5. Tony

“Is that you?”

“No.”

The boss was taking me somewhere outside the city to dispose of me, yet another emotion mingled with the fear, and I felt strangely alive in his presence. Considering I was about to be dead and mangled, maybe it was me having one last hurrah.

My body tingled, something it did when I was anticipating something positive. Being knocked off by a mobster didn’t fit that category. And sitting in the confined space with that scent, it was overwhelming, like nothing I’d encountered previously. I wanted to sniff him as I did to his coat.

I tugged on the cuffs a few times, and my wrists were red and sore. They must be too small, he should have bought a bigger size. I pondered why he had a pair of cuffs in the car, but maybe it was what every mobster needed? In his office, kitchen, the nightstand?

I could see the TV ad now. “Never be without your handcuffs! Wherever you are, they’ll be there too. Your perfect companion!”

Some people got dizzy with expectation or desire. I was blocking out what was to come, and I was damned giddy, a giggle on my lips. I’d crash and burn soon enough after the adrenaline spiked and fell.

How had I gotten to this moment, being taken into the woods by a mob boss, or the mob boss if the rumors were true.

It had started out with me wanting to discover more about my birth dad. Other than the name Antonio—legally, mine was also Antonio, but I’d always been called Tony—I had nothing of his, because when my omega father married again, his new husband adopted me. Not that I was complaining.

Derek was a nice guy and a faithful husband, but I was kind of an afterthought. They loved me, but they preferred their life when I wasn’t around. The not-so-subtle sighs when I needed help with homework, the “Oh, someone has to take you to the dentist,” and “Can’t you play with your friends? We’re tired,” alerted me I was a burden. The best memories from my childhood were when we had a dance-off.

And while I always knew Derek wasn’t my birth dad, I’d been content with the tidbits Evan, my omega father, gave me about Antonio, plus the one photo of him in my bedroom.

“Who is it?”

His question brought me back to the present. I hadn’t planned for this, but I may as well blurt it out. “My father.” I clarified, “Birth father.”

He turned onto a small road, and I tensed, my calm mood evaporating. We’d traveled from city street to highway to rural road to private, according to the “Trespassers will be prosecuted” signs. The road narrowed like my options.

I could have flung myself down the stairs at the club, or wrested my arm out of his grip in the alley. Taken my luck that he was a lousy shot in the dark and run for my life–literally. Why didn’t I?

He didn’t respond, and I stared out the window as the trees grew closer together. I’d never liked being in the woods. Bad things happened to kids who wandered in the forest, or so I’d read.

How sad that Antonio and I, though I had no memories of him, should have followed the same path. It was eerie thinking maybe this was where his life ended, particularly if it was where the Durand family buried their problems.

“Why would I know him?” He slowed the car as it approached large metal gates, set in the middle of a huge fence, cameras atop each pillar.

I bit the inside of my lip, the pain reminding me I was on borrowed time. I’d survived this far, though with each mile, I’d expected him to stop and shoot me.

“Your family might have killed him.”

He slammed on the brakes, and his head swiveled toward me. He hissed, a sound so primeval it conjured up images of an animal, its back arched, ready to attack.

“Tread carefully, Tony.”

I couldn’t bring myself to use his name, though I knew it. Even boss seemed too personal now. For the moment, the man at my side was just “he.”

“You were caught spying. Now you’re accusing my loved ones of murder.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel, the gold signet ring shimmering in the moonlight, but they weren’t on the gun, so I hadn’t run out the clock just yet.

He tapped an app and the gates opened. I squinted ahead at the road lined by tall trees, lights at the base of each one and in the branches. He drove through the gates, but I yelped at a flickering movement to my right.

He shot me a glance. “Security.”

I hated that I’d shown how spooked I was. Up until now, I’d kept a mask over most of my emotions, replacing terror with sass. I concentrated on why he’d brought me to a private estate, his presumably. Would I be facing the mafia council? It was a little over the top for a snooping offense, though I was pleased to have lived a few extra hours.

