Empire of Pain: A Dark Mafia Romance (Torrio Empire Book 3), page 1
EMPIRE OF PAIN
J.L. BECK
Copyright © 2023 J.L. Beck
Cover design: Haya Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For all the readers that gave Callum and Bianca a chance. I'd have no one to write stories for if no one read them, so thank you. For reading and falling in love with these characters just as I did.
CONTENTS
1. Callum
2. Bianca
3. Callum
4. Bianca
5. Callum
6. Bianca
7. Callum
8. Bianca
9. Callum
10. Bianca
11. Callum
12. Bianca
13. Callum
14. Bianca
15. Callum
16. Bianca
17. Callum
18. Bianca
19. Callum
20. Bianca
21. Callum
22. Bianca
23. Callum
24. Bianca
25. Callum
26. Bianca
27. Callum
28. Bianca
29. Callum
30. Bianca
31. Callum
32. Bianca
33. Callum
34. Bianca
35. Callum
36. Bianca
37. Callum
38. Bianca
Epilogue
Tatum
About the Author
CALLUM
“What's in the crate?”
I can hardly hear Romero's voice over the thundering beat of my own heart. My fingers grip the edge of the box for dear life as I stare down at the contents.
Words refuse to come.
My brain short circuits. I can't comprehend what I'm seeing.
Images come to me in flashes, one piece at a time.
Green eyes that once flashed dangerously, that used to burn with contempt. Now they see nothing, their vacant stare looking right into the deep confines of my soul. A bullet hole is directly between them. I force myself to look away from Amanda's face, and down to the body in her arms. In her arms is my daughter—our daughter. Her head rests against her mother's bloody shoulder, appearing as if Amanda had rocked her to sleep.
It's a grotesque parody of motherhood that only a truly sick, heartless cretin could put together. Amanda is seated with her back against the inside of the crate, with her head tilted backwards and her eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. A trickle of blood trails from the hole in her forehead and down her nose before drying there.
I've seen many terrible things in my life. Images that have haunted me for days after, robbing me of sleep. The result of violence brought on by greed. The aftermath of explosions, gun battles, death. But this? This is unfathomable.
I can't accept it. Something inside me refuses to accept what I'm seeing as one precious second after another passes by. I can't move. I can't breathe. It's real, even if I don't want it to be. Amanda is dead. It's only when Romero jostles me and reaches into the crate that I snap back to reality. Every ounce of information comes rushing in, assaulting me from all sides.
Tatum.
They might have killed her too.
Romero's choked cry rings in my ears. “No!!” He reaches into the crate, taking Tatum's limp body into his arms. Her skin is pale, a drop of dried blood trails down her temple from a patch of blood-matted hair on the side of her head. The ugly bruises circling her arms portray someone bigger and stronger holding her tight. I have no doubt she would've fought.
“No, Tatum, wake up. Wake up.” I manage to rouse myself in time to take her legs and lift them over the edge of the crate before Romero lowers her to the floor.
I take a knee beside them and press an ear to her chest, listening for a heartbeat or any sign to let me know she is still alive. Everything moves in slow motion. Countless moments flash before my eyes, as fresh and clear as if it was only yesterday they took place.
Her first steps, toddling across the floor with her chubby arms extended outward, reaching for me. She knew I would catch her and hold her when she fell.
Her first dance recital, wearing a pair of angel wings with glitter in her hair, and the way she smiled at me that day was like I meant the world to her.
There was glitter stuck to her skin for days afterwards.
The one year for Halloween when she insisted on dressing as a pirate even though all the little girls her age wanted to be princesses.
My daughter wanted me to black out her teeth and draw stubble on her cheeks, and I did it. I did it even though I had a hundred other things to handle. I did it because even then, I was all she had and because she captured my heart the second we locked eyes for the first time, and as her daddy, it was my job. I would have done anything for her.
Her chest is barely moving, but I hear the soft intake of air in and out of her lungs. That's all I need to know to keep me motivated.
“She's breathing,” I announce, and the touch of my fingers to the inside of her wrist reveals a shuddering pulse. All the air leaves my lungs, the pressure in my head making me light-headed. Relief floods my veins. She has a pulse, but that doesn't mean anything. “We need to get her to the hospital now.”
I couldn't keep her safe, could I? The one thing she needed most, it was beyond me. I let her down. Failed her. What kind of father was I if I couldn't even protect my own daughter?
Romero's gaze collides with mine, eyes wild, his features frantic. Placing his trembling hands on both sides of her face, he peers down at her. There isn't so much as a fluttering of her eyelids to show she feels his touch. My thoughts are everywhere, my mind an endless fishbowl. There's something missing. Something that bangs like a gong, vibrating at the back of my skull.
