Enrage Read online

  Only gray.

  Rain pounded on the windshield.

  The SUV stopped in front of a large building.

  “Chinese?” Dante asked. “We’re getting takeout?”

  “Yeah.” Chase chuckled. “Something like that.”

  “El,” Dante tried again as we walked into the abandoned looking restaurant.

  A bartender stood on the other side of the bar.

  And a man who looked vaguely familiar stood.

  I hid behind Dante.

  “Oh, now you want my protection?” Dante said under his breath before jerking me forward and into the arms of The Doctor.

  One of the most infamous assassins in the Russian Mafia.

  And naturally, owner of a Pulitzer for medicine.

  The world was a cruel and confusing place.

  “Nikolai Blazik,” I said his name out loud, had to, to believe it.

  Tattoos littered his knuckles, the man was a fallen angel. I refused to look into his eyes.

  He forced me when he tilted my chin toward him and whispered. “That bastard deserved what he got for touching you.”

  And that was it.

  He nodded to Dante, shook hands with Chase.

  And suddenly, within seconds.

  I was surrounded.

  By all bosses of the Italian Mafia.

  And the one snitch I never saw coming from the Russians.

  Nikolai.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dante

  “YOU LOOK LIKE death.” Nikolai’s eyebrows shot in my direction and then he took a step forward and sniffed the air like a freaking animal. “It looks good on you.”

  I think that was the equivalent of a compliment from the Russians.

  “Thanks.” I met his dark gaze before glancing around the empty restaurant. There was only one reason he would be there, in Chicago, and I had a bad feeling it had everything to do with what had just happened.

  And the aftermath.

  Nixon jerked his head toward the hallway.

  I followed the rest of the group, while El stood by my side, I could feel the heat of her body, the ripple of tension running through her fingertips as they grazed the side of my right hand over and over again, like she was ready to grab and run.

  The room was dark.

  A single candle lit in the middle.

  Chairs were placed around a square table.

  A glass of wine in front of each chair.

  And as every boss and associate sat, it became very clear that I was expected to do the same.

  Weeks. Weeks I’d suffered under these guys, gotten brutalized, beaten, bloodied.

  And now, it seemed, they still had one last test.

  Because beside the last empty seat at the table was a knife on the left a gun on the right.

  I sat while El stood near the door.

  She semi-blocked the only exit.

  I waited for someone to say something when Tex, the Capo dei Capi, finally stood and addressed us.

  “Loyalty. Family. Honor. Independence. Class. Blood.” His eyes flashed as he lifted his wine glass into the air. “Blood of my blood.”

  The rest of the men grabbed their glasses, Nikolai included, I’d been initiated in New York, so I had no freaking clue what the hell they were doing or asking me to do, until they all took a sip of wine.

  Nikolai sat to my left, Tex gave him a quick nod just as Nikolai reached for the knife and then held out his hand. “Give me your trigger finger.”

  I complied.

  Barely even blinking.

  He pricked the pointer finger on my right hand and held it over the wine glass. “One drop for Loyalty, one drop for Family,” He squeezed harder, I tried not to wince as the stinging sensation increased. “One drop for Honor. One drop for Independence.” He squeezed again. “One drop for Class, one drop for Blood.” He grabbed the gun and pressed it into the palm of my right hand and then put my finger on the trigger. “And one drop for Allegiance.”

  Tex walked over to me and knelt as Nikolai forced me to press the tip of the gun into Tex’s forehead. “Do you serve yourself?”

  “No,” I said in a low voice.

  “Then who do you serve?”

  I’d failed every test I could possibly think of in school — on purpose. It always bored me, and now I was facing the biggest test of all.

  I would not fail.

  “I serve The Family.”

  He grinned as jerked the gun away and sat it down.

  “Blood in.” Nixon raised his glass. “No out.”

  The guys lifted their glasses again and watched me as I lifted mine.

  They drank.

