Mafia Don’s Secret Twins: Chapter 22

The dream of Marisol gives a lightness to my step that I have to get under control. I don’t want Andrei to get suspicious, or for Benicio to notice

Having her body twist against mine in the rain was…

Well.

Pretty fuckin’ incredible.

It’s still raining the next morning, which is a sweet reminder of the way she tasted with raindrops against her skin.

It’s enough to make a growl rasp through my broken vocal cords.

Marisol is fuckin’ mine.

And anyone who stands between us is going to get wrecked.

My hand is on the knob of my shitty barracks room when I hear a rap from the other side. Cautiously, I open it, peering out.

Johnny’s on the other side.

I tense; the look on his face is enough to make my chest tighten. “What.”

“It’s your turn, bro,” he whispers.

Fuck.

Marisol and I had such a fuckin’ good night together, I forgot about the next task from her father.

“How did yours go?”

Johnny’s face, already drawn and pale, gets even whiter. “Man… I just… I don’t…”

I clap him on the shoulder. “You did what you needed to, Johnny. That’s all you need to remind yourself.”

He gulps.

I know that feeling.

Humans only have a certain capacity for violence. We aren’t born that way. I know there’s all kinds of shit out there claiming that humans are like violent, hateful creatures or whatever, but few of us pop out into the world screaming for blood.

Some of us learn to have a higher capacity than others, though, when it comes to giving the world as good as we get. If the world was a cruel place full of harsh shit to us then, well…

Some of us learn to be even more cruel.

From the look on his face, though, I can tell Johnny isn’t one of those people. I don’t have time to baby him through this but…

Fuck.

The guy’s been good to me. I owe it to him to at least check and see if he’s alright.

“You good?” I ask, a little reluctant to open this fuckin’ can of worms.

Johnny shakes his head. “No. I… As soon as you give me the word, man, I’m fuckin’ tellin’ Marco to pull me.”

Jesus. Way to layer on the fuckin’ guilt as well. “You can leave whenever you need. Marco doesn’t know shit about me or what I’ve done, and I don’t fuckin’ need his charity.”

This gets Johnny’s attention. “So you knew about how to get into the pool all by yourself? And that your girl went for a swim? That was all you?”

Fuck me. “Man, I didn’t mean⁠—”

He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Look. You have a big-ass chip on your shoulder, and I get it. I really do. I’ve watched the De Luca boys for a long time, man, and I know exactly how your family fucking functions. But shit. You keep throwing help back in my fucking face, and in other people’s fucking faces, and you’re going to not get it. Ever. Fucking. Again.”

I blink.

This is the most aggressive that I’ve ever heard Johnny be.

Like.

Ever.

“Johnny…”

He shrugs me off and walks away.

I need to get my ass to the main house to figure out what the fuck Benicio wants me to do with his goddamn prisoners, but for a second, I watch Johnny’s receding back as he walks down the long hallway to his room in the barracks.

I’ve been an outsider in my own home for so long, it doesn’t even occur to me that people in my family want to help without any other motive.

Johnny doesn’t know me. Not really. He hasn’t watched Marco and Sal get every ounce of love from the man who I thought was my father, with nothing left for me. He didn’t see both of our parents dote on fucking Caterina like she hung the fucking moon. He didn’t see everyone else get time and attention…

Except me.

He doesn’t fucking know.

When I was a kid, Marco would help, but it came at a cost. Namely, my fucking freedom.

There’s a cost now. I know there is.

I just don’t know what that cost is right now.

What if there isn’t?

I push the thought aside, burying it deep in my mind.

Of course there’s a fucking cost.

Things don’t work in that fucking rainbows-and-sunshine way. Marco might be my brother, but our family doesn’t work like that. We don’t do shit for each other. We don’t expect things to just be given to us.

Well.

Caterina does, I guess.

But Sal and Marco and I have had to fucking fight our way into the good graces of this fuckin’ family. Literally, if you’re me. I’ve had to take on so much shit just to even be considered fuckin’ part of the goddamn picture.

All because you weren’t really his son.

And he knew it.

