THE CAPO

  PIPER STONE

  CONTENTS

  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

  Afterword

  Books of the Savage Empire Series

  Books of the Ruthless Empire Series

  Books of the Tainted Regime Series

  Books of the Carnal Sins Series

  Books of the Kings of Corruption Series

  Books of the Sinners and Saints Series

  Books of the Benedetti Empire Series

  Books of the Merciless Kings Series

  Books of the Mafia Masters Series

  Books of the Edge of Darkness Series

  Books of the Dark Overture Series

  Books of the Club Darkness Series

  More Mafia and Billionaire Romances by Piper Stone

  Books of the Missoula Bad Boys Series

  Books of the Montana Bad Boys Series

  Books of the Eagle Force Series

  Books of the Dangerous Business Series

  Books of the Dark Wolves Series

  Books of the Alpha Dynasty Series

  Books of the Alpha Beasts Series

  More Stormy Night Books by Piper Stone

  About Piper Stone

  Afterword

  Copyright © 2023 by Stormy Night Publications and Piper Stone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Stone, Piper

  The Capo

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  CHAPTER 1

  “We fear monsters because we fear the dark parts of ourselves.”

  —John J. Geddes

  Los Angeles

  Delaney

  Lightning struck somewhere in the distance, illuminating the dark night with sparks of effervescent blue neon. It wouldn’t ordinarily bother me except for the fact I was being hunted by a monster.

  Run! Run! Run!

  The little voice inside my head poked and prodded, pushing me harder. I had to run faster. Harder. There was no other way of getting away from him.

  Him.

  I’d thought he was sexy and mysterious in his dark suit and dangerous-looking mask, the illusion of seduction drawing me to the kink club in the first place. The invitation had been unused by my roommate, time with her boyfriend taking precedence.

  Now I was regretting my decision to accept.

  I didn’t want to die today.

  After thirty minutes of playing cat and mouse on the dance floor, neither one of us saying a single word, I’d allowed the mysterious man in a mask to buy me a drink. Every night held a different event at the club, the masquerade party sounding like fun. But he’d been able to hide his true identity behind the black face mask. I’d found it sexy at first. I should have known better. The sweet scent of sin had lingered in the air, the anticipation of enjoying time spent with a masterful man intoxicating. I’d let my guard fall, engaging in flirtations and a single taste of his bourbon-tainted lips.

  Then I’d realized there was something off about him, my need to flee rushing into the front of my mind. When I’d tried to leave, he’d been right there, confronting me. If it hadn’t been for a couple entering the club, distracting him for a few seconds, something terrible would have already happened. I was certain of it.

  The moment I’d refused his advances he’d become mean, nasty, the kind of forceful that had sent shivers dancing down my spine. I shouldn’t have come to the club alone. I should never have thought I could get away by myself for even a little while, pretending to be someone else.

  Pretending I could live anonymously.

  And he’d said something I hadn’t understood in a language I didn’t know, but there was no doubting the man’s evil intent.

  Abduction.

  Rape.

  Murder.

  All three and more.

  Oh, God. If only this was about my overactive imagination.

  I’d always known there were monsters lurking in the shadows, but there was something so twisted about the masked man from the club that my instinct had finally kicked in. I was fighting for my life, and I knew it.

  Run faster.

  But getting away wasn’t just about running. It was about being more cunning than the beast himself, hiding in the shadows that made me feel invisible. He’d targeted me, singling me out from all the beautiful women in skimpier attire inside the club, including those already performing masochistic deeds on machines and tables that reminded me of something I’d find in the Middle Ages. Why me?

  Unless I had a target on my back.

  There was no reason. I had no enemies that I knew of. Yet the feeling remained, something about the way he’d looked at me as if he knew who I was. His eyes had been dark, full of rage the moment I’d told him I was leaving.

  Prickles remained dancing on my skin, the darkness surrounding me blanketed by the humid air, my heart racing. While I heard nothing but the rumble of thunder and my thudding heart, I could sense him getting even closer. I had no choice but to run.

  I blasted through the parking lot, tears of terror stinging my eyes. I wasn’t prone to crying, never had been, but my skin crawled from anticipation, my stomach in knots. No one had ever terrified me like the asshole hunting me.

  The streets surrounding the private, secret club were dark, barely any streetlights on the road. If I could only get to my roommate’s car, maybe I’d be able to get away. He had no clue who I was, the costume I’d worn hiding any chance he’d learn my identity. Since I’d used Ginny’s invitation, I prayed to God that would ensure he couldn’t find me.

  Still, I had to warn her.

  But first, I had to get the hell away.

  Hearing a slight whistle, I crouched down behind a parked car, placing my hand over my mouth. He was closer than I’d thought. Oh, God. I was shaking all over, ice trickling through my veins. He’d caught