The Sacrificial Lamb (3 page)

After pulling into his parking spot in the underground garage, he took the elevator up to the penthouse. Walking through the condo, he went to his bedroom, loosening his tie on the way. He stared out the floor-to-ceiling glass door that led out to the balcony and took in the panoramic view of his city. The sun was shining along the spires of the skyscrapers, reflecting off the glass panes of the buildings and giving the city a certain glamour that effectively hid the seedy underside of Chicago.

Unfortunately, the view couldn’t distract him as it usually did, and he tugged at the front of his pants gingerly. While his erection had finally dissipated, the aftereffects of not getting a release were still present. After a few moments of deliberation, he decided to rectify the problem.

Unbuttoning his shirt, Domenic pulled it off, followed by his undershirt. His pants fell to the floor, and he stepped out of them, kicking them to the side.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror Domenic leaned forward and looked at his face. The job was taking its toll on him. While he still looked relatively young, fine lines were beginning to form around his eyes. Even through the growth of a five o’clock shadow, he could see the grooves around his mouth had deepened. He smiled humorlessly at his reflection and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face, deciding whether to shave or not. One more day would be fine.

He walked into the en suite bathroom and turned on the shower. Not bothering to wait till the water warmed up, he stepped under the cold spray. It helped ease the ache in his balls a little, but not enough to put off his original intention. Leaning his head under the spray, Domenic felt the cool water cascading down his torso. He soaped up his whole body and went through his repertoire of fantasies to help him with the job at hand. As he rinsed himself off, he chose one of his personal favorites. The first hand job performed on him when he was a teen by his friend’s sister, Mandy.

Closing his eyes, he grasped himself and felt the familiar tightening sensation as he got hard. He imagined it was Mandy’s hand gripping him lightly while he stroked himself. After a few minutes he began to get frustrated. Nothing was happening. By now he should have already climaxed. He squeezed his eyes tighter trying to get further into his fantasy.

Then his vision changed. Mandy was gone, and in his mind’s eye there was a flash of slim legs, scissoring. A familiar face. Wide eyes. Two wrists clasped in his hand and a writhing body underneath him. Before he knew it, Domenic was gasping as he came violently. He threw a hand up against the wall to keep himself from collapsing.

What. The. Fuck.

His heart was pounding hard in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. What kind of sick fuck was he? Domenic turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, completely disoriented by what had just happened. Why the hell would he think of the girl and what happened that afternoon? And better yet, why did he have such strong reaction to the images that played out in his head? Grabbing a towel, Domenic rubbed himself down roughly and wrapped it around his waist. He dismissed it as just a freak coincidence. After all it was that damned pretend rape that had given him the painful erection to begin with. His brain must have made the connection unconsciously. He yanked on a pair of jeans and went to the living room to make his phone call.

Once that was done he went back to the bedroom, threw himself down on the bed, folded his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. There was a get-together tonight that he wasn’t looking forward to. He would have begged off, but with the new developments, he needed to see who knew what and if damage control was necessary. Even in an organization run as tightly as theirs, there were still leaks. The last thing they needed was the police coming down on their heads for the abduction of Alexis Montgomery. He certainly didn’t want to be implicated in something like that. It would ruin everything he’d worked so hard for.

Obviously, the police would know Carlo’s men had something to do with it, but without any evidence, they couldn’t search any of the premises belonging to the Liseni. He had to make sure that only those he trusted completely were privy to the fact they did indeed have the girl.

I
T
W
AS
D
ARK
. The lights were out, and young Domenic didn’t know why. He heard scuffling noises in the office ahead and walked toward it. He had taken the L and ended up near his father’s work, so he figured he’d drop by and get a ride home. Having only just started to learn how to drive, he was impatient to get his license in order to get himself around, instead of relying on his parents and friends who were already driving.

That was when he heard the voices and stopped in his tracks.

“Hold him up,” a familiar voice ordered. Domenic’s father groaned, and Domenic rushed forward until he could see into the office. Sandro and Elio Commisso were on either side of Domenic Sr., gripping his arms, while Carlo stood in front of him holding a knife. His father’s face was bloody and bruised—they had already worked him over brutally. Domenic made a small noise, and his father heard. Even in distress, his senses were ten times as keen as those goons. His eyes widened and nose flared as they made eye contact.

“Stop!” his father commanded. Carlo thought he was talking to him, but Domenic knew his father was sending him a message, warning him to leave and not try to stop what was about to happen. Domenic would be as good as dead if he walked into that room. What the hell could he do, an unarmed teenager against three armed men?

“Ah, finally, you begin to beg. I never thought you would,” Carlo sneered, and Domenic was ashamed that he had caused his father to cry out.

“Fuck you,” his father gasped. He lifted his head and spat in Carlo’s face.

Domenic was desperate to stop what was happening. The one thing he could think to do was distract them and try to get help to his father. He backed away from the door and bumped into a plant in the corner.

“What the fuck was that? Sandro, go look,” Domenic heard Carlo say before he turned and bolted. His father began struggling as soon as one of the brothers let him go. He was still trying to save his son’s life. Domenic turned the corner and rushed out of the building, flying as fast as he could. Looking back, no one was coming after him. He found a phone booth and with shaking fingers dialed 9-1-1. A hand grabbed the back of his neck, and he screamed.

Bolting awake, Domenic gasped and looked around wildly. He was in his bedroom, not the cramped phone booth from thirteen years ago. He rubbed his face hard with both hands. So much for calming himself down. This dream had haunted him since his father’s death.

