Victorious: A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Series Book 2) Read online

A pang in my chest hits me as I sit down on the bed, inches away from the box. I have a hunch as to who left me this…gift…but why? What did Damon have to gain by doing this?

  My fingers touch the top of the box, and I carefully lift the lid exposing the contents.

  My heart stops beating.

  And all the air leaves my lungs.

  Inside the box is my locket. I gently pull the necklace out and immediately note that the broken chain has been replaced. After the man who attacked me in the park broke it, the locket had been sitting on my nightstand, waiting for me to take it to the jeweler. But Damon, for some reason, snuck in here and fixed it himself.

  With shaky fingers, I gently open the locket and stare at the picture of Arlo and me. Tears fill my eyes until the image of us as kids blurs.

  “When did you leave this here for me?” I ask out loud to the quiet room. “And was it before or after you fucking shot me?” I say through clenched teeth. Clutching the locket in one hand, I grab the box with the other and hurl it across the room. The box hits the wall with a satisfying thud before bouncing to the floor.

  Opening my trembling hand, I stare at the locket for a long time before I finally put the piece of jewelry around my neck.

  Feeling the locket against my skin again feels right. I’ve felt naked without it over the past few weeks.

  As I sit on the bed, alone in my room, a sob suddenly breaks free from my lips.

  This is all like some sick, cruel joke. Why would Damon do this unless he cared about me?

  He doesn’t care about you, my inner conscience sneers at me. He shot you in the leg and left you to die.

  Curling up on my bed, I cry myself to sleep, dreaming about the man who destroyed my entire world in the blink of an eye…but also the man I’m foolishly still in love with.

  CHAPTER 5

  VICTORIA

  AFTER A COUPLE of weeks of in-home therapy and wound treatment, I’m finally feeling like myself again. My therapist told me I can even start walking in the park again, but I’ll have to wait until my leg fully heals before I can pick back up with jogging and running.

  Tired of being cooped up in my apartment all day, I decide to go visit my father in the hospital. I got the news a few days ago that they successfully brought him out of the medically induced coma. I’ve been getting regular updates from the doctors, and he’s been improving. They were able to remove the breathing aides and feeding tubes, and he’s actually able to sit up on his own and talk now.

  As I enter his hospital room, my father’s face lights up as soon as he sees me. I want to feel the same excitement and happiness about seeing him, but all I can think about is what he did to the Rossi family. I’m convinced now that everything Damon said was true, because why else would he go to such lengths if my father didn’t do those things?

  My hands curl into fists, and I try to shake away the anger, but I can’t.

  And so, by the time I make it to his bedside, I’m an angry, quivering mess. “How…could you?” I ask, seething.

  His joyful face morphs into one of shock and then of indifference. He sits stone still, not even blinking as he sneers, “I did…what had to be done.”

  I’m so stunned by his confession that I actually take a step back from him. “So everything is true. Everything Damon said is actually true,” I whisper, my hands trembling at my sides.

  “You don’t know…the whole story, Victoria,” my father offers, struggling to talk between coughing fits.

  “Then tell me. Tell me what that family did that was so wrong. Tell me how a little boy and girl wronged you in some way!” I yell.

  My father cringes when my voice reaches a near hysterical pitch. “Calm down.”

  “I will not calm down!” No longer able to look him in the face, I turn away and stare at one of the white walls of the hospital room. “I can’t even look at you,” I confess.

  “Did you know…that Arlo’s father…killed your mother?”

  “Wh-what?” I stammer, slowly turning once more.

  “They were having an affair. Left a party drunk, too drunk to drive…but the idiot drove anyway.” He stops to cough violently before being able to continue. “He…wrecked the car, and your mother…was killed instantly on impact.”

  “You…you told me she was driving.”

  “I lied.”

  “You lied?!” I exclaim in disbelief. But at this point what hasn’t he lied about?

  “You were nine years old!” he yells in response. He begins to wheeze then, and it takes him a while to recover. Clearly, he’s not out of the woods yet, medically speaking. “There were things…you wouldn’t have been able to…understand at that age.”

  “What about at sixteen, or eighteen, or twenty? I wouldn’t have understood then either?”

  He solemnly shakes his head. “By then it didn’t matter.”

  “Because you had taken care of the problem?” I sneer. And by problem, I mean the entire Rossi family. “How could you sell them, Papa?” I ask on a sob. Tears track down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them. “Sara was only a few years older than me.”

  My father looks away from me then. The coward.

  “I did what I thought…was right at the time. Now I know it wasn’t. What I did was…wrong,” he says, shaking his head. “So very fuckin’ wrong.”

  An idea strikes me hard. “So then make it right. Damon wanted the name of the man you sold his sister to. Give me the name.”

  My father shakes his head. “Sara is probably dead by now.”

  Angry tears blur my vision. “That’s all Damon wanted from you, and you can’t even give him that.” I turn away from my father once more. “Shame on you. And shame on me for thinking you were in any way a redeemable man.”

  And then I walk out of his hospital room knowing that I’ll probably never see my father again.

