Taken: A Mafia Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Other Titles

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Note From The Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Logan Chance

  Contents

  Other Titles

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Note From The Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Logan Chance

  TAKEN

  By Logan Chance

  Copyright © 2018 by Logan Chance

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  This book is dedicated to my reader's group, The Dark Side, for believing in me.

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  “The only evil in this world are the people in it.”

  Xavier Stone

  “Because when I hold your hand, I feel like I'm flying.”

  Xavier Stone

  Synopsis

  Rhiannon

  Things change. Sometimes not for the better.

  Xavier is no longer the maid’s son. Or my best friend. Now he’s wealthy and powerful—the dark don, in charge of one of the largest corporations in the world.

  I never expected the boy who always saved me to be the man who kidnaps me.

  Xavier

  Some things never change.

  Rhiannon is still as fiery and beautiful as the day I walked away. Now I'm back, ready to seek vengeance against the one man who wronged me. My rival. Her father.

  If her father wants war, he'll get a war.

  Kidnapping his daughter is the key to my ultimate revenge.

  Prologue

  Seventy-two steps until my life ends. Mendelssohn’s Wedding March wafts from the strings of the tuxedoed orchestra serenading my death. The white satin bridal gown and veil cling to me like a shroud.

  One.

  Two.

  Three. I count to calm my galloping heart.

  Cold eyes at the end of the aisle lock with mine, daring me to run. The golden wings of the turtle dove necklace hidden within the bouquet of white roses fisted in my hand, cut into my palm.

  Four.

  Five.

  The robed priest smiles under the watchful eyes of the marble saints. Murmurs of “So beautiful” and “God bless” turn to wailing shrieks of horror as a shot rings out, dancing across the crescendo of the wedding march.

  God isn't here today. And there will be no marriage, only death at this red wedding.

  1

  Rhiannon

  Eight years old

  “Shh, you’ll get us caught.”

  “No one’s going to find us. Don’t be such a baby, Rhi.”

  “I’m not a baby,” my voice raises a little with denial.

  I hate when Xavier calls me a baby. I’m eight years old and can do a ton of things for myself. Like, daddy lets me ride my bike around the neighborhood all alone. Well, really until the end of the street, but still. Plus, grownups say I have a mature soul; whatever that means. It doesn't sound babyish, though.

  “No talking until we get outside,” he whispers. He’s so bossy. But, he is two years older than me, so I guess, technically, he is in charge. Plus, he's my best friend, so I overlook these things.

  We duck out the French door in the kitchen, into the dark, trying our best not to make a sound.

  This probably isn't a good idea. Rescue the princess is a game we play often but never at night.

  The moon plays peekaboo in the cloud-covered sky, and we slip like mist across the damp grass, hopefully without being seen by the guards.

  If my father found us sneaking out, we’d probably be murdered. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. I've heard the staff whispering when they think I'm not listening. Once, I asked my mother if he’s a bad man, and she told me never to say it again. She said he protects us from the other bad people of the world. So, I guess he's good to us.

  Well, good to me, anyways. He doesn't care much for Xavier. Mom says he only tolerates him because he’s Hannah’s son. She’s our maid, tall with beautiful hair the color of chocolate, and one of the nicest women I’ve ever met. And if I'm being honest, sometimes, when she brushes my long red hair, I pretend she’s my mother.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but she’s always busy entertaining my dad’s boring friends when she's not working at his office.

  “This way,” Xavier directs, leading me down the uneven cobblestone path that cuts through the backyard.

  He grabs my hand when I hesitate, and like always, I feel as if nothing can harm me out here with him.

  “We’re almost there,” he reassures, taking us away from the safety of the big brick house, toward the towering woods.

  “Maybe we shouldn't,” I hedge.

  Unsure, I peek over my shoulder for a moment. Like a beacon calling me home, a light flickers through an upstairs window.

  “No turning back.” Xavier’s blue eyes gl
ow with anticipation of all the things I'm afraid of as he tugs me along. He's the opposite of me: fearless.

