Sergio: a Dark Mafia Romance Read online

  “Caught the mouse,” he says from behind me, his voice a deep timbre.

  None of the men smile. They’re all looking at me. They each have a weapon in their hands.

  “Warehouse is clear,” one of them says.

  “Should have been swept before the meeting,” the one holding me says.

  The arm loosens around my throat, is removed entirely, taking the gun from my temple. It’s decocked.

  I gasp for breath, stumble backward. The strap of my purse slides down my arm and the contents spill to the filthy floor. I drop to my knees. The man behind me, he walks around to my front and I’m hyperventilating. I’m looking down at the ground, at the tube of lipstick rolling toward his shoe. It’s polished so perfectly I can almost see my own terrified reflection in it.

  A hand fists my hair painfully and he draws me up to my feet, up on tip-toe. He drags me toward him.

  “A sneaky little mouse.”

  It’s him. The one in charge. Mr. Benedetti was what they’d called him. And the look in his eyes is dark.

  “Sergio,” the older man says.

  Sergio. That’s right.

  He releases me from his gaze, but not his grip. I can’t turn my head, but I shift my eyes to look at the older man.

  “You’re going to be late for the meeting. I’ll take care of this.”

  Take care of this? By ‘this’ he means me?

  Sergio returns his gaze to me again. He’s blurry because my eyes have filled with tears. He tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes.

  “You deal with the meeting, Uncle. I’ll deal with our mouse problem.”

  The grin he gives me coincides with the tightening of his fist. It forces the tears from my eyes.

  “Do you want me to leave anyone?” his uncle asks. “A cleaner?”

  Cleaner?

  “I’ll take care of it,” my captor says, never looking away. I get the feeling he likes my tears.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” his uncle says, and a moment later, we’re alone as three sets of footsteps disappear out of the old warehouse.

  “What’s a cleaner?” I ask, my voice barely audible. I don’t know why I ask it.

  Sergio draws me into his chest. “Don’t worry about that, mouse. What’s your name and what do you think you’re doing here?”

  I’m going to be sick or pee my pants or both.

  He’s still studying me, his gaze is intense, like he’s gleaning information just from looking at me. Then he does something that surprises me. He takes his thumb and wipes it across my face, smears my tear across my cheek and just looks at it for a long minute.

  “Well?” he asks again, when he returns his eyes to mine.

  “I…I…”

  “I...I…” he mimics me with a chuckle, and releases me.

  I stumble backward.

  “Down,” he says, his voice a low, deep command. He’s pointing to the floor.

  “Wh…what?”

  “Your wallet. Give it to me.”

  I blink away, look at the spilled contents of my purse. I remember how the other man had dropped to his knees at his command. How he’d kissed the toe of this man’s shoe.

  “Are you hard of hearing?”

  I glance back up at him, confused.

  He gives a shake of his head. “Your wallet. Give it to me.”

  I nod. I drop to my knees because I’m having trouble standing anyway. My hands tremble as I take my wallet and hand it up to him.

  He opens it, takes out my driver’s license and drops the rest back on the floor.

  “Natalie Gregorian.” He reads the address. “Asbury Park?” his eyebrows rise. “Far from home, aren’t you?”

  “My parents’ house,” I say stupidly.

  “What are you doing in Philadelphia, Natalie Gregorian?”

  “I go to school here. University of Pennsylvania.”

  “Ah.” He looks at the driver’s license again, then tucks it into his pocket and returns his gaze to me. “And what are you doing at this warehouse, in the middle of nowhere, tonight of all nights?”

  “I have a project.” I wasn’t supposed to come tonight. I decided at the last minute.

  Again, his eyebrows go up.

  “Architecture. I was taking pictures.” I hear myself start to babble. “One of my professors opens an internship slot for one student every year and I was hoping to get his attention with this.” I have to force myself to stop.

  Sergio looks really confused now.

  “I heard the men come in and…I got scared and…I hid.” Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up. “No one’s supposed to be here,” I add on, unable to take my own advice.

  “Including you. It’s a condemned building.”

  I stare up at him and the weight of what I witnessed is slowly dawning on me. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t see anything. Not really.”

  “Not really?”

  I shake my head. Swipe the back of my hand across my nose before rubbing the tears from my eyes.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I took the bus. I don’t have a car.”

  “Bus? You took a bus out here?” He’s looking at me like it’s the most unbelievable thing anyone has ever said.

  “It stops four blocks away.”

  He checks his watch. “Hand me your phone,” he says.

  I do.

  “What’s your password?”

  “0000.”

  He gives me an ‘are you serious’ look.

  “It’s an old phone.” Not everything works like it should.

  “Huh.” He punches in the code and sits on one of the chairs. I look at him as he scrolls through my phone. My brief memories of him are nothing like the reality. He’s tall, at least 6’4” if not taller, and big. His legs are spread wide and he’s leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. The suit he’s wearing barely contains him. It strains at his shoulders and thighs. And I guess he’s in his late twenties. Younger than I think he should be.

