Hateful promise a mafia.., p.1
Hateful Promise: A Mafia Hate to Love Romance, page 1
Hateful Promise
B. B. Hamel
Contents
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1. Hellie
2. Erick
3. Hellie
4. Hellie
5. Erick
6. Hellie
7. Hellie
8. Erick
9. Hellie
10. Erick
11. Hellie
12. Hellie
13. Erick
14. Hellie
15. Hellie
16. Erick
17. Hellie
18. Hellie
19. Hellie
20. Erick
21. Hellie
22. Erick
23. Hellie
24. Hellie
25. Hellie
26. Erick
27. Erick
28. Hellie
29. Erick
30. Hellie
31. Hellie
32. Erick
33. Hellie
34. Erick
35. Erick
36. Hellie
37. Hellie
38. Hellie
39. Erick
40. Hellie
41. Erick
42. Hellie
43. Hellie
44. Erick
45. Hellie
46. Hellie
Preview: Marriage of Sin
Also by B. B. Hamel
Copyright © 2023 by B. B. Hamel
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Chapter 1
Hellie
It’s raining outside and Dad’s been missing for three weeks. I finish putting away the last of the paints, wipe down spilled wine, and toss the easels left behind by guests who didn’t really care about what they were making right into the trash. This paint and sip place specializes in bland landscapes and holiday themes, and tonight’s waterfall is basically burned into my skull from making some version of it every night for the last year. Most folks don’t come to Picasso’s Drinking Problem to make a masterpiece, and that’s fine by me.
As I continue the clean-up phase of closing, I remember the last thing Dad said to me before he went on the run. Heloise, don’t you ever give it up, girl. You’ve got a gift. And hey, lend me a few bucks, I need to grab some smokes. That was my old man, the only person in the world that used my real name, quick with a compliment and never shy about asking for a loan. He took my ten bucks and never looked back.
Now he’s gone after pulling off the biggest job of his life. If he ever comes back, someone will put a bullet between his eyes.
Good old Dad. I throw the last of the used paint in the big trash can in the back and stare down at my hands, covered in blue and purple and shaking. Good old Dad, gone now, and left behind a big target on my back. Good old Dad.
“Hey, Hellie, you okay?” Nicky sticks her head in the back room, squinting at me. I jump at her voice, look back over my shoulder, and stifle a yelp.
“All good, just finishing up.”
“You’ve been standing there looking at the floor for, like, a minute. You sure you’re fine?”
“I’m totally good, just tired is all.” I turn up the dial on my fake smile and that makes Nicky pat the doorframe, her lips pushed together.
“Alright, well, we’re all set out here. Is it cool if I head home? I gotta get changed before Molls comes and picks me up.”
“Sure, get out of here, I’ll close up.”
“You positive you don’t want to come meet us out at the Palm? Her cousin’s bartending and we’re getting free drinks.”
“Nah, I’m not in the mood for a casino tonight.” And I’m pretty sure my dad robbed one, which means I need to lie low, but I don’t add that part. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Text me if you change your mind.” She waves and leaves. I pause for a minute, gathering myself together, before I get everything locked up.
It’s not like this is the first time Dad’s fucked up. I should be used to it by now.
The Great and Wonderful Daniel Accardi’s been running around Las Vegas for the last fifty years causing mayhem, conning locals and tourists alike, and generally being an all-around sleazeball. Most people know him as Danny, but I call him Dad, and he’s been an intermittent light in my life since I was a little girl. I remember following him down the Strip as he pointed out all the different schemes going on, from pickpockets to fake beggars, and he grabbed me by the shoulders outside of a huge casino, and he made me look up at the top floor, and he told me something I haven’t been able to get out of my head since: sweetie, they don’t let people like me and you up at the top, but they also can’t lock all the doors even if they wanted to.
My grandmother raised me. I never knew my mom—Dad told me half a dozen stories about her, most of them conflicting, probably none of them true—and I barely have any family.
Which is why Dad always mattered so much.
Now he’s gone, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back.
At least if he’s smart.
I finish closing up Picasso’s Drinking Problem while ruminating on my con-man father’s latest fuck-up and how it’s going to ripple into my life. The night’s dark and quiet, dry as the desert, the parking lot slow and still. I hurry toward my car, cutting across a couple rows of SUVs and minivans, until I slow and nearly stop when I spot a man leaning up against my ancient Ford Focus’s rear bumper.
I nearly scream.
He’s tall. Broad, muscular. Scruffy beard. Dark brown hair, light tan skin bordering on olive colored. His eyes are dark, his form-fitting suit is pure black, and he’s one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen in my life.