Bianca.
“Where's Bianca?” I yell into the vast space. My head swings back and forth, my eyes searching in vain for her. The sick fucks who did this cleaned out the warehouse, taking everything besides the bloody crate and the bodies of a few of my men who are now being gathered, together, and dragged across the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I bellow, making them all stand at attention. “Where is Bianca?”
Their expressions all mirror confusion. “We did a perimeter check, Sir. There's no one else here, at least that's alive.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. Lower and lower, it falls until I swear it feels like it's going to jump out of my chest.
“Find her!! Look again!! I want you to search every inch of the property,” I order, my voice frantic, my mind racing.
Romero meets my gaze. “She's not here. If she were, they would've told you by now.”
“She has to be. Where else could she be?” I can't breathe. I can barely speak. First Tatum. Now Bianca.
It's not possible. They didn't take her.
“Find her!” I'm nearly shrieking, and I know, even in the haze of frenzied horror that I'm closer to losing my grip than I ever have been. The room spins around me, and I try to breathe, but it doesn't feel like I'm getting any oxygen into my lungs.
Where is she? Where did they take her?
“Boss, I know you're worried about Bianca, but we need to get Tatum to the hospital now. Someone hit her in the head. She could have… swelling or something worse.”
I wheel around, prepared to tear his head off, only to find Romero gently gathering Tatum into his arms, cradling her the way she was cradled in her dead mother's arms. Amanda. She's dead. Still, the reminder doesn't allow me to feel anything. I'm numb, cold from the inside out. Think, think. There's a storm raging in my head that I need to calm. I can't afford to lose my grip on reality when my daughter needs me. They all need me.
Rationally I know he is right. Tatum might have sustained injuries that we cannot see. “Get her in the car,” I order Romero before shouting to the men. “I want the entire area searched for any signs of Bianca before you dispose of the bodies.”
“Save their phones,” Romero calls out. “Bring them to me at the hospital.”
In my heart, I know they won't find anything. There won't be a trace of my little bird. If this was about killing her, they would have left her here for me to find. It's what I would have done in their position, whoever they are. If I wanted to break a man down, if I wanted to strip him bare and hit him where it hurts, I'd have killed the only two things he loved more than his empire, money or life.
If this was about proving a point, they'd both be dead. This wasn't that. No, they took her somewhere else, somewhere hidden and the mess they left here was a hint at what's to come if I don't play along with their game. I know the tactic, have even done it myself a time or two, but I'd never involved innocent lives.
Stepping outside, finally free of the coppery stench of blood hanging heavily in the warehouse, I clear my head and steady my resolve. There is no time for breaking down, no time for blaming myself, or asking what I could have done better. That can come later, once I have Bianca back, once I know Tatum is okay.
First, I need to focus my attention on my daughter, who is now being loaded into the back seat of the car. I slide in on the other sid
“Wake up, sweetheart,” I murmur, stroking her cheek with a shaking hand. “Come back to me. Please. I can't lose you.”
“I'll fucking kill them all,” Romero grunts, cutting the wheel, tires squealing as we make a sharp right. The car nearly fishtails, but he manages to maintain control, weaving in and out of traffic once we hit the main road.
“Try not to kill us first,” I bark over the blaring of horns, holding her firmly to keep her from sliding off the seat. He doesn't say a word, but he also doesn't slow down either.
Fuck around and find out. Those words are burned into my brain, taunting me. I know I said I'd try not to think about how this is my fault, but it's hard when you're holding your daughter's lifeless body in your arms, and you know she wouldn't be here in this situation if it wasn't for the man you are, for the dark and dangerous life you live. Somehow, I had overlooked the threat. I allowed her to go off alone—I never should have, no matter how much she ranted and raved about me being overprotective. Making up excuses in my mind, I thought I was doing the right thing. Giving her space to breathe, to heal.
Yes, look how she's healed.
Unconscious and half dead, the blood from her hair and scalp stains my slacks. She came so close to her bright, brilliant light being snuffed out. Thinking about the future, I can't say she'll be the same. After everything she's been through and endured. How far can a rubber band stretch before it snaps? A different kind of fear grips me, then. Physical wounds can heal, but emotional wounds…the brain can become your worst enemy if you allow it. I can't help but ask myself if she witnessed her mother dying. After everything, this might be the final nail in her coffin. The prospect of her never recovering makes me sick.
“Do you know anyone at the hospital? Can we call to let them know we're coming?”
He lifts a hand, pointing. “We're basically here.” Now that he's said it, I notice the red and white emergency sign a few lights beyond where we have to stop for cross traffic. He leans on the horn, but it's no use. He can't stop the cars moving in both directions in front of us.
