5. Damian

5

This Alexis girl is driving me fucking insane. I can't figure her out.

One moment, she's trembling and meek as a lamb. The next, she's slapping me across the face for calling her a hooker.

She is frightened of me—that much I can tell from her dilated pupils and her elevated heart rate, but she also stubbornly refuses to tell me anything important.

She only responds through threats of violence. She claims to not know anything, especially about Invicta.

And more maddeningly, she won't fucking tell me who gave her these bruises and injuries.

Alexis shivers as she wraps her arms around herself, her already short dress riding up higher so I can nearly see her ass. Her curly hair sways, and it takes everything in me to not wrap a ringlet around my finger.

Can she blame me for thinking she was a hooker? Who the fuck wears dresses like that if they aren't looking for a John?

But why the fuck was she being held at gunpoint by Invicta? It doesn't make any sense. Invicta deals in weapons trading. They aren't about human trafficking like The Brotherhood is. No, there's something else that Alexis isn't telling me, and it's pissing me off.

"So you're not going to tell me who hurt you?" I ask, taking a step toward her.

She shakes her head. "You'll want to hurt them."

Probably, but she doesn't need to know that. I may be a lot of things—Don of the Iacopelli Crime Family, murderer, drug dealer, and a general asshole—but I don't hit women. My mother raised me better than that, and Nat would actually kill me.

"Why are you protecting them?" Another step forward. Her eyes widen at my close proximity, and I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes and her long, black eyelashes. A light dusting of freckles covers the bridge of her nose and she bites her plump, pink lip.

Alexis turns her head away from me, and I scowl, irritation coursing through me.

Who the fuck does she think she is by refusing to answer any of my questions?

Placing one finger under her chin, I turn her head back toward me, forcing her to look me in the eyes.

"Answer my question," I growl. Satisfaction rises in me as Alexis's breathing hikes and she worries her fingers. Good. She should be nervous.

"Please," she whispers, and I nearly snort. Does she really think that's going to work on me?

Her tongue darts out of her mouth to wet her lips, and I can't help but follow that movement, watching as her tongue slides across the seam of her mouth.

I can feel my cock hardening, but I refuse to listen to it. This girl is an enigma, and I'm determined to find out more about her.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," I murmur, my eyes locked on hers. "Tell me who hurt you."

My hands slip down to her waist and rest at her hips. She gasps and tears her gaze away from me to look down.

Well, that's interesting.

I lean my face closer to hers, my nose skimming her neck. God, her skin is so soft. Her body trembles, and she gulps at my close proximity.

Well, if I wasn't convinced she wasn't a hooker, her reactions would have changed my mind. She is too skittish, acting like an animal ready to book at a moment's notice.

Is she a virgin?

The thought shocks me and thrills me at the same time. Even though I have no plans to do anything to this Alexis girl, I do imagine dumping her back where she came from and letting her significant other know I took her virginity.

But the bruises tear me away from my reverie, and it's like a bucket of cold water has been poured over my head.

Before I can even allow myself to fantasize further, I need to figure out a few things. One: who gave her these bruises and why. Two: why was Invicta holding her at gunpoint? Three: Do I really want to put myself in the middle of this?

Reluctantly, I pull myself away, resisting Alexis's siren call. I make a show of pulling out my phone and texting Nat.

Damian: Come back. I need you.

Alexis seemed to be just as affected as me, and I can see her release a breath she was clearly holding.

I smirk. Good.

The door opens a few seconds later, and Nat appears, frowning at us.

"On time as always, Nat," I say, picking an invisible fleck off my clothes. "Take Alexis to a guest room and lock the door."

Alexis's horrified face nearly makes me laugh. Serves her fucking right for not telling me a goddamn thing.

"But—"

"But, nothing. Until I figure out who you are and what to do with you, you aren't going anywhere."

I stride into a dimly lit room in the back of The Underground, my expensive suit a contrast to the risqué clothing worn by the clubbers. Edo flanks me closely as I approach the table where my capos are seated.

"What've we got?" I ask, sitting down and snapping my fingers for a scotch. It's immediately placed before me, and I take a sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it makes its way down my throat.