I also know exactly who he is, and this is very, very bad.
“Hello, Heloise,” he says, not smiling. His voice is low and soft-spoken. I move closer to him without thinking about it before I force myself to stop again. We’re completely alone.
My heart’s racing into my throat.
“Hello,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. My name is Erick Costa and we need to talk about the money your father stole from my casino.”
I take one step backwards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. It’s been all over the news.” He pushes off my bumper. Erick’s enormous, athletic, muscular. Tattoos peek out from his collar and at his wrists. His shoes are probably worth more than the contents of my apartment. Everything about him screams danger. A sleek, beautiful, deadly terror rolls down my spine.
“If my dad was involved, I don’t know anything about it. I haven’t seen him in three weeks, and I’ve barely spoken to him over the last year.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Your old man’s been very busy and very patient. It would be impressive if it also didn’t make me look bad.”
“Like I said, I can’t help you.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but unfortunately you don’t have much of a choice. Come with me, Heloise, and we can figure this out together.”
“My name’s Hellie,” I blurt out since it’s weird hearing him call me that. “And I need to go home. Maybe we can talk tomorrow, or—”
“You misunderstand,” he says. “This isn’t a request. I’m being polite right now, but that can change. Last warning—Hellie.” He tilts his head and I swear the ghost of a smile brushes over his lips as if he’s almost forgotten how to. “I like that, Hellie, like you’re a little devil.”
“Please,” I say, choking out the word. I look around for help but there’s nobody around, only rows of empty cars. “I don’t know anything about what my father did. I just want to go home.”
“Last time I’ll offer. Let’s make this easy.”
I take one step away from him and suck in a deep breath.
Dad didn’t teach me much. He didn’t show me how to braid hair or throw a ball. He didn’t teach me math or reading, never talked about history or philosophy.
But he did show me other stuff, and one of his most important lessons was this:
Never let the bastards catch you, Hellie. Run!
I turn and take off. I’m in decent shape—I like taking long jogs around my neighborhood after I get home from work—and I’m quick enough to dodge between a pair of trucks, heading for the open street. If I can make it to the far end of the strip mall where Picasso’s Drinking Problem’s tucked in the back corner, I’ll be able to yell for help from the people waiting for the bus or the people heading into the fancy new Mexican place they opened up last week.
I run hard, sucking in air, adrenaline and terror ringing through me like a gunshot. Erick’s not following, or I don’t think he is, and I turn to reach the open space, and if I can just make it—
Something hits me like a truck. The breath gets slammed from my lungs and I land on my ass hard, barely keeping my head from smashing back onto the pavement. I skin my palms and hurt my ankle, and I sit there, dazed and bl
“Should’ve been polite,” he says. It’s another massive guy, muscular, almost square, with a small nose and curly hair combed back. “Now we gotta do this.”
He kneels on me. It’s like an anvil dropped on my chest. I gasp for air, try to speak, but I make only a pathetic wheezing noise. I’m choking or getting crushed to death, I don’t know, but my legs start to kick when Erick appears. The guy on my chest grabs my right arm and pins it to the ground so hard I can’t move, even though I’m fighting as hard as I can.
Erick unrolls a leather satchel and takes out a needle.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’re careful. Ren will keep you nice and still. I figured out your height and weight. I checked your medical history to make sure you don’t have any allergies. Propofol’s relatively safe, anyway, but the doctor’s waiting just to make sure. You’ll be okay, Hellie. My devil girl.”
“Wait,” I gasp, trying harder to fight as the needle lowers to my arm. “No, no no no, please.”
“Sorry,” he says, and genuinely looks like he means it, as he sinks the needle into my vein. It’s a sharp pinch, and I release a terrified groan. “It’ll be quick. Faster than you think. I bet you won’t even—”
Blackness hits, and I’m gone.
Chapter 2
Erick
I place the unconscious Heloise—Hellie—into the back seat of the SUV idling nearby. “Check her, Doc.”
Roger Okara leans over and starts fussing with her vitals. I make sure she’s comfortable, her seatbelt tight, her limp body propped against the door with a small pillow under her head. This isn’t my first kidnapping and it won’t do to give the girl a concussion.
“Did you give her the full dose?” he asks, clipping a heart rate monitor to her finger.
“Just like you said.”
“We have approximately one hour before she wakes. If something goes wrong—”
“That’s what you’re here for.”
Roger’s bushy eyebrows pull together. He’s in his mid-fifties and he’s been loyally serving my family for decades. I can tell he hates this. “I can’t do much if she starts to choke on her own vomit or if she goes into cardiac arrest.”
