When He Takes: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 2)

Blake and I cross into Arizona and pull up at a place called the Beaver Trail Motel. When you’re running on fumes, even a dump with a name like that starts to look hospitable.

One glance at the map tells me what I already knew—we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by nothing but miles of empty desert.

I’d prefer to keep pushing on to get to New York sooner rather than later, but I’m too damn exhausted to trust myself behind the wheel. The last thing I need is to have a car accident.

I’ve put Blake in enough danger as it is.

Her nostrils flare as I go through the routine of securing her wrist to the door handle. “Is this necessary? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

She’s right, but I’m not taking any chances after her last escape attempt.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

She doesn’t answer.

Guilt throbs inside my chest as I walk into the brightly lit reception area. I’m acting like I’ve got my shit together because I have to get Blake to safety, but I’ve never felt worse in my entire life.

I was so caught up in finding her and getting her away from Lyle that I didn’t mentally prepare myself for what would happen afterward.

Maybe a part of me hoped she wouldn’t turn her back on me once she found out who I was. That despite calling me by a new name, she’d still look at me and see the man she’d been dating for the last few weeks.

That was wishful thinking.

Did I really expect her to be okay with all the lies I told her? Did I really think she’d forgive me for starting that fire?

I can’t blame her for wanting to get as far away from me as possible right now, but that just isn’t an option.

We’re tied together now. For life.

However short that might be given what’s waiting for me.

I blow out a breath.

There’s a selfishly possessive part of me that likes seeing that ring on her finger, but I know I’d like it a hell of a lot more if I hadn’t had to force her into this.

Instead of tears of joy on her wedding day, she fought back tears of sorrow. She deserved to stand at the altar in a stunning dress, not in worn-out clothes with a bruise marring her cheek.

I stole that possibility from her. Just like I stole so many other things.

She’s probably relieved to know our marriage has a rapidly approaching expiration date.

Maybe after the Ferraros take care of me, she’ll find a way to be happy again.

The elderly receptionist at the check-in desk doesn’t ask many questions before handing me a key. “Check-out is at eleven.”

“Thanks.” I grab the key and walk back out.

We can’t stay here for long. Eight hours, and then we’ve got to be back on the road. I need to be back in New York before Gino decides to act on the information that I’m alive.

Worst-case scenario, he puts me on the Menu. That means every made man who wants to earn a quick buck would have an incentive to hunt me down.

I can’t allow Blake to get caught up in that.

I’ve got to get ahead of this fucking thing.

The sooner I make it back to Rafe, the sooner I can get his commitment to protect Blake, no matter what happens to me.

My boots crunch against loose stones as I walk back to the truck. Blake watches me approach through the windshield, her skin pale and her eyes haunted.

A wave of rage sweeps through me. If I could, I’d kill her godfather again for hurting her. And I’d take my fucking time.

I unlock the door, cut the zip tie, and take her hand. As soon as she hops out of the truck, she makes a half-hearted effort to pull it out of my grip, but I keep a firm hold. “No more running. You’ve hurt yourself enough.”

She stares at me with red-rimmed eyes, and seeing her so beaten, hurt, and broken feels like hell on earth.

Fuck. Gino Ferraro will be doing me a favor. I deserve to die for what I did to her.

But that can’t happen yet.

I grab the plastic bags with the supplies and lead her to our room.

Inside, it’s nothing special. The kind of place that fades from memory as soon as you leave. There’s a queen bed, two worn nightstands, and an old armchair slumping in the corner by the south-facing window. I lock the door behind me, deadbolt it, and walk over to the window to test how far it opens—just an inch.

Good.

“I’m not sharing that bed with you,” Blake mutters quietly.

“I know.” If it was up to her, no doubt we wouldn’t even be sharing this room. I can tell she doesn’t feel safe around me, and that fucking hurts.

“You want to shower? I bought some extra clothes.” I dig inside one of the bags and hand her a T-shirt with “Vegas” printed on the chest. “You can go first.”

She takes the shirt out of my hand and disappears inside the bathroom without sparing me a glance.

I sit down on the armchair and listen until I hear the water running.

I’m so fucking tired I can barely see straight. And my emotions are a mess.

I’ve spent nearly ten years telling Rafaele he should let himself feel things on occasion, but right now, I’d do anything to cut that part of my brain right out.

My throat is tight. My eyes are gritty. It’s inching toward three a.m.—the witching hour, the time when bad men are most likely to do bad things.

But I’ve already committed my share of sins.

I drop my forehead into my palms. I’d been close. So close. If only I’d kept Nero in check like I said I would. If only I hadn’t fallen back to old habits.

Blake and I would still be happy. Sandro would still be bossing me around.

My eyes squeeze shut.

