in hell, eh?”

Fausto said something to Enzo in Italian, and the two conversed back and forth for a moment. Were they talking business? Jesus Christ, that was cold. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised. That was all Fausto cared about anyway, his empire. His precious legacy.

Well, he would not get his murdering hands on my baby. No matter what, this child would be raised far away from Fausto, far away from the ’Ndrangheta.

Somehow I would get out of this goddamn country and they would never find me.

This ride was boring AF.

No one spoke after the call with Fausto ended. Enzo seemed lost in thought and Mariella played on her phone. I concentrated on not throwing up, which seemed like a real possibility with every minute that passed.

I had to get out of this car.

“Can we stop? I need to use the bathroom.”

Enzo asked Mariella if she wanted to stop, and the other woman shrugged without glancing up from her phone. He found my eyes in the rear view mirror. “I will stop by the side of the road. There are bushes and trees.”

“Fuck that. A real bathroom with a real toilet or I swear, I will ruin the leather upholstery in this car.”

He glared at me, then made a call. Whoever was on the phone called him Don D’Agostino, so I assumed it was someone who worked for Enzo. Odd that he didn’t travel with the level of security and paranoia that plagued . . . other mafia bosses. Was that confidence or stupidity?

When we finally stopped at a petrol station, two black SUVs were parked there. Four men got out of each car, a small army of thugs who looked more like military men, each wearing black cargo pants, black t-shirts and black combat boots. They formed a perimeter around the station, sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Here was D’Agostino’s army. Had I just thought him stupid a moment ago?

It was clear Enzo was anything but stupid, because he had two men follow me and Mariella to the ladies toilet. Any attempt to try to escape here was impossible. The men waited outside while Mariella and I went in. I closed the stall door and took deep breaths. The urge to vomit was strong, but I fought it, not wanting Mariella to know I was pregnant. When I finished and emerged to wash my hands, Mariella was touching up her makeup in the mirror.

Rooting around in her purse, she held up a stick of concealer. “For your eyes.”

I examined myself in the mirror, horrified by what I saw. The misery of the last few weeks compounded by being kidnapped had not done wonders for my complexion. I looked tired, my skin sallow. Dark circles hung under my eyes, a perfect match for the anguish reflected there.

I will see that he sends you wherever you wish to go—with my blessing, of course.

“Do not look sad,” Mariella said. “Many important men in Naples work for my Enzo. You will find another.”

I nearly scoffed. No, thank you. I didn’t want another mafia man. I wanted an accountant or an architect. A barista, maybe. Someone with a regular job that didn’t involve killing people.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, waving away her concealer. “I’ll go back to Toronto. Or to New York. I’m not staying here.”

Mariella smoothed the edges of her lips. “I could never leave. There is nothing like a powerful man between your legs. Why would you want another?”

Self-preservation, maybe?

“Besides,” she continued, “Fausto will soon lose everything. My Enzo is very clever with computers and he has eyes and ears everywhere.”

What did that mean? Fausto had mentioned Enzo’s computer fraud empire on the yacht, but this sounded more direct, like Enzo was targeting Fausto. How? Did this have to do with my ransom?

I couldn’t worry about that at the moment. I had my own problems. As I watched Mariella fuss with her lipstick, an idea occurred.

“Can I borrow some lipstick?”

Eager to help me right the terrible wrong of my makeupless face, she handed over a tube. I accepted it then dropped it, and the tube rolled under the stall door. “Damn it,” I said, hurrying into the stall after Mariella’s lipstick. Once I had the tube in hand, I uncapped it and wrote furiously on the old metal.

Call police. Kidnapped by E. D’Agostino.

Then I slapped some lipstick on my lips and emerged. “How does it look?” I asked Mariella, who was applying more mascara.

“That is the wrong shade for you.” She whipped out a pack of makeup remover wipes. “Here, use this and I’ll give you another one.”

Sure, right. Why not? Two mafia mistresses hanging out in a bathroom, trading makeup tips and dolling ourselves up for murderers.

Wake up, Frankie. You aren’t a mafia mistress any longer.

True. And who cared what I looked like?

I used the remover wipe on my lips then threw it away. “No, thanks. I don’t need lipstick.”

“Suit yourself.” She fluffed her perfect hair. “Come. Enzo does not like to wait.”

I followed her out of the bathroom. “Do you have any food?”

“More protein bars are in the car.”

The men followed us back to the car, where Enzo stood, frowning in our direction. He gave some orders to the men behind us, and the two soldiers turned around and returned to the ladies’ toilet. Shit. Would they find what I’d written?

I tried not to panic as I settled into the back of the car. Enzo stood outside, not moving, and Mariella gave me a protein bar and another bottle of water before turning back to her phone. I ate it quickly, hoping to settle my stomach for the drive, and watched out the window.

The two soldiers reemerged, and one walked over to speak quietly to Enzo. When Enzo slid into the driver’s seat, his dark gaze caught mine in the rearview mirror. “A message on the stall. Very clever, Frankie.”

My stomach clenched and it had nothing to do with hormones.

Enzo continued. “You know, you and Ravazzani talk a good game, but I don’t believe either of you.”

Then he was a fool. “Just because Fausto and I are through doesn’t mean I want to go anywhere with you. Let me go, Enzo.”

“Not just yet.” Starting the car, he drove out of the station. “I need you.”