  A blanket of twigs snap beneath our sneakers as Xavier tightens his grip on my sweaty hand. Crickets chirp and things I don't want to think about rustle through the darkness as we move further than I've ever been through the knotty trunks.

  A small cabin, in a clearing, comes into view, and he rushes up the rickety stairs, to the front door, dropping my hand somewhere along the way.

  Spooky shadows lurk inside the windows, and I hang back a bit, my sneakers cemented to the earth. “What’s in there?”

  “Don’t be a fraidy cat.”

  “I’m not afraid.” I raise my chin and step on the first wooden plank leading up to a small porch.

  He opens the door. “Ready?”

  I’m not, but I’ll never let him know it, so I continue on and follow him into the unknown.

  He flicks his flashlight on and scans the room. The dark walls are bare, and a lone chair sits like a throne in the middle of the room with steel handcuffs attached to both arms.

  “What is this place?”

  “I don’t know,” he answers, looking over at me. “I followed your dad and his friends the other day down here.”

  “Xavier, we shouldn't be here. I don’t think good things happen in this place. I don't like it here.”

  He grabs my arm, his blue eyes holding mine. “One day, I’ll take you away from your father and all the bad things.”

  Xavier has never liked daddy either. His cold hard stare. The gruff in his voice when he yells at him for everything.

  My father calls him a ...nuisance.

  “What if I don't want to leave?”

  “What could you possibly like about living with your father?”

  I don't get to answer because there’s a snap of a tree branch outside.

  “Hide,” he says, flicking off his flashlight. We crouch by the far wall of the small cabin, behind a table of tools I don’t fully understand.

  The front door flies open. “Who’s in here?” The sound of my father’s voice startles us both. Xavier, eyes loaded with fear, slaps a hand over my mouth before I can answer.

  Tucking my knees to my chest, I try to make myself disappear. I squeeze my eyes shut, anything to make me go away. My father will probably spank me for being out here, maybe ground me forever from playing outside, but it’s nothing compared to what he’ll do to Xavier.

  He might even go so far as to fire his mother.

  When my father shines his light around the room, we shrink back into the small alcove of the side. Footsteps fall faster to our hiding spot, and Xavier is yanked up by his hoodie.

  “You're hiding like a rat,” my father bites out. “Why are you in here?”

  Xavier’s eyes meet mine, and he gives a little shake of his head, warning me to stay silent. “Answer me,” he yells so loud it feels like the walls vibrate.

  “I was just exploring,” Xavier finally responds.

  “Exploring?” My father drags him to the chair and drops him down in it. “Come out of there, Rhiannon,” he orders.

  Reluctantly, I stand from my hiding spot. He flips on the light, and I squint against the fluorescent glare. He's scary when he's angry. Pinched face, flaring nostrils. And right now, he's madder than I've ever seen him. Hannah says to count when I'm afraid or upset and when I'm finished, it won't seem so bad. So, I count the steps over to him in my head to calm myself.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I don't want to be a baby, but the tears start falling.

  Four.

  Five.

  He grips my arm and yanks me in front of Xavier. “What are you doing here, Rhiannon?”

  Through my tears, I answer. “I'm only eight, you can't expect me to make good choices.”

  He pulls his leather belt free from the loops… and then whips me.

  Over and over.

  Until the numbers in my head jumble.

  Until I see little stars behind my squeezed eyelids.

  Until I cry out I won't do it again.

  “Stop,” Xavier yells. “It's not her fault. Punish me.”

  “This is your punishment, Xavier,” my father shouts.

  Finally, after a few more minutes, the hits cease, but the sting and burn continues so fierce I rub my bottom. I'm sure Xavier really thinks I'm a baby now; I can't stop the shudders waffling my frame or the hiccuping sobs.

  My father leans down, an inch from Xavier’s stricken face, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair. “Remember this lesson.”

  Xavier doesn't look at me on the entire walk back. My father strides ahead of us across the lawn and when he's out of ear shot, Xavier takes my hand.

  “One day, Rhiannon, I will take you away from him.”

