Conquered by the Mafia Boss

He turns to me with a genial smile that makes my stomach twist. “It was,” I say in a strong voice, “but-”

“-But you don’t give a shit what happens to me if Johnny finds out about this scam, do you?”

I ball my hands into fists as bitterness gathers in my mouth. My tongue curls against the revolting taste.

“It’s not a scam.”

He gives me a very ugly look. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

I’ve lost all fucking patience.

“If you won’t help me, then just give me my fucking money!”

I can’t bear looking at Melanie’s confused face as Tommy wordlessly gets a paper bag and opens the wall safe. He drops bricks of cash in the bag and then slams the door shut. He walks back to me with a deadened look in his eyes, and maybe there’s a sliver of something else. That I better watch my back because the man who helped me out and felt sorry for me is gone.

I stuff the paper bag in my purse and turn around to leave.

“Elena, what about your things? They’re still in Tommy’s car.”

“I don’t care,” I say in a hoarse voice. “I need to find him.”

My feet fly down the bar, ignoring her protests. I run past the patrons and burst outside, thrust into the freezing cold that only feels like a mild distraction. The restaurant where Johnny always hangs out burns in my mind: Le Zinc. I jog down the streets, determined to talk to Johnny before I make my last, most desperate move to save Tony.

Through the pristine windows, I see Johnny seated in the back, flanked by his guards as he picks through his lunch. I yank open the doors and am confronted by the hostile hostess, who recognizes me immediately.

“Mademoiselle, I must insist that you leave-Tarbarnak!”

I ignore her completely, walking swiftly past her to weave around tables, almost bumping into several of them as I make a beeline for Johnny, who raises his head when I approach. Once again his guards throw their arms across my chest, knocking the wind out of me.

“For fuck’s sake, let her though. She’s Tony’s wife.”

The venom in his voice is barely constrained, and I sense a certain amount of revulsion in his gaze. If my status as Tony’s wife is the only reason why Johnny tolerates me, I might be in trouble. Still, he frowns when he sees my tearstained face. I sit down across from him, legs trembling.

“What’s wrong, ma belle?”

“Tony! He’s missing I-I think Rafael has his phone.”

I show him the strange text messages, and Johnny’s sculpted face betrays no emotion. He gives me a blank look.

“You think Rafael is using his phone? Why?”

“He wants him dead. Obviously, Tony got jumped or something, and-”Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“And what? Tony is a big boy. He can handle your pathetic, junkie ex.”

“These texts aren’t like him.” Heat boils in my chest as I watch him study his nails. “Don’t you fucking care?”

A dangerous look crosses his face as my voice snaps over him.

“Do I care about one of my men going missing? Yes.”

“Then why aren’t you listening to me?”

“I did listen,” he says in a bored voice as his black eyes slide to mine. “Tony isn’t missing. If he doesn’t show up for a couple days, then I’ll worry.”

“A couple days? Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve just told you that I’ve reason to believe that Rafael kidnapped my husband.”

“Reason? I don’t see no reason.” His eyes sear into mine. “I see a paranoid, newly wedded wife. Your husband works ’round the clock for me. You’re going to have to get used to him not coming home some nights.”

This is not about that, you stupid piece of shit!

Johnny rolls a cigarette on the table with slim, deft fingers and picks it up.

“I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

I’m seized with an urge to lunge across the table and yank him by his striped blue tie-to make him look at me with a modicum of respect and not just as the fucking Vittorio scumbag’s daughter.

Then red sparks fly as he lights up, looking at me across the table with supreme boredom.

He won’t help me. No one will.

The enormity of my responsibility lays across my shoulders like a dead horse. I can barely rise from the table. Johnny gives me a fleeting look.

“You’re making a big mistake.”

Smoke drifts across his emotionless face. He doesn’t laugh at me, or smile, or give any indication that he thinks I’m being ridiculous, but he doesn’t reassure me, either.

I’m coming, Tony.

The concrete fortress stands like a sentinel over a ruined city. Crumbling infrastructure surrounds the place like rot. Urban decay. The triple-barbed-wire fence looks daunting, and I have no idea what to expect when I drive Tony’s car to their gates, which open when I roll the car closer.

My heart jumps as the gates groan. They swing inward, and I catch a glimpse of dirty, leather-jacketed men, their arms covered in tattoos. Some wear bandanas or baseball caps, others have long, flowing beards. They lack the professional, clean vibe of the mob. Even the guys look different. They’re definitely not Italian, that’s for sure.

They’re also armed to the fucking teeth.

A surprisingly semi-groomed man walks to my window and taps on it with his shotgun. There’s a patch on his leather vest: President. Right above it: Les Diables MC. I know next to nothing about biker gangs, only that I wish I were anywhere but here.

Tony needs you.

I roll down the window and the President, whoever the fuck he is, bows his head. He peers at me over the rims of his Ray-Bans and spits out the toothpick he worries in his mouth. The sides of his head are shaved and there’s a long star gouged into his face. He gives me a long, searching look.

“Qu’est ce-que vous faites ici?”

I don’t understand a word. “I don’t speak French. I’m Elena, Tony Vidal’s wife.”

“Carlos. President of Les Diables. I know your husband.”

“You do?”