I can’t believe he’s gone. I keep expecting him to call me and ask me where the fuck I’ve gone. Don’t I know we’ve got meetings to go to?

No, I can’t dwell on these thoughts right now. There’ll be a time to grieve Sandro, but it’ll be after I get Blake to safety and make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

The bathroom door swings open, and a cloud of steam rolls out.

Blake stands in the doorway wearing the oversized T-shirt I gave her, her hair dripping onto the cheap motel carpet.

She looks tired and frail.

I straighten in my seat. “You have to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Starving yourself isn’t going to help.”

Her eyes flare. “You’re right. I’ll need my strength if I want to get away from you.”

I stare at her. That’s never going to happen.

She rummages through one of the bags and pulls out a protein bar and a bottle of water. She takes a seat against the headboard on the bed. The sound of the plastic wrapper ripping crackles through the silent room.

“We need to talk,” I say.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Then just eat and listen.”

She takes an angry bite and gives me a look so withering it threatens to cave in my chest.

She hates me.

A rising panic clogs my throat. It’s not like I deserve any better, but there’s a desperate voice inside me that’s screaming at me to get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness.

If I thought that would work, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But we’re beyond that. What I’ve done is unforgivable. Still, I don’t want to die without making sure she understands that what we had was real for me.

I swipe my palm over my lips. “I never wanted it to go down like this. When Sandro and I first got to Darkwater Hollow, I was lost. I missed my old life so damn much, I would’ve done anything to get it back. But then I met you, and everything started to change. I actually wanted to leave Nero behind. I wanted to be Rowan, because that was the only way I could have you.”

She swallows.

“I lied to you about a lot of things, Blake. But I never lied about how I felt about you. I—”

“Stop it,” she snaps. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Nothing made sense until I moved in next door to you. I was barely holding it together in Darkwater—”

“If your life was such a mess, you should’ve known better than to drag someone else into it. You knew everyone around you could get hurt if your past caught up with you. You knew that, didn’t you? You just didn’t care.”

That cuts deep. It’s not that I didn’t care. It’s that I was too arrogant to acknowledge the possibility that Brett would find a way to nail me.

That fucking arrogance had spelled my downfall.

“I made a lot of mistakes,” I admit.

She narrows her eyes. Maybe she expected me to argue with her.

“But do you know what wasn’t a mistake? Us. What I feel for you is real. And it’s been real this whole time.”

“Enough,” she snarls. “I don’t want to listen to this anymore. Like I said, I have nothing left to say to you, Rowan, Nero, or whoever the hell you are. Just leave me alone.”

I watch her turn away from me, the hurt and anger radiating off her in waves. She curls up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest as if trying to protect herself from more pain.

My body feels cold. There’s nothing worse than this—letting down someone you care for to the point where they don’t even want you in their life anymore.

I clench my fists against the pain inside my chest. I can’t undo the past, but I have to try to make things right, if not for me, then for her.

I get to my feet, grab one of the pillows off the bed, and drag the armchair to the front door. Tonight, I’ll sleep with my back pressed against it, because I’m still not convinced she won’t try to run. I’ll wait until she’s out cold and then take a quick shower. I’m in desperate need of one.

After a few minutes, she tugs the blanket up to her chin and turns off the light.

Darkness has never scared me, but tonight is different. Tonight, it presses down on me until my lungs strain to breathe.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whisper into the still air.

If Blake hears me, she doesn’t say a word.

Two days later, we enter New York State.

Blake’s walls are up, and they’re impenetrable. I used to be able to read her, but I have no idea what she’s thinking anymore. The entire time we’ve been driving, she’s barely said a word.

She breaks her silence when we reach Manhattan. “Where are you taking me?”

Relief pangs through my chest as I glance at her. “You’re speaking to me again?”

“Just answer the question.” She turns to the window and stares at the skyscrapers towering above us.

My hands shift on the wheel. Does she realize this might be the last hour we have with each other? I get the feeling she didn’t believe me when I said the Ferraros are likely to kill me.

Maybe she thinks I’m lying, or maybe she thinks I’ve got some other plan that doesn’t end up with me dead.

I don’t.

The only plan I have is to keep her safe.

That’s all I’ve got to do.

Keep her safe.

The line repeats inside my head like a mantra. Whenever I feel myself drifting, losing focus, I pull myself back to it.

“We’re going to my old home.”

I’m betting on the fact that Rafe hasn’t touched the penthouse yet. It’s in my name, and he’s my beneficiary in case of death.

Still, I doubt figuring out what to do with my penthouse was high on his list of priorities. It’s only been six months since I’ve left.

If I’m wrong, I’ll have to take Blake to a hotel, but the penthouse is more secure—impenetrable to anyone whose biometrics have not been programmed into the security system.