  I don’t say a word. The look in his eyes tells me he isn’t kidding.

  2

  Rhiannon

  Twelve years old

  “She can't play,” Dean, Xavier’s new friend, balks. “She's wearing a dress.”

  “So,” I snip back, “I can still throw.”

  Xavier blows out a breath, saying I'm sorry with his eyes. “It's baseball, Rhi.”

  Dean smiles at me, a big Cheshire grin, knowing I'm going to lose at my attempt to join in their game. Almost every day, after school, I race through my homework and head to the small cottage at the back of the property where Xavier lives with his mom. It's the only real routine, I have. But, every afternoon this week, Dean has been here. Dean with his stormy gray eyes and skater blond hair.

  “Come on, Rhiannon, you might get hurt,” Xavier says to me, “and you know what happens when you see your own blood.”

  I lower my head. “Yeah, I faint.”

  “That’s right. We don’t want you fainting all over the place.” He bops my nose with his finger.

  “You could be our cheerleader,” Dean offers.

  Ignoring him, I turn away and cross to the patio of their home. Hannah waves to me from behind the kitchen island, and I slide the door open and step inside to the scent of garlic.

  “Hi, Rhi,” she greets me, her knife flying through the mushrooms on the counter.

  “Hey,” I reply, droopy as the daffodils on the counter.

  “Why the sour face?”

  I shrug, slipping onto the wood stool at the island. “I don't know.” All it takes to loosen my lips is an arch of her brow. “Well, things are changing, and I don't like it,” I confess.

  “What do you mean?”

  Her hazel eyes flit over my shoulder to the back lawn. “Dean?” she asks, with just enough comfort in her voice, and sympathy in her eyes, to set my tongue to wagging.

  “Yeah,” I answer, resting my chin in my palm, “and everything. Everyone gets to do what they want, and I'm stuck in the castle.”

  Fortress is more like it. A few years ago, I realized there are invisible bars surrounding the grounds of our house. I don't get to do the things my friends do: sleepovers, movies, hanging out. I'm like a dog that can only go so far before I'm zapped. I have everything I want, except what I really want: to be normal.

  Why would Xavier stay imprisoned with me when he can run free with Dean?

  “Listen to me, Rhiannon,” she says. “It's life. The only sure thing is the sun rising and setting. What happens between that is always uncertain.”

  “Well, I don't like this life,” I pout. “I want to be free too.”

  “I don't know that we’re ever truly free, Rhi.” A wistful look crosses her face. “There are always invisible ties tethering us to things.”

  “Mom,” Xavier interrupts, peeking his head in the door, “can I go to the ice cream shoppe with Dean?”

  I pop a mushroom into my mouth, listening to Xavier haggle his way into a yes. “You can come too, Rhi,” he says, hopefully.

  “Fat chance,” I answer, standing.

  Xavier knows Dad will never say yes. His favorite word is no.

  �
��Don't give up so easily,” Hannah encourages me.

  “Ok,” I concede, “if I'm not back in ten minutes, then you know the answer.”

  Four minutes later, I sprint across the checkerboard marble tile in the entryway, down the long hall to the wooden door of my father’s office. My sandaled feet slide to a stop.

  I knock.

  “Come in,” he calls out. His dark eyes narrow when I step inside his high-tech lair. “What do you need, Rhiannon?”

  “I want to go to the ice cream shoppe with Xavier and Dean.”

  With one syllable, he squelches my request. “No.”

  He looks back at the flat screen monitor, raising his hand and shooing me away like an irritating fly. That's it. No explanation, as usual. Must be nice to be a grown up. If he keeps this up I'm going to lose Xavier to Dean forever. It’s not fair, so I do something I know I shouldn't. Something that is never allowed. “Why?” I question.

  The big leather chair he rules his office in squeaks faintly when he leans back, as if it to is too afraid to speak up.

  His crisp white dress shirt, always a dress shirt, never a cool t-shirt like I see the other dads wear, strains against his broad shoulders when he crosses his arms that never hug me. Fed up and probably a little foolish, I cross mine too.