Brutal desire a dark maf.., p.1
Brutal Desire: A Dark Mafia Standalone Romance, page 1
Brutal Desire
A Dark Mafia Standalone Romance
M. James
PNK Publishing
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Contents
1. Mila
2. Lorenzo
3. Mila
4. Lorenzo
5. Mila
6. Lorenzo
7. Mila
8. Lorenzo
9. Mila
10. Lorenzo
11. Mila
12. Mila
13. Mila
14. Lorenzo
15. Lorenzo
16. Mila
17. Mila
18. Lorenzo
19. Mila
20. Lorenzo
21. Mila
22. Lorenzo
Epilogue
Mila
“What do you mean, you need me to pay in cash?”
The receptionist on the other side of the desk narrows her eyes at me. She’s tall and thin and exceptionally beautiful—but that’s nothing new in LA, where everyone looks like they’re going to audition for a modeling job or a movie role at any given moment. She’s wearing thin green cat’s eye glasses that slide down her nose a little, strands of blonde hair falling out around her face, and I wonder what she’s thinking as she looks at me. For someone working at a therapist’s office, she doesn’t seem to have a lot of empathy for my situation. She’s looking at me as if I’m an irritation, something to be dealt with as quickly as possible. Like I’m wasting her time.
“Your insurance doesn’t cover these services. Dr. Hargrave discussed this with you before, at your brother’s last appointment. And the usual payment wasn’t made. I’m afraid I’m going to need you to pay in cash before you leave.” She glances at her computer screen. “It’s three hundred and fifty for the hour.”
“I—” I swallow hard. “I don’t know if I can manage that today.”
I think of the roll of mostly dollar bills in my purse, left over from work last night. I’d planned on depositing it after Niki’s therapy session, so I could pay the rent. It’s already three days late. Utilities are due. I got a notice yesterday that my phone bill is on the verge of being turned off. Just thinking about it makes me want to curl into a ball and cry until my head aches, but that won’t solve anything.
The receptionist’s lips thin. No sympathy there. “I’m afraid that we won’t be able to schedule Nikolai’s next appointment if the bill isn’t paid today. And once a patient is taken off of Dr. Hargrave’s regular schedule, it’s very difficult to fit them back in. I’m afraid I can’t guarantee your brother future visits if you can’t pay.”
I take a deep, shaky breath, glancing at the hallway. Niki hasn’t come out of his session yet. I don’t want him to overhear any of this. Things have been difficult enough without him knowing about our financial struggles—or how difficult it is to pay for his therapy. He’s only eleven, but that’s old enough to understand if he hears. “Just let me make a call, alright?”
The receptionist nods, her expression still pinched. I step away from the desk, retreating to a chair in the waiting room that’s not near any of the other waiting patients. Quickly, I look for an all-too-familiar contact, feeling as if I’m holding my breath while it rings.
It rings again, and again, before it goes to voicemail. I close my eyes, feeling a small pang of defeat.
“Alfio—” I swallow hard. “It’s Mila. Please call me back. I’m not trying to pressure you—but the therapy bill wasn’t paid. We talked about it the last time—I know you’re a busy man. If you need something more from me, we can arrange it…” I bite my lip, trying not to think about what that something more might be. It doesn’t matter. If it means Niki is taken care of, it’s worth it.
Biting my lip, I quickly type out a text message. I know Alfio doesn’t like it when I call or text too much—he likes having me at his beck and call, but he wants to be the one in control. He doesn’t like it when I’m needy. But I’m too desperate to think about what the consequences might be.
Please at least text me back. I’m going to have to pay in cash for Niki’s therapy, and I won’t be able to cover the bills. I’ll have to pick up extra shifts, and I know how much you hate other men touching me. I’ll do whatever you need.
The text sounds as desperate as I feel, and I hate it. I hate all of this. But since Alfio took an interest in me, I’ve been able to take better care of Niki. I’ve seen improvements because of his therapy. And at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.
I’d sacrifice anything to make sure he’s safe and cared for. After losing our mother, I’m all he has left.
A minute ticks by, and then another. There’s no response, and I see the receptionist glancing at the clock, and then at me. In five minutes, the therapy session will be finished. If I haven’t paid by then, Niki is going to hear the conversation.
Taking another deep breath, I get up and go back to the desk, fishing out the roll of bills from my purse. I count them out, trying not to look at the receptionist, but when I pass the money over to her, I can see the judgemental look on her face.
“There. Can we schedule the next appointment now?” I try to say it sweetly enough to keep the tension out of my voice, but it’s difficult.
“Of course.” Her nose wrinkles as she looks at the cash, and then at me, but she takes it, turning back to her computer.
Five minutes later, just as she’s finishing up and printing out a reminder for me, the doorway down the hall opens and Niki comes out. He has his Batman backpack slung over one shoulder, and he’s not smiling, but I can see that he’s more relaxed than he was this morning. After the last year of being his sole caregiver, I’ve learned how to pick up on those little tells.
