Page 42 of Dangerous Devotion

My phone rings. I see the caller ID and almost laugh at the audacity. Vinny Carbini’s calling me.

I tap the green button to answer and let him gloat.

“I guess you got my message, Jacky Boy,” he chuckles. “She’s a pretty thing, not as classy as your usual type though.”

I want to roar, to spit in his face and cut this throat. But if I give him enough silence, he’ll brag on himself enough to give me information I may need. I have to keep my mouth shut.

“Ain’t you curious what I’m gonna do with her and the old man? I figure since you like my territory so much you wouldn’t mind me keepin’ your girlfriend and her daddy here for a while. Maybe teach you to stay in your lane, maybe cut up her pretty face a little—” he stops, waiting for me to snap and make threats.

He’s too stupid to realize we passed threats long ago. The second his men laid a hand on Serena, he should’ve had his cemetery plot picked out.

Refusing to say a single word, I press ‘end’. I know he’ll be enraged. His fury could not match mine though. Never.

There is no end to the things I want to do to this man’s organization. Dismantle it, destroy it, burn it down and salt the earth like we’re in ancient Sparta. I considered myself a businessman who does what’s necessary. Until Vinny Carbini stole Serena and woke the warrior inside me.

I could cut through legions with a sword or a switchblade now. Nothing would slow me or stop me. I press the screen of my phone and send a message to one of my men here on the ground as we stop by the back door. She’s in there, alive, being brave and loyal and everything she is while scared half to death. Carbini will pay for every second she’s been afraid.

My plan is in place, simple and straightforward. I’ll breach the storage room, target the guards and secure Serena while Louie and his boys pick off the rest. I’m ice cold when I step out of the car. I don’t need to check my sidearm or my smartwatch. There’s no reason to roll up my sleeves because this won’t take long. I’ll be out of this building with Serena safe and sound in less than five minutes. Three minutes is the goal I set myself.

Carbini is by the book and not creative. For the first time, I have some appreciation for those characteristics because I don’t have to be concerned about the unexpected. The only unpredictable thing the man ever did is the one that’s going to dig his grave this afternoon. He went after someone I love and won’t live to tell the tale.

23

SERENA

Iwake up on the cold concrete. It’s dark here, and it stinks. I roll onto my side and get sick. I retch again and again until I know my stomach’s empty. I’m fuzzy headed and queasy from the chloroform or whatever they used to knock me out. After I puke, I can’t exactly pretend I’m still knocked out, so I venture a ‘hello?’ Because I can’t tell if I’m alone.

In response, the bright overhead lights switch on. My eyes water in response to the shock of the glare. I take it in, every detail as fast as I can. I’m in a big concrete room with an overhead garage door at one end guarded by two big guys with bigger guns.

The cavernous room is empty except a card table and chairs where a man in a brown suit sits. Based on his appearance alone, he must be mob-related. Whether this is to do with Jack or my father, I have two jobs. One, get out of here alive. And two, don’t let anyone know I’m pregnant with the next Marino. I’m so scared that my teeth chatter. I sit up, hug my knees to my chest.

“Are you cold, Miss Mayfield?” the suited man asks in a mock-courteous tone.

I don’t answer him. I decide not to give him a single word, nothing he could use as a clue that I’m pregnant. The older man stands up, chewing the cigar like a movie villain, and walks over to me. I try not to shrink away from him, but the overwhelming stench of too much cologne and the acrid smoke are too much for me. I make a split-second decision as he leans over me.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Vincent Alfredo Carbini, head of the Carbini Organization. Since you’re so cold on the floor, I bet you’d be more comfortable sitting in my lap,” he chuckles, a nasty suggestion that pushes me over the edge.

I heave and puke all over the leg of his expensive trousers. It was the nearest part of him I could vomit on, and I feel oddly pleased with myself for managing it. He curses and shoves me back with his foot, shouts for one of his men to clean up the mess. He stomps back over to the folding chair and one of his guards starts wiping off his shoe, his pants leg. It’s not very effective and he’s grumbling.

A shaft of light spears across the floor from a door I hadn’t seen. Another guard enters with a bucket. He stomps to my side and dumps the contents onto me. It’s ice-cold water, probably meant to wash the vomit down the floor drain nearby. I jump up, shrieking and indignant. I pull my wet t-shirt away from my body with disgust and glare at the guy with the bucket.

“Oooh, she’s a feisty one,” Carbini snickers. “I can see why Jacky Boy likes her so much.”

So this is about Jack. I should feel relief that for once, my father hasn’t let me down, but I don’t. All I feel is cold, raw fear. I keep the promise I made to myself, not saying a single word. I just spit on the floor in his direction and go stand by the wall near where I now realize my dad lies in a heap missing all the action.

I hold the soaking wet shirt out from my body to keep them from seeing it plastered to the curve of my growing belly. It’s all I can do to keep the secret, to keep the baby safe for now. I’m going to make this as difficult as possible for that nasty old bastard until I can figure a way out of here.

I glare right at him, no fearful downcast gaze for me. My hair is dripping water in my eyes and I want to shove it back, but I’m concentrating on holding the wet fabric away from my chest and stomach and trying not to show the terror that is threatening to drown me.

Carbini dials his phone and puts it on speaker.

“I guess you got my message, Jacky Boy” he chortles. “She’s a pretty thing but not your usual classy type.”

My heart turns over. I resist the urge to scream out Jack’s name, to beg him to come find me. But this asshole just did me the biggest favor of my life because he made sure Jack Marino knows I’ve been kidnapped. I’m so grateful my knees are weak. I decide it’s okay to sit down.

I arrange myself leaning against the cinderblock wall, hugging my knees. It blocks the view of my belly and gives me a break from holding the clammy t-shirt in my hands. I listen, but Jack doesn’t say a word on the other end of the phone. I almost start to wonder if this guy called Jack at all. It could be a cruel trick to mess with my mind and give me false hope. Except Carbini explodes out of his chair screaming into the phone, something like, “Don’t you fucking hang up on me!” By the time he finishes shouting, his face turns a purplish red with rage that makes me think he has high blood pressure.

There’s a knock at the smaller door in the back where the bucket guy entered. A guard goes to answer it. “That’ll be the food,” he says.

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