Deliver Me From Evil: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance, page 1
DELIVER ME FROM EVIL
AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE MAFIA ROMANCE
THE AUGUSTINE BROTHERS
BOOK 2
NATASHA KNIGHT
Copyright © 2023 by Natasha Knight
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.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover by Coverluv
Editing by Raissa Donovan
CONTENTS
About This Book
1. Santos
2. Madelena
3. Santos
4. Madelena
5. Santos
6. Santos
7. Madelena
8. Santos
9. Santos
10. Madelena
11. Santos
12. Santos
13. Madelena
14. Santos
15. Madelena
16. Santos
17. Madelena
18. Santos
19. Madelena
20. Santos
21. Madelena
22. Santos
23. Madelena
24. Santos
25. Madelena
26. Santos
27. Santos
28. Madelena
29. Santos
30. Madelena
31. Santos
32. Madelena
33. Santos
34. Madelena
35. Santos
36. Santos
37. Madelena
38. Santos
39. Santos
Epilogue
What To Read Next
Thank you
Also by Natasha Knight
About the Author
ABOUT THIS BOOK
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with my wife. That wasn’t part of the plan.
From the moment I first laid eyes on Madelena De Léon, I felt a primal urge to protect her. Keep her safe. Her father had failed her. I would not.
She is innocent, and I have no business taking her to my bed. But Madelena and I are bonded. Our destinies inexplicably linked. As is our survival.
My past is dark. I’ve made many enemies and betrayal runs rampant in my world. But sometimes those closest to you are the most dangerous of all.
If I was a better man, I would let her go. I know it’s the only way to keep her safe.
But any goodness I had in me vanished long ago. I am a man condemned. I want what I want.
And what I want is her.
Deliver Me From Evil is Book 2 of The Augustine Brothers Duet. Forgive Me My Sins is Book 1 and must be read first.
You can find Forgive Me My Sins here!
1
SANTOS
“Where is she?” I groan, gritting my teeth as Dr. Cummings stitches me up.
“I don’t know. She ran out while I was trying to keep you from bleeding out,” Val tells me for the hundredth time.
“I realize that. Fuck!” Pain has me hissing. The local anesthetic is slow to work, but I don’t have time to wait. I lean up on my elbows, the flexing of my stomach muscles agonizing.
“Relax, Mr. Augustine,” Cummings says, signaling to Val for help.
“I’ve got men out looking for her,” Val says as he touches my shoulders and eases me down onto my back.
I look past him, willing the doctor to hurry up. The wound looked worse than it was, although I can still see Madelena’s face in that moment before I passed out. Her shock. Her horror. Does she think that I’m dead? That she killed me? The loss of consciousness was due to the crashing of my head against the floor. But there was no time to brace myself and it was either her or me.
“I need to go,” I tell them both. “Now.”
“A few more minutes,” Cummings says, sweat slick on his forehead. For a doctor, he looks fucking queasy. “It’s best for you to rest—”
“That’s it,” I say, sitting up as soon as he has slapped the bandage on. There’s a moment of dizziness, but I shut my eyes against it, and it passes. “Get me a shirt.” Val is already coming out of my closet with one, and I pull it on, wincing as I drag my arm on my injured side into it. “Where’s my brother? Why isn’t he here?”
“We can’t get hold of him. We’re still trying,” Val says.
“Has anyone been to the lighthouse?” I ask, standing. Blood has crusted on the waistband of my slacks, and I know I need to take it easy for the stitches not to rip open, but I need to find her. I need to get to her before she can do anything stupid. I saw how distraught she was after what her brother—her fucking idiot brother who will be dealt with—told her.
I will also never forget the look of utter shock on her face when she saw where the letter opener she still held was lodged.
“The lighthouse? Why would she go there in this storm?”
I glance out the window as the beacon washes the raging waves in light. They haven’t found her in the building or on the property, and there’s no way she could have gotten far on foot in this weather. No vehicles have left the premises.
“Because that’s going to be her instinct,” I say, knowing it in my gut. It’s the worst fucking place she can go in the state of mind she’s in. “I’m going up there. You keep trying my brother. And make sure Odin De Léon sticks around.” The fucking asshole.
“I’ll go with you,” Val says.
“No cell service out there.” I don’t give him a chance to reply before I’m out the door. The service elevator doors miraculously slide open as soon as I push the button, halle-fucking-lujah, and I ride down along with two soldiers Val sends after me. It’s faster than I could have gone on the stairs in my state.
I see in the reflection on the back of the mirrored doors how the stain of blood is spreading on the once-white bandage. At least it’s a little less painful now that the local anesthetic is finally kicking in.