He comes straight to me, leaning into my side and wrapping his arms around my waist as I finish signing a release form to send to his school and take the reminder note. “Hey there, kiddo.” I reach down, ruffling his hair. “Want to go get some ice cream?”
Niki doesn’t say anything, but I feel him nod. I turn, guiding him out of the door of the waiting room and leaving all of that behind me. Now that he’s here with me, I need to make sure everything seems as if it’s alright.
Niki hasn’t spoken out loud since the car accident a year ago that killed our mother. He was in the car with her, trapped while the paramedics had to use the jaws of life to cut him out and retrieve her body. They were on their way to pick me up from ballet practice, and the guilt of that still lingers with me. I’d been in the middle of intense recitals leading up to a showcase, and my feet had been so sore that I hadn’t wanted to take the bus home.
I’ve channeled all that guilt into caring for Niki. But everything had been harder for him since the accident. He still hasn’t spoken, but I know the therapy is helping—there have been fewer panic attacks, fewer nightmares. It’s still not easy, but things are getting better. I have hope that in another year, he’ll be on the mend.
If he has to stop, I don’t know what will happen. It doesn’t matter what I have to do in order to keep Alfio paying for what I can’t afford.
There’s an ice cream shop a block away from Dr. Hargrave’s office, and Niki and I walk to it, his finger curled through the belt loop of my jeans. He’s done that every time we’re together for the past year—he always has to be holding on to me in some way. It makes having to leave him as much as I do so much harder.
I check my phone again, discreetly, as I push open the door to walk into the shop. I’m immediately hit with a wave of warm, sugar-scented air, and I feel a silent ripple of excitement go through Niki from where he’s standing, nearly pressed to my side.
There’s nothing from Alfio. Not even the most brusque of texts. I shove my phone back into my purse, feeling discouraged. He rarely goes for very long without responding. If he’s irritated with my having contacted him, he’ll threaten me in some way, or tell me how disappointed he is, starting off a game that I know all too well at this point—and one that will end with my begging for forgiveness and accepting his punishment.
It’s a game he loves. I’ve played right into it by contacting him with a desperation that sets me up for exactly what he likes. And there’s still no response—which unsettles me, anxiety seeping into my bones. It’s not the most rational feeling—he could be in a business meeting, or simply not in the mood to deal with me, which has happened before. But I have an instinctual, gut feeling that something is wrong.
It’s a feeling that’s rarely steered me wrong in the past.
“Do you want raspberry chocolate?” I try to push down the worry for now, not wanting Niki to pick up on it. I know his favorite flavors, and since he won’t speak, we go through this every time. I list off the possibilities until he shakes his head yes to something.
“Salted caramel? Cotton candy? Strawberry cheesecake?”
He nods yes to the last one, and I smile at the teenage girl behind the counter. “Can I get a scoop of strawberry cheesecake in a sugar cone and a scoop of pistachio in a cup, please?”
The girl nods, starting to scoop up the ice cream, and I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I reach for it, my heart t
humping in my chest as I hope that I’ll see Alfio’s name there. I don’t want to see him tonight, but I also don’t want to deal with the consequences from my landlord tomorrow if I don’t manage to fix whatever has caused Alfio to let the therapy payments lapse. Three days is my grace period for the rent, and the landlord made it very clear when we were late last month that I wouldn’t get away with it again.
I see my ballet teacher’s name flash on the screen instead, and wince. I pick up my phone, herding Niki towards a table, and answer. “Hello?”
“Mila.” Annalise’s raspy voice is so full of disapproval that I know what she’s going to say before she even speaks. “You missed practice today.”
“I know.” I let out a sharp breath, trying to sound as contrite as possible. “I had to take Niki to therapy. I’ll come in and make up the missed time.”
“There’s a showcase soon.” The irritation practically drips from her voice. Annalise has very little patience with family issues—or anything, really, that gets in the way of her ballerinas’ performances. “You have the lead role, Mila, but I’m sure your understudy would be willing to put in the time if you are not—”
“No, I am.” I bite my lip, struggling to keep my voice steady. Niki has looked up from the napkin he’s doodling on, a small crease forming between his brows. I can see the anxiety starting to make his face scrunch up, and if I’m not calm, he won’t be able to be either. “I’m dedicated to this, I promise. I’ll do my best to make sure there’s no overlap in the future.”
“See that you do. You’ve looked tired at practice recently. If you need pills for better sleep—”
“No—I’m fine. I promise. I’ll be at practice early tomorrow, and make up the time I missed today.”
“I expect you here an hour early.” Her voice is curt, and the line goes dead immediately after, leaving a hollow feeling in my stomach. I don’t need to look at the printed reminder in my purse to know that Niki’s appointment next week also overlaps with a scheduled practice.
I’ll just have to ask Darcy to take him. I know she’ll be willing to—she loves Niki, and she’s always happy to help, but I hate putting more on her plate, too. And I also hate not being the one who is there for him. I’m already gone so much, with ballet, my evening job at the club, and keeping Alfio satisfied.
