Hellbent Hero by Naomi Porter

30

Hero

A LAND ROVER with blacked-out windows picked us up at our hotel at eight in the morning. Two more vehicles joined us. One led the way to our undisclosed meeting spot while the other took up the rear.

This felt off.

Fuck.

We left Cobra and Hustler for our brunch meeting. I told them I wanted to get the hell out of here immediately after and to have their plane ready. Now I wondered if we should’ve brought them for backup.

I cut my eyes to Raul in the front seat and noticed his tense jaw. Not a good sign. The sight of him put me more on edge. Track was between Dodge and me with his thumb tapping his knee.

If Track, the calmest brother in the club, was nervous, we might be headed for a fucking ambush. It should’ve been me talking to Ciro Remotti about the meeting. Not Storm. I loved my brother, respected the fuck out of him, but our business in Canada was my gig. I knew the ins and outs of it. He didn’t.

Double fuck!

This wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t locked up. I’d make that Deputy fucking Sonny pay, probably with my fists, for fucking with my life.

Enough, you’re getting lost in your thoughts.

But I couldn’t help it. The tension inside the cage was stinking up the air worse than spoiled, curdling milk. It reeked of bad intentions, manipulation, deceit, and death.

Triple fuck!

“How much longer,” I shouted to the driver, wholly unnerved, sounding a bit like Dodge during our last run when I called him a five-year-old. Seriously, though. It was nearly nine. How far out into no man’s land were they taking us?

“Another hour,” the driver muttered.

“For fuck’s sake, man. What the hell is going on?” Raul snapped.

“Alessio’s orders. Take it up with him.”

“Christ,” Raul hissed.

Track and Dodge remained silent.

I dragged my hands down my cheeks. I should trust Storm. He would never send us into a dangerous situation blindly. But fuck, maybe he was off his game after nearly losing Madeline to the Dirty Hunters. That sort of thing messes a man up. We could get sloppy.

Over the last several years, my dealings up in Canada had been only with Stephen Morrison and his family. The Morrisons were a mid-sized organized crime family with a foothold in the southern regions of Alberta, Sasscatchuan, and Manitoba. They had control at the border. Patrol agents on their payroll. It made our deliveries less risky for the club.

A year and a half ago, Stephen married Alessio Remotti’s only daughter, Rosa, to bridge the two families. Remotti wanted to move his business into Morrison’s territory. A financially beneficial merger to elevate the Morrisons above dozens of other crime families across Canada. There was a bright spot. The Morrisons’ illegal gun business wouldn’t conflict with the Remottis casinos and drugs.

Stephen had beamed with pride when he told me about his arranged marriage. Claiming his young betrothed, a girl of eighteen, was the key to growing his family’s business. He gained power, money, and protection from the merger.

I didn’t like treating marriage as a business arrangement. Especially not when the groom was fourteen years older than his virgin bride. I wasn’t into such dirty dealings.

I checked my phone and stifled a groan. No fucking cell service.

Why the fuck would the Remottis want to meet with an MC? Storm didn’t have an answer. He said the club wouldn’t mix with the Mafia, yet here we were at their request.

When I’d briefly spoken to Stephen yesterday, he assured me it was a friendly meeting. So if that were true, why the fuck were we driven out into the middle of nowhere? Why not meet in a restaurant or warehouse?

Shit, I was getting worked up. There were too many unanswered questions.

Returning to Roja as I’d promised was my priority. But this could wind up being a trap. There were only four of us against… who knew how many. Although, they hadn’t searched us. Or made us leave our weapons behind. Maybe this situation wasn’t the gloom and doom my overactive brain conjured.

Time flew by while I stayed in my head. Off in the distance, the blue waters of Lake Manitoba came into view. The driver turned on a road leading into the woods. I looked sidelong at Track and Dodge, then glanced at Raul. They appeared curious and a helluva lot less stressed than I was.

“The estate is to the right,” the driver told us.

As we came upon it, my mouth dropped open as we stopped at the guard shack. Massive black iron gates opened. From my vantage point, the vast property behind the stone walls was large enough to be a town on its own.

Raul shifted in his chair, clearing his throat as we entered the grounds.