Paulie, my oldest capo, slides an envelope toward me. "The shipment came in today from Montreal. Product looks good."

I open the envelope and examine the photos inside, nodding in satisfaction at the bricks of white powder. "Any hassles at the border?"

"Nah, our guys greased the right palms," Paulie says with a grin, revealing a gold tooth. "Feds didn't bat an eye."

"Good, good," I say, closing the envelope and handing it to Edo, who places it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "What else?"

This time Nicky, the youngest capo, speaks up. "Heard rumblings that the Colombos are sniffing around our action down on State Street. Might need to remind them of the boundaries."

A predatory smile crosses my lips. The Colombos have been a thorn in my side for a while. The Don defected from The Brotherhood—and somehow didn't end up killed—and created his own Mafia. They've been trying to get a foothold in my territory for a while now.

"Have Buddy and Luciano pay them a visit. Bust up a few kneecaps if needed to get the message across."

The capos nod, knowing my methods are harsh but effective. I drain the rest of my scotch and stand up. "I'm outta here. You guys know what to do."

Edo and I make our way to the secluded VIP lounge where a cocktail waitress in a skimpy outfit materializes and brings over two more glasses of scotch. The pulsating beats of techno music vibrate through the air.

I smile viciously as I settle myself in my seat. This is my palace of vice and sin, and I'm the king.

My massive bodyguards stand by the doors, their shaved heads and bulky frames reminding anyone who passes by to not fuck with them.

Edo touches his ear—a clear signal that he's receiving a message from his earpiece—and leans in toward me.

"Giorgio says Vinny's here with Mario Rafa. They want to speak to you."

I wave an irritable hand, watching scantily clad-dancers writhe to the music. "Bring them up."

Uncle Vinny is my father's brother and was once the underboss for the Iacopellis. After my father's death, there was a power struggle as Uncle Vinny thought it was his right to claim the Don position.

But that position was mine. There was a brief skirmish where I brutally put down any of Uncle Vinny's supporters. After that, Uncle Vinny conceded. Nat tried to convince me to have Uncle Vinny killed anyway, but I declined. Maybe it was stupid familial loyalty, but I couldn't have the last ties to my father's family murdered.

So Uncle Vinny has remained on the outskirts of the family and will occasionally be a voice of reason when Nat and Edo haven't convinced me otherwise.

But Mario Rafa—ugh.

The Iacopellis and The Brotherhood have a strained relationship. We were once close allies, as I had been engaged to Mario's daughter, Scarlett.

Scarlett. She is as beautiful as she is dangerous. Porcelain skin and big, blue eyes belie the venom lying in wait behind that angelic fa?ade. I fell into her trap once upon a time, only seeing her outward beauty and refined elegance.

We had been in the middle of planning our wedding when Scarlett asked me to do something reprehensible. Enraged after being cut off and given the middle finger while driving, Scarlett hunted down the man responsible for this slight and found that he was a married father of two. Her plan? For me to have my men shoot up the driver's son's school playground as revenge.

I'm a man of principle and we don't kill children. Children are innocents, and I do not buy into the bullshit ‘sins of the father' adage. So I refused. Scarlett broke up with me shortly after that, claiming I didn't have the "drive" or "commitment" to get things done.

She ended up having the playground shot up anyway, and the driver's son was killed, much to her satisfaction.

Although our relationship is strained, I do respect Mario Rafa. He's a vestige of the old guard, a link to the fading days of the Sicilian omertà. Mario does his best to restrain Scarlett's more psychotic tendencies, but—as evidenced by the schoolyard massacre—he does turn a blind eye to them.

I get it. Sometimes it's easier to just let Scarlett do whatever she wants instead of dealing with her consequences.

My bodyguards part and allow my guests entry.

"Uncle Vinny," I say, refusing to stand up. "Mario. I trust we're all keeping good health?"

The two men murmur similar pleasantries. I snap my fingers, and two more comfortable chairs are brought forward.

I study Mario as he takes a seat. He looks every inch of the classic Mob Boss straight out of another era. Now in his early seventies, his once-muscular frame has thickened with age, the finely tailored suit straining slightly against his barreled chest. His snow white hair is trimmed in a severe military style, slicked back from his lined face. Despite his age, Mario's eyes still radiate an intense, cunning intelligence.

