Reign of a Billionaire : A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

Chapter 15Liana

My neck was stiff and every muscle in my body ached.

My fingers flew across the keyboard and my eyes burned from hours spent staring at my laptop screen. For two days, I’d been trying to penetrate Nico Morrelli’s walls. I’d tried every possible combination and hit a dead end every single time.

My sister had been better at this tech stuff than me. She’d taught me a few tricks, but I was always better at sketching. At art in general.

My chest tightened. God, I missed her. I should have been stronger. I should have done a better job protecting her. I should have⁠—

There were so many “should haves” as self-loathing threatened to overwhelm me. I had to quickly put the lid on those emotions. It never boded well going down memory lane.

Instead, I focused on ensuring the women I saved were okay. So, biting my lip, I tried again. I searched for any crack in his firewalls before the screen blanked out on me.

“Dammit,” I muttered, frustrated, my palms hitting the table. “I need to know.”

I’d done detailed research on the man. He was a genius, and he was also a virtuous crusader. He funded Gia’s—his housekeeper’s—shelters, who had been a victim herself. For whatever reason though, I wanted assurance that these women were safe, that I hadn’t endangered them further.

A message popped up on the dark web.

You’ll never break into my database.

“What the⁠—”

I had not expected this.

My heart pounded wildly. It shouldn’t surprise me that Nico Morrelli caught on to me trying to penetrate his network. While I debated whether to talk to the man or not, another message came up.

What do you want?

“At least he’s to the point,” I muttered under my breath. Then, deciding I might as well get the information I wanted, I brought my fingers to the keyboard.

Are the girls safe?

They are.

Relief washed over me like a cold stream on a hot summer day, except there was no sunshine here. I hoped those women would have theirs though. Another message came in.

Who are you?

My hands hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to tell him. I needed a friend. But trust was an expensive thing in this world. Misplacing it could cost you everything that ever mattered to you. Another message popped up.

We can help you.

Before I could contemplate my reply, my laptop pinged, warning of a counter trace, and I closed out of the software, slamming my laptop shut. Goddammit, that was stupid. Morrelli’s reputation should have been enough for me.

I gritted my teeth, turning my face toward the window and gazing out into the dark night. A full moon glimmered over miles and miles of snow, and I inadvertently shuddered. Fuck, I’d had enough cold weather to last me a lifetime.

At the sight of the white landscape, a memory filtered in through my throbbing temples.

The castle—our prison—stood dark and ominous among the winter wonderland. I couldn’t help but compare it to an evil surrounded by innocence. Ivan and my mother, and what they were doing here, were evil. The rest of us were innocent.

Or something like that.

“Sun’s setting,” my sister grumbled. “We have to go back.”

Everything about this home unsettled us. I’d rather stay out here and freeze until the sun set over the horizon than go back inside. Out here, the shame could be temporarily forgotten.

My twin and I walked in silence, lost in our thoughts.

“Make sure you keep your distance from the basement,” I warned her.

Fear slithered through my veins. Ivan and his goons had been gawking at us for months. It was only a matter of time before they made a move.

“So you noticed it too,” she whispered, eyeing me. We looked identical aside from a slight variation in our eye color.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at us.”

She knew who I meant. Ivan was a cruel pig. I couldn’t even believe Mother would marry someone like that. If that was what every marriage was like, I never wanted a part of it.

“Me neither,” she muttered. “It gives me the creeps.”

“Me too.”

We waded between the trees, the temperatures plummeting drastically. “What if he tries something?”

“He’s too scared of Mother,” I grunted, stomping on a pile of hard-packed snow to release some of my irritation. “And that fucking bodyguard will rip anyone apart who tries to get near us.” The first smile of the day passed between us. “Maybe we should stay out here,” she said pensively. “Build an igloo.”

I shuddered despite my warm coat, but my twin could be convincing, which was how we ended up attempting to build an igloo for the next hour, almost freezing to death.

A tear rolled down my face. I missed her so much. The talks we had. The hugs she gave me. She always had my back.

A throb started in my temples, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping to get some relief.

