Secret Baby for the Merciless Don

3

My hand starts to tremble, but I will not fall. I refuse to be broken by this. The last thing I remember is my yell of anguish before everything goes black and all I can think about is murder. The sound of gunshots cut through the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tony move away from us, sneaking behind enemy lines. I watch as he slashes the knife across a man’s neck before shooting another in the stomach.

The rest of the men who are still alive provide cover as I try my best to reach Vincent. But it’s no use. Someone drives a car around. Panic floods through me at the thought of losing the man that killed my father. I shoot as many bullets as I can but none of them hits the mark. Vincent manages to escape.

I empty my last two bullets into the rest of his men, and then my rage tapers out. It’s never happened to me before. It’s complete and utter depletion that gives way to utter devastation. My chest threatens to cave in on itself as I whirl around.

My dad’s right there on the ground, unmoving. Michael is on his knees beside his body, eyes wide with unshed tears. I barely register the blood oozing from the bullet wound on his arm. Out of the four other men who came with us, only one is still alive, fear written across his face.

Very slowly, I lower my body to the ground, kneeling beside my father. I reach for his hand, hoping to feel something, but there’s nothing. He doesn’t move. I can’t feel s**t. Not from him and not from myself. My chest is hollow, empty. Someone places a hand on my shoulder.

“Get up,” Tony says.

I ignore him.

“Get the f**k up, Rome!” he hisses. “We grieve after revenge.”

That opens the floodgates of emotions, and I’m glad rage returns first. We grieve after revenge. My father used to say that. It was a consolation, a promise, an encouragement. I know without a doubt he wouldn’t want me on the ground crying over him.

There are so many things I have to take care of. But like Tony said, the first is revenge. So I get to my feet. Michael follows suit, and the two of them move to stand beside me.

“You’re the Don now, Rome,” Michael says, his voice gravelly. “You call the shots.”

I’ve been preparing to become the next Don since I was only a child. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. My dad wasn’t set to hand over the position until I was well into my thirties. He should still be alive. Vincent took that away from me. And there will be hell to pay. The De Lucas are famously known for keeping their matters private, but I swear this city will rain blood until the moment my father is avenged.

“Vincent dies before the end of the week,” I pronounce.

Beside me, they both nod. We’ll do whatever it takes.

CHAPTER 3

Elena

“I

’m gonna go get a drink,” I yell over the loud music thumping in the club.

They all nod in acknowledgment, waving me off. I navigate the crowd, doing my best not to face plant on the floor and slapping off the hands of all the over-eager drunk people. Finally, I find myself in front of the bar. It’s much quieter than the rest of the club, farther from the DJ booth.

The bartender flashes a smile at me. “Hey, what can I get for you?”

“Whiskey on the rocks, please.”

He prepares my drink and I wait, whirling around and staring out at the club. I catch sight of the rest of my friends, or more accurately, my co-workers. We’re not close enough to be friends, but they’re the most meaningful relationship I’ve managed to make since I moved to Boston. I went to college with one or two of them. Once in a while, when we’re all stressed from work, we come here on Fridays. At least I have a unit I can do that with. At least they’ll give a s**t if I don’t turn up to work on Monday.

“Here you go, gorgeous,” the bartender says, drawing my attention. I open my purse to hand him some money but he shakes his head. “He already paid for it,” he states, pointing to the end of the bar.

There’s a man there with a flirty smile. He’s Black and covered in tattoos. I’m too far away to make out the color of his eyes, but he’s hot. I raise my drink in thanks and smile back encouragingly. I came here in search of a hookup. Someone to f**k my brains out and make me forget all the stress from work. I need to release tension and fast. Thankfully, he seems like the right man for the job.

If he wants something, though, he can come over and say it. I stay at the bar longer than I should, taking sips of my drink and doing my best not to glance at him.

He must grow tired of waiting, because a few minutes later, I feel a presence behind me. I whirl around and the tattooed guy is standing there. Some girls might be a little turned off or scared by his menacing physique. But his appearance is exactly what works for me. I’ve always been drawn to the tattooed, bad-boy type. I suppose a little danger is my thing. Probably because I lived my entire life being bubble-wrapped, treated like fragile glass.

“Hey, beautiful.” His voice is a low, deep purr. If I were a weaker girl, I would have melted at the sound.

“Hi,” I greet with a wide smile. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, his brown eyes gleaming. “What’s your name?”

“Elena. What’s yours?”

“Cal.”

“Nice to meet you, Cal.”

He settles on the chair beside me and for the next few minutes, he proceeds to ask me about myself. I respect it. Most guys would have immediately asked if I wanted to get out of here and find somewhere private. But he’s calm, patient.

“I came here with a couple of acquaintances,” I inform him, pointing somewhere behind me.

I have no idea where my co-workers are. My best guess is that they’ve split off, each of them finding their individual interests to pass the time. We usually come to places like this together but are separate by the end of the night. Still, at least he knows I’m not here alone. Just in case he’s a serial killer.

“Hope those friends won’t mind me stealing you away for the night?” Cal questions cockily.

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that? I’m a little too big to fit in your pockets.”

“I can think of somewhere else you’d fit perfectly.” His voice is practically dripping with sexy charm.

Well, there goes my attempt to play hard to get. I place my hand on his shoulder, staring up at him.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. You can steal me all you want.”

My mind is already on the places I would happily let this guy nail me to, starting with a wall in his apartment. I never take men to my place. I like to live life recklessly, but I do keep to certain safety precautions.