The wound that I’ve never had a name for, buried deep in my chest, aches again.

I slam the door to my barracks room shut.

Marco isn’t looking out for me. He wants something from me. I make a mental note to ensure Johnny gets the hell out of here after this.

He’s not built for this shit.

Not like I am.

I crack my neck as I prowl down the hallway toward the main house. Benicio Souza wants me to torture some fucking pissant to see if he’s stealing?

Fuck it.

He’ll have that information from me. Ten fucking minutes, flat.

The scar on my neck tingles, and a grimace crosses my features.

Yeah.

I can torture information out of this poor fuck. I’ll have no fucking problem with it.

I learned from the best, after all.

My brother-in-law, my brothers… they taught me all I need to know about how to cause pain.

This motherfucker is about to learn every lesson I’ve learned…

The hard way.

Standing in front of Benicio, my hands at some form of parade rest behind my back, I truly can’t believe that this fucker is related to Marisol.

I don’t see it.

Marisol is… soft. Sunshine. She’s the sweetness that I’ve never experienced, and she’s all things good.

Benicio Souza is hard.

Life has really chewed him the fuck up and spit him out, because he looks every inch of his age as he surveys me as well.

Yeah.

He looks nothing like my Marisol.

If her mom had a different father for Marisol, she’s hid that well, because for whatever reason Benicio seems to accept Marisol as his child without question.

Ironic, that he could do that and my own fucking dad couldn’t.

He opens his mouth and some fucking language that I don’t know spills out.

I don’t respond, choosing instead to just glare at him.

Benicio’s eyes narrow. “It’s Greek.”

My jaw stays clenched the fuck shut.

“You’d think that if you were a Drakos, you’d know how to speak Greek.”

Interesting.

He seemed pretty fluent when he vomited out the Greek phrase just now. I’m not an expert, and I sure as fuck don’t speak Greek, but I wonder if this is a way that they might be connected.

Marisol also seems to have a gift with languages too.

For a fleeting second, I think about my own kids. I don’t know them. Not in the fucking slightest. Genetically, they’re obviously mine, as they do look like me.

But beyond that…

Would anyone say that it’s clear that they’re mine?

More than that, what are they like?

Are they good with languages? Are they… like me?

Or are they soft and sweet like Marisol?

My fucking knuckles crack as I think of my girls. My girls.

I might not have been much of a fuckin’ father, but I can protect them the best I know how.

If they’ve been hurt, ever, if this man has ever tried to fucking do anything to them…

No matter what, they’re this man’s grandchildren.

Fucking hell.

“Don’t talk much, do you, Drakos?”

I tilt my head. “Only when it matters.”

“You sound American.”

I don’t say anything to him.

Benicio sighs, leaning back in his chair. We’re somewhere in the barracks, in a basement that’s somehow buried underneath them. The walls around me are cement, the ceiling is cement, and the floor is a wreck of disjointed cement and cinder blocks. It looks like a drunk mole came down here to lay the whole thing, and it doesn’t make me feel super confident about the whole fucking structure.

Likely, Benicio had his men build it, and not one of them seems to have a lick of fuckin’ sense, or even two goddamn brain cells to rub together between them.

Let alone any knowledge of building or code.

The glimpses of bare walls that I see, though, make me think that they somehow drilled into bedrock to be down here, but it looks like limestone, which is about as sturdy as a fucking house of cards.

This whole thing is probably as sturdy, and it makes me nervous. If I get trapped down here, how will Marisol…

Shut the fuck up. Do what you need to do. And get her the hell out of here.

I did made a note of the labyrinth of stairs and fucking curves that took us down here, but even I would have a hard time finding my way out of here.

It’s a fucking mess, but if I need to get myself the fuck out of here, I will.

The fucking rain isn’t helping. It’s been coming down for another day, still at the same strength as last night. At this point, it’s seeping into the rocks around us, and the whole basement of this fucking place has all the ambiance of a medieval dungeon. I can hear dripping sounds, and there are small puddles of water beneath

So much for a fuckin’ rainforest.

“Well. If you won’t talk, I doubt you’ll do well with this,” Benicio sneers.