Ten minutes later, we pulled into a circular driveway in front of the grandest mansion I’d ever seen. If I didn’t know I was in Canada, I would’ve thought I was in Italy as I stared in awe at the luxurious villa.

My door opened the second we stopped. Getting out, I surveyed our surroundings. Guards were easy to spot patrolling the barren treeline. Everything was dormant and dull, as winter approached. The shrubbery had a light dusting of snow and twinkling lights. I bet Roja would love this place. She’d call it breathtaking.

The front door opened. “Hero, Raul,” Stephen greeted with a smile. He was in his customary suit and tie and slicked-back hair. “Please come in.”

“Stephen,” I returned curtly, not interested in pleasantries. Mad as hell, he didn’t tell me about the journey we’d take for this meeting.

“We’re in the study. This way…” Stephen proceeded down a long hallway. The soles of his black oxfords squeaked, echoing off the two-story vaulted ceiling.

Unnerving.

White marble floors, dark paneling, and expensive-looking artwork surrounded us. If we were being led to our death, this was the best way to go… In the lap of luxury.

Movement on my right caught my attention. A beautiful young woman with sad eyes stared at me from behind a large plant. She held my gaze for a beat then disappeared.

Unsettling.

Was she Stephen’s wife?

He opened double doors. “Alessio and Ciro, your guests have arrived.” Stephen turned toward us. “Please, have a seat.” He fanned his hand out toward a long leather sofa the four of us easily fit on. Across from it was another where Alessio and Ciro sat, drinking coffee. This formal side was new to me.

My brothers and I took our designated seats, quite the contrast in our outlaw attire compared to the regal men dressed in their custom-tailored suits and silk ties. That’s the Mafia for you.

The elder Remotti set his cup on the coffee table. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming on short notice. My son and I are aware of your holiday approaching. There was no other time we could do this.”

“Yes, although this visit may seem unconventional to you, I assure you, we’ll make it worth your trouble.”

“Ciro, is it?” I asked, though I knew he was. My position in this meeting was the spokesperson for the club, given Stephen was my contact. Raul was a silent party, but he had all the power in these dealings, per Storm’s proxy.

“Yes, my apologies.” Ciro’s jaw twitched. I wasn’t sure where his irritation was directed. Toward himself for not performing introductions properly or with me for calling out his faux pas. “I’m Ciro Remotti, Alessio’s oldest son.”

“Ciro is next in line,” Alessio added. “He’ll take my position when I retire next year.” His severe gaze was trained on his son as if watching his every move. Made me glad I never knew my father.

I nodded, noting Stephen off to the side. “I’m Hero, the club’s Sergeant at Arms. These are my brothers. Raul, the club’s VP, Track, our Road Captain, and Dodge.”

My brothers grunted like the uncultured outlaws we were.

“Pleasure.” Alessio made eye contact with each of us.

In typical fashion, I got on with it. “Now that we have introductions out of the way, why are we here?” I didn’t want to waste any more of our time. The unusualness of us being in the same room with the head of a Mafia family was too fucking uncomfortable. I wanted to know what they wanted so we could get the fuck out of Canada.

“Ciro,” his father said in a directive tone.

He returned a curt nod. “First, would you like some coffee?” He gestured to the silver tray on the square table between us.

“No,” I replied for my brothers. All I wanted was to know what the hell they wanted with us.

“Very well. We’d like your MC to help eliminate a problem of ours.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Of the familial kind.” Ciro leveled his gaze at me. His dark brown eyes turned black… filled with hate. Murderous.

“You want us to kill a family member? No. We aren’t assassins.” What were these people thinking? Hiring us to kill someone when they could easily do it themselves. It made no sense.

Ciro stood, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, and paced the floor. “I know what you’re thinking, Hero.” His voice boomed, again irritated. “Yes, we could do the job ourselves. However, doing so would cause problems within the families. We need this to come from the outside.” He faced me. “From your MC.”

I glanced at Raul, who appeared more than a little pissed off. So was I. Shit. Did they have something on the club? We’re they about to blackmail us? Force our hand at killing one of their own?

“Before you make your decision, there’s one hundred million in it for you.” Ciro acted as if his offer would seal the deal. Talk about arrogance.

I snorted at the absurdity. “One hundred million? Who is he, the Pope?”