  Expectant eyes on me.

  Chase’s amused glance wasn’t helping things.

  I sighed heavily. “Please tell me this isn’t some weird scenario where I end up drinking my own blood.”

  Chase burst out laughing. “I bet them each a hundred that you’d question it.”

  “Dollars?” I snorted.

  “Thousand.” Nixon grinned. “And no you don’t drink it, it’s symbolic, we’re not complete monsters.”

  The guys all chuckled at that while I slowly set my wine glass back down.

  “Now that loyalty is taken care of.” Nikolai’s gaze briefly darted behind me. “It seems we have one more matter to discuss.”

  The room was tense again.

  “Chase…” Phoenix suddenly interrupted. “Maybe we should wait until we have Mil, we need all votes to count.”

  His expression hardened a bit. “I’ll vote on her behalf.”

  Sergio and Phoenix shared a look before Phoenix nodded at Nikolai.

  “Right.” Nikolai stood. “You know why I’m here,” He ran a hand through his dark hair. His tattoos flickered in the candlelight. “The Petrovs want what’s theirs.”

  I gripped the table with my hands, every muscle flexing with the need to grab El and tell her to make a run for it.

  “She’s not fucking property.” I snarled, not realizing I’d even spoken before all eyes fell to me. “What?”

  Chase looked away guiltily while Phoenix leaned back in his chair and sighed.

  Nixon stared me down and then nodded to Nikolai.

  “So glad you agree,” Nikolai said. “That brings us to a vote, I suppose.” His dark look wasn’t comforting at all, or the way his lips curled into a menacing smile. “If she stays under your protection — she’ll need to marry.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “She’s a human being!”

  “Says the man who just shot a complete stranger… on school property,” Nikolai said in a cold voice.

  Man had a point damn it.

  “All in favor of her staying under the protection of The Family?”

  Everyone raised their hands.

  I kept mine firmly planted at my side and shook my head at El, she didn’t deserve this, nobody did.

  “Then it’s settled.” Nikolai rubbed his hands together. “Phoenix, you’ll contact me once you find someone suitable to… take her on?”

  “Take her on?” I repeated. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

  “You know,” Nicolasi completely ignored me and spoke to Tex. “The only time I ever get yelled at is when I visit, I wonder why that is?”

  “Italians,” Tex muttered and winked over at me. “So emotional.”

  “Consider it done.” Phoenix started writing something down in one of his notorious black folders and stood. “Shouldn’t be a problem, I already have a few in mind.”

  Cold washed over me.

  “A few,” I said. Needing to repeat it out loud in order to believe it. “You’re just going to pawn her off onto some guy you barely know? How the hell is that protecting her?”

  “New identity.” Phoenix shrugged. “New location. New life. What did you expect?”

  For some reason, all I kept thinking was me. I expected me.

  I had no business being her protector when I was finding it hard as hell to be her friend.
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  And yet the thought of her leaving.

  Of some other man touching her.

  Rage lit my body on fire as my blood boiled beneath my skin.

  “Unless, you’re offering?” Nixon said interrupting the daydream I had of shooting every last one of them and telling her to run. “Dante?”

  I didn’t look at her.

  Couldn’t.

  I would be poison to her.

  I was the life she wanted to leave.

  I represented everything she hated.

  She would be exchanging a monster for a villain. “No.”

  Nixon nodded as if he’d expected that from the beginning and had made other plans while my soul suddenly felt crushed.

  I finally turned to look at El.

  And for the first time since I’d seen her — she had tears in her eyes.

  One slipped free.

  And I knew it in my soul — it was because of me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  El

  I’D BEEN RAPED, abused, tortured at the hands of a man who took an oath to love and protect me through sickness and in health — but he was the sickness.

  I’d been to hell and back.

  And was still alive, breathing, functioning.

  And yet I’d never been so embarrassed, so ashamed, in my entire life.

  So unwanted.

  And tarnished.

