Chapter 8

CHAPTEREIGHT

DOM HOPPED INTO the back seat after Luca, not wanting to risk having the kid jump out of the car after all they’d just gone through.

Shit, they’d really done it, and given the lack of assholes attacking the car, they were seemingly getting away with it, too.

Well, getting away with Luca.

Dom looked up to see Chef winking at him in the rearview mirror. He mouthed, Oh Prince Charming.

Dom rolled his eyes. “Think you can get us out of here before the fuckers find us?”

With a grin, Chef nodded, dropping a few of his weapons into the passenger seat. “I think I can handle that. Buckle up.”

Luca fumbled with his seatbelt, his hands shaking. Without thinking twice, Dom reached over and took the belt from him. When their hands brushed together, a shock went through him. Neither pulled away as they stared at each other. It was dark inside the car, but being this close to Luca meant Dom could see all the emotions flitting through his eyes, one after the other. He was traumatized, but grateful, relieved but terrified of what would happen next, and there was something else there, too. Something more carnal.

But before Dom could reassure Luca they meant no harm, voices sounded from somewhere deep in the woods behind them, and he quickly fastened Luca’s seatbelt into place before reaching for his gun.

“Shit, let’s go,” he shouted, and Chef wasted no time.

Dom lowered the window on his side, ready for action if anyone got remotely close. But Chef tore out of there like a bat out of hell, and before Dom knew it, they were out of the woods and back on the road.

That didn’t mean they wouldn’t still have company, and Dom stayed ready and waiting. It was so quiet in the car he could hear his own heartbeat, the rapid pulsing not letting up as he stayed alert.

I dare you, motherfuckers. Just try.

A part of him almost hoped to see one of the Fiores, just so he could blow another one their damn heads off. They’d had Luca, one of their own, locked inside a tiny-ass bedroom with a tray of untouched food that looked like something you’d get in prison.

Pieces of shit.

He ignored the part of his brain that told him he was no better than the Fiores for what he’d done to Luca. The conditions had been far superior, the food sure as shit more appetizing, but Luca hadn’t been free with him either. Dom could try to justify it all he liked, but he wasn’t the great liberator he fancied himself after this rescue mission. It wasn’t like he planned to drop Luca off at his school so he could resume his life.

No, Dom was planning something he knew Luca wouldn’t be on board with, but it wasn’t like either of them had much of a choice now.

He didn’t have a clue how long he sat there, ready and waiting, his arms starting to go numb, until Chef spoke up.

“It’s been an hour, Dom.”

“An hour?” Dom frowned and shifted slightly. “So?”

“So I don’t think anyone’s following us.”

Dom blinked and lowered his gun. Jesus, how had it been that long already?

With a sigh of exhaustion, he turned back around and raised the window. Part one of the plan was done; now they needed to focus on what the hell to do next.

One thing he didn’t want to do? Check his phone.

He pulled his cell out of the filthy pocket of the jeans he’d stolen, and inwardly cursed when he saw the many missed calls and messages from his father. One by one he opened them, and while his dad was every bit as pissed as he expected, one voicemail had Dom’s stomach sinking even further.

Never in all the years he’d been alive had he deliberately gone against his father’s orders. Not just because Vincenzo was his father—but because he was the boss. The boss. The one you didn’t cross or lie to.

Dom opened up a new message.

I’ve got him.

Like his father had been waiting by the phone, a response popped up immediately.

Take the kid and get to a secure location away from here. Tell no one where you are.

It was telling that Dom didn’t have to say more than three words to his father for him to understand phase two of his plan. He’d already known they couldn’t just go back to the Rossetti compound, not right now, and that meant getting away from the city. Far away.

“How much longer?” Dom asked Chef as he slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Almost there.”

“Almost where?” It was the first time Luca had spoken since they reached the car, which had to be a record for the kid, which told Dom he was more shaken up over this whole thing than he was letting on.

“We’ve got to get away for a little while,” Dom replied.

“Get away where? Why?”

Dom shook his head. “You still ask too many questions.”

“And you still never answer any.”

“Because you’ll find out soon enough. We just have to make a quick stop to get what we need.”

Luca ran his eyes down over Dom, and while he knew it was because of the shit outfit he’d stolen, his dick couldn’t help noticing the slow perusal.

“What, like new clothes?”

“Maybe. Not a fan?”

“It’s not really your style.” Luca sniffed. “Or smell.”

“You know my smell?” Dom arched a brow. “Careful, kid, I’m going to start to think you were dreaming about me while I was gone.”

Luca scoffed. “Hardly. Didn’t sleep a wink. Seems you were thinking about me, though.”

Dom turned to look out the window. Luca’s words had landed a heavy blow. From the second Luca was taken, Dom hadn’t thought of anything other than him.

Dom’s laser-like focus on getting Luca back had become downright obsessive, and that he’d risked his own life and gone against his father’s orders said he’d been doing a lot more than thinking about Luca. There’d been a whole lot of feeling, too—most of which he refused to think about.

“They took something that belonged to me—”

“I don’t belong to you.”

Dom turned back to see Luca staring at him, and those feelings niggled at the back of his mind. Refusing to acknowledge them, however, Dom said, “I merely got you back.”