Cal’s patience dissipates as soon as we’re outside the club. I let out a giggle as he hauls me over to the wall at the side of the club. One hand is beside my head while the other hand snakes down to my waist. My heart begins to thud in my chest.

This is so stupid, the reasonable voice in my head chants.

His eyes dip to the green cashmere dress hugging my torso, skimming over the expanse of my black-stockinged legs before stopping at my black heels. When he drags his eyes back to meet my green ones, there’s a simmer of desire and heat.

I lift my chin as heat prickles my skin. “You going to kiss me or not?”

He grins. “I knew I was going to get lucky tonight.”

Then his lips land on mine. He’s not the best kisser but he makes up for it with his hands. I moan softly when one slips behind my back, gripping my ass. He squeezes, groaning when I react by digging my nails into the side of his neck. I part my lips to grant him access into my mouth, but before his tongue can sneak in, I get a call.

I let out a huff of frustration. Cal pulls back, eyes dull.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, digging into my purse for my phone.

It’s my brother. f**k. I have to answer.

Tony’s a notorious worrier and there’s a high possibility that if I don’t pick up, he’ll be on the next plane to Boston. It’s not something he hasn’t done before. I still remember the embarrassment when he showed up in the middle of a study session my junior year, looking for me. He wasn’t alone, because he never goes anywhere without his annoying friends. Which means I had three tall, hulking guys show up to disrupt us because my phone was dead and I forgot to charge it.

I offer Cal an apologetic smile before moving away from the wall to answer my phone.

“Tony, I was in the middle of something,” I say, mildly irritated.

He has the worst timing.

“What?” he questions suspiciously.

“Working,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know what I was actually up to. “I have a long list of files to go through before work tomorrow.”

“It’s a Friday,” he says dully. “What’s with all the background noise if you’re working?”

“Tony, tell me why you called,” I say, needing him to move away from this line of questioning.

He pauses for a few seconds. Almost immediately, I know something’s wrong.

“You need to take some time off work. Come home.”

It’s my turn to be suspicious. “What? Why? And why do you sound so sad?”

“Ricardo’s dead.”

Something cracks in my chest. “What?” I ask, my voice coming out in a whisper.

After my mom left, I grew up with two father figures in my life. Ricardo was one of them. To most people, he was the fierce, ruthless Don of the De Luca family. But to me, he was the man that was always patient and kind. He was the only person that was ever on my side when I f****d up. He protected me, and while every single man in my life protects me, Ricardo did it without being too overbearing. I spoke to him on the phone just a month ago.

“Ho-how did it happen?” I question shakily as my eyes fill with tears.

“I’ll explain everything later. It’s all a mess, Lena,” my brother says, sounding so unlike his usual cheery self.

“I know, I know. I’ll be home tomorrow,” I hurriedly tell him. “What about Dad? Is he okay?”

It doesn’t matter how many hang-ups I have about New York, I have to be there for my family.

“Dad’s fine. Listen, I gotta go. Send me a text when you land, I’ll have someone come and escort you from the airport.”

“That’s not—”

“Do not f*****g tell me what’s necessary right now, Lena.”

I bite my tongue and grit my teeth. “I understand. See you tomorrow.”

He hangs up, and I exhale a shaky breath. I take a few more seconds to combat my nerves and get a grip on my emotions before turning to Cal, who is leaning against the wall.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

There’s so much I have to do before leaving Boston, first of which is talking to my boss and asking for a leave. The conversation will probably not go over well, but I’ll explain it’s a family emergency. Thankfully, she likes me.

"It’s alright. Need a ride?”

I shake my head and offer him a smile. Cal is a prime example of the fact that appearances can be deceiving. Most other guys would be pretty sour about the abrupt end of a potential hookup. He’s being pretty chill.

“No, it’s fine. Get back in there. Maybe you’ll get even more lucky and find someone hotter than me,” I say teasingly.

He laughs. “I doubt that. Goodbye, Elena.”

He walks back toward the club while I order a cab. My mind whirs as I try to imagine what everyone back home must be going through right now.

When I arrive in New York, I’m driven to my family’s home first. My dad and brother aren’t around, which is typical. They don’t spend a lot of time here. I drop off all my luggage before asking to be driven to where I hope they are.

I’m surprised by how empty it is when I arrive on the De Luca property. Usually, there are several men milling about the home, patrolling, talking, scheming. They’re usually not allowed into the main home, but they’re always around regardless. Today, though, the surroundings are empty. Apart from a few men standing guard, there’s no one, no cars and barely any sound.

The guards don’t stop me as I walk up to the front door; they know who I am. I haven’t been here in over a year, choosing to limit my short visits to the city to my family’s home. But once upon a time, I considered this place my second home.

The house is pretty simple. Creamy, smooth walls and modern furniture. There’s a lot of art around the place, mostly sculptures and clay figures either made or purchased by Rosario De Luca. The littlest De Luca is one of my friends and an art prodigy. I’ve always marveled at the things she can create with her hands.

I climb the stairs and head down the hall, choosing to start at Rosa’s bedroom in my search for somebody to talk to. I pause in front of the door when I realize she’s inside. I can hear her voice, soft and lyrical, but she sounds horrible right now. She’s speaking in low, hushed tones and doing her best to comfort her mother. The door is open slightly, and I can see Rosa on the bed beside her mother, whose head rests against the headboard. Tears stream down the De Luca matriarch’s face. My chest cracks a little at the sight.