  Broken.

  Dante refused to even look at me as we drove home.

  Maybe it was for the best.

  He was a killer.

  He was unapologetic.

  What did that say about me, the kind of person I was, I wondered, if the monster didn’t even want what was left of the discarded princess?

  I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the tear slide down my cheek, I wiped it away as quickly as I could and mentally cursed myself for even allowing any emotion to show.

  You’d think after escaping my ex-husband, after being basically a child bride, I’d have no tears left.

  I thought so too.

  Until Dante Nicolasi.

  The minute the SUV parked back in the giant garage with all its fancy cars and motorcycles — I bolted, my feet taking me faster and faster to the only place that would give me solitude.

  My bedroom.

  I slammed the door behind me, locked it and fell across my bed in true teenage fashion.

  If only.

  At nineteen, I was still struggling with the childhood I was never given, while being forced to give up my adulthood in one fell swoop.

  “El!” Dante pounded on my door. “Open up.”

  I didn’t answer.

  I closed my eyes, willed the tears in, and waited for him to leave.

  He didn’t keep pounding.

  He didn’t even swear this time.

  Instead, I heard some whispers and footsteps.

  The bathroom light turned on.

  Washing the blood from his hands most likely.

  Not that he would ever be clean.

  That was the cruel trick of the mafia.

  Give a bloody man soap, and all it does is encourage him to get dirty again.

  Because guys who killed, guys like Dante, missed the way the red looked against their skin, the power it gave them when they realized they were the one that caused it.

  The shower stopped.

  I watched the crack of light and the shadow of Dante as he moved within it and wondered if he thought about the face of the guy he shot, wondered if he cared.

  Because what made him any different?

  What made these Italians any better than the Russians?

  Other than the fact that they clearly loved their wives.

  And each other.

  I punched my pillow and let sleep overcome me.

  I didn’t realize I’d even fallen asleep until I jerked awake with my clothes still on from the night before, laying across the bed with my light on, and the ceiling fan slowly whipping around in lazy circles.

  My neck felt bruised like I’d slept on top of my arm or something. My stomach growled.

  Now I wish I had eaten all the pie Dante had.

  Actually, I wish I would have eaten the ice cream too and ordered a side of fries.

  I slowly peeled off last night’s clothes, put on a pair of black sleep shorts and a white tank, then opened the door and poked my head out.

  The hall was dark.

  Silent.

  Nixon’s house was big, not as monstrous as Sergio’s, but a close second. And to make matters a little… disconcerting; there were cameras in every single corner so it wasn’t like I was sneaking anywhere.

  I just didn’t want to feel like I had to sneak anymore. Like I was a stranger in a house not a home.

  I made my way down to the gourmet kitchen.

  And then opened the door to the pantry and stepped in.

  Dante had a massive sweet tooth.

  And ever since Christmas he’d been buying extra chocolate chip cookies — the only ones I was allowed to touch if I wanted to take his threats seriously and after last night? Well, I didn’t want to be on the other end of a gun.

  I reached into the box just as I eyed the brand new shiny package of Oreos.

  Maybe just… one.

  I wiped the crumbs from my mouth and started peeling back the plastic, it was louder than a freaking gunshot going off in that pantry.

  Finally, I pried the plastic free and reached for the first Oreo.

  “Stealing?” Dante’s low voice said behind me, not only scaring me half to death but sending chills down my arms, while simultaneously making me feel the need to knee him in the balls and make a run for it, Oreos in hand.

  “I didn’t hear you,” I said, leaving the package of Oreos and returning to my box of chocolate chip.

  “That was on purpose.” He reached around me and grabbed the pack of Oreos then slowly pulled one free and bit into it.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  He grinned and took another bite.

  “I should get to bed.” I tried side stepping him.

  And each time he blocked my way.

  Don’t panic. I licked my lips and met his gaze. “I didn’t eat any.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “So you can’t—” What? Hurt me?

