Mafia Don’s Secret Twins: Chapter 17

I dream of Marisol.

It’s so fresh in my mind now, all the things that I used to think I had imagined. The way she tastes. The sweet smell of her. The little moans that she makes when she’s kissing. The feel of her thick hair wrapped around my fist. Half of these things I thought that I fuckin’ made up, because there’s no way that they could be real.

There’s no way that they could have been as good as I remembered them.

Except now, it’s clear that they are that good. I kissed Marisol yesterday, and now my mind keeps running through the sensations that aren’t forgotten anymore.

They’re fresh.

Marisol is real. The spark I thought I might have imagined between us is still a fuckin’ five-alarm fire.

And I still gotta win this fuckin’ thing to get her home.

Johnny raps on the door frame. ‘Hey boss,’ he grins, looking me up and down. ‘I see you didn’t die from some kind of freak spider incident.’

‘Nope. Did not.’

‘Did you get to see your–‘

I cut him off, pulling him into the room and shutting the door. ‘Damn, Johnny,’ I hiss. ‘Shut the fuck up where people can hear you.’

‘No one’s here, man. The Russian and his fuckin’ lackey are out running laps in the garden.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

‘Probably because your girl is out there and they think that they have some kind of chance with her if she sees them without their shirts on.’

I snort. Marisol isn’t someone that’s impressed by shit like that.

We don’t really know each other.

Her words from yesterday echo in my mind. I sit up on my bed, looking over at Johnny. ‘You have shoes you can run in?’

‘Man, I can run in basically anything. Come on, Dino. You know better than to ask that,’ he grins.

‘Good. Let’s go.’

Johnny trails me out into the barracks hallway, and then to the main house and garden area. I say the garden, but it’s really so much more than that. There’s a terrace that backs up to the house, which is where the fight took place, and is the only place that I’ve currently seen Benicio sit out on. It’s also the only place that I’ve seen Marisol outside of the house, so I assume it’s a somewhat integral part of this whole place.

The garden is much bigger. It extends for about an acre, maybe an acre and a half, to the north of the house away from the terrace. The house’s main entrance is on the South side, with the pool wall, and secret maintenance tunnel, arching to the west.

The day is hot. It feels oppressively humid, like the clouds above us are heavy, and they’re sinking down to ground level.

‘Fuck this,’ Johnny pants as we make our way to the garden terrace. ‘It’s so humid out here, I think that I’m going to just turn into a damn frog or something.’

‘You’re from New Jersey. You can handle a little humidity,’ I call back at him.

Johnny, however, clearly doesn’t agree. As we run, he continues to mutter and gripe, but I tune it out.

When we get to the terrace, I can see the Russian and his creepy friend doing what I can only think are some kind of fucked-up Soviet calisthenics. Johnny runs up behind me and stares at the sight.

‘Bro. Are they like training to be the bad guys in Top Gun?’

‘I think they’re trying to be impressive,’ I say with a look up at where Marisol is sitting under an umbrella.

God, she looks so fuckin’ good. Her hair is curling in the humidity, a riot of curls that I want to run my fingers through, just to feel them.

‘Your girl clearly doesn’t give a shit if they’re halfway through the Russian gymnastic training program. But you know who does?‘

I look over at where he’s staring.

‘Fuck me,’ I mutter.

Moretti has his eyes glued to us like a goddamn bird dog.

‘Any particular reason why the scariest assassin in the world is looking at you like you’re in the sights of his scope?’

I don’t answer.

There’s no way Moretti knows about me and Marisol in the pool yesterday. For one, if he did, she wouldn’t be out here on this patio.

For another thing, if he knew, I’d already be dead.

Still, he clearly heavily suspects something, and he’s watching me with those weird, flat eyes.

I fuckin’ hate that guy.

‘Heads up. Big guy on deck,’ Johnny whispers.

