AllFreeNovel
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Our motto is movere in tenebris—move in darkness—for a reason.
The younger man on her right is obviously her twin. I can tell by their similar facial features, matching curly hair, and their body language. His shoulders are stiff and he pays sharp attention to the details around him. I’ll have to befriend him at some point if they’re that close. No man will stand between Maddalena and me, even one of her brothers.
The man behind her though… the one who’s touching her lower back as he guides her into the car… I know he isn’t related to her. I can tell by the way he looks at her, like a man who’s had a slice of decadent cake and wants another.
Is he possibly an ex-lover? Or a current one? I’ll snap every single finger like a twig and nail them to the wall because he touched her.
I take a few photos of her and the man, so I can figure out who he is and how to get rid of him later. She climbs into the car, and a different guard takes her bike home. Unfortunately, Mr. Touchy Feely follows her in and sits next to her.
Rather than follow her home, I make the long trip back to the Haul, a warehouse we own an hour away from the outskirts of the city. It’s hidden deep in the woods, where no one can find it, or the less than legal goods we store there. I’m sure someone here knows more about Nuova Notte than I do.
If I’m going to trap and keep my little killer, I’ll have to do my research. I can’t just storm in and take her without causing some serious blowback, despite my compulsive need to own her. Break her.
When I get there, I find the usual suspects, French, Whitney, and Allister, playing a poker game in the back office. They practically live here.
“Yo,” I greet them, sitting down to get dealt in.
“Hey Number Two,” Allister snarks. He’s been bitter as fuck since Fox named me his second-in-command five years ago.
“Rather be a solid number two than complete shit like you,” I quip. Eventually, he’ll get over it.
“What brings you around? The guns aren’t coming in until tomorrow,” French inquires. His French accent makes everything sound more dramatic than it needs to be.
“I need to gather some intel,” I tell them as I show them my pictures of Maddalena and her guard. “Who’s that man next to Maddalena Vettore?”
Whitney shoots me a disapproving glare, because he’s one of those white-hat hackers with morals and shit. The only reason he isn’t calling me out is because I outrank him. Allister shrugs his reply, but French smiles.
“That’s Gabriele Rizzo, the eldest son of one of Alessandro’s capos. He’s part of Luca Vettore’s security squad and often guards Maddie,” he says.
Maddie? That sounds too familiar. French may be my brother in arms, but I’ll slit his throat if he thinks he has any claim over Maddalena. She’s mine.
“How do you know the Vettore family?” I probe.
“Maddie and Maximo are good friends of mine. Maddie and I share a love of knives, and her collection is almost as extensive as mine. They’re the gun sellers I contracted—worked out the deal through the Don himself. She’ll be here tomorrow night.”
Ah, fate is in my corner, the sly bitch. This is a sign.
“And Rizzo will be here, too?” I ask, trying to throw French off my track. It’s useless though, because he rips my phone from my hands and swipes through, seeing all my pictures of Maddalena. He shows Whitney and Allister the photos. I grab his shoulder and trap him in a headlock until he gives the phone back.
“Oooooh, gentlemen, someone has a crush!” he gushes like a moron.
“Great, he’s going to start a war with the Italians,” Whit mutters.
“She’s hot, I don’t blame him,” Allister says as he deals the second round of cards.
“Yeah, hot isn’t the word I’d use to describe her. She’s going to chew you up and spit you out, Garrix,” French promises before cackling. “She’s all about work and family.”
Whitney’s full house takes the pot, and as he rubs it in to our friends, I take a few moments to consider French’s advice. Then I throw it out the window.
Maddalena Vettore can be a man-eater and focus on work all she wants, but there’s no way I’m going to pass her up. She may not know it yet, but she’s mine.
Maddalena
I’m about three minutes late as I pull up and park outside of one of our warehouses in Brooklyn. The outside is nondescript, kept up just enough to look decent but still blend in with the other warehouses. The smell of stagnant ocean water and garbage hits me like a brick to the face and I sigh.
New York City, what a charming place.
Most would see it and think it was just another warehouse on the docks. But it houses enough guns, explosives, and weapons to support a small army.
