Stolen Mafia Bride by Mae Doyle

Tess

Is he still back there?

That thought keeps running through my mind on a loop and I want to glance back to see if I’m still being chased but there’s no way in hell that I’m doing that. One, I might trip and fall and then I’d be really fucked because that mafia asshole behind me will easily catch up and two, I’m afraid that he’s be closer than I think and if he is I don’t want to know.

The imagined feeling of him reaching out and running his fingers down my back as I run spurs me to go faster and I lean forward, really pumping my arms and legs. This side street off of the main road is criss-crossed with a half a dozen alleys and I turn onto the first one I come to, gasping for air as I push myself harder than ever before.

I leap a huge puddle in the middle of the alley and then skitter around a rat that I swear is the size of a small dog. It bares its teeth at me and I strain ahead, wanting to put as much distance between me and the mafia dude as possible.

Because that’s who he is. I didn’t realize who he was at first when he was still in the bakery or I would have turned and run from the moment I saw him. It wasn’t until he was outside, under the streetlamp, that I realized who I was dealing with.

Marcelo Bonanno.

Even if you live under a rock, which I sometimes think that I do, you know who the Bonanno family is. They’re ruthless and known for single-handedly being the reason that the Wicked Bastards no longer operate here in town. Any mafia family that can take out a motorcycle club that powerful is not to be fucked with.

And what did I just do? I fucked with them.

Of course, the only people in town who seem not to think that the Bonanno family is bad news are the cops. I should know better than to be excited when I hear sirens coming my way. Just because the police are on their way doesn’t mean that they’re coming to help me out.

They’re probably coming to help the Bonanno family.

That sudden thought distracts me enough that when I see a huge pile of trash in front of me, I don’t immediately jump up and over it. Instead, I jam on the brakes, intending to dodge around it.

Something slams into my back and I pitch forward, trying at the last minute to jump over the pile of trash after all. It’s too close, and the tip of my toe catches on it, sending me sprawling onto the ground.

Immediately, the weight on my back lets me know that Marcelo is on top of me. He digs his knee in to hold me in place while wrapping my ponytail around his hand and pulling back. My body arches, my neck lifted back and my throat fully exposed, and I reach back with both hands, trying to push him off of me.

“Don’t make a fucking sound,” he growls.

I swear, he really growls. He sounds like a big cat back there and I close my eyes, trying to keep a scream from bubbling involuntarily out of my throat. He must know that I’m close to losing my shit, because he speaks again.

“I’ll cut your throat and let you bleed out right here if you make a fucking noise, understand?”

I nod, tears squeezing out the corners of my eyes. This guy is serious, that much is obvious, and I’m honestly afraid to do anything except what he wants me to.

“Good girl.” He loosens his grip on my ponytail a little but still keeps his knee firmly in my back. “What’s your name?”

I suck in a breath of air and plant my hands under my body before answering him. Grit digs into the palms of my hands and it hurts, but I try to ignore the pain.

It’s very possible that I die out here, and that fact scares the shit out of me.

“Your name.” He sounds bored, like we’re talking about the weather, and I hate him for that.

“T-T-Tess,” I finally manage. My voice is so raw that it feels like I’ve been screaming for days on end without stopping.

“Tess.” He rolls my name around in his mouth like he’s tasting it. The way he draws it out makes something warm coil low in my stomach and I immediately hate myself. I’m not supposed to get turned on by this asshole. Obviously, it’s been too damn long since I’ve had a boyfriend if my body thinks that this, for any reason, is something to get excited about.

“Please don’t kill me,” I say. I don’t want to beg, but I have a pretty good feeling that that’s how my morning could end. He’s already threatened to slit my throat and leave me here to bleed out, and there’s no reason why he shouldn’t.

I saw him kill the baker. I could identify him. He’d be stupid not to kill me.

Adrenaline courses through my veins and I feel my blood run cold. I shouldn’t be wasting brain cells trying to talk myself into why he should kill me, but it just makes sense. If I were him, I’d kill me, put it that way.

“Tess, I’m letting you up. Do anything stupid or anything—anything--that pisses me off, this is all over, do you understand?”

“Yes.” My mind races as I try to figure out why the hell he’d want to let me up right now. Why in the world would he think that was a good idea? It’s not.

Oh. He doesn’t want to kill me right here in the alley where someone would discover my body. He’s going to take me somewhere else to do it, I just know it.

“Good girl.” The pressure on my back releases but before I can push myself up, he grabs me, pulling me to my feet and turning me so that I’m facing away from him. “I’d hate to have to end someone as pretty as you are. Walk. Not like an idiot, or you’ll regret it, Tess. Be smart.”

I do what he says even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to make a break for it. He keeps one hand on his shoulder and walks silently behind me, but every once in a while he sucks in a breath.

“Are you hurt?” Without thinking about what I’m doing, I pause and turn around.

“Don’t stop walking.” His voice is low and dangerous. It reverberates through me and makes me shiver a bit in fear.

“It’s just that if you’re hurt, I can help you. Please, let me see.”

“Tess.” It’s a warning and one that I know I should heed. I know that what I’m doing right now is a fucking terrible idea and is most definitely going to result in me getting hurt, but my desire to help people is something that I can’t seem to stop, even at a time like this.

“Seriously, though,” I say, turning under his grip. He holds me tight for a moment but then his hands loosen on my shoulders and I feel like I’ve won. “I’m an urgent care nurse. This is what I do for a living.”

He moves so swiftly that I don’t even see his hand come down on my head before I feel the thunk.

Then there’s nothing.