  “Food doesn’t make me violent.” He smirked.

  “OH? What does it make you then?”

  His eyes raked over me before he took another bite. “Possessive.”

  I uncrossed my arms and rubbed them.

  Dante sucked in a breath. “Shit, El, you really shouldn’t be walking around without a bra.”

  Shame washed over me as I crossed my arms again. “I didn’t think any perverts would be up.”

  “Oh, so I’m a pervert now?” He smirked.

  “Something like that,” I grumbled, suddenly exhausted from the exchange.

  “Here.” Dante held out the package of Oreos like an olive branch. “Take one.”

  “They’re Oreos you can’t just eat one,” I argued.

  “Something we can agree on.” He licked his lips like he could still taste the cookie. “It’s just a few cookies, El.”

  “Are you going to punish me later?”

  His eyes flashed. “Not in the way you think.”

  I had a completely horrible physical reaction, I leaned into him for no reason! The heat from his body was making me irrational. And the way he looked at me like he wished I was the Oreo… I had no business letting him look at me, or returning that same look and yet there we were, in the pantry.

  When I didn’t move, he grabbed one and held it to my mouth. I opened and bit.

  “Shit.” He blinked and looked away. I took another bite, this time my teeth hit his thumb. He jerked back.

  “You deserved that.”

  “And here I thought we’d made so much progress. If you want to bite me, El all you need to do is ask.”

  “It wasn’t a friendly bite.”

  He g
rinned and leaned in, his lips grazing my ear. “All bites are friendly — if you’re doing it right.”

  My hands shook at my side, like they wanted to do something stupid and irreversible, like touch his face.

  Or kiss him again.

  The memory of his lips burned.

  And I knew it was nothing compared to what they actually felt like against my mouth.

  I cleared my throat and took a step back. “Thank you for the, Oreo.”

  “You didn’t even lick the cream first…” He winked. “I’m so disappointed.”

  I glared, my face heating. “Maybe I like the cookie part better.”

  “Nobody likes the cookie part better than the cream, El…” He said it with such conviction that I felt my entire body pulse like he’d flipped a switch I didn’t even know existed and blocked any way to flip it the hell back off.

  I opened my mouth, ready to say something that would get me out of the situation when he cupped a hand over my face and said against my ear, “Shh, someone’s coming.”

  I gulped as he pulled me back against him.

  “Seriously Mil?” Chase hissed. “Do you even know what time it is? I’m getting tired of this shit!”

  Mil was quiet and then. “You know I was working.”

  “You’re always working, ever since you found out you weren’t pregnant you’ve just poured yourself into work,” Chase said in a low voice. “And I get it, I do, but with everything up in the air with the Petrov family, with Dante killing one of the cousins tonight…”

  I stiffened.

  “You can’t just say you’re going to be there for a family vote and not show up, and then expect me to cover your ass, you’re the boss, act like it.”

  Mil swore. “I know, Chase, okay? Don’t you think I get that? I have a crumbling empire on my shoulders, and no money left to fix it with!”

  Chase muttered something under his breath and then. “The Abandonatos—”

  “No!” Her voice was final. Cold. “I don’t want your money, I don’t want Nixon’s money, this is exactly what I’m talking about, why I don’t want Phoenix’s help either. It’s my family, my legacy, my blood, my problem, and I’m trying to do it well while men talk about me behind my back, while women refuse to even look at me in the eye because I have their husbands by the balls. I’m alone in this.”

  “Funny,” Chase said in an exhausted voice. “Because the minute we got married we made a promise to each other. There is nothing you can do, nowhere you can go where I won’t follow you, where I won’t do anything to keep you alive, to keep this crumbling family of yours glued together. That’s what marriage is, that’s what a partnership is. But I can’t fucking do that if you keep pushing me away, coming home at four in the morning with blood on your hands. I can’t help if I don’t know where the body even is, Mil.”