  His gaze snaps up to mine and he turns the phone toward me. “Who’s this?”

  It’s a selfie of Drew and me. Drew’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since high school.

  “Drew.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  I shake my head, wondering why he’s asking. He turns the phone back toward himself, scrolls through more photos.

  “Just taking pictures for your architecture class?” he asks, turning the screen back toward me.

  It’s the single image I captured when the two men were brought in. I don’t even know why I did it.

  “That was an accident.”

  “How do you accidentally take that picture when you have sense enough to hide?”

  I can’t answer that. “You can see. There are a lot of the warehouse.” I start to rise, to go to him and show him. But he halts me by raising his hand.

  “Stay.”

  I do.

  He drops the phone to the floor and stands up, puts his heel on the screen and crushes it.

  “No!” I’m on hands and knees trying to grab it from under his shoe even as I hear it splintering.

  His hand closes around my hair again and he draws me to kneel up. He crouches down so we’re almost at eye level. I still have to look up, though.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve got bigger problems than your phone right now.”

  Sweetheart. He says it casually, like before.

  “Please don’t hurt me. I really wasn’t spying. I wasn’t here on purpose. I…”

  “Stop blubbering,” he says, releasing me. He stands. “Get your shit together.”

  I nod. I sit back and I keep nodding.

  He chuckles. “I mean get your things together. In your bag.”

  “Oh.” I look at the spilled contents. I’m gathering my things and wiping my nose as tears are dropping to the floor as I consider what’s going to happen to me. I never called my mom back yesterday. She’ll be worried now. I should have called her. And dad. I don’t remember
the last time I talked to him. Shit. What will they think happened to me? Will they even find—

  “Natalie,” comes his deep voice.

  He’s got his hands on his hips and is looming over me.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I say with a loud sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Christ, I believe you. Wrong place, wrong time.”

  I freeze. I think for a moment he remembers me, too, but I was a kid then. He couldn’t. And when he speaks, I realize he doesn’t.

  “I don’t think you’d be wearing a bright pink coat if you were trying to stay incognito. Blend and all. But you did overhear some shit.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. I forgot it already. I don’t even know what it was—”

  He shakes his head. “Get up.”

  I reach for the phone, the last of my belongings.

  “Leave it.”

  I look at the destroyed phone. It wouldn’t do me much good now anyway, so I leave it and stand.

  “Let’s go,” he says, taking my arm and turning me.

  “Where to?”

  “My house.”

  “Why?” I pull back.

  He looks at me. “So I can figure out what to do with you.”

  3

  Sergio

  The girl is sitting beside me wringing her hands in her lap. She’s watching wide-eyed as we pass the exit into the city. She’s quiet, like she promised she would be. It was either that or ride in the trunk. I didn’t really intend on putting her in the trunk, but she doesn’t know that.

  She’s scared shitless, but thing is, I believe her.

  I don’t think she was out there to spy. I would bet my life she doesn’t even know who the Benedetti name belongs to.

  My uncle suggesting a cleaner was dramatic, to say the least. But Roman is all about business. I glance over at her. If it was up to him, we probably would need that cleaner. There are some men in my business who take a sick pleasure for the job of punishing. Business is business for me. I’ll do what I have to do. But soaking my hands in innocent blood doesn’t get my dick hard.

  I get off at my exit and Natalie sits up a little taller.

  “Where is your house?”

  “Chestnut Hill.”

  She nods. Is silent.

  “Don’t you have another question?”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  Ah. There it is. The question that matters. Actually, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do just yet. I need to make sure she doesn’t talk. I need her scared for that.

  “Punish you,” I say.

  “Punish me?” her voice falters.

  I nod once while navigating the lonely, dark streets leading to my house. I don’t normally have to deal with a woman like this and I’m not even sure why I’m bringing her to my house.

  “Here we are,” I say, pushing a button to open the tall iron gates as I turn onto the cul-de-sac where my house is one of three, each divided by a heavy stone wall. I wonder what my neighbors have to hide behind theirs.

  I pull up along the circular drive and park the car. I get out, then go to her side. She’s still strapped in, staring up at the huge stone structure with its intimidating pillars and oversized, hand-carved wooden front doors. I pull her door open and she jumps. I stand back and gesture for her to get out.

  When she doesn’t move, I reach over her, push the button to release her seatbelt and take her arm to encourage her out. She’s pulling back, but thing is, there’s nowhere for her to go. And still, the moment I release her and turn to the front door, she takes off. She’s running back down the drive, back the way we came. Back to the now closed gates. They’re twelve feet tall. She’s not getting out.

  But here’s the thing with mice. I don’t mind chasing them. Especially the pretty ones.

  And so I do.

  I chase my little mouse down the driveway, over the manicured lawn. Up the hill and toward the gates. I could overtake her easily, but I don’t, not yet. I like this.

  Just before she reaches the border of the property, I speed up and a moment later, I tackle her to the ground. She lands with a hard thud. It knocks the wind out of her and my weight on top of hers doesn’t help her catch her breath.