The Ferraros won’t be able to get in unless they decide to blow up my front door.

The only complication is that the concierge downstairs will call Rafe as soon as we step into the elevator.

But that’s fine. I’ll only be a minute to drop Blake off before I go to see him.

Reporting for duty.

When Blake and I step into the main entrance, we catch the concierge, Alec, mid-conversation with another resident. “Yes, Mr. Benoit. I’ll bring the package to you as soon as it arrives.”

The older man nods and shuffles toward the elevators, carefully navigating with a white cane, and Alec turns his attention to us.

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “Mr. De Luca! You’re…” He wrings his hands, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

“Hey, Alec. I know. I’ll explain later.”

His eyes flick toward Blake. He hesitates for a moment before asking, “Are you all right, miss?”

I don’t need to look at her to know what he sees. Her face is a patchwork of browns and purples. She hasn’t complained of the pain, but I know she’s hurting. As much as she can’t look at me, I can barely look at her. As soon as I talk to Rafe, I’ll ask him to send Doc. She’s a walking, breathing reminder of how fucking badly I failed.

But I won’t fail her again. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Rafe to agree to protect her from the Iron Raptors and from the Ferraros, if it comes to that.

Blake shifts on her feet. “I’m fine, thank you.”

I glance down at her. I half expected her to tell Alec I’m holding her hostage, but maybe she’s finally accepted that trying to run away won’t do her any good.

My hand tightens around her arm. “Alec, buzz us upstairs.”

He turns paler when he notices the movement. “Of course, sir.” He looks uncomfortable, but he knows better than to argue with me. I can guess what conclusions he’s jumping to inside his head. I hate that he probably thinks I’m the one who hurt Blake, but I also can’t blame him.

At the end of the day, I’m the one responsible for this whole fucking mess.

“And Alec?” His gaze jumps from Blake back up to my face. “Let’s keep this between us for now. I’m just going to drop her off before going straight to Don Messero.” I reach into my jacket and hand him five crisp hundred-dollar bills.

He takes them uneasily. “I can give you thirty minutes, sir. After that, I’ll be in trouble.”

“Understood.”

In the elevator, Blake huddles in the corner while we ride all the way up to the top floor.

She waits for me to step out first, her footsteps nearly silent as she trails behind me through the foyer that leads to my front door.

I press my fingertips against the sensor and wait for the security system to disengage.

When the front door swings open, Blake sucks in a breath.

I walk straight through the circular foyer and lead her into the living area.

Her gaze travels over the Italian-made sofas, the marble coffee table I got from a legendary artisan from Florence, the wall of built-in bookshelves that I never got the chance to fill, and finally to the open-concept kitchen at the back.

Nerves prickle over my nape. Does she like it? I want her to like it. I want her to like just one thing about Nero De Luca, even if it’s something as inconsequential as his home.

I clear my throat, anxious for her reaction, but her profile reveals nothing.

Despair wraps around my lungs. It dawns on me then that I’m about to say goodbye to her for the very last time, and there won’t be any reconciliation. There won’t be any forgiveness. There won’t be anything to ease the heavy weight on my shoulders that threatens to buckle my knees.

Men who know they’re about to die often pray for peace, but I know there’s no prayer that will give me solace. Only this woman might.

She places her delicate hands on the back of the sofa and looks toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “There were no other doors when we came out of the elevator. Is there no one else on this floor?”

“The penthouse takes up all of it.”

A bitter smile graces her lips. “No wonder you thought I’d be safe here. You’re putting me inside a gilded cage.”

Knowing our time together is down to mere minutes, I don’t want to waste a minute arguing. My gaze sweeps over her, drinking in every detail, committing her to memory. “You need to see a doctor. I’ll get someone to come.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Blake—”

“Please. I’m exhausted. I just want to get some rest.”

She looks rough, but I know she’s not in any immediate danger from her injuries. Rest is probably the best thing for her right now anyway.

“Okay. Tomorrow.”

Tearing my gaze away, I leave her to go change, When I return a few minutes later in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt, she’s still standing by the sofa.

“When will you be back?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I…might not come back at all.”

She stares at me, her gaze burning into me for a fleeting moment before the fire goes right out, and all that’s left are shards of ice. “And what happens if you don’t?”

A crack appears on the surface of my heart. “Someone will stop by and get you all set up. You will never have to worry about money again.”

“The moment I get a key to that door, I will leave.”

More cracks.

“No, you won’t. You know better than that. Remember that even if I’m dead, someone will always be watching you from now on.”

Her jaw clenches. “I hate you. I hope I never see you again, Nero.”

The cracks spread, break, shatter. Can death feel any worse than this? I doubt it.

I turn away from her and place my hand on the doorknob. “I know.”