Once the doors open, I hurry back out of the building the way I brought Madelena in. A woman gasps when she sees me, and someone drops a tray, but I ignore them all. The two soldiers flank me. I move as quickly as I’m able out into the storm and take a moment to look at the hulking building of the lighthouse in the distance.
Wind and rain howl, and I swear when lightning strikes, I see people out on that catwalk. But the temporary illumination is gone too quickly, and it’s too far to see. Besides, no one can be out there. The lock on that door is intact. I saw that myself when Caius and I went out there the night of the wedding.
Christ. Has it only been days since then? It feels like a fucking eternity has passed.
The wind picks up as we approach the narrowing neck of the cliff. One of the men curses, huddling into his coat and leaning to fight the force of the storm that seems determined to keep us away.
“Madelena!” I call out, but she wouldn’t hear me over the storm.
When we reach the lighthouse, I open the door and reach in to search for the light switch. I find it but nothing happens when I flip it. I try several times to no avail.
I dig my hand into my pocket to get my phone, planning to use its flashlight, but I come up empty. It must be in my jacket.
“Give me your phone,” I tell one of the men. He hands his over. I switch on the flashlight, and the other man does the same. The three of us begin the climb up the stairs. “Madelena?” I call out again, but get no answer. There’s an almost eerie stillness inside the lighthouse that is opposite the chaos of the storm outside.
“There’s no one here,” one of the men says when he reaches the main room at the top.
I’m the last to get to the landing. I look around, but there’s nowhere to hide. She’s not here—not inside anyway. Shining the flashlight down, I see a spot of red at the top of the stairs. A footprint has obscured it. I crouch to have a closer look and a swipe of my finger tells me it’s relatively fresh.
“She’s here. She has to be!” I stalk to the door that will lead to the catwalk. My heart races because it’s too fucking quiet.
When I see that the door isn’t fully closed, I move.
Wind hits me square in the face the instant I pull the door open. I brace myself against it as I take in the catwalk, the damage to the railing just a few feet from me. It’s the temporary rail, and it was intact when I got a look at it from inside the building when Caius and I were up here.
My heart slams against my chest.
“Madelena?” I ask, not looking over the edge, too afraid of what I’ll find. Instead, I walk stiffly around the catwalk, and there’s a moment of utter, indescribable relief when I see her. But that relief is short lived because she’s passed out, her back against the wall, body just two feet from the edge.
I rush toward her unconscious form, my freshly stitched wound on fire as I drop to my knees on the wooden planks covering the damaged catwalk. The railing that was in place just nights ago now creaks ominously as the wind sends it swaying back and forth. What the hell happened out here?
I touch her face, seeing the bruise that darkens her jawline
I exhale with relief, adrenaline leaving my system and letting me breathe again.
“Out here!” I yell to the men. “Be careful. Stay close to the wall.”
“Santos!” I turn back to find not the soldiers, but Caius stepping out onto the catwalk. He’s drenched, his shoes are caked with mud, and his expression is worried. He must have run from the main building.
“Caius. Help me get her inside.” I slide an arm under Madelena, tilting her head onto my shoulder. When I try to lift her, though, I have to stop, sucking in a breath when several stitches rip open.
“I’ll get her. Val told me what happened. Get out of the way.”
It takes me a minute to clear the way, but he gathers her up quickly and carries her back toward the entrance of the lighthouse.
I’m about to stand when my gaze lands on something trapped between two planks just beyond where she was lying. It looks familiar, and I reach for it, freeing it from the crevice just as Caius peers out from inside.
“Brother?”
I look at what I’m holding in my hand then back to Caius. I shake my head, stand, and quietly tuck it into my pocket. Before I go inside, I glance over the edge just as lightning strikes, illuminating the cliffs below. The water is so high you can’t see the sharp gray rocks that are visible when the tide is out.
“Santos,” Caius says again, watching me as I walk toward him.
“Where were you?” I ask him before stepping inside.
“Downstairs. At the party. My phone was dead. I just picked it up from behind the bar where it was charging and saw all the messages.” He looks down at my side and I follow his gaze to the quickly spreading stain of red along yet another ruined shirt. “Jesus. What the fuck happened?”
“Looks worse than it is,” I say. I glance past him into the room where one of the men is holding an unconscious Madelena. “Let’s go. We need to get her warm.”
I move to step past him, but he sets a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “What the fuck happened?”
“It was an accident.”
He glances at Madelena. “Are you sure?”