  When I leave the building, Marco, my assigned bodyguard, opens the back door of the black sedan for me. I climb into the backseat, catching a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My face is red with tears tracking down my cheeks. Angrily, I wipe away the tears and look away from my reflection.

  When Marco gets behind the steering wheel, he asks me, “Home?”

  I’m about to say yes, but then I say, “No. I have somewhere else I’d like to go.” And then I spit out the address before I can stop myself or change my mind.

  * * * * * * *

  MARCO STOPS IN front of the tall apartment building. Leaning down in his seat, he glances out the driver’s side window. “This place isn’t in the best of neighborhoods, Miss Ciccone. Let me find somewhere to park, and I’ll escort you inside.”

  I shake my head at him when he glances at me in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to visit a friend. Ten minutes tops. Circle around the block a few times, and I’ll meet you back out front.”

  Marco rubs a meaty paw along the back of his thick neck. “Boss wouldn’t like this…”

  “My father won’t find out. And besides, I have your number,” I tell him, holding up my cell phone. “If anything goes south, I have you on speed dial.”

  That seems to satisfy the brute, so he nods and says firmly, “Ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes,” I agree before stepping out the back of the car and onto the sidewalk.

  I slowly walk into the lobby of the building. There isn’t a twenty-four-hour concierge or doorman like in my own apartment building. The lobby is empty except for an old man wearing a red and black flannel shirt and matching wool cap checking his mail in the corner of the room.

  He pays no attention to me as I make my way to the elevator. Pressing number five, I wait for the doors to close before I’m whisked up to my desired floor.

  Memories assault me as I walk down the hallway to Damon’s apartment. And I find myself hesitating before knocking on the door. I haven’t even considered what I will do or say if he’s actually here.

  But before I can even figure any of that out, a voice f
rom behind me asks, “You here to see the apartment for rent?”

  Turning, I see an older gentleman with a potbelly hanging out over his blue jeans and a small pin on his stained navy-blue shirt that states he’s the superintendent of the building.

  I hook my thumb back towards the door. “This is the apartment for rent?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says. Stepping closer to me, he reaches towards his thick, brown belt holding up his belly and pulls off a keyring that would put a dungeon master to shame. Squinting, he flips through about fifty keys before settling on the one he needs.

  Unlocking the door, he pushes it open and motions for me to go inside.

  I enter the familiar apartment and look around. My stomach drops when I realize Damon really is gone.

  Tears fill my eyes as I go from room to room. Each room is cleared out. He left without a trace, without a single clue as to where he could have gone.

  I check the spare bedroom, the one that was always locked. I never questioned Damon about his secrecy. It was his apartment, after all.

  So, when I stick my head in the room and see a computer desk with cables sticking every which way like he just unplugged the computer and equipment and ran…a sinking feeling hits me at that moment.

  He was so quick to ruin my life and leave.

  He didn’t even stick around to see if I was okay…to see if I was alive.

  “I’ll need a security deposit plus the first month’s rent up front,” the super informs me.

  I nod and clear my throat before saying, “Uh…I’m going to need to think about it.”

  The man grumbles, clearly frustrated that I wasted his time, and mutters, “Yeah, sure. Just call the number on the sign in the front window when you decide.”

  “Sure. Thank you,” I tell him sincerely as I walk out of the apartment.

  A coldness settles over me as I get on the elevator and ride it down to the lobby. The realization of never seeing Damon ever again hits me hard.

  When I was a little girl, I used to pray so hard that Arlo would come back to life. Come back for me.

  “Arlo is dead,” I say out loud as I near the curb where Marco waits.

  “What was that?” he asks, thinking I was talking to him.

  “Nothing,” I tell him with a shake of my head. After I get into the backseat, he asks me where I want to go now. “Home,” I tell him. “I just want to go home.”

  CHAPTER 6

  VICTORIA

  I ONLY ALLOW myself one day to sulk before I’m ready to get back to my old life and routine and forget all about the boy who owned my heart and the man who ultimately broke it.

  The moment I step into Helen’s Books and Brews, I hear a familiar squeal of delight coming from behind the counter.

  Sophie practically tackles me like a linebacker before I even make it completely inside. “Oh my god, girl, I missed you so much!”

  After she hugs me so tightly I think I’m going to pass out, she runs towards the front counter, throwing over her shoulder, “I’ll get our usual!”

  I walk to a nearby table and take a seat. Closing my eyes, I breathe in the familiar scent of books and coffee. God, I’ve missed this place.

  I didn’t realize I was so contently settled into a routine of running in the park and then enjoying Sophie’s company almost every day until I wasn’t able to do it any longer. This is my first step in getting back to my normal life.

  The next step is to volunteer at the soup kitchen again. I’ve already talked to Sue, and she’s anxious to have me back when I’m good and ready. She made it clear how much everyone misses me, and it’s a great feeling to know at least some people miss me when I’m not present in their lives.

  A few minutes later, Sophie is bringing over our drinks and two freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

  I take a bite of the cookie, humming my approval with a big grin on my face. “No one bakes cookies like you,” I tell her after I’m done chewing.