We walk closer, trying to look casual. Benicio Souza enters the terrace, his pug-faced security chief behind him. Moretti’s eyes flick to the security chief, and when the injured man sees him, he adjusts his hand, which looks damn uncomfortable wrapped in a mummy bandage.

Interesting.

Clearly, I’m not the only person that Moretti has dark thoughts about. However, given that mine are because of Marisol, I’m curious what beef he has with the security chief.

And whether or not I can use it to my advantage.

‘Well. How appropriate that we are all gathered here today,’ Souza beams like we’re all his fuckin’ children. ‘I was just going to call for you, because I have your next challenge. Please, come, join me,’ he smiles, gesturing to some chairs that the staff are bringing out to the terrace.

Exchanging a look with Johnny, we walk over. The Russian puts his shirt back on, which is a fuckin’ blessing for all of us.

Nobody wants to see that shit.

“Sit, sit,” Benicio croons. It’s fuckin’ creepy how he’s acting right now. He’s got it into his head that he’s like… some kind of benevolent grandfather.

Not a sadistic, murder-minded cartel leader.

We sit in the chairs. I’m on the end, then Johnny, then the Russian, then the Romanian. The other contestants, it seems, have backed the fuck out.

Good.

From where I’m sitting, I can see Marisol and Moretti out of the corner of my eye. Marisol continues to read her book, which makes my heart sing. She’s clearly doing her best to make it seem like she’s stayin’ out of all this, and like she doesn’t care who is here, what the outcome is, or just generally what the fuck is going on.

Keep ‘em guessin’, baby girl.

Benicio claps his hands. “Wonderful. Now that we’re assembled, Paulo will go get the appropriate and necessary elements of this challenge.”

The fuck?

Marisol pauses, her fingers lingering on one of the pages of her book. Moretti shifts on his feet, looking over at her.

No, baby. You need to make sure he doesn’t think there’s anythin’ happenin’.

She starts to read again, and the tension in my shoulders dissipates.

Slightly.

“This test will be one of practicality. You see, as the person who will find themselves at the center of my universe, and the one who will handle my business while I enjoy a blissful retirement, you will need to demonstrate an appropriate level of intuition. The last test showed me who was the most bloodthirsty–” his eyes drift over to me “–And this test will show me who can take that level of blood and turn it into a productive element.”

A shiver of unease skates up my spine.

“The leader of my organization will need to understand who to trust, you see. They will need to know who they can rely on to accomplish the needs of the business, and who they will not be able to trust. In the event, of course, that there is a breach in trust, they will need to know who to punish.”

There’s movement off to the right, where the barracks and the garages and all that shit are. I look, turning away from staring at Marisol.

My knuckles go white as I clench my fists against themselves.

Six heavily armed guards are pushing five men forward. The men look like they’re in rough shape; each one has a bag over their head, and their clothes are covered in what looks like blood, with varying states of tears and rips over each one. Some of the clothing is really closer to rags, which makes me wonder how long these men have been imprisoned.

“This is not fuckin’ good,” Johnny says.

Yeah.

He can say that again.

The men are frog-marched forward, then dropped to their knees in front of us. I’d look over at Marisol, but right now, the best thing that I can do is figure out what the fuck kind of fresh hell this is.

If I don’t get out of here, neither does Marisol.

So I need to get my shit together and get the lay of the fuckin’ land.

“In front of you, you see five men. These men are among my staff, men that I had trusted. Men that I thought were on my side, who had passed all my tests. One of them is stealing from me. It is your job to figure out who, and what they stole. You will each receive twenty-four hours with them. Volkov, you will have the first attempt. In an hour you will be escorted to where I am holding them. The rest of you will be fetched as it is your turn. In four days, you will each take your turn to announce who you believe the traitor to be, and what you belive they stole. Now leave,” he barks.

Johnny and I stand. Robotically, we walk toward the barracks, coming close to the prisoners that are being forced to kneel on the ground, their hands tied, guns pointed at the backs of their necks.