  I lean up on my elbows.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” I say, my voice low. “Dirtied my coat. Your clothes.”

  “Please don’t hurt me!” Her voice is loud, it cuts into the night.

  I look at her face. Watch her struggle. I let her. Let her tire herself out.

  The ground is cold, frozen with the temperatures we’ve been having. I get up on my knees, keep her trapped with my thighs on either side of her hips. When she tries to push me off, I take her wrists and drag her arms over her head, transfer them into one of mine as I lean in close to her.

  “Are you ready to do as you’re told?” I ask.

  She tries to pull free. Fails.

  “Natalie? Are you ready to do as you’re told?”

  “If I go in there, are you going to hurt me?”

  “If I were going to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done it at the warehouse?”

  She stops, considers that.

  “Why bring you to my house? DNA and all?”

  Her eyes widen at that.

  “I’m kidding. Christ. And I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

  She swallows, her eyes cautious on mine.

  “We’re going to go inside and get this done and if you do as I say, you’ll be home in no time. You can make it easy or you can make it hard. Up to you.”

  She just keeps staring.

  “Understand?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Just to be clear, if you run again, that’ll be making it hard, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  I get to my feet and hold out my hand. She ignores it and gets up on her own and this time, when I walk up to the house, she follows.

  The house is dark apart from one dim lamp in the living room and the light over the stove in the kitchen. I turn to my guest who’s looking around in awe.

  I guess it is an impressive house. Big, old, but completely renovated with an imposing staircase dead center, the kitchen to the left, living room taking up the back half of the house, my study on the right. All the windows are leaded, and it lends a dark, almost gothic feel to the house.

  “It’s pretty,” she says when she turns to find me watching her.

  “Thanks.”

  I take off my coat and hang it up then wait for her to give me hers. It’s a puffer jacket and although I felt how small she was at the warehouse, she’s almost petite when she’s left in her Henley and jeans.

  I walk into the living room and she follows. I go directly to the liquor cabinet and get the whiskey and two tumblers. She’s standing at the entrance looking at everything, nervously pulling the sleeves of her shirt down to tuck her thumb through the holes at the wrists.

  I carry the glasses and the bottle to the couch, sit and pour for both of us.

  “Come here.”

  She hugs her arms, but moves toward me.

  “Here.” I hold one of the glasses out to her. She eyes it but doesn’t reach out for it. “It’ll calm you down.”

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Whiskey.”

  She takes it, drinks the smallest sip. Flinches when she swallows.

  After draining mine, I pour a second glass and reach to turn on the lamp beside me. I sit back folding one ankle over my knee and stretching an arm over the back of the couch to get a good look at her. She was wearing makeup at some point but her earlier tears have smeared mascara across her cheek. Her eyes, a pretty almond-shape, are so dark, they’re almost black. Her skin has a pale olive tone and she keeps biting her lower lip so it’s bleeding a little. I can’t tell how long her hair is. She’s bound the dark mass into a messy bun.

  “What did those men do?” she asks, surprising me.

  I smile. “Don’t worry
about that.” She’s standing awkwardly and I’m thinking. “Do you know who I am?” I know she would have heard my name more than once.

  She lowers her lashes and I wonder if she’s contemplating lying, but then she nods once.

  “Who?”

  “Mafia.”

  “My name.”

  “Sergio Benedetti.”

  “Do you know my family?”

  “Not really. I’ve heard the name, that’s all.”

  “Drink your drink.”

  She takes another sip. “I have class tomorrow,” she says.

  I nod. Sip. Consider.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks finally.

  “I’m not going to do anything. You are. Get undressed.”

  “What?” She begins to tremble, shrinks into herself as she hugs her arms tighter to her.

  “Get undressed, Natalie.”

  “Why?” her voice is a squeak.

  “Insurance.”

  “Why?” she repeats, taking a step backward.

  “Because I need to make sure when I take you home later, that you’re not going to tell any of your friends what you saw or heard.” I wait. Watch her process. “It’s the only way to keep you safe,” I add on, not really sure why.

  “Safe? How will that keep me safe?”

  “Trust me—”

  “And safe from who? You?” Her eyebrows knit together. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I said I wouldn’t hurt you unless you made me.”

  “I already told you I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  She wipes fresh tears from her eyes. I finish my drink, set my glass down and get to my feet. She takes a step away from me when I come around the coffee table.

  “Remember what you agreed to outside.” I reach her, take hold of her arms, rub them. “Just relax, no reason to get so upset.”

  “No reason? This isn’t—”

  “Now, what’s going to happen next is you’re going to do as I say and take off your clothes and I’m going to take some pictures.”

  “Pictures?” She’s panicking. “Why?”

  “You repeat yourself a lot, you know that?” I pause but I’m not expecting an answer. “Like I said, insurance. You talk and the photos get sent to your parents, your friends, are posted along the walls at school, etc…”