“I mean it.”
He shrugs, completely unconcerned. “Chelsea is fine. She put up a bit of a fight, so she’s currently sedated and asleep in the bedroom.”
“A bit of a fight,” the creep across the way says, chuckling. “It’s a miracle she didn’t wake this one with all her screaming.”
Lucas smirks. “I’d forgotten how much of a wild cat she was in the sack.”
I frown. How could her husband forget? What am I missing here?
“Liam will kick your ass when he finds out you kidnapped and then fucked his wife,” the creep says, and my confusion grows. “It wasn’t part of the deal.”
Lucas’s smirk widens. “I have Liam by the balls, and he knows it.” Lucas drills a look at the creep. “You work solely for me now, understood?”
“Loud and clear, boss.”
“Who is Liam?” I ask because I need answers.
“Liam Davenport is the governor of New York and Chelsea’s actual husband,” Lucas says.
My mouth hangs open. “What the actual fuck is going on?” How did Chelsea get mixed up in this? I’m pissed at her but scared for her too. I hope she’s okay. That sick fuck clearly raped her, and from the marks on his chest, it’s obvious she fought back. Pain tightens my chest, as I think of the state my friend must be in, but I can’t let it derail me. I’m not exactly safe myself, so I push those emotions aside to deal with later.
“Liam and I go way back,” Lucas explains, running a hand through his hair. “We’re friends, but I haven’t forgotten how he stole Chelsea from me. She was my girlfriend first until she met him and it was love at first sight.” He scoffs, crossing an ankle over his knee. “The slut left me for him, and though we have all remained friends, and I really couldn’t give a shit about the whore, I still owed him payback.” A muscle clenches in his jaw. “He thinks he runs the show, but I’ve finally put him in his place. He works for me. Not the other way around. I needed Chelsea to get to you, and this was a way of driving the point home to my buddy too.”
Lucas is definitely unhinged, and I still have no clue what he wants with me. “Why am I here?” I ask, as he presses the overhead button.
“I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out. I thought you were smarter than this.”
A small, thin brunette materializes from somewhere behind me. “Mr. Avara, how can I be of service?” She plasters a clearly fake smile on her face.
The creep chuckles. “There’s a loaded question.”
Lucas grins at his friend, colleague, whatever he is. “Isn’t it just?” He pins the flight attendant with a suggestive look. “If I said I wanted your pussy or your ass or your mouth, what would you say?”
Her cheeks flare up, but she keeps the fake grin fixed on her face as she says, “You employ me to look after you, sir, so if that is what you need, you shall have it.”
The creep barks out another laugh while I send an alarmed look at the woman. She is shaking, and it’s obvious from her demeanor that the last thing she wants is to give this asshole any part of her body.
“Good answer.” Lucas drums his fingers on the table resting in the space between our leather seats. “Lucky for you, skinny brunettes with fake tits don’t do it for me.”
“I have zero complaints,” the creep says, motioning the woman forward with his fingers.
“Not yet.” Lucas snaps his fingers at the shell-shocked woman. “Bring me a scotch on the rocks and a sandwich and some water for my companion. Some pain pills too,” he adds, watching how I’m cradling my sore arm against my chest.
His words remind me of the pain, and I glance down, noting the dried blood staining the top of my blouse. Someone must have removed my sweater and my coat. I’m not cold, because the cabin is toasty warm, but I feel exposed in this flimsy blouse in front of these monsters. From the location of the blood, I can tell what’s happened. Damn. “You removed the tracking chip in my arm.”
“I did.” He leans back in his seat, spreading his thighs wide.
“How did you even know about it?” I hadn’t told Chelsea, and no one outsidemafiosocircles is aware they even exist. Ben is notoriously private, so I’m not sure anyone knows all of the Mazzonefamigliahave one implanted, except for maybe the New York families.
“Your father told me.” He casually throws it out there, to gauge my reaction most likely.
“What?” I blurt, stunned into almost silence. His lips tip up at the corners, and I hate he’s attractive. Why are the monsters always handsome? Why doesn’t their ugly ever show on the outside?
“Of course, Giuseppe never mentioned me. He couldn’t, even if I am his greatest protégé.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps my real name will help you to fit the pieces together,” he says, and an icy-cold chill cascades down my spine. “I’m Stefano DeLuca. Your cousin from Sicily.”
