Bound by the Don(8)

By: Brook Wilder

Teddy’s bloody grin caught Vittorio off guard.

“I was there that day you know. The day that your sweetheart died.”

Vittorio’s heart stuttered in his chest.


Teddy nodded.

“She was a sweet thing. Boss hated the way you looked at her you know, like she was gonna be your savior. He wanted you to hurt and she was the answer.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Vittorio snarled.

“She wasn’t supposed to die,” Teddy continued anyway, a gleam in his eyes that he had rattled the cage. “She was supposed to just get wounded, same as you, but she jumped in front of you, to protect you. I bet you didn’t see that.”

Vittorio nearly lost his balance as Teddy’s words roared into him. His mind went back to that day, how fucking perfect everything had been up until that moment. The weather had been gorgeous, so nice that Lara had insisted they walk instead of drive. He could never say no to her. She had been on the outside of him, nearest to the traffic, so that he could speak to her father about some business venture he wanted to tap into. The attack had happened so fast.

“You’re lying.”

Teddy shrugged, wincing in pain.

“I was there. I handed out the hit. I should know what my orders were.”

Vittorio pushed to his feet, staring down at the man that had taken his happiness away with Lara and potentially was standing in the way of his happiness with Sharon.

“Death will be too kind to you.”

Teddy laughed, more blood dribbling down his chin.

“Fucking hell, just get it over with already, will ya? I don’t know shit about this new chick since you ran to upstate. She ain’t with Rocco, alright?”

Vittorio didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He waved his hand at the man to his right.

“Make sure he don’t float.”

“Yes sir,” he said as Vittorio walked out of the warehouse

Vittorio took in lungfuls of sea air. He had found Lara’s killer. She had died saving his life. The pain had never truly gone away, but he had buried it long ago. Now maybe she could rest in peace.

Running a hand through his thick hair, Vittorio looked over the water. Where the hell was Sharon? Though he trusted Teddy as much as he trusted Rocco, he would imagine that the man would have gloated over having Sharon. After everything Vittorio had done to the clan over the last two days, someone would have been taunting him, someone would be wanting to show him that they held the power over him.

But there had been no word. No matter how many he killed, how many businesses he burned to the ground, no one was talking.

Vittorio fucking hated it.

He could not lose another one. Was he cursed to never experience love in his lifetime? Twice he’d had it, only to let it slip through his fingers. He was desperate to at least see her again, to apologize for his actions the last time they had been together and to just make sure she was okay.

If Rocco didn’t have her, who did and why? Who else would dare pull a stunt like that? He expected Rocco to do some stupid shit like that, after the intruder had failed to kill its mark, but anyone else…?

The rest of the mafias around New York were small time, most paying Vittorio to stay in the business. None of them would be brave enough to take on someone as powerful as he was.

Stepping away from the water, Vittorio walked toward the waiting sedan, his jaw clenched tightly. He had to figure this shit out for Sharon’s sake.

But it wasn’t gonna stop him from torturing his biggest rival.

That shit was kind of fun.

Chapter 5


“So, you are telling me you have no idea who kidnapped you?”

Sharon squirmed in her seat, shaking her head wearily. She had been at the police station for hours, stuck in a little room with a table and chair like she was a criminal. The detective before her hadn’t relented, apparently not believing that she had no idea who had taken her off the streets.

She hadn’t known who those two goons were. Sure, she knew all the facts from the time she’d ended up half-naked in that club, parading around the stage before Vittorio had rescued her.

But what she hadn’t interjected was Vittorio himself.

“I do not know,” Sharon said once more, her voice steady. “They threw hoods over our heads and kept us in a room with no windows. I-I was just fortunate enough to escape when they attempted to move us.”

The detective arched a brow in disbelief.

“You escaped.”

“I already told you this,” she said, knowing he did not believe her story.

But what could he do about it? It was her story, her version of events and, short of hooking her up to a lie detector, he had no way to prove that she was lying.