It’s chilling.

I’ve seen Elio do some shit. Hell, I’ve seen Marco do some shit. I’ve seen my dad punish someone, and I’ve been in a fight more than once that ended with some pretty brutal fuckin’ shit.

This is different.

It feels like I’m watching something that’s supposed to happen in a world I know nothing about. Our world is brutal, but there are rules. There’s a way that you deal with people who have betrayed you, and it’s not usually like this. It’s cleaner. You fuckin’ hurt them back and then they’re either dead or you move on with your life, point blank, period.

This?

This is violence.

I feel uneasy about the whole thing. I don’t know how to interrogate people. That’s Sal’s job. My job is just to beat the shit out of them.

My throat itches where Elio cut it with a knife, once.

I know what it feels like to be tortured, and that’s for damn sure.

When we make it back to the barracks room, I grab Johnny and slam him into my room. “Do you know how to contact Marco?” I hiss.

Johnny’s eyes are wide. “Man, I was just thinkin’ the same thing.”

“No the fuck you weren’t. I want you to get in contact with him, and I’m going to need to talk to Sal.”

“Sal?” Johnny’s eyes go wide. “Dude. I want to get the fuck outta here. I was never meant for this shit. Do you understand? This is some bullshit that I don’t fuckin’ know…”

“That’s fine,” I interrupt. “I don’t fuckin’ need you.”

Johnny’s face falls. It feels like I just kicked a goddamn puppy.

I clench my fist and pull back from the wall. Johnny’s not built for shit like this. His family has been out of the thick of things for so long, he’s good at support or recon, but this?

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say, clarifying my earlier statement. The sight of Johnny’s usually happy-go-lucky face, crushed by my words, haunts me for some reason.

“I mean, I know what I signed up for…”

“You fuckin’ don’t!” I yell at him.

Johnny’s face locks onto mine.

“You have no fuckin’ clue. What you saw out there? That’s who Benicio Souza is. It’s who he’s always been. He doesn’t fuck around with shit, Johnny. I know you’re a second son and all that, and that you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d have some kind of pull out here, but you fuckin’ don’t. Do you understand? This is not a world that you can just fool around in. Your dad and uncles were connected. They were in. But the world that they were connected in doesn’t fuckin’ exist anymore. And, above all that, Benicio Souza is fuckin’insane,” I hiss, close to his face.

Johnny looks like he’s going to cry.

I shut my eyes. Fuck me.

Opening them, I look Johnny up and down. “If you don’t want to be here, then fuckin’ don’t. You wanted to help me, and Marco asked you to. Whatever that is, it’s a fuckin’ favor. You don’t have to be here, Spinoli. You fuckin’ don’t. But if you want Marco to extract you, have him send me Sal instead.”

I don’t know when it will be my turn to interrogate the potential traitors. I have no fuckin’ clue.

But I can’t get Johnny into this further if he doesn’t want to be here.

Johnny sighs, looking away. “I want to work for whoever is coming out of this. Either you, or Marco, or whoever the fuck it is. Hell, I’d win this myself if I didn’t think you’d kill me for bein’ with your girl.”

“I would,” I say.

I’m dead fuckin’ serious.

Shaking his head, Johnny looks away. “That shit that we saw in the courtyard… that’s fuckin’ scary, man.”

I know. “That level of violence is how Benicio Souza will always operate. He’s always going to be one mean motherfucker, man. If you work for him, you have to constantly be looking for those guns to be aimed at your head.”

“And you’re willing to go through all that for this girl?”

“Yes.”

There’s no hesitation. There’s no doubt. I will always come for Marisol. It doesn’t matter if she’s on the other side of the fuckin’ world.

I will always come for her. No matter where she is or who has her.

The only thing that could make me stop is if she clearly, beyond a shadow of a doubt, told me she didn’t want me.

Doubt skates through me again. Marisol made it clear that she didn’t think we knew each other enough for it to matter.

