Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy #1)

“Guido is late,” Vinny says as he comes to stand by Hank, his meaty grip on my arm unrelenting.

“He’ll be here soon.” Hank shrugs and reaches into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

I push thoughts about the time of day aside and fix my eyes on the lit lighter in Hank’s hand. My heart rate skyrockets, adrenaline surging through my veins as I stare at the small flame. This is my chance. But I need my arm to be free.

“Can I have one?” I ask. “Please?”

Hank narrows his eyes at me. “How old are you? Thirteen?”

I suppress the urge to knee him again and smile instead. Similar to my mom, I might be shorter than most women, but I’m sure the asshole can see the swell of boobs under my baggy shirt.

“Twenty-three.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hank snorts, taking a cigarette out of the pack and offering it to me.

“Do you mind?” I yank my arm away from Vinny’s squeezing, sausage-like fingers.

Vinny grunts, but releases me.

I take the offered cigarette and put it between my lips, fighting off a few strands of hair the light wind is tossing in my face. More of the unmistakable sea air invades my nostrils as I slowly move my hands to the waistband of my jeans. Hank flicks his Zippo again and extends it toward me.

My lips widen in a sugary grin. “Thank you.”

I lean back and lift the deodorant can in front of me, pressing the nozzle. For a speck of a second, a crisp manly scent wraps around me, but the next instant, the spray reaches the flame and the delicious male fragrance transforms into the stench of burning fabric and charred skin when my makeshift flamethrower hits its target.

Hank roars and stumbles backward, away from the fiery flow. I never expected to have an opportunity to try out this specific trick Uncle Sergei showed me, but life is full of surprises.

Triumph doesn’t last long, however. Pain shoots across the top of my head when Vinny grabs a fistful of my hair. I scream. Tears well in my eyes, and, for the briefest moment, the urge to simply surrender overwhelms me. No. Not happening. I slide the toothbrush from my sleeve into my palm. Gripping the bristled end with my handcuffed hands, I swing, aiming at the motherfucker’s left eye.

The goon is so massive that my blow merely skims his eyelid, leaving a scrape along his cheekbone. Still, Vinny cries out, and his hold on me slips. The moment I’m free, I turn and flee down the runway toward the dirt road. It’s a narrow trail rather than a regular vehicle path, lined with olive trees on either side. Still groggy from whatever shit they spiked me with, and with wobbly legs from being bound for a long-ass time, running is a challenge. I stumble, twice, but the adrenaline surging through my bloodstream keeps me going. This is likely the only chance I’ll have to make my escape.

I’m halfway to the dirt track when the deep rumble of an engine echoes off the surrounding hills. A cloud of dust rises among the trees, and a car emerges around the curve. The sleek white sports vehicle, looking completely out of place in these rural surroundings, draws near. For a split second, I hesitate, not knowing if the person in the car is a friend or foe, but I have no other options. I keep running toward it.

I only make it a few steps before all air leaves my lungs as two hands grab me from behind and lift me off my feet.

“You bitch!” Vinny snarls next to my ear.

“Help!” I yell as I kick my legs.

“Fucking stop!”

“Never!” I wriggle left and right, trying to free myself, but his hold doesn’t waver.

The white car stops a few feet from us. The driver’s door opens, and a blond man in his late twenties steps outside. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

“Please, help me,” I choke out, staring at the newcomer.

He spares me a quick glance, then looks at Vinny. “What is this?”

His voice is raspy and carries a slight accent, indicative of a non-native English speaker.

“The hacker.” The growled response comes from just behind me.

What the hell? I was sure I’d been kidnapped because of who my father is, and not because of my little hobby. Maybe these guys don’t even know who I am.

Jean guy’s eyebrows hit his hairline. His green eyes shift to me, scanning from head to toe, then back up again to stop on my tangled hair.

“Such an interesting turn of events.” He meets my stare. “Welcome to Sicily, miss.”