My thoughts strayed back to the dark-eyed stranger from the restaurant whose burning eyes had caught me off guard. I had never experienced such loathing aimed at me, and that was saying a lot—I wasn’t exactly a likable person thanks to my blood relations.

Yet there was something about that mysterious man. He knew me. I didn’t know how, but I’d stake my life on it. I dug through my memory, trying to remember where I’d seen him, but the harder I tried, the more my head ached.

My eyes traveled aimlessly over the bedroom that’d witnessed my past, present, and possibly my future—however long it might be. Half-completed sketches lay across the bedspread—the faceless man plaguing my dreams, terrorized women haunting my waking hours, my twin. My chest tightened and my breaths turned shallow.

The despair. The shame. The disappointment. I’d been guilt-ridden over my sister’s death for eight years, unable to move on. The video of my twin’s torture had been tattooed into my brain cells, refusing to ease the pain.

I reached for the sketch of my sister’s face with trembling fingers.

“I wish it had been me, Lou,” I whispered, my voice shaking. I’d give anything to have her with me, to talk to her, to ask her questions. I loved her so much, and she loved me. The only person that ever did.

The grandfather clock chimed, telling me it was midnight. Once it stopped, the eerie silence of the house returned, sending chills up my spine. This place wasn’t a home; it was a prison. I’d grown up in this manor, blinded by the horrors these walls hid.

No matter how many times it was cleaned and polished, or how shiny the chandeliers and furniture were, there was no hiding the evil that lurked within these walls and hid in the basement.

A knot twisted in my gut, and soon a sob escaped my throat, followed by many more. Each one lined with loneliness and regret. I cried for my sister, for myself, and something else that seemed to be missing in my life.

Was it a mother’s love? My father’s?

I gave my head a subtle shake. You couldn’t mourn something you never had. Couldn’t miss something you never felt.

Pulling myself together, I shifted my energy to the restaurant’s surveillance. Something about that stranger with dark eyes wouldn’t let me be. Once I was inside their security system, I honed in on the right day and time. My fingers flew across the keyboard, speeding up the surveillance until I saw him again.

I studied his expressionless face. Dark eyes. His features were angular and cold—sharp cheekbones, olive skin, a dusting of semi-silver stubble, and full lips in a hard line. He had the look of a man who was drowning. A man who mourned.

Like me.

But then his face tilted, like he knew exactly where the cameras were, and he stared right at me. The screen froze, and something in the pit of my stomach tugged at me, warning me that he was someone I should stay away from. Still, curiosity nudged me to look him up.

I ran facial recognition in the FBI database. Nothing. I tried the CIA’s. Nothing. Then I tried the dark web. Still nothing.

I stood up abruptly and started pacing, agitated. Every roadblock and unanswered puzzle fueled my tension higher. I fought the urge to smash my laptop to bits before taking a deep breath and cooling my temper.

My phone buzzed and I reached for it, taking a seat again and unlocking it. My brows knitted.

Unknown number: You’re welcome.

Frowning, I clicked open the message and found an attachment. A newspaper article. My brow furrowed further as I read through the old clipping. A picture of a boy appeared on my screen. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

Me: Who’s this?

Unknown number: For saving the women.

An incredulous scoff escaped me. What an odd mobster you make, Nico Morrelli. Forgetting all about him, I scrolled and began to read through an old article.

The Ashford family was hit with yet another tragedy. Kingston Ashford, age 10, has been kidnapped during a visit to the Washington Zoo.

In recent years, Senator Ashford’s rumored activities have put a target on his family.

I had to pause and roll my eyes at “rumored activities.” More like blatant involvement with underbelly criminals. I shifted in my seat and read the final line.

The youngest boy is the latest to pay the price. Let’s hope his outcome isn’t deadly like that of the senator’s wife.

Bizarre.

Why would someone send me an article on Kingston Ashford? I’d never heard the name. It made no fucking sense. But then a thought occurred to me. What if this had something to do with my mother? I had witnessed the many boys who’d been subjected to the abuse and torture in this very house. The boys they pitted against each other in those gladiator matches.

