Drawn To Darkness (Kings Of Mafia)

During an intense scene where the ballerinas are twirling and flying through the air, my phone starts to ring.

“Shit,” I whisper. Grabbing my handbag, I dig the device out so I can silence it, but when I see Tyrone’s name on the screen, I answer and say, “Give me a minute.”

I shoot Dario an apologetic look before I get up and quickly leave the auditorium.

The music is still loud as I walk down a hallway, and holding the phone to my ear, I say, “What’s up?”

“Yo- need t-.”

“Hold on, the reception is bad,” I mutter, hoping he can hear me.

The call is disconnected, and once I reach the lobby and make sure all the reporters are gone, I dial Tyrone’s number while stepping out on the sidewalk.

“Hey, can you hear me?” his voice comes clearer over the line.

“Yeah. Why are you calling?”

Jesus, it’s cold. I should’ve brought my coat.

“Shit went down. Men came looking for you and Mandy, and when Junior confronted them, the fuckers shot him.”

“What?” I gasp as shock vibrates through me.

“Don’t come home tonight. Go to Dario’s place. Frankie said he’d take care of shit here.”

“Is Junior okay?” I ask. I might not like the gangster, but hearing he got shot because of Mandy sucks.

“They rushed him to the hospital. I don’t know how he’s doing,” Tyrone says, his voice tense. “You need to be careful. I’m going to check Mandy’s usual hangouts.”

“No!” I exclaim. “Stay away from her. I don’t–”Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

My words are cut off when a van comes to a screeching stop in the street. When men pour out of the vehicle, I spin around and rush back into the lobby.

“They’re here.”

“Run, Eden!” Tyrone’s worried voice comes over the line.

“What’s wrong?” Quincy asks.

“Run. Run. Run,” I shout at the guard.

I’m grabbed from behind, and my phone flies out of my hand.

Oh shit!

When Quincy reaches for his gun, a shot is fired near my ear, instantly robbing me of my hearing.

All I hear is a sharp buzzing sound as I watch Quincy drop to the floor. My heart instantly thunders in my chest, and a terrifying sensation spreads over my skin.

“No!” I scream as I’m lifted off my feet and dragged out of the lobby.

I begin to thrash, trying to hit and kick my way out of the predicament I find myself in.

I’m hauled to the van and roughly tossed inside the vehicle. Before I can catch my bearings, more hands grab at me, restraining my wrists with cable ties.

“Stop. Stop,” I gasp, just needing a second to gather myself so I can think clearer.

The van speeds away with screeching tires, and I struggle to keep my balance as we swerve around a corner.

One of the men grabs me by the back of my hair, pulling strands out, then he forces me to look at another man who’s staring at me.

“Where’s your bitch of a mother?”

“I don’t know, and she’s not my mother,” I spit out.

“She owes me thirty thousand dollars.”

I try to lift my chin to appear braver than I feel. “Not my problem.”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly before he backhands me across the cheek. I feel my lip split as pain explodes behind my right eye.

“If Mandy’s not gonna settle her debt, you will,” he barks in my direction.

My tongue darts out, tasting the blood on my lip, then I say, “I don’t have any money.”

The man stares at me for a few unnerving seconds before he lets out a dark chuckle, “If you can’t pay in cash, you’ll just have to work off the debt.”

Work off the debt?

No.

I start to shake my head, my heart clenching with fear as I realize what kind of work I’ll be doing.

Prostitution.

Either that, or I’ll be forced to be a drug mule.

Both options suck ass.

“Let me go, and I’ll find a way to get the money,” I try to bargain with the drug dealer.

He tilts his head while his eyes rove over the dress I’m wearing, then he mutters, “How do you plan to make thirty thousand in twenty-four hours?”

Jesus. That’s impossible.

“I need more time.” Like a year or so.

He leans back in his seat and crosses his legs. “You see, that’s my problem. I don’t have any time. My boss wants his thirty thousand now.”

Fuck you, Mandy. I swear if I ever see you again, I’m going to kill you.

“I don’t see why I have to pay Mandy’s debt. She’s not my mother,” I say, even though I know it won’t matter to these people.

He shrugs, not replying to what I just said. Taking a pack of smokes out, he lights one, giving me the impression he’s done talking.

I glance at the five men while wiggling my hands, but when the plastic digs into my skin, I stop. I look out the windows as we cross a bridge and wonder where they’re taking me.

I swallow to ease the dryness in my throat, then ask, “Where are we going?”

The man next to me hisses, “Shut up.”

“I just want–”

I’m slapped upside the head, the force of the blow stunning my mind, but it doesn’t stop me from stomping on the asshole’s boot with my five-inch heel.

“Give her something to relax,” the main guy mutters while flicking ash on the floor.

My eyes widen, and I shake my head wildly. “I’ll keep quiet.”

One of the assholes pulls an injection from his pocket, and when he takes the cap off, I’m up off the seat and staggering around in the small space in an attempt to get away from him.

I’m shoved off my feet, and when I hit the floor, I’m pushed onto my stomach. The needle breaking through the skin on the inside of my forearm rips a cry from me.

I’ve seen how drugs have destroyed lives.

How it eats Mandy alive.

As a weird sensation starts to dull my mind, I gasp against the floor.

With every passing second, my body feels more and more sluggish, and my reality warps. It feels as if I’m stuck in a world where things spin too fast and super slow at the same time.

I’m left on the floor for the duration of the ride, lights and shadows blurring before my eyes.

Dario

When it feels like Eden’s been gone a long while, I get up and head out of the auditorium to see if she’s okay.