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who fuckin’ needs to talk, right?”

His eyes narrow, glaring at me. “I don’t like you.”

“Good,” I say.

The word seems to piss him off, but then he laughs. “You’re a hell of a contender, though. When you punched the Russian in his face? I haven’t seen a move like that since the eighties.”

I nod.

Benicio sighs and waves at one of his fucking henchmen. I hear a door clang, and the sound of shuffling feet throws me off.

A man, dragged by the goon that Benicio indicated, appears in the room.

The goon tugs his head back, and my heart kicks up a beat.

I know this man.

How the fuck do I know this guy?

“This man isn’t one of mine. However, I did find him sniffing around the building a while back. He’s been here for a while, he’s eating my food like a rat, and I need to figure out who he is and why he’s here,” Benicio says softly.

The man’s eyes widen when they look at me.

He knows me too. How…

“I will give you thirty minutes. Figure out who he is. Kill him if he’s a threat,” Benicio sneers.

With all the grace of a bloated corpse, Benicio rises from his chair and leaves the room. The henchmen do too, with the exception of one who positions himself at the door, presumably to report back that I’m not a soft fucking baby.

I do a quick assessment.

The man’s hands are bound, and there’s a gag in his mouth. He looks skinny as fuck, and I know that he probably is weak too.

There’s no way he’s going to hurt me.

I stride forward, my hands going to the gag. I rip it off and get down in his face. “Who the fuck are you?” I snarl.

The man blinks, looking up at me. “Luca,” he breathes.

I lean back on my heels.

Holy fuck.

I do know this man.

He works at our shipping business. For my brother. He’s an enforcer, and a goddamn good one at that. Got married a couple of years back.

I was at his fucking wedding.

“Luca?” I say, my mind racing. “How…”

“I was helping Marco,” he breathes. “Keep tabs, so Ben… he didn’t hurt the girls.”

The words are like a slap in the face. Fuck me.

If he was helping Marco monitor Benicio, to make sure that Souza didn’t do anything to hurt my kids, he was helping me.

Which means Luca had to leave his pretty wife…

For me.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Luca heaves a breath. “I know… what you need to do…” he rasps. He shuts his eyes and collapses, turning into a puddle on the floor.

“Just make it quick. And tell her… tell her I love her,” he whispers.

I shut my eyes.

Fucking hell.

I’m not good at this part. The strategy stuff isn’t for me. It’s for Marco and Sal, who are fucking smart and shit.

I’m just Dino. The bruiser. The fuckin’ muscle to send in when you don’t want to solve the fuckin’ problem.

This isn’t something that I know how to handle.

I need time.

“Listen. I’m not going to kill you. But I’m… I don’t know if I can get you out of here,” I say honestly.

Luca nods. “I know.”

“Fucking hell. And I… man. I don’t know what else to say except this is gonna hurt,” I whisper.

Luca looks up at me. “Do it.”

Fuck.

This is bad. I’m good at fighting, but I can’t just… hurt someone who is sitting on the ground, staring at me.

You have to.

You fucking have to.

I let the thought spur me into action, and I slam my fist into his nose.

Luca doesn’t do shit.

I do it again. Again. His back. His shoulders. By the time I’m done, he’s a bloody fucking mess, but he’s still breathing.

That, I know.

I open the door, motioning for the goon. “Done,” I grunt.

The goon stares at me.

“He’s not fuckin’ dead,” I snarl. “I know who he is and I know Benicio wants him alive.”

It’s a lie.

But I don’t know what else to do.

The goon stares at me again.

“Take. Him. And. I’m. Going. To. Benicio,” I repeat slowly.

That seems to get some traction. The goon hauls Luca up, and I walk to the edge of the hallway…

Then I turn.

I mark the door that the guard slams Luca into before quickly pivoting and dashing up the stairs.

I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. I need to tell Benicio some bullshit, but first…

I need to find Johnny.

Luca doesn’t deserve this shit. I’m not going to tell his wife that he fucking died in a basement in Brazil.

And, if Johnny wants out…

I think I might be able to get the both of them gone before Benicio can fuck with them any more.