Devil at the Altar: A Dark Mafia Romance (De Maggio Mafia Duet Book 2) by Nicole Fox

Author:Nicole Fox [Fox, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-24T16:00:00+00:00

There’s smoke and a beep-beep noise that might be a phone or an alarm; I’m not sure. My head is pounding and, through blood-smeared eyes, I watch as an Albanian casually walks toward my side of the car.

He has a gun in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

I grab for my gun but the seat belt is cutting into me at an awkward angle. The Albanian sees what I’m doing and leaps forward, putting the barrel of the gun to the glass and shaking his head. Up this close, I see that I’ve been quick to judge that he’s an Albanian. He is actually just a nondescript-looking man, around thirty, with a businessman’s haircut and dark eyes. He could be anybody riding the subway to work Monday morning.

“This motherfucker thinks I’m going to give myself up.”

“He wouldn’t have brought those cuffs if they were going to kill you, boss,” Felice wheezes from beside me.

I glance to his side of the car, the one that was hit, and see that his entire lower half is a patchwork of blood. While he grins at me—as though to let me know he’s okay—it’s obviously causing him pain. Levi is unconscious in the back, lying on his side.

Tap-tap. The man bangs the glass with his pistol, demanding my attention.

“Get out,” he says, voice dim through the ringing in my ears.

The other men have pulled up now: four in total, climbing from the Chevy. We’re surrounded. We’re screwed.

“My men are not to be harmed,” I tell him as the other men all pull their pistols, aiming them casually at the car. I can hear a trickling noise that I hope isn’t oil. I wonder if this car’s about to explode. “That’s my condition.”

“Boss!” Felice protests. “I can’t let you do this—”

In Italian, I say, “Quiet, brother. This is the only way.”

The man with the cuffs turns to the others, says something, and they all shrug. I assess my body. There’s a numb pain draped over me, but other than that, I’m okay. Felice took the brunt of the impact.

He reaches for the door and pulls it open. Cold night air stings at me. He leans into the car and takes my gun and, all I can do is sit here, thinking about how Father is going to be fucked now. They’ll have his son, the best leverage they could ever dream of.

Then Felice whispers quickly in Italian, “He has a blade in his boot, boss. Left foot.”

I nod shortly and climb from the car, but—oh, silly fucking me—I’m so rocked from the crash that my legs turn to Jell-O beneath me and I stumble. The men all step back, laughing like I’m here for their personal entertainment.

What I do next hurts my pride, even if I know it’s just for show. I start begging to the man in the cuffs, pawing at his boots.

“Please,” I moan. “Don’t do this. I’ve got money!”

“Angelo fucking De Maggio,” one of the men chuckles. “Jesus. And this is the man we’re supposed to be scared of—Jesus.

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