"I'll get right to it," Uncle Vinny says, plucking up a Cuban cigar and lighting it up. A cloud of blue smoke wafts toward the ceiling. "Mario needs help finding someone."

I raise an eyebrow and turn my glance toward Mario. "Is this true?"

Mario slides a manila envelope toward me. I glance at Edo, who nods and takes the envelope and opens it to reveal a folded up piece of paper and several photographs.

Edo furrows his brow as he hands me the paper, and I skim the contents. It looks like a contract between The Brotherhood and some man named Mark Abernathy.

"What am I looking at?"

Mario leans forward. "Mark Abernathy is our latest recruit," he says, his voice gravelly. "In order to show his loyalty to The Brotherhood and to initiate him as a full member, Mark promised us a young virgin. We fronted him a lot of money in order to ensure he brings her to us."

While my face remains cool and impassive, I internally grimace. The Brotherhood is one of the richest crime families in the Chicago area because of their proclivities in human trafficking. It's a distasteful, nasty business and an area I refuse to get into.

Trafficking drugs? Sure. My customers choose to pay money to get high. Trafficking humans? Absolutely not. There's no choice, no agency in the matter for those girls.

"Your first mistake was giving Mark the money before he gave you the goods," I say, tossing the contract down.

Mario's eyes narrow. "You got a problem with how I run my business, Damian?"

I shrug. "Maybe I do."

Uncle Vinny holds up a placating hand. "Easy, fellas. Let's not let tempers get out of hand here. We're all friends."

I want to scoff. Yeah, friends indeed. Rule number one in the Mafia world. You don't have friends. You merely have uneasy truces, and one small spark will reignite a blaze of violence.

"Besides," Uncle Vinny says. "I'm sure Damian didn't mean any disrespect. It's all a little misunderstanding."

I scowl at having to acquiesce, but I understand the game we're playing here. "Yeah, just a little misunderstanding, Mario. It won't happen again."

Mario studies me. "See that it doesn't."

What I wouldn't do to put a bullet through his head right now. But instead of doing so, I wave a hand. "Continue."

"Mark locked the girl up as apparently, the idiot told her what the plan was. He called us so we could come get our artifact. By the time we showed up, the girl had escaped."

I raise an eyebrow. "How did she escape?"

"A window in the basement," Mario spits out. "The idiot didn't bother securing the perimeter."

And this is someone you're willing to let enter your organization? The retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. It's clear that Mario is already on edge.

"Mario needs your help in finding this girl," Vinny cuts in, fingers curling around the armrests of his chair. "The Iacopellis have always been excellent in tracking people down."

True, we are, but none of this makes sense. Why is Mario coming to me?

"Why haven't you had Scarlett hunt her down?"

Mario scowls, eyes flashing. "I want this girl brought back alive, not dead," he snaps.

Fair point. I hold my hand out to Edo, and he wordlessly hands me the stack of photographs. "What's in it for me?" I ask casually as I start to flip through the photos. "This will be a lot of manpower, Mario. It's costly."

"If you find this girl and bring her back alive, you'll get a ten percent cut of her sale."

"Thirty," I shoot back.

"Twenty," Mario retorts.

"Twenty-five."

"Deal." We shake hands, preferring to handle situations like these with a gentleman's agreement.

"This girl must be important if you're coming to me," I say idly, looking at a picture of a shitty house and a bakery.

Mario shifts in his seat. "Very important. She will be our highest priced artifact."

I raise a brow as I flip to another photo. A girl stands in profile, unaware that she's being photographed. Her long, curly brown hair is clipped back, showcasing a slender neck.

She looks familiar.

"Any reason?" I ask.

Uncle Vinny cuts in. "Unimportant. She just needs to be found as soon as possible."

"Should be easy. The girl's running scared. She'll make mistakes. Tell me—what is her name?" I flip to another photo. This time, the girl is looking straight ahead. Her hair cascades down her back, and her hazel eyes are wide as she stares at something in the distance.

My heart drops to my feet. I now know why this girl looks so familiar.

It's because she's currently locked up at my house.

"Her name is Alexis," Mario says. "Alexis Hartley."