For six months, he and I have had an arrangement, ever since the last showcase, where I had my first lead role as Giselle. Powerful figures in Los Angeles often patronize the ballet as a means of ‘supporting the community,’ and several patronize individual ballerinas, though that’s kept quieter. I know several of the girls I dance with have arrangements with politicians and other rich men similar to what Alfio and I have.
Had? I bite my lip as I glance at my phone again, trying not to panic. I know I’m likely blowing it out of proportion, but everything feels as if it’s on the verge of crashing down. Worst-case scenarios slam through my head one after another, and I pick at my ice cream, feeling my stomach churn.
By the time I’ve gotten us both home, there’s still been no response. I tried calling again, only to get his voicemail. By now, he should have either gotten angry with me, or baited me into mollifying him after being ‘clingy.’ Neither of those things have happened, and the stirring of unease in my stomach grows more intense, until I can’t ignore it.
I’ve never gone over to his house uninvited. Doing so would likely result in consequences that I’m not sure I’m prepared to face. I’ve only seen Alfio angry a few times, and it’s terrifying when he takes it out on me. But I think of facing my landlord, or of having to explain to Niki in a few days why we’re eating dinner in the dark, and I push down the fear.
I get Niki settled in to work on his homework, and text Darcy. I need to see someone tonight. Can you watch Niki?
The answer comes through almost immediately. Of course. Whatever you need. I can be over there around seven?
I send her another quick message, letting her know that’s perfect, and then busy myself with chores around the apartment. It’s more a means to keep my hands, and therefore my mind, occupied than anything else, but it works for a little while. I manage to push aside the thoughts of the looming bills, how Alfio will react to me coming to his mansion uninvited, and why he hasn’t responded to me at all—for a little while.
Every so often, though, it all comes rushing back in. My heart races and my stomach twists, and I wonder if there’s ever going to be a time when it doesn’t feel like this. When life isn’t this hard, and I don’t have to throw myself on the limited mercy of a cruel man to make sure that my brother is cared for.
By the time I serve up dino nuggets and french fries for Niki, and a salad for myself for dinner, there’s still no response from Alfio. I hear a knock on the front door a few moments later, and then Darcy walks in, still in her scrubs from her shift.
She works as a physical therapist. We met through the ballet and quickly became fast friends. Even though she knows what I do for a second job, and even though she has some idea of the ‘relationship’ that I have with my patron, she’s never judged me for any of it. She’s had difficulties of her own in life, and she understands that sometimes hard choices have to be made. We’ve known each other for a few years—since before my mother died—and she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
“Hey there, little guy.” Darcy beams at Niki as she walks into the kitchen, and Niki makes a trilling noise in the back of his throat that passes for excitement. It almost seems like an effort to speak, and every time I hear it, I feel a flash of hope. It hasn’t crossed over into speech yet—but six months ago, he wasn’t even making those sorts of noises. He was utterly and entirely silent.
The therapy is working. And that’s why I have to do this.
“I’ll handle the cleanup if you need to go.” Darcy glances at me, the furrow on her brow telling me that she’s picking up on my mood, and I let out a breath as I try to relax.
“Okay. I just need to change, and then I’m going to head out.” I flash her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. The kiddo and I are always happy to hang out. Isn’t that right, Niki?” Darcy scoops a few leftover dino nuggets off of the baking sheet and plops down in the chair next to him. “Mm. I like the stegosaurus best, I think.”
Niki lets out a choked sound that’s almost a laugh, and I feel my shoulders relax a little. Whatever I have to do with Alfio tonight, seeing this makes it easier. It reminds me why, and that it’s worth it.
There’s really no other choice.
I retreat to my bedroom, quickly sifting through the clothes hanging in my closet. There’s a pink silk slip dress with a lace-trimmed neckline and hem—more of a glorified nightgown than anything else—that Alfio gave me months ago, and I slip it off of the hanger. Maybe seeing me wearing a gift from him will soften the consequences of showing up on his doorstep out of the blue. I know he likes the dress—he nearly ripped it off of me the first time I wore it for him.
Quickly, I slip the dress and a pair of ballet flats on, running a brush through my long blonde hair. I wear it up more often than not, but I leave it loose tonight, falling in a silky waterfall down between my shoulderblades. A swipe of mascara to darken my light-colored eyelashes and a little bit of tint on my lips, and I’m ready to go. Alfio prefers me with as little makeup as possible—he likes the delicacy of my features and the simplicity of a bare face, but so few men actually understand what goes into creating that sort of look.
Niki is still in the kitchen when I make my way towards the front door, and I’m glad. I don’t want him to see me dressed up like this and wonder where it is that I’m going.
Darcy sees me as I walk out, and she presses her lips together. There’s no disapproval on her face, though, only concern. She murmurs something to Niki, getting up from the table, and I tense as she walks up to me.
“Are you going to be alright?” she asks quietly, her gaze flicking over what I’m wearing. “You’re going to see him, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I bite my lip, wondering how honest I should be about what’s going on. “I haven’t heard from him, and Niki’s therapy wasn’t paid for today. If he doesn’t follow through on what he promised last time—”
