Men of Mayhem (26 page)
Authors: Anthology
Three Months Later
I was in my office sketching out a potential design for a client when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out and the door opened. Dani’s head appeared in the crack.
“Hey boss, sorry to bother you, but someone’s here to see you.”
“Who?” I asked, turning in my chair to look at her. Today her hair was pink, last week it was blue.
“I don’t know, some woman.” Her cheeks turned almost as pink as her hair.
“You’re a terrible liar, ya know that?”
She grinned and her head disappeared. I heard her laughing through the crack in the door as she walked away.
Setting my pencil down and pushing the sketch off to the side of my desk, I stood up, wincing at the twinge in my knee. I’d returned from my recent trip to Mexico with my sister and with new scars as souvenirs as well as a torn ACL. The stab wounds and single gunshot wound had long since healed, but the knee still required physical therapy. I’d been sidelined from riding my bike too, and the lack of two-wheel therapy was making me cranky. Jimmy said I needed to get laid, but I hadn’t been able to sleep with another woman, not since Lauren. Yeah, I hadn’t healed from that wound either.
It was a little after five and the sun was setting, filling the front of the shop with a golden glow. I looked over at the front counter and froze. Lauren was talking to Dani and they were laughing over something. My immediate reaction was to yell at her, to throw her out, but I didn’t. I stood there and watched her. Her hair cascaded down her back in soft curls, and my gaze continued down, taking in her firm ass and long legs. She laughed and that beautiful sound made me smile.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, and Dani stopped speaking, her cheeks flushing pink.
“I’ll leave you two alone, boss,” she said and walked past me, giving me a wink before disappearing down the hall.
“Hi, Victor.” Lauren turned around to face me, and her smile slipped from her lips.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She crossed the lobby to stand in front of me, and up close I could see the dark smudges under her eyes and that her eyelids were puffy. Her summer tan had faded, but freckles still dotted her nose. “I quit, Victor. I don’t work for the DEA anymore. I’m actually a receptionist at a school.”
“So, why are you telling me this?” I crossed my arms over my chest just to avoid wrapping them around her.
“Because I love you and I miss you, because those fuckers refused to help get your sister when it would have been a simple extraction, and because they bugged my apartment without my knowledge and I found out my boss was getting off on watching the replays of us making love. That’s why.” With each statement, she moved closer until we were so close all I had to do was lower my head and my lips would be on hers.
“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart, you still lied to me.”
“And you didn’t?” she cried out, poking me in the chest. “Would you have ever told me about the mafia, Victor?”
She was right. I was just as guilty of keeping secrets. I didn’t fall in love with Lauren because she worked at a temp agency; I fell in love with the smart, beautiful, passionate woman standing in front of me.
“Oh, fuck it,” I growled and pulled her against me into a kiss. Her lips were just as soft and sweet as I remembered. We separated, grinning at each other.
“No more lies?” I asked.
“No more lies,” she promised.
“We keep this between us, because if Gio finds out who you used to be, he’ll have you killed.”
“I understand.”
“Good, cuz I fucking love you. Now let’s go make up for three months apart.”
She threw her head back and laughed. Reaching for her hand, I twined my fingers with hers and made a promise to myself that I’d never let her go.
The End
About the Author
E.J. Fechenda has lived in Philadelphia, Phoenix, and now calls Portland, Maine home where she is a wife, stepmom, and pet parent. She has a degree in Journalism from Temple University and her short stories have been published in Suspense Magazine, the 2010 and 2011 Aspiring Writers Anthologies, and in the Indies Unlimited 2012 Flash Fiction Anthology. In addition to writing The New Mafia Trilogy, she is working on The Ghosts Stories Trilogy. E.J. is co-founder and co-host of the fiction reading series, “Lit: Readings & Libations” which is held semi-quarterly in Portland.
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/EJFechendaAuthor
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Vincenzo
A Santini Brothers ~ Short Story
Please note, that this story is set right after
Brando
(The Santini Brothers #2). Regardless, it isn’t necessary to have read the previous books to understand
Vincenzo
.
D
Vincenzo Santini is exquisite.
D watched him wistfully from her barstool as he walked onto the stage. She would give anything to be with him again, even sell her soul, but he’d dumped her, severing their relationship for good…or bad, because there was nothing good about losing him.
He continued walking across the stage, looking like the epitome of a rock star. He was dressed in black leather pants and nothing else, displaying his inked-up body. Flame tattoos were emblazoned across his muscular arms, while a darker design ran down the left side of his torso, the curvilinear design beautifully rendered. She remembered tracing it with the tip of her tongue, the man tasting as hot as he looked.
Excited screams ripped through the air as the clubbers caught sight of him. They were in
H20
, one of the hottest nightclubs in Sicily. It was owned by Vinnie’s family, a powerful mafia syndicate who dabbled in anything that made them a profit, regardless of whether it was legal or not. But then again, she couldn’t criticize, considering she was an assassin and a spy.
