Conquered by the Mafia Boss

He gives the others a meaningful look. “Tabarnak de calisse.”

I have no idea what it means, but judging from the look on his face, it sounds like a swearword.

“Sit down. Guys, take a walk.”

They rise to their feet obediently and the brutes holding my arms finally let go. I nearly crumple to his feet, but I manage to sit across from the table. He eyes me with a burning curiosity.

“What are you doing all the way here?”

I open my mouth, but stop immediately when the waiter fills the glass in front of me with water. He moves away like a ghost.

“Running.”

“I can see that.”

His eyes linger on the ghastly green bruise on the side of my face, the one I had before I met with Vincent. I’m sure that my eye is still purple, too. Good lord.

“I need your help.” My voice squeaks out, and I take a long draw of water to quell my nerves.

Johnny seems to pull away suddenly, his lips curling unpleasantly. “Look, I don’t know what you expected from me, but you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to help-”

“I have fifty grand in cash, and I need you to put a hit on a man.”

Suddenly his demeanor completely shifts. He leans forward, smiling, clasping his hands together. “If you have business to discuss, that’s a different story. His name?”

This is the part I’m worried about.

“Rafael Costa.”

Please don’t say no.

He takes a small notepad and pen from his jacket, writes down the name, and frowns at it. He recognizes it.

Please, please don’t say no.

My hands grip the edge of the table. “Please, Mr. Cravotta. I’m desperate.”

“He’s a made man. Part of Nicky’s crew in New York.” He taps the pen against the notepad restlessly as he looks at me. “He’s your boyfriend?” But my dad is a traitor.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Seventy-five grand,” I whisper harshly. No, he can’t just do this to me. I’ll give it all, for fuck’s sake. Anything to save my life.

Pity. It’s all over his face. “I’m sorry, macherie, but I’m not going to start a war with New York because of some Yank.”

“I-I don’t understand! Why can’t you? I have the money!”

“I just told you that it’s not about the money. It’s politics.” He watches me seethe, his face blank. “Maybe you should call the police.”

Is he fucking crazy?

Besides the fact that they wouldn’t do anything, Raf would kill me the moment I waved the restraining order in his face. And if he didn’t, Vincent might.

“I knew your dad,” he says suddenly. “I liked him until he talked to the cops. He gave me a lot of problems.”

“I’m not my father!”

My voice rings out in the restaurant, momentarily cutting through the pleasant babble. Johnny’s face hardens.

“I still find the idea of helping you repugnant.” He nods to the men standing behind me, who grip my shoulders and lift me up.

“Please!” I scream to his rapidly disappearing face. “At least don’t tell him where I am!”

Johnny gives me an apologetic smile as they drag me from the table, shoving the small of my back until I’m practically thrown outside.

The cold engulfs me like fog, coming in at all sides, seeping into my skin and making my bones ache.

Is this it, then? I can’t go over Johnny’s head. He was my only shot. Game over.

No, I refuse to accept this. My dad didn’t raise a quitter, and I’ll be damned if I let some hopped-up jerk take my life because he can’t fucking handle that I don’t want to be with him anymore. I’ll buy a gun-I’ll buy an arsenal.

I’ll look over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

The unfairness of it all seethes in my guts. I whirl back around at the restaurant, half-wanting to sprint inside and slap Johnny to make him understand how badly I need his help. Oh, he understands, but the asshole just doesn’t give a shit about me.

Who else is there? Think.

I chew my thumb viciously as I walk down the street aimlessly, my eyes searching each storefront as though I’ll see something or recognize someone, and after a while my legs tire and I’m just so fucking cold. I had no idea how cold it was here. My fingertips are numb and sharp pains shoot through my toes. I can’t stand it anymore.

The door to a nearby bar opens and I rush toward it, grabbing the handle and disappearing inside the dark interior. Warmth painfully unthaws my fingers and toes. It feels as though my blood splinters like ice. It’s a rustic bar-trendy, with battered wooden tables and clean, metal chairs. I pull one on the edge of the bar and sit down, cradling my head in my hands.

There aren’t many people in here at this time-it probably just opened. Someone enters the bar from the backroom, and a distinct New York accent suddenly makes my head snap up and my blood pound.

A hand curls around my shoulder, and I’m a second away from screaming. It’s Rafael. He caught up with me already.

“If you came here looking for revenge, I suggest you get in line,” he growls in my ear.

It’s not him, but I still recognize that voice.

I turn my head and recognize Tommy’s playful hazel eyes. God, he used to come over all the time. Dad loved him. Talked about him all the time. I haven’t seen him in months-I thought he was dead. Then my mind flicks to what he just said. Revenge for my father’s death? Heat strikes my chest. He must have had something to do with it, but so what? Everyone did.

“Do I look like I’m here for revenge?”

He releases me as if I’ve burned him and he steps back, disgust all over his face. “Raf did that to you?”

Tommy, of course, knew all about my relationship with Rafael. Hell, we had Christmas dinner together. We used to play cards. I always liked him, and he seemed to be devoted to my dad.