He drove up the long driveway, motion sensor lighting flicking on as we passed. With each flicker, it was like a spotlight on a stage, and we were the main attraction. Or was that just him and I was the sidekick? I peered out the window, picking out more security guards who almost blended into the undergrowth. Would they melt back into the bushes, similar to a wild animal, after we passed?

My thoughts were zigging and zagging as I attempted to think of anything but what lay waiting, so I kept my gaze straight ahead as we left the wooded area which was replaced by manicured lawns. A huge expanse of lush greenery ringed by the forest. The lawns were kept in place by trimmed hedges and bushes shaped like animals.

Now the building itself caught my attention, and I gazed at it, blazing with lights. It wasn’t a modern house, its exterior of gray stone giving it a stern look. The first, second, and third floors were dotted with huge windows, each lit up as though they were staring at us.

There were other smaller buildings fifty yards away, their lights dim, as he circled the house and tapped his phone. A four-car garage door flipped up, the headlights picking out three other cars, before he drove in and the building swallowed the car, the small clunk when it closed a contrast to my hammering heart.

While there’d been no escape route since I was cuffed, now I was a prisoner in a mansion or whatever mobsters called their pad. Freaking big house maybe.

He got out and came around to my side. He could have let me starve and wither in the car, but that would be messy. I couldn’t fathom why I was here but guessed I’d find out once we were inside.

He unhooked me from the armrest but recuffed me and led me into the house, after unlocking a door with his thumbprint. I surveyed the room, searching for an escape, knowing there probably wasn’t one.

The interior wasn’t what I expected. I assumed mafia chic was fake french furniture, gold-plated everything, carpet so thick it reached my ankles, gaudy chandeliers hanging from every textured ceiling, and a mess of twirly crown molding.

Instead, the floor was a honey-colored wood, the furniture comfortable and understated, and the walls lined with quirky modern artwork. But this was one room. There were plenty of others where gaudy design might lurk.

Without thinking, I kicked off my shoes. It was something we did at home, and I’d continued during my college years. It was weird how my body performed actions automatically, even though my brain was in survival mode.

“You’re wearing hospital socks.” He stared at my feet, a playful grin on his face. But I wasn’t taken in. This was a trick to get me to forget about why I was here, and then, when I least expected it, I’d get what was coming to me.

“Yeah. They’re comfortable.” The non-slippy grippy things made for a more pleasant experience when working. “Bartenders are on their feet for hours each night.” I lowered my voice. “Something you wouldn’t know in your mezzanine palace.”

One brow shot up, like a right angle. He couldn’t have heard me. Maybe he could read lips. Damn, I needed to stop running my mouth. But this guy, my now former boss, was a combination of steel and… and… softness. No, there was nothing vulnerable about him. Fear had warped my brain.

“Why am I here?” I’d gotten no response to the question about my father.

“This is where you’ll stay.” He ignored me and jerked his head at a door.

Stay? Gods, he was doing concrete work in the basement and I’d be buried under layers of lime and other stuff. That was why he brought me here. This house would never be sold, and no hiker or hunter would ever stumble across my body.

He unlocked it with another code. I strained my neck to see, but he was too savvy and covered it with his other hand.

The metal door opened, and I studied the thickness of the steel. It would muffle any screams or calls for help. This was no basement with a wine cellar, a pool table, or a second-hand sofa, its fabric frayed where a bunch of kids played video games or watched Sunday-night football. Nothing other than a bulldozer was getting through that door without the combination.

The steps led into a pool of darkness, and I bit the side of my mouth, trying and failing to tamp down the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me.

I glanced in his direction. “I hate creepy crawlies.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Ass! He was enjoying my discomfort, and I turned away, berating myself for almost feeling something for the guy.

He shrugged. “And I’m not a fan of licorice!” He screwed up his face.

“What?” My screech bounded down the stairs and bounced back at me, and I swiveled to face him. “I don’t give a damn. What’s that got to do with me?” The rage that I’d bottled inside me exploded.

His hand moved to the holster with lightning speed before I’d finished yelling, and his face fell, but he quickly recovered and maintained a more neutral expression. He crossed his hands in front of his crotch, giving me the perfect view of the tattoo.

What was that saying about not being fooled by a snake?