The Business Arrangement | Mafia Romance 18+

Chapter Twelve: The Parlay (Part 2)

POV: Maya 

"I do appreciate the phone call," Bianchi adds, "But as you'll soon be seeing, it wasn't necessary. I trust you'll come willingly?"

I can't find the words to speak.

Can't breathe.

My one chance to avoid bloodshed, taken from me before I could even enact it.

If Trevor is dead...

"I'll take that as a yes," Bianchi sighs, when I don't respond. "Apologies, but I have a lunch date to attend."

A lunch date?

Oh, no.

No. No. No.

He must mean Charlotte. In which case, I haven't managed to save anyone. I've only made things worse.

"But, I thought–"

"You didn't really think I'd let your friend walk away free, did you?" Bianchi laughs. "Although, I must say, you've proved her value by bargaining for her life. It's touching, really."

"Please," I whisper.

But it doesn't matter.

None of it matters, in the end.

Bianchi ends the call just as the handle of the front door begins to rattle. When it doesn't open, the men on the other side begin to knock.

Loudly.

The pounding of their fists echoes through the apartment, followed by a rough voice. I don't recognize the speaker, but I recognize the accent easily enough: Italian.

"Open up, or the man dies."

And, right on cue, the familiar throes of panic begin to set in.

The tightness in my chest.

The lack of air in my lungs.

The crippling sense of fear.

And, finally, the voice I've fought so hard to repress these past few months.

Stupid girl.

You should have known better.

In the end, you caused Henry nothing but trouble.

"Did you hear me? Open the fucking door!"

More pounding, and, this time, my feet move into action on their own accord.

It's like I'm a passenger in my own body, watching silently through my eyes as someone else goes through the necessary motions.

Watching, helplessly, as my hands unlock the door and open it wide.

Watching, as two masked men throw Trevor through the door, where he collapses on the penthouse floor, unmoving.

My vision blurs, so I must be crying. When I blink, twin tears drip down my cheeks.

A second later, Trevor's chest rises and falls.

So, he's not dead.

At least, not yet.

"What did you do to him?" I whisper.

In answer, one of the masked men steps towards me. He takes the cell phone from my hand and tosses it on the couch, too far away for me to reach it. Not that I'd make it that far. He's far too big for me to fight off, and it's not like there's another way out of the penthouse anyway. But I still struggle against him as he presses a damp towel over my mouth and nose.