“Merely got me back?” Luca shook his head. “And how many people did you have kill to accomplish that?”

Dom didn’t even stop to think. “Three.”

“And an ear,” Chef chimed in, and Dom’s eyes shifted to their driver who shrugged. “What? You can’t forget the small things.”

“So these were your father’s orders? That you and Chef come out here, raise bloody murder, and bring me back home like the golden goose?” Luca asked.

“No,” Dom replied.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Jesus. You don’t let up, do you?”

“Maybe I would if you gave me more than a one-word response.”

Dom gritted his teeth and rested his gun on his knee, and realized that somewhere along the way Luca had decided he was no longer a threat. Here Luca was, sitting in a car with two men who had just murdered three people in cold blood—one who was holding a gun—and he was still mouthing off.

Something in Dom’s chest tightened. He cocked his head in Luca’s direction and held up his weapon.

“You do realize I could shut you up permanently, right?”

“I doubt it. Not after everything you went through to get me out tonight. So stop avoiding my question.”

“I’ve forgotten your question.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “What do you mean, no? No, those weren’t your father’s orders? Or no, you aren’t supposed to take me to him?”

Dom had to hand it to the kid—he was nothing if not tenacious. “All of that.”

“All of… You came here without your father’s permission?” Luca’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Are you mad?”

A low chuckle could be heard from the front seat.

“No, I am not mad I was the one tasked with your removal from the casino, and I was the one who failed. It made sense that I was the one to come and retrieve you.”

Chef caught Dom’s eyes in the mirror, a smart-ass smirk on his face as he shook his head. Dom looked away.

“That doesn’t make sense at all,” Luca said. “You’re the heir to your family. If you’d been killed, then—”

“I wasn’t.”

“But if you had been—”

“Then his father would have been very upset,” Chef said.

“Why didn’t you stop him? Aren’t you his friend?”

“Have you met Dom?” Chef arched a brow. “Once his mind is set on something, there’s no changing it, and you, kid, were that something.”

Dom tensed at Chef’s words, the softness in them, the real emotion behind them, a truth he’d never actually say for himself.

Luca slowly turned back in his direction, but Dom held his hand up.

“I’m done talking about this, about anything, and we’re almost where we need to go. So why don’t you do us all a favor, stop talking for a second, and rest.”

Luca looked as though he were about to argue, but then slumped down in his seat and stared out the window at the city lights coming into view. They’d finally re-entered Manhattan, though a different side to the borough where Dom usually dwelled.

Chef knew where he was going, taking turn after turn and driving them deeper into the underbelly of the city. He headed to a part of town they only traveled to when they were in need of what they were there for tonight.

Dom kept a watchful eye out the window as Chef turned into a side alley behind a row of shops, and even though he’d seen no evidence of any pursuer since they tore out of the woods, he wasn’t naïve enough to think there wouldn’t be some kind of bounty out after what he’d done tonight. Something his father had confirmed with that text. So here they were, getting the necessary items to help him vanish.

“Okay, we’re here.” Chef pulled the car to a stop and then pushed open the door, gun in hand.

Luca peered out the window to the back of the old brick buildings where fire escapes zigzagged their way from the top floor to the bottom. “Where is here?”

“Get out of the car and you’ll find out,” Dom said.

Luca turned and looked at the gun. That confidence from earlier was waning a little now.

“Why won’t you tell me?” He swallowed. “Or is this some other place you bring people to torture and lock them away?”

Dom smirked despite himself. With Chef outside and he and Luca alone for the first time, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning across the back seat until Luca flattened himself up against the door.

“Trust me, if I wanted to take you somewhere and torture you right now, it would be you, me, a bed, and maybe”—Dom’s eyes fell to Luca’s lower lip—“a ball gag until I wanted this pretty mouth open. But rest easy, this is the last place I’d take you to torture you. Now get out of the car.”

Dom pushed away from Luca, shoved open the door, and climbed out. With his gun in hand, he ordered his dick to behave as he made his way around to the trunk, where Chef waited.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“What other option is there?”

“None that I see. But it might be for a while.”

“Then it’s for a while.”

Chef nodded as Luca climbed out. “How’d the kid take it?”

Dom shrugged. “Didn’t tell him.”

“You didn’t—”

Dom pushed off the car. He knew he should’ve told Luca what he was about to do and how it was going to impact his life, but he knew Luca would never go for it. So the best option was to just do it and tell him later.

He headed to the back of a building and down a set of stairs that had seen better days. When he came to the old, worn door of the basement, he knocked several times and waited.

At first there was no answer—hell, it was the early hours of the morning. But before he could knock again, he heard a curse behind the door. “Okay, okay, don’t you know what time it is?”

The next thing Dom heard were locks disengaging, and then a square peephole was opened.

“Aw, God, you?”

“Mornin’ to you too, Milton.”

“Go away, Dom. Business hours aren’t until—”

Dom aimed his gun at the peephole. “Business hours are right fucking now.”

Milton’s eyes widened, then he let out a sigh. “Fine. Okay. But this is going to cost you double.”

He slammed the little window shut, and Dom shoved the Glock into the back of his pants and stepped aside as the door opened. He then looked back to Chef and Luca and said, “Right, let’s go.”