The band stopped playing their music, the three men looking at Vinnie with worried expressions. The guitarist put his instrument down and went to Vinnie, trying to make him leave. The Santini Don had banned Vinnie from performing after he’d gotten drunk and stripped for the crowd. D hadn’t been there at the time, but had seen various videos on the internet after it had gone viral, many of the patrons recording the striptease on their phones. It was probably why there was an overabundance of women in the club tonight, the horny bitches no doubt hoping for a repeat performance.
Vinnie jerked away from the guitarist, the movement causing him to wobble. He was probably drunk again, which also explained his unshaven appearance and half-undressed state, his pants hanging tantalizingly low. Any lower and D was sure the audience would be getting more bang for their buck, Vinnie’s pants barely covering his crotch.
The guitarist again tried to get Vinnie to leave. Vinnie gave him a hard shove, knocking the dark-haired man to the floor, then swiped up the guitar. Jumping to his feet, the guitarist shouted at Vinnie to give it back. Giving him a sneer, Vinnie started strumming the chords, the sound coming through the speakers. The guitarist went to grab it, but jerked back as Vinnie lifted the guitar in a threatening manner. The man remained still for a moment, looking unsure of what to do, then spun around and ran for one of the stage doors, shouting for some guards.
Loud complaints started up several feet from D, drawing her attention to the crowd. Two large men were shoving people aside, trying to get to the stage. They were guards, or more accurately mafia soldiers who worked for Vinnie’s family. She wondered whether she should follow them, but instead kept her butt planted on the barstool, not wanting Vinnie to know she was there.
The soldiers split off, going to different sides of the stage. The guitarist started yelling at the one closest to him. D couldn’t hear what he was saying, due to the crowd screaming in excitement over Vinnie. He was playing an
Avenged Sevenfold
rift on the guitar, really getting into it, his fingers flying across the strings, which was surprising, considering his drunken state.
The soldiers stopped on each side of the stage, both men not interfering with the performance, even though they looked primed to take Vinnie down at any moment.
Vinnie turned on his heel and headed for the bassist, who took a step back, looking scared. Vinnie said something to him, getting a half nod in return, then moved on to the drummer. The drummer instantly spread his arms over his equipment, the long-haired, blond man shouting at Vinnie to back off, probably because Vinnie had damaged the man’s last set of drums.
Vinnie said something to him, then headed back to the center of the stage, where a microphone stood on a tall stand. Hesitantly, the bassist started playing, followed by the drummer, who threw worried glances at the guitarist, the man fuming on the side of the stage.
Moving the guitar behind his back, Vinnie grabbed the microphone and started singing. His voice was beautiful and mournful, powerful yet soft, and although D didn’t understand all of the words since he was singing in Italian, she could tell it was about his ex-lover, a gypsy woman who’d been brutally murdered in front of him.
The crowd went silent, listening to Vinnie with a hushed reverence, their faces now somber. There were even tears being shed. What had happened to Vinnie’s ex wasn’t a secluded incident. After Vinnie had been kidnapped by the Landi crime family due to Irene Landi wanting him, the psychotic bitch had ordered her soldiers to slaughter the inhabitants of the gypsy village, only sparing the more attractive ones so they could be sold into sexual slavery. As a result, the Santini and Vipers had attacked the Landi compound, rescuing the surviving gypsies along with Vinnie and one of his brothers.
When the song came to an end, the crowd broke out in applause. Vinnie took a bow. Probably seeing an opportunity, the soldier on Vinnie’s left went for him. Screams split the air, the crowd crying out a warning. Vinnie whipped around, hitting the man across the face with the microphone stand. The soldier let out a howl, which set the second one off. The stocky man made his move, the crowd again screaming out a warning. Vinnie pivoted, swinging the stand at the man’s ankles, tripping him up.
More mafia soldiers appeared through the stage doors. Vinnie pulled off the guitar and raised it high, threatening them with it. The soldiers formed a semi-circle around him, backing him toward the edge of the stage, Vinnie looking like a cornered animal. Without warning, two of them went for him from different angles. Vinnie swung the guitar at the closest one. The man dropped down before Vinnie could make contact, sweeping his legs out from under him. Vinnie crashed to the hard floor, dropping the guitar. Before he could right himself, four of the soldiers grabbed him. They picked him up and forcibly carried him toward the exit. Hollering, Vinnie struggled against them, but couldn’t get free, the group disappearing through the doorway.
D shook her head, astonished by what she’d seen. She knew her ex was out of control, she just hadn’t realize how bad things had gotten.
“That was quite a show,” a woman said, settling on the barstool next to D.
D turned to her. Perched on the edge of the stool was a stunning redhead with a Cleopatra hairstyle.