A few keystrokes had me hacked into my mother’s files. I searched through them with a fine-tooth comb, wanting the idea of my mother being involved in a child’s kidnapping to be just that. An idea. Surely she stood by some moral code.

Frustration had me dropping my face in my hands. My mother was too old-fashioned, her laptop practically empty. Maybe I was going about this all wrong though. Ivan had been on the progressive side. Yes, he was dead, but maybe my mother was still using his laptop?

“It would make sense,” I whispered to myself. He would have had everything already set up on his device.

I shifted my efforts and was inside Ivan’s database a few minutes later. Bingo. The folder was almost too easy to find. It took no time for information to start pouring in.

“Kingston Ashford,” I murmured softly. The name on my lips sounded foreign.

I read through the information as it streamed in. He was born in Washington, D.C., and had four siblings. His mother was shot dead, and he was later kidnapped. Jesus, talk about bad luck! But that was where the trail fizzled out. Kingston Ashford was presumed dead until he resurfaced a few years ago.

There was a single photo in Ivan’s electronic folder, and I instantly recognized the dark eyes. There was an unmistakable resemblance to the stranger from the restaurant, in the lines of the boy who had been turned into a ruthless man.

And deep down in my heart, I knew why. Otherwise, why would Ivan have information on him?

I wished my mother’s late husband had kept more information. I was curious, although knowing what he and my mother put people through, I shouldn’t want to know.

I released a shuddering breath, the hatred radiating off the man in the restaurant suddenly making sense. It would also totally explain that blank look. I often saw the very same in the mirror.

I shook my head and diverted to another site that might have more information. The one belonging to Nico Morrelli. I might not be able to penetrate his walls when it came to safeguarding the victims of human trafficking, but it shouldn’t be the case with someone like Kingston Ashford.

I typed his name in and more information trickled in.

Connections to the Bratva, Cosa Nostra, Irish and Greek mafias, the Syndicate, the Omertà… The list went on and on. Jesus, maybe the Ashfords were in deeper than it seemed.

I read on, scrolling from screen to screen, when it went blank.

Dammit!

Frustrated, my palms came down on the keyboard, my laptop beeping in protest. I really had to up my game in the technology department if counter-tracing kept targeting my own barriers.

I shoved away from the table and stood up when the sound of clicking heels echoed through the hallway. The unmistakable sound of Mother’s Jimmy Choos. I wiped my bed clean of sketches, shoving them underneath my mattress. She hated seeing my drawings, saying it was a reminder of my twin. I also shoved my gun and knife under my mattress, a habit my sister and I had developed living under the same roof as monsters.

I caught my reflection with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks in the vanity and rushed into my bathroom, splashing my face with cold water just as a knock vibrated against my door.

Taking a deep breath in, then exhaling slowly, I padded barefoot across my cold floor and opened the door.

“Hello, Mother,” I greeted her in a voice that hid all my turmoil. Stepping aside to let her enter my only haven in this building, I watched her strut into my room, her eyes roaming over every inch of it.

“I’m glad you’re awake.” I turned to face her, standing and studying her blonde hair, the same shade as mine. Except hers was dyed and there were grays hiding in her mane, indicating her age, which her face refused to show. She’d had so much plastic surgery done—albeit quality work—that she could pass for being two decades younger than she really was. Until you looked in her eyes and spotted the bitterness and loss that no amount of surgery could erase.

“I’m awake,” I confirmed. “So are you.”

She nodded.

“I know we just arrived, but I need to go to Moscow tomorrow.” My eyes widened. It was unusual for Mother to share her itinerary or justify her activities. Unless… “I need you to come along.”

“Why?”

My mother narrowed her eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Yes. “No.”

“Then you’re coming.”

“We just got here,” I protested. “Why can’t you go alone?”

Whatever she was up to, I was sure her many victims were already shaking in their boots. Usually that was how it went. If you were in Sofia Volkov’s sights, you’d better fucking run.

She sighed.

“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” I remained silent, our gazes clashing. Something wasn’t sitting right. Maybe it was the fact that she was here in my wing of the castle for the first time since my twin’s death. Or maybe my sixth sense warned there was more to it than she was sharing.

