Conquered by the Mafia Boss

Blackness eats at my insides as we drive to Montreal, and I stare at the screen of my phone, filled with an ever-increasing mountain of dread.

She’s not answering my texts.

My heart seizes. “She’s not replying back.”

“There’s no way Sal could’ve realized we’re on to him.”

Doubt hangs on his words like sickly syrup.

“Can’t this fucking car go any faster?”

My back slams into the car seat as he throttles the engine. “Tabarnak de calisse de criss de marde!”

Johnny lets out a volley of curses as he grinds to a halt. I open the door and leap out of his car before it stops. A brief glimpse of the sign-a whale and a pitcher of beer-before I crash my shoulder into the door. It flies open and smashes into a group of people, and angry male voices rise up around me. My eyes scan the packed bar, but I don’t see my wife’s blonde head anywhere.

“Is she here?”C0pyright © 2024 Nôv)(elDrama.Org.

Johnny joins me and I say nothing as I walk toward the back. The dread is like a wildfire, burning back logic.

Please, please let her be here.

But I know she won’t be as I palm the door, hearing a small sucking noise as the door unsticks from the jamb. Nothing prepares me for the way my lungs crush at the sight of the empty room.

“NO!”

My hands grip the edge of the table, where there’s a single pad of notebook paper and a pencil, and I flip the fucking thing over. It makes a huge noise, the aluminum crashing loudly into the cement floor. Where the fuck is she? Where did he take her?

“Shit.”

Johnny’s shoes clip over the stone as he walks in and his eyes scan the place.

“How the fuck did he know we were on to him?”

I don’t know and I don’t give a shit.

My vision blurs as I walk back into the bar, scanning the crowd of heads for her and finding nothing. Blood churning, I walk toward the bar and lunge at the bartender steadily wiping a glass.

“What the fuck?”

Grabbing his arms, I lift him over the bar and slam his face into the counter. “Where the fuck is my wife?”

“Ow! What the hell, man!”

“Answer the fucking question.”

A set of furious blue eyes look at me under my palm as I grind his face into the counter. “I don’t know!”

He does.

“You know who the hell I am. Don’t get cute with me, or I’ll take you out back and you’ll have a real fucking problem.”

I seize his arm and twist it behind his back, applying enough pressure to make him scream.

“She left with that fat guy!”

“Who?”

“Sal!”

“Did they say where they were going?”

The eyes narrow with incredulity. “Of course not. Please, let me go!”

Fuck.

What the hell is he doing? Why Beatrice? Killing my brother wasn’t enough. He had to stab me in the heart just when I was finally getting my life together. He could be anywhere doing anything to her.

I loosen my grip on the bartender’s head, and the room spins slightly.

I can’t lose her.

I love her.

My lungs tighten so that I feel like I’m breathing through a straw-images of my brother’s body and Beatrice’s smiling face strike me like blows to my stomach. I crumple in on myself and gasp a desperate breath. A strong hand slides over my shoulder and anchors over my muscle, squeezing hard.

“Jack, we’ll find her.”

I just don’t know.

“I swear to Christ, we’ll find her.”

What sort of state will she be in when we do?

BEATRICE

Waiting sucks.

I’ve never been a big fan. Doctor appointments, hair salons, really anywhere you’re required to wait, I always loathed. Which is why I’m usually glued to my smart phone in these situations to pass the time.

But I’d give anything right now-slit my wrists, donate a kidney-to know Jack’s all right. I can’t bide my time playing a goddamn game. My husband’s out there, doing something insanely stupid. Kill a boss? You don’t kill bosses or presidents lightly. There are consequences. Debts.

We should have just left town.

I stand up from the long table as Sal’s eyes follow me. There’s strain written all over his face. His shoulders roll forward and he seems boxed in. Tense. It does little to soothe my nerves.

Jack’s out there, alone. And he’s just sitting there!

“Sal, why haven’t you called anyone? Jack might need help.”