Alessio made the sign of the cross as he muttered, “Nel nome del padre.”

I assumed that meant, in the name of the father. It was what I should’ve been doing too. My abuela, God rest her soul, was a devout Catholic. Probably like Alessio and his family, despite being dirty and the head of a prominent Mafia family.

Totally disrespectful on my part for mentioning the Pope. But really, that was a fuck ton of money.

“No, not the Pope,” Ciro snipped as if his words were poison in his mouth. “My cousin.”

“And why do you want your cousin dead?” Raul calmly asked.

“Because he’s trying to kill my brothers and me so he can ascend to the head of the family. He’s disrupted our distribution for the last year, manipulating our dealers to join his side. Enough is enough.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “This makes no sense. He’s one man. Just hire an assassin to do it.”

Ciro went to a cart filled with crystal glasses and liquor. He poured himself what looked like bourbon and tossed it back. “There are three other families in Canada with whom we’re forming an alliance. We can’t risk losing favor with them. They’ve already spoken with him. Heard his sad, sappy story about us cutting him out of the family because he’s a bastard.”

“Well, is it true? You cut out your own blood?” Damn, the Remottis were brutal.

Ciro’s face contorted, turning red like he was about to blow the roof off his Italian villa.

Alessio raised his hand to his son. “My sister’s refusal to marry the man my father chose for her resulted in an illegitimate offspring. She whored herself out. Intentionally got pregnant to defy our father. Relations were severed. She was disinherited.” Alessio drew in a breath, training his eyes on his son. “Her son is vengeful. He wants mine dead.”

Damn, couldn’t say I blamed the bastard for wanting revenge but going on a killing spree was over the top.

“That’s rough. But still, he’s your family.”

Ciro poured himself another drink. “He’s also a vindictive, murdering, heroin addict who’s not playing with a full deck. He trusts no one except his cousin Holden and his bodyguard, Tony.” He swallowed his drink. “Last I heard, he keeps his girlfriend chained to the bed.”

Rage flashed in me. “Chained to the bed?”

“Yes. He’s insane,” Ciro spat the words.

“Well, report him. Where is he?” I glanced at Raul. I had a feeling he was considering the job because of the woman chained to the bed, hitting close to home for him. His wife, Tina, had been in an abusive relationship. She got out, but had to leave her daughter behind.

Ciro laughed as if I’d lost my mind. “Don’t tell me you don’t have law enforcement on your payroll. Casso Campbell is a renowned drug kingpin of the Pacific Northwest. His reach goes up to British Columbia. His sights are on Central Canada and Quebec. He wants the whole fucking country. He wants to end the Remotti family reign.”

Track leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He’d been taking it all in since we sat down. “Fuck, he sounds powerful. He must have a lot of men to protect him.”

Ciro rubbed the back of his head. “Which is why we need your club’s help. He’ll never see you coming.”

I wanted to take the fucker out just to save the woman held, assuming it was against her will. But get into bed with the Mafia? I didn’t think Storm would go for it. In fact, I was confident the club would vote against it. Although one hundred million might tempt a few to vote yes.

“And you can’t take him down with the help of the other families?” Raul asked, as if seeking clarification.

“No,” Ciro snipped. “Casso has brainwashed them. He’s like a demon in Prada. Alluring. Mesmerizing. Tempting. He can manipulate any situation or person to work in his favor.”

Damn, the dude didn’t sound human. Maybe he was the Devil in Prada.

A soft knock had us all turning toward the door. It opened slowly. The young woman I’d seen hiding behind the plant appeared. “Excuse me. Brunch is ready.” Her eyes landed on me, then she quickly tore them away.

“Thank you, Rosa.” Stephen put his arm around her shoulders and led her out.

Alessio stood, straightening his blazer. “Let’s eat, before you make your decision.”

I cut my eyes to Raul, catching the slight shake of his head.

“This isn’t something we can decide for our club. We’ll have to vote on it.” I followed my brothers out of the study. Killing someone in cold blood wasn’t something the club took lightly. The consequences could be life in prison. We all had to agree to take that risk.

Ciro smirked. “How very diplomatic.”

I grinned at his sarcasm. “It’s the American way.”