“As soon as she's taken care of, we need to start making calls.” We've lost precious minutes that could have taken Bianca further from me. Who would be dumb enough to do this? It doesn't matter who it is. All that matters is finding her and ensuring she's okay.
“If Amanda had her phone on her, one of our guys will grab it,” Romero grunts in frustration before leaning over the wheel in his eagerness to move. “It could also have the answers to our questions.”
“Give me your phone.” He has everyone's number programmed into his contacts, and once he hands me the device, I scroll through the list and stop at the first of the men we left at the warehouse. I press the call button for Bobby. I bark into the phone as soon as he answers, “Amanda's cell. Have you found it?”
“It wasn't in her purse—which they left under the body,” he explains. “It also wasn't inside, and it's not in her pockets.”
“Her car, it has to be there. Search the vehicles, too. Get me an update as soon as possible.”
“Of course, boss,” he replies and I end the call.
Romero swings the car into the emergency room lot, pounding the horn with his palm as he races for the doors. By the time the car squeals to a stop, a pair of paramedics are jogging out of the ambulance bay.
“She needs to be seen immediately!” I shout once they open the door closest to me. “All we know is that she has a head wound.”
“Let us take it from here.” One of the men practically pries her body from my arms. I don't know if I'm going to live through the pain that's cutting into the muscles of my chest. It burns, the skin fileting back, leaving my still-beating heart vulnerable. I'm vaguely aware of Romero pulling away to park the car while I jog behind the paramedics rushing Tatum to an empty bay in the emergency room.
A middle-aged nurse places herself between my daughter and me, pushing a laptop on a wheeled stand and blocking my path. “I'm going to need her information to enter into the system,” she informs me while a team of doctors assesses Tatum.
“Look, can't this wait?”
“I need a name and a date of birth for her ID bracelet, along with insurance information and any known allergies.”
There's a crazed animal in me, fighting to break loose and paint the tiled floor with blood. Think of Tatum. Tearing into this hospital won't get her help any faster. “Jane Doe,” I growl.
She looks up from the screen, frowning. “Excuse me?”
“You heard correctly. Her name is Jane Doe.”
Straightening slowly, she murmurs, “Sir, do I need to call the authorities?”
“I don't think so and, honestly, I would rather you didn't.”
“You're telling me you don't know this girl's name? Exactly how did she come to be injured? Or are you unaware of that, as well?” The snippety attitude she's giving me is the last thing I need, and it needs to end now.
“Listen to me very carefully.” My voice drops to a whisper as I lean over the top of the computer screen until she has no choice but to lean back. “I don't care what it takes for you to do it, but this girl's name will not be recorded. It could be dangerous for her if someone were to call and ask if she's been brought here.” Not that I see that happening, but I can't afford to take any more chances. “Suffice it to say she is my daughter. I found her this way, and I don't care how many tests you need to run—or what anybody around here requires in order to keep their mouths shut. Is that clear?”
“How do I know you aren't bringing her here after losing your temper?”
“If I was, do you think I'd come in with her and risk being blamed?”
“Sir, you have no idea exactly how often that very thing happens.” She glances over her shoulder to where Tatum is. I should be in there with her, damn it. “I could have security escort you out and acquire her side of the story once she's conscious and doesn't have you standing over her.”
This isn't working. Would they really throw us out if I don't tell her? Can I risk it?
The idea takes my voice down to a murderous hiss. “Listen to me. The people who did this to her, they're dangerous and don't give a fuck about anyone else except themselves. There's no saying that they might not decide to show up here to finish the job. I will not risk leaving her vulnerable. Now stop questioning me and enter whatever the hell you need to in that computer, or I'll find someone you love, then make sure you had wished you'd stopped asking questions and done your goddamn job.”
Her lips draw into a thin line, but her skin grows pale, giving way to a slight trickle of fear. “I've been threatened before,” she whispers.
“Never by somebody so prepared to follow through.” I make a point of checking out her name tag. “Cecilia Miller. What a nice name. Nice wedding ring, too,” I add with a glance at her left hand. “Mr. Miller has good taste. Let me guess, 2.5 kids, a big house with a picket fence. It would be a real shame if something happened, now, wouldn't it? Do your kids have any close family? Do you think they could live without their mother or father?”
Her chin quivers before she makes a strangled choking sound while questioning whether I mean what I'm saying. Whatever she sees on my face convinces her. She gives me a short nod before clearing her throat. “Jane Doe it is,” she whispers while a bead of sweat rolls down her temple.
Romero finds me when I'm finished, barking orders into his phone before jamming his finger at the screen to end the call. “We're gonna find them,” he whispers, watching as Tatum is treated through an opening in the curtain. “We're going to find them, and when we do, they're all fucking dead.”