You need to change that.

My eyes snap to him. “What time is it?”

“One-fifteen. Why?”

I nod, pushing off from the wall. “I’ll be here this evening. Whatever you decide, Johnny, I support you. If you talk to Marco, then tell him I fuckin’ need Sal.”

I don’t wait to see what Johnny says. I turn, opening my door and slamming it behind me.

None of this will matter if I don’t convince Marisol that she’s meant to be with me. She wants to get to know me?

She’s gonna get to know me just fine.

The pool is quiet.

Really quiet.

I’m in there for so long, I know it’s past the time Marisol usually arrives. I chose to hide in the bathroom again, reasoning that Marisol knew I was in there before.

Maybe she would come back again.

I’m about to fuckin’ leave when i hear noise. Freezing, I tuck myself into the side against the door.

It’s Marisol.

And Moretti.

“Thanks, Andrei. I’ll be good now.”

“I do not think I will leave today,” Moretti’s heavily accented fuckin’voice filters through the room.

My hands squeeze into balls at my side, and I breathe out through my nose, trying to keep myself from exploding with rage.

Calm the fuck down, calm the fuck down…

If I go get to Marisol now, I’m going to fuck it up.

“Oh,” Marisol breathes, her shock clear. “Oh. Did you… is there something wrong?”

“I don’t think you are safe here alone.”

“Why’s that?” her voice holds the tiniest note of panic, and I swear to fuckin’ God, if Moretti picks up on it…

“There’s a security breach I was just made aware of.”

Fuck.

For a split second, I wonder if Johnny sold me out. It’s possible, but I guess that it’s improbable.

It makes no sense for someone as… well. As Johnny as Johnny to sell me out like that. Marco would fucking kill him.

If I didn’t do it first.

It has to be one of the guards, or someone else who knows the property. Someone that could easily tip Moretti off, and who might stand to benefit…

I bite back the growl in my throat.

Fucking Volkov.

Motherfucker definitely knows, and he’s trying to get Moretti to take me out.

Mentally, I make a note to strangle Volkov the next chance I see him.

For actual reasons this time.

Well. Other than he’s Volkov.

“It isn’t safe for you to remain here,” he grunts. “Not alone, because someone might be hiding.”

Fuck.

If he comes for this door, I’m just going to fucking lay him out. That’s the plan. It’s the only plan, and I’m going to stick to it if I have to.

Marisol sighs. “Okay. Stay,” she murmurs.

Then, there’s the sound of clothes rustling.

Rage explodes through me. Hot. persistent. Rage that I can’t hide or stop.

She’s getting undressed in front of him. She probably has her suit on, but…

I hear splashing.

She’s in the pool now.

Moretti doesn’t approach my hiding spot. Instead, I’m just driven insane thinking about Marisol in the pool. Her elegance. The way she glides through the water. The way her hair streams behind her.

I’m tortured.

For fucking ever.

Finally, Marisol stops. She hops out, and I imagine her grabbing a towel.

She speaks to Moretti.

“See? Nothing. No one came to get us. I’m at far more risk in the garden,” she says.

Loudly.

Very, very loudly.

“The garden is protected by the patrols,” Moretti growls.

“I know. It’s true. Since I’m much safer there, I think I might take a walk.”

“When?”

A pause. “Tonight. Maybe after dinner.”

“Marisol, I…”

“My father’s guards will be there. It won’t be a problem. I need the time alone, Andrei. I do. I know it’s nice of you to be here with me, but it’s not the same. I wish to think about my mother, and see the trees he planted for her.”

There’s a pause. A hesitation.

Finally, he sighs. “Fine. You may go after dinner.”

“Wonderful,” she murmurs.

There are footsteps.

Then, silence.

I would be disappointed. However, I can’t be.

Marisol, my clever, wonderful Marisol, figured out a solution.

The garden.

After dinner.

I’ll be there.