“She won’t. You’ll make sure of it.” I stare at the doctor before I decide to climb into the back too. Ren sits up front with the driver, a young guy named Wolfram that everyone calls Wolfie.
We head out. The doc keeps a close eye on Hellie while I do my best not to stare at the unconscious girl. I’ve known her tangentially for a while now—her father’s infamous in this town—but I haven’t seen her in person since she was a kid.
Hellie’s beautiful. Gorgeous, actually, with this thick, curly raven-black hair that falls in waves around an angular face. Full lips, fierce eyes—when she’s conscious, anyway—and a body that’s clearly used to exercise, but still full and soft in all the right places.
I had no clue my new toy would be so shiny and pretty.
The doc keeps her comfortable, constantly checking to make sure she’s doing okay, and Wolfie gets us out to the desert compound as quickly as he can. He knows this drive better than almost anyone else in the world, and he’s one of the few people I’d trust to make it at night. The desert house is hidden out among the mesas and the cliffs at the end of a long, dangerous stretch of gravel road and a barely marked pathway.
Once there, I carry Hellie into her room and place her softly onto the bed. “I’ll stay and monitor her,” Roger says. “But this is going to cost you.”
“It always does, Doc.” I pat him on the shoulder and leave him to tend to the girl. But I pause in the door, glancing back at her sleeping body.
What’s that I feel in my chest? An elevated heart rate, but something else, like my nerves are jangling and on fire. The moment I saw her, I felt it, a raw blast of pure emotion, something like desire, something like hunger. But I don’t even know her, and I can’t imagine why I’d feel much of anything at all.
I head back to my office. Ren’s off making his own calls, updating everyone on a successful mission, while I sit behind my desk, pour a whiskey, and phone my older brother.
“How’d it go?” Adler asks.
“Better than expected. She tried to run.”
He grunts. “You have her though?”
“Nobody saw. I was thorough.”
“Good. I’ll let Frost and Gallo hear the good news.”
“Don’t bother, Ren’s already spreading the word.” My jaw works as I take a long sip of the whiskey. “Not that you give a shit, but I don’t like this.”
“I know. You told me already.”
“She’s not involved.”
“True, but she’s her old man’s only link back to Vegas these days, especially ever since the old lady passed a little while back.”
I grunt. The old lady is Hellie’s grandmother, the only guardian she’s ever known. “He won’t come to help her. You know that.”
“I can’t say for sure. I’m a father now, and I’ve got to admit, parenthood fucks you up in very specific ways.”
“Not him.” No, the great and wonderful Danny Accardi, one of the most successful Vegas con men to ever work the Strip, does not care enough about anyone to get himself killed trying to help them.
“There’s no other option. Would you rather give the girl over to those animals?”
“That’s the only reason I agreed to your plan.”
“Then be thankful it happened at all. My people told me Frost was about to make his own move, and you know what that psychopath would do to her if he got the chance.”
“Hm,” I say, leaning back with a sigh.
“Make the girl understand. Be reasonable about it. Yes, her father knew what he was doing when he knocked over that fucking truck, but she’s got to know something. She’s not dumb enough to protect the old bastard.”
“We’ll see.”
“I hope we will. Get this shit cleared up, Erick. It’s embarrassing for the family.”
“Wouldn’t want to embarrass the family.”
Adler sighs, frustration obvious in his voice. “Just figure it out.”
He hangs up. I stare at the phone for a moment before sipping my whiskey, thinking about Hellie back in that room, her thick, black hair spread out around her like a demon’s halo. Why did she have to run like that? She had to have known I was going to catch her. She knew me the second she saw me, which means the girl isn’t stupid.
But then again, she ran.
Ren comes into my office not long later and sits in one of the chairs. He stretches, cracks his knuckles and tilts his head from side to side. “It’s done,” he says.
“They know?”
“They know,” he confirms. “And they’re pissed.”
“Good.” I look over at the window.
“They’re gonna want her, you know. Frost especially. He’s not gonna make this easy. That old asshole stole their money, too.”
I close my eyes and sigh. It would’ve been so much easier if Danny the Con had taken just my money—but instead, he stole an entire armored truck full of cash from three of the largest casinos on the Strip worth over eight million dollars, the score of a lifetime.
“They can wait their turn. I have a plan for her.”
Ren’s eyebrows raise. “You gonna put it to her?”
“No,” I say. “She’s innocent.”
“She’s Danny the Con’s daughter. She’s not innocent.”