I study my brother in this half-light, and when lightning breaks, it illuminates his face and the way the shadows fall across it casts a strange, eerie look to him. We remain like that for a moment more before I hear Madelena moan.
“Let’s go,” I tell him and the others.
“Godforsaken place, this. We should fucking burn it to the ground,” Caius says when we’re down the stairs and out the door. I get where he’s coming from.
The road leading to the lighthouse grows narrower and narrower. It’s not wide enough for a vehicle. I’m glad when I see him take off his jacket and lay it over my unconscious wife. It’s a gesture I won’t forget even if that jacket is sodden. When he does, I glimpse his wrist as I slip my hand into my pocket and wrap my fingers around my find.
But then Madelena makes a sound, turning her head, and my attention returns to her.
“Get a car,” I tell Caius. “We’ll take her to the house. We can’t carry her through the club with all those people in there. Get Cummings to follow us.”
He nods. “I’ll meet you at the house.” He stops, puts that hand on my shoulder again, and looks at me. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
I nod in acknowledgement and move quickly toward one of our SUVs. We slide Madelena into the backseat and I follow her, laying her head on my lap. My gut tightens as I look at that bruise along her jaw. Fingerprints. It could only be left by a hand about my size.
Again my father’s words echo, followed by Thiago’s warning, as I watch her too-young, too-innocent face in her unconscious slumber.
2
MADELENA
Rain pelts us like daggers of ice. This storm will be the end of us. The wooden planks are slippery. Repairs should have been completed months ago, and we shouldn’t be out here.
The scream repeats, and I’m not sure if it’s my mother’s or his.
Santos? No. He didn’t scream.
Santos.
A hopeless keening seems to come from inside of me. I was falling in love with him all these years. Stupid, stupid me. Now he’s dead, his blood still warm on my hands.
Eyes like steel bore into mine. They’re so cold that I don’t know if it’s the look inside them or the storm that has me shivering. The skin of his neck is thickly scarred where rope bit into it. It’s terrifying to see, but when I shift my gaze to his eyes, they’re no less so. But he caught me when I slipped, didn’t he? His hard grip was to pull me back from a certain death on those rocks, in those freezing waters.
History repeating.
Like mother, like daughter.
Someone calls my name, but I can’t open my eyes. Rain beats too hard against my eyelids.
What am I doing at the lighthouse? Why did I come here?
I hear the scream again, a man’s scream.
Thiago.
The sensation of falling is a terrible one, but it wasn’t me who fell. Almost, but not quite.
I feel it again, Thiago’s grip around my wrist—being hoisted up then crashing back against the lighthouse wall. My head bouncing off the unforgiving surface.
Then the shadow that appeared behind Thiago, the other man whose face I did not see.
“I am not your enemy… Your enemy is much closer to home. In his veins is the blood of a monster.”
Thiago standing too close to the edge. A hand against a chest. A grunt. A scream.
“Madelena!” Thiago yells before he’s gone.
My eyelids fly open, and I bolt upright on a gasp. It’s too fast, and I regret it instantly. My head throbs and I have to squeeze my eyes shut against the too bright light, the spinning room.
No more rain. No storm. It’s quiet here and warm.
I touch my head. It feels like someone is beating a drum from the inside. I open my eyes slowly. The spinning begins to slow, the blurred edges of my vision coming into focus.
The first thing I see is the richly patterned duvet. It’s luxurious with its deep sapphire hue, a delicate and detailed intertwining pattern. It’s expensive, I can tell. On the nightstand to my right is a glass of water, two small white pills on a pretty dish. The room itself is dimly lit, the walls papered in a deep charcoal with a subtle pattern that seems to add texture. The dresser at the far end looks like an antique. It’s as intricately carved as the nightstand. Heavy floor-to-ceiling curtains draping the windows are drawn shut.
The scent and feel are distinctly masculine—not to mention familiar.
The pounding of my head becomes more concentrated. I bring my hand to the back of it and gently touch the bump, which is tender. I hit my head twice. Once by accident. Once when the faceless man slammed it against the wall.
“Aspirin is on the nightstand,” comes the gravelly voice from an armchair in the far corner.
I gasp, surprised, but then a switch clicks, and Santos is bathed in the yellow light of a reading lamp.
Santos.
Santos, alive and well.
He’s dressed in a charcoal sweater and black slacks. His hair is brushed back from his face, and the scruff of his permanent five o’clock shadow has grown denser, darkening his jaw. In his eyes is a look so black, it simultaneously makes the hair on my arms stand on end and sends a flush of heat to my core. Strangely, it’s similar to how he looks when he’s aroused.