“I’d like to stay,” I repeated again, my eyebrows raised in defiance. I didn’t love this manor, but I could use some time away from her. It was easier for me to plan my missions when I was alone.

“No.” The single word had me reeling like she’d slapped me.

“What’s going on, Mother?” I asked her, prodding. “What are you not telling me?”

Her jaw clenched and my heart pounded, waiting for her reaction. The last time I defied her, I lost a part of myself.

“Be ready first thing in the morning,” she gritted out. “I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on. I won’t allow history to repeat itself.” She pushed her trembling hand through her hair, anguish in her plastic expression. “It always has a way of repeating itself,” she muttered.

Then she turned around without further ado and left me staring after her, more confused than ever. History is repeating itself. The words echoed on repeat in my skull. What did she mean by that? She couldn’t have been talking about my twin. Could she? She had to be referring to her firstborn, Winter Volkov, who was kidnapped by the Irish.

I remained frozen, staring after her, the wheels in my mind churning. My mother kept so many secrets, I was starting to wonder whether she was suffocating beneath them too.

She wasn’t happy. I couldn’t remember her ever being happy. Not even when she was with her lovers—male or female. She didn’t have any friends. And she certainly wasn’t happy with the sperm donor, as she called my father. To this day, I didn’t know why my mother had chosen Edward Murphy to get her pregnant. There had to be something else behind it, aside from Mother wanting children.

There was no way that my father wanted to expand his family. The head of the Murphy mafia family had sons and another daughter. I’d never bothered to learn about them. I didn’t want to know what I couldn’t have.

My sister had been enough for me. Father certainly never attempted to save us from Sofia Volkov. Then my twin was taken. He didn’t swoop in to save her, and I couldn’t forgive him for it. Fuck, I couldn’t even forgive myself.

Memories twisted in my chest as I made my way out of my bedroom. Mother had a separate wing where she handled business and personal matters. I rarely ventured there, but now, I had to get answers. She couldn’t leave me in the dark. Not anymore. Not this time.

As I made my way deeper into the castle, the sound of thunder rumbled in the sky, almost as if announcing impending doom. This side of the estate was adorned in riches, all of the corridors filled with paintings of strangers. There wasn’t a single portrait of our family to be found.

As I turned the corner and came up to the door of my mother’s suite, I closed my eyes for a moment. My breaths were even despite my erratic heartbeat.

I sensed there were big things at play, and I didn’t have the luxury of ignoring it. I’d done enough ignoring to last me the rest of my life. No more.

Thunder crackled outside, almost as though the skies agreed with me. Or maybe they were warning me to run back to my side of the castle.

My palms sweating, I raised my hand but froze mid-air, hearing the voices inside.

“It had to be an inside job.” I recognized the accented voice of Perez Cortes booming through the phone speaker. “I’ve killed every man who knew about our shipment to ensure no traitor was left breathing. I expect you to do the same.”

“I’ll have the bodyguards killed,” my mother replied. Just like that. Perez, just like my mother, didn’t value human life.

“But not just them.” Perez’s voice clearly signaled no room for negotiation. “I expect your daughter to be part of that body count. Ghost is snooping around her, and I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Who was he talking about? A ghost?

“She doesn’t know⁠—”

Perez interrupted whatever Mother had been about to say. “It’s an auction block, Marabella contract, or death for your daughter. Take your pick, Sofia.”

There was a long pause while I stood in stunned shock, staring at the mahogany door. Had it really come to this? Me on the auction block? Perez, his Marabella arrangements, and his idea of high-prized girls being auctioned off should—would—be burned to ashes.

And who was this ghost they spoke about?

I let out a sardonic breath. Perez Cortes was threatening me, and I was worrying about a ghost.

“She’s my daughter,” Mother said again. “You will not touch her.” I swallowed, hearing the protectiveness in her voice. I should feel relieved, but somehow it made the hair on my body stand. It only meant that Mother had a different plan. “I protected her from my husband”—Ivan Petrov was the shittiest husband a woman could have. He was cruel and evil, and thankfully not my problem—“and I’ll protect her from you.”