  Sophie reaches across the table and takes my hand. “How are you feeling? When I heard about the accident…” Her voice trails off as she chokes up and tears fill her eyes.

  Sophie, along with the rest of the world, thinks I was in a horrific car accident with my father. Even the doctors and nurses at the hospital were forced to sign confidentiality agreements that they wouldn’t breathe a word about the gunshot wounds or what happened to my father and me. And, of course, they were given a hefty sum of money to keep mum about the subject as well.

  Like my father would say, you can buy anything or anyone with enough money.

  “I’m okay, really,” I tell her. “The physical therapy has really been helping.”

  Sophie lets go of my hand and sits back in her seat. “Well, I mean, you look great for all that you’ve been through.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a small smile.

  “And your dad? He’s okay too?”

  “He’s…fine,” I manage to tell her. It’s a miracle he’s even alive right now, but I don’t even know how I feel about that. Part of me wishes he were dead because of the horrific things he did to the Rossi family…and probably lots of other families. I’m sure I was kept in the dark about a lot of things growing up and that I don’t even truly know the man I share my genes with.

  The things that he could be capable of…or has already done keep me up at night.

  “He’s still in the hospital,” I offer finally.

  She gives me a nod and doesn’t say anything else, perhaps sensing I don’t want to talk about the sensitive subject. “Well, I’m so glad you came in to see me. I’ve missed you so much. It hasn’t been the same around here.”

  We fall into a comfortable conversation about the bookstore and what’s been happening with Sophie’s life.

  And by the time I have to leave, I’m much happier than I was before I walked in here.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Sophie tells me with a hug.

  I hug her back. “Hopefully I’ll be back to my routine in no time and running in the park every morning again.”

  “Well, don’t forget to stop in for a treat after the torture,” she jokes, waving me off as I leave.

  As I settle into the backseat of the sedan and Marco closes the door, I can’t help but smile. Time with Sophie really did me some good. Now, if I can just get my life back to normal, how it was before Damon came into my life like a wrecking ball, I know everything will be okay.

  My happiness is short-lived, however, when we get stuck in traffic on the way home. Marco grumbles from the front seat and begins to fiddle with the radio. Material Girl by Madonna comes on, and he stops flicking through the channels and starts bobbing his head to the tune.

  When he catches my stare in the rearview mirror, he stops moving his head and clears his throat. Gruffly, he says, “Thought you’d like this song.”

  Okay, so Marco, the big, bad bodyguard, is a closet fan of Madonna, I think to myself while trying to suppress a giggle.

  When the cars in front of us finally begin moving again, Marco turns down the radio and breathes a sigh of relief.

  A few minutes later, he steers the car down a back alley that he always goes down so that he can circle around my building. But there is a car blocking the opposite end of the alley.

  “What the fuck?” he growls. Putting the sedan in reverse, he places his thick arm on the headrest of the passenger’s seat beside him, turns his head and attempts to back us out of the alleyway the same way we came in. Suddenly, he slams on the brakes, and I’m jolted forward against my seatbelt.

  Marco’s eyebrows dip in confusion as he stares in the mirrors at whatever is behind us. Turning in my seat, I glance out the back windshield and see that there is a black SUV blocking the exit. “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Marco reaches for his cell phone, presses a few numbers to autodial someone — presumably my father — and then grips his gun that’s tucked under his jacket.

  My stomach sinks when I realize these cars aren’t in this
alleyway by accident. Something is going to happen. Something bad.

  My father’s voice fills the car as he asks, “Marco, what’s wrong?”

  “We’ve got company, boss. And I don’t think they’re invitin’ us to dinner.”

  “Where are you?” my father demands.

  “Near Victoria’s apartment. We’re blocked in the back alley.”

  My father curses under his breath. “Try to stall ‘em. I’m sending reinforcements,” he says before ending the call.

  Marco pulls out his gun and catches my terrified stare in the rearview mirror. “If you see an opportunity to run, you run. You got me?” he asks.

  I give him a nod even though my brain is still playing catchup with what is happening.

  “Get down!” he hollers.

  I sink down in my seat with my hands over my head just a few moments before the back windshield explodes above me. My scream echoes in the small space as glass shatters down around me.

  I push my body down on the floorboard between the seats as numerous gunshots are exchanged. Some are from Marco; some are from the other cars.

  This goes on for what feels like forever, and I squeeze my hands over my ears, trying to block out the horrendous sounds.

  And then, suddenly, everything is eerily still and quiet.

  “Marco?” I whisper. But when I look up, he’s draped over the steering wheel, blood pouring from his wounds and mouth. His dead eyes are staring at the radio.

  I cover my mouth as a sob threatens to escape, and I quickly tear my eyes away from his lifeless body as his words abruptly rush through me.

  If you see an opportunity to run, you run.

  I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to calm my nerves and build up the courage to do what must be done next.

  My fingers find the door handle, and I gently pull it towards me. Swinging the door open quickly, I scramble out of the car, staying as low to the ground as I possibly can as I begin to run, looking for a place to escape or somewhere to hide.

  I rush past our car and towards the other black car at the end of the alley, but there are five men standing there with guns pointed right at me.