The difference was that no one had come after him that day thirteen years ago. He had made the call, but the police had been too late. They found his father in his office, stabbed and shot to death execution style. Even though Domenic knew there was nothing he could have done, he was still wracked with guilt that he had run like a cowardly boy instead of facing death honorably, like a man.

Carlo had blamed his father’s death on a rival Russian family, and a war had ensued. Only Domenic knew the truth. It had all been staged so Carlo and his brothers could step in and take over while effectively wiping out the competition. Perhaps some suspected Carlo had a hand in Domenic Sr.’s murder, but what was done was done. Carlo stepped in as Capo and started making changes immediately.

Domenic had wanted to kill Carlo and exact his revenge. As a boy, he leaned toward the dramatic and had brought a knife with him to his father’s funeral. His plan was to sink that knife straight into Carlo’s black heart when he came to give Domenic his condolences. As his enemy came down the line toward him, Domenic had the retracted switchblade held in his fist, ready to go. When Carlo was next in line, his mother grasped his wrist like a manacle and pulled his arm behind her back. He began to struggle, but her words stopped him.

“I won’t lose you, too,” she whispered raggedly in his ear. He stopped fighting against her and nodded. She was right. After losing her husband, Domenic and his little sister were all Sofia D’Angelo had left.

It was a several years later that Carlo approached Domenic. He had heard of Sofia’s death and wanted to extend a helping hand to the son of his “good friend.” Domenic had welcomed the invitation immediately. His plans of extracting vengeance had never abated, and now he blamed Carlo for the loss of both his parents. He would work his way up through the ranks to be honored with his rightful position as Capo of the Liseni, and Carlo would pay the price for making him an orphan.

An old adage came to him the day Carlo had approached so many years ago—keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

P
LATINUM
W
AS
A P
REMIUM
G
ENTLEMAN’S
C
LUB
that catered to prominent businessmen of Chicago. Everything about the club was high end—from the prime location downtown to the plush velvet booths and the black and red leather pleasure rooms at the back. It was sleek and modern-looking with low, intimate lighting and plenty of private areas. The liquor behind the bar was the best and most expensive, and the same could be said about the women who worked the room. There were several clubs like this throughout the city. The family also owned clubs that catered to blue-collar workers and a few seedy dives. The Liseni believed in equal opportunity sexual gratification.

Domenic pulled up, tossed his keys to the valet, and walked inside. Toward the back he passed by the woman spinning around the pole without paying her any attention. None of the dancers attracted him, despite their overt advances. These were higher-class girls, but they still had a price. If he wanted to see a pair of tits and a pussy, he certainly would never pay for it. Mind you, he was pretty sure if given the choice, most of the women here would waive their usual fees for him. He shuddered at the thought of any of them touching him intimately. Especially since he knew where those hands had been.

Walking to the back of the club, Domenic nodded to various people he knew until he reached the bouncer who guarded the private area for the family. The man undid the clasp of the velvet rope and stepped aside to let him in. This particular VIP section was blocked off from view from the rest of the club. It had plush booths, several entertainment sections, its own bar complete with bartender, and a waitress to make sure no one was left thirsty. Only family members had access to this lounge.

It was a full house tonight. After giving his regards to his boss, Domenic took the seat to Carlo’s right, as was customary. He acknowledged the men seated around the VIP area. The twins, Elio and Sandro, sat to Carlo’s left. Sal, Tony, and Junior were seated nearby, ogling a woman dancing in the opposite corner. Not long after Domenic sat down the waitress came and took his order.

He noticed that Marco and Vince were missing and made the assumption they were still guarding the girl.

“Are you sure the girl is safe?” he asked, leaning close to Carlo.

“Of course,” the man answered, glancing at him peculiarly.

“I don’t trust Marco and Vince,” Domenic stressed.

“They won’t hurt her. First of all, they need to make sure she can speak when John Montgomery asks for proof that she lives. Secondly, they wouldn’t disobey a direct order. No one touches the girl without
my
say so.” Carlo gave him a look that signified the discussion was now closed. Domenic ground his teeth together but dropped the subject.

When the waitress came back with his drink, the dancer noticed him for the first time. She looked at Domenic with a mischievous smile. Leaving her spot, she advanced toward him, full hips moving in a sensuous twist. Domenic smiled as she straddled his lap, even though he would have preferred she left him alone.

“Hi, Nicky,” she purred in his ear as she pushed her fake breasts against his chest.

“Hello, Kris,” he replied, smoothing a hand up her thigh.

“You haven’t been around lately,” she said with a pout, her collagen-filled lips quivering.

“I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”

Domenic was trying very hard to be pleasant. Kris wanted to get out of the entertainment business. She wanted to snag herself a place in the family, but she wasn’t satisfied with just anyone. She had her sights on him. Not that it stopped her from making the rounds if paid enough. She was exactly the type of woman he detested. And she called him Nicky—he hated that. Unfortunately, to show his obvious disdain would be like spitting in the faces of most of the men in this room. Mob politics.

“Oh, Nicky,” she sighed against his ear, her hips gyrating lazily against his. “One of these days I’ll get you in my bed.” He chuckled and shrugged. Kris took that as assent, but what it really meant was
not a fucking chance, lady
.

“Hey, Dom!” Junior shouted out. “Stop monopolizing the entertainment!”

Kris got off his lap, thankfully. Domenic slipped her a twenty and gave her a slap on the ass to send her on her way. She squealed delightedly and blew him a kiss before heading toward Junior. With a sigh of relief Domenic watched her walk away, just as Sal took a seat beside him, chuckling.