He laughed. “You really should have put a leash on that one a long time ago.”

“Fuck you.” The fury in Mother’s voice was impossible to miss. “Only I decide her fate.”

Bitterness thickened on my tongue. She was sparing me torture at the hands of others, but not her own. Punishment would come. It always did.

“She’s dangerous, and you know it.” There was another long pause before Perez spoke again. “And with Murphy’s death, he’s no longer around to protect her. From you or from me.”

He’s dead.

The statement ricocheted like a broken record. It shouldn’t be a surprise. When you lived among evil, it tended to catch up to you.

Why didn’t I feel sorrow? Pain? All I could focus on was that something was wrong. It wasn’t just this fucked-up business relationship. It wasn’t the death of a father I barely knew. It went a lot deeper than all this.

“Yes, she’s a danger to you, but not to me,” Mother hissed. “So you better watch the fuck out.”

“Then get her in line, Sofia.” Click. The line ended, the silence deafening before something thudded against the wall and the door opened. I stood there, our gazes locking, my hand still mid-air.

“What are you doing here?”

“I want to know what’s going on,” I demanded.

Mother stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Slightly surprised but hiding it behind a calm façade, I walked past her, still barefoot, the door shutting behind me silently. Then she started pacing back and forth until she came to a stop in front of the window.

For the first time in a very long time, Mother looked alarmed, confirming that nagging suspicion I’d been having. But her expression told me she wouldn’t divulge a thing. I waited in silence, unwilling to be the one to break it.

She took a seat in her lounge chair and stared up at me with lethargy.

“I have to tell you something.” My heartbeat came to a screeching halt. A different memory filtered through. Ignoring the ache in my heart and ghosts that plagued me, I tried to focus on the here and now. I had to stay present.

“Are you listening?” Mother’s voice whipped at me. The lump in my throat grew larger as memories of my sister flashed through my mind, choking me. The Tijuana cartel tortured her. Would I find a similar end under Perez? I wasn’t sure when she left her seat, but suddenly Mother’s hands cupped my cheeks, her icy fingers digging into my skin. “How much did you hear?”

I swallowed. “Enough.”

“Perez won’t get to you.” I nodded, because there was nothing else to do. I wasn’t scared. Maybe I should let him get to me and destroy his operations from within. It actually wasn’t a bad idea.

“What… happened… to…?” I stammered. I should feel some emotion knowing Father was dead. It terrified me that I was becoming as heartless as my mother.

“Your dad?” Mother put into words what I wasn’t able to. I nodded. “He’s dead.”

“What happened?” I whispered, resigned.

“Juliette DiLustro.” The name didn’t mean anything, but I’d find out everything there was about her. “It’s been a while since he died.”

Silence lingered, and I waited for her to say something else, when she didn’t, I asked, “Who’s the Ghost?”

For the first time ever, my mother’s face lost all color, and her voice when she spoke was hardly audible. “Nobody important.” I narrowed my eyes, and she let out a heavy sigh. “She washes money for Luciano Vitale.” I stared at her in surprise. It wasn’t what I expected. “In fact, she’s his wife.”

She had to be lying. That explanation made no sense. Why not tell me that right off the bat? Why the fear in her eyes hearing that word? The Ghost.

“Is that the truth?” There was a hint of challenge in my voice. It was my turn to draw surprise from her.

“Yes.” Her gaze darted away, staring out the window into the dark night, and I knew it wasn’t. It was a blatant lie. There was more to this ghost than Luciano Vitale and his wife. “You better stop, Liana, or⁠—”

Or I’d have to pay the price. It’d be time for another torture.

My hands clenched into fists, and I turned to leave. Only once I was at the door, my hand on the doorknob, did I glance over my shoulder. My mother was still in the same spot, her face pale.

“I’m not going to stop until those who killed my sister are dead,” I said quietly, closing the door behind me. I was going to find out exactly who the Ghost was and what their connection was to my mother’s operations.

Because my sixth sense warned it had something to do with my twin.