D nodded. “Unfortunately, Vinnie’s been performing in the wrong way a lot lately.”
The redhead smiled. “You must be talking about his infamous striptease.
Dio
, my ovaries exploded when he did that.”
“You were here?”
“Not for long. I had to leave quickly because I lost my temper and slammed a woman’s head into the bar for saying repulsive things about my man. No one talks about Vincenzo like that and gets away with it.”
D’s eyebrows shot up. “
Your
man?”
Ignoring the question, the redhead turned to the bartender, ordering a cocktail. She glanced back at D. “Do you want a drink? And don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you, it’s just nice to have some company.”
D shook her head. “What do you mean by
your
man?”
“Exactly how it sounds—Vincenzo’s mine. And I’ll still buy you a drink.” She turned to the bartender again, ordering a vodka.
“I wasn’t told Vinnie was dating.”
The woman shot her an annoyed look. “Stop calling him that name.”
“Vinnie?”
“
Sì
, it’s common, which my Vincenzo is far from.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m not dating Vincenzo. He’s my husband.”
D went silent, the woman obviously a loony tune, because Vinnie wasn’t married…well, not legally, because his union with Irene Landi had been forced. And this woman definitely didn’t look like the pictures she’d seen of that psychotic mafia bitch. She’d scoured the internet, looking for images of Irene after the woman had kidnapped Vinnie. And unlike the nut-job before her, Irene had wavy black hair, brown eyes, a bigger nose, as well as a much coarser face. And although she’d heard Vinnie’s abductor now wore green contacts, this woman’s eyes were a pale blue, reminding her of the Donatelli—another mafia family, who were currently discussing a truce with the Santini.
“Are you a Donatelli?” D asked.
“
Dio
,
no!” The woman let out a shudder. “That
famiglia
are the scum of the earth. If I could, I’d wipe out every last one of those cockroaches, starting with Matteo fucking Donatelli.”
“Why do you hate him so much?” D asked, not knowing the man.
Sadness fell over the woman’s face, making D wonder whether Matteo was her ex. “I’d rather not talk about that
bastardo
,” the redhead said. “I’d much rather talk about you.” She reached out, brushing her fingers over D’s cheek.
D jerked back. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You have such beautiful skin—a hint of chocolate in a sea of olive. I can’t place your ethnicity, well, other than you’re obviously part African American. Are you also Sicilian?”
“No, and it’s none of your business what I am.”
“You don’t have to be rude, I was just making conversation.”
“I have no desire to talk to you, so take your drink and find someone else to bug.” D turned away from her, noticing a dispute happening in front of the stage. A group of women were yelling at some mafia soldiers. They probably thought they were bouncers, since they gave that appearance.
“I wonder whether those women think Vincenzo’s being hurt,” the redhead said, not sounding offended at being told to leave.
D ignored her, knowing the soldiers wouldn’t hurt Vinnie. They would’ve carried him to the band room, locking him in there until he sobered up.
“Your vodka is here,” the redhead said.
Still not acknowledging her, D continued to watch the distraught women. One of the soldiers picked up the loudest of the pack, forcibly carrying her out of the club.
“Why did Vincenzo dump you?” the redhead asked, recapturing D’s attention.
“How did you know that?” she snapped.
Smiling, the woman took a sip from her cocktail, staining the glass with her red lipstick.
“Answer me!”
The woman sneered at her. “You ignored me, now you want me to talk? Make up your mind, dear.”
“I’m not your dear,
bitch
.” She leaned her face closer. “And
don’t
make me ask again.”
The woman returned her glare. “I saw him pull you into the band room some weeks back. But you were obviously a lousy lay, since you’re talking to me instead of fucking him. By the way, he’s
heavenly
to ride.”
D clenched her hands, barely resisting punching the bitch. “Say one more thing about him and I’ll fuck you up.”
“Sorry,
dear
, I’m not into women, but…how do you Americans say? Whatever floats your boat?”
“More like I’ll sink your boat, bitch.”
The woman tsked at her. “Here I am being nice and you continue to insult me.”
“You’re not being nice, you’re trying to pick a fight with me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’d leave before I plant my fist in your smug face.”
“You’re seriously threatening me?” the redhead asked, appearing amused, infuriating D even more.
“You bet I am.”
“That wouldn’t be a wise decision on your behalf, Viper, because my
soldati
will be onto you in a second.”
D’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know I’m a Viper?”
“After I saw you with Vincenzo I did a background check on you. People call you D because you don’t like your name Daphne. You’re twenty-three and from Chicago.” She smiled. “By the way, I was playing with you before, because I already know you’re not Sicilian. You’re half Puerto Rican, on your father’s side. I saw a picture of him. He’s rather a handsome man, though orange really doesn’t suit his complexion. Did you visit him in jail?”