Page 15 of His Mafia Sweetheart

I narrow my eyes, dread coiling in my gut like a snake. "What kind of message?"

In answer, Luca holds out his phone, a video already queued up on the screen. With a sense of foreboding, I hit play.

The video is grainy and poorly lit, shot on a shaky cell phone camera. But I would recognize that riot of golden curls, that defiantly lifted chin anywhere.

Eli. Bound to a chair in the middle of a dank, dirty room, a slip of black fabric tired around his eyes. His shirt is torn and stained with what looks like blood, and the sight makes a red haze descend over my vision.

"Smile for the camera, pretty boy," a gruff voice sneers from off-screen. A hand fists in Eli's hair, yanking his head back and forcing a pained grunt from his throat. "Got a special message for your boyfriend. You want to tell him what's going to happen to you if he doesn't play ball?"

Eli's jaw clenches, his bound hands curling into fists. "Fuck you," he spits, and pride surges in my chest alongside the icy terror. "Nico's going to rip you apart for this, you sick bastard."

The man laughs, ugly and mean. "Big talk from a guy tied to a chair," he mocks. "But don't worry, sweetheart. We'll make sure your boy toy gets a front-row seat to the show."

The video cuts off abruptly, leaving me staring at a frozen image of Eli's bloodied, defiant face. For a moment, I can't breathe, can't think past the rushing in my ears and the red mist clouding my vision.

They have Eli. They have my beautiful, brave boy, and they're hurting him. Because of me, because of my family, because of the toxic, poisonous world I tried so hard to keep him safe from.

"Nico," Tommy's voice cuts through the static, tight with worry. "What are we going to do?"

I raise my head slowly, meeting my brother's gaze with a cold, deadly calm. "We're going to get him back," I say, my voice steady and sure despite the rage and terror churning in my gut. "And then we're going to burn the Bianchi family to the fucking ground."

I stand, checking the clip in my gun before sliding it back into its holster. My movements are precise, mechanical, every inch the ruthless mafioso I was raised to be. But inside, I'm a maelstrom of fear and fury, of bone-deep terror at the thought of Eli at the mercy of those sadistic bastards.

Hold on, baby, I think fiercely, my heart clenching painfully in my chest. I'm coming for you. I'll always come for you.

I gather my men with clipped, terse commands, my mind racing with strategies and contingencies. I'll rip apart the city block by block if I have to, burn my way through the Bianchi ranks until I find Eli and bring him home.

And then...then I'll spend the rest of my life making this right. Proving to Eli that he's my heart, my home, my everything. That no force on this earth could keep me from his side, not anymore.

I failed him once, let my fear and pride drive me to push him away. I won't make that mistake again. I can't.

Because a life without Eli in it, a future without his sunshine smile and his gentle heart...that's no life at all. And I'll fight like hell, I'll walk through fire and blood and bullets, to keep him safe.

To keep him mine, in every way that matters.

As we load up and head out into the night, grim determination settles over me like a second skin. I'm coming for my boy, and God help anyone who stands in my way.

The Bianchi family has no idea the hell they've just unleashed. But they're about to find out what happens when you cross Nico Caruso.

And may God have mercy on their souls...because I sure as fuck won't.

CHAPTER 7

ELI

The cold metal of the chair bites into my skin, the ropes binding my wrists chafing with every desperate twist and pull. I don't know how long I've been here, trapped in this dank, musty darkness with only the skittering of rats and the drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe for company.

Hours? Days? Time loses all meaning in the pitch black, my world narrowed down to the frantic pounding of my heart and the throbbing ache in my skull.

I try to stay calm, to cling to hope even as fear claws at my throat like a living thing. But it's hard, so hard, when every breath tastes of mold and hopelessness, when every shift of my aching body reminds me of the horror of my situation.

Kidnapped. Beaten. Trussed up like a pig for slaughter, bait in a trap meant to ensnare the man I love more than my own life. It's like something out of a nightmare, a twisted mockery of the fairytale I thought Nico and I were building together.

Nico. Just the thought of him sends a pang of longing through my chest, so fierce it steals my breath. I can still feel the heat of his skin against mine, the rasp of his stubble against my throat as he claimed me with lips and teeth and tongue. Can still hear the reverent rasp of his voice in my ear, whispering promises of forever in the heated darkness.

"I love you," he breathed against my lips, his voice raw and aching with sincerity. "God, Eli, you have no idea how much I fucking love you. You're my everything, baby. My heart, my home, my reason for breathing."

I cling to those words now, a talisman against the darkness threatening to swallow me whole. Nico loves me. He loves me, with a depth and ferocity that takes my breath away. Whatever his reasons for pushing me away, for shattering my heart with cold words and colder eyes...it wasn't because he stopped caring.

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