I don’t find her right outside the doors, and when I walk toward the lobby, I hear a phone ringing briefly before stopping.

As I reach the front desk, my eyes land on Quincy, unconscious next to his desk, and the phone starts ringing again.

“Fuck,” I gasp, and ignoring the device, I hurry to the security guard.

Seeing blood pooling beneath the side he’s lying on, shock vibrates through me. I dig my cell phone out and call 911, telling them to get an ambulance to the ballet company.

 Glancing around to make sure there’s no immediate danger I have to deal with, I push Quincy onto his back, which has him groaning something I can’t make out.

“It’s okay. An ambulance is coming,” I say, hoping he can hear me. “What happened?”

“E…den,” he gasps.

My body stills as an intensely destructive emotion bleeds through my chest.

“What about Eden?”

The fucking phone keeps ringing, and when Quincy glances at it, I get up and stalk to the device vibrating on the tiled floor.

Seeing Tyrone’s name on the screen, I glance around the lobby for Eden while I answer, “It’s Dario.”

“Fuck. The fucking motherfuckers took her. Call the cops. They fucking grabbed her while I was on the phone with her,” he shouts, his anger and worry out of control.

Ice floods my veins, and everything becomes eerily still in me. My tone sounds emotionless as I ask, “Who?”

“The dealers who are looking for that piece-of-shit mother of hers. They came by the apartment and shot another thug before taking off again. I called Eden to tell her not to come home.”

“I’ll find her,” I assure him.

“I’m calling the cops,” he tells me.

“They won’t find her in time,” I snap, and not giving a flying shit, I say, “The Cosa Nostra will handle this.”

“The fuck you just say?” he gasps.

“My people and I will deal with this problem.”

“The mafia. You’re mafia?” he asks, his tone filled with disbelief.

“Yes. Don’t do anything, Tyrone. I’ll find Eden,” I order before I end the call and tuck her phone into my pocket.

When an ambulance stops in front of the building, I wait until they’re tending to Quincy before I leave the lobby.

Walking to my car, I send a text to the group chat.

Dario: Miguel’s men grabbed Eden. I’m going after them.

As I slide behind the steering wheel, one text after another makes my phone vibrate like crazy.

Renzo: On my way.

Franco: Wait for us.

Angelo: I’ll get my men ready.

Damiano: We’ll meet at your place and take things from there.

I ignore the speed limits as I race home and don’t even bother parking the R8 in the designated spot. Darting out of the vehicle, I rush to the elevator and slam the button repeatedly.

My patience wears thinner and thinner as I ride up to my floor, and when the doors open, I run into my apartment.

“What’s wrong?” Esmerelda calls out as I dodge Bella and take the stairs two at a time to get to my office, where my system is set up.

I switch everything on, and while the monitors flicker to life, I shrug off my jacket and drop it on the floor. Taking a seat, my fingers begin to fly over the keyboard, and information starts appearing on the monitors.

I pull up CCTV camera feeds around the ballet company, and scanning a photo of Eden into the system, I’m able to get footage from outside the Starbucks. It’s grainy and dark, but I’m able to make out as men drag Eden out of the building before shoving her into a van.

Knowing they can change the number plate of the van at any given moment, I quickly punch the numbers into my system and start to track the van from CCTV camera to camera.

Suddenly, Renzo and Franko rush into my office, and Renzo asks, “What do you have?”

“I’m tracking a van that’s heading toward Brooklyn,” I mutter, my fingers not stopping for a second.

“Elio and my men are on their way,” Renzo says.

“Marcello and Milo are also coming with some of mine. I’m leaving a group to watch our women while we deal with this problem,” Franco says.

Connecting the system to my tablet so I can track them while on the go, I get up and rush to the cabinet where I keep my weapons. Unlocking the door, I swing it open and grab two Heckler & Kochs with extra magazines.

“Dario,” Renzo says to get my attention, but I’m too busy grabbing a K-Bar knife and strapping it to my thigh.

“Dario!” Franco snaps while grabbing my shoulder.

Swinging around, I shove him out of my way and race out of the office.

“Christ,” Renzo curses, and I hear them come after me. “Let’s wait until everyone’s here.”

“No,” I mutter, and as I take the stairs down, it’s to see half an army already standing in my living room and foyer.

Ignoring everyone, I head to the elevator, but Damiano steps into my path, and shakes his head, an expression I seldom see on his face darkening his features.

“Stop,” he orders, his tone filled with dominance.

Having the capo dei capi issue an order, years of respect forces me to a halt in front of him.

He places his hand on my shoulder and locks eyes with mine. “We’re doing this as a family.”

When he squeezes my shoulder before pulling away, I’m actually a little stunned because Damiano doesn’t show kindness easily.

  “Franco and Renzo will travel together,” he says. “Dario and Angelo’s with me. When we catch up to Miguel’s men, I only need one alive enough to be questioned, the rest I want dead.”

I check my tablet and say, “It doesn’t look like they’re stopping in Brooklyn.”

Damiano glances at Carlo, who’s his underboss. “Make sure my private jet is fueled and ready to go, in case they try to take a flight out of here. Also, prepare a helicopter and boat. I want all escape routes covered.” He turns around and walks to the elevator while muttering, “We’re taking the war to them. Wherever the fuck they go.”

As I step into the elevator with the other heads and a few of our men, Damiano tells Carlo, “Find out where Miguel’s family is and send men to get them.”

My eyes are glued to the screen of my tablet, and I watch as notification after notification pops up, showing they’re taking Eden farther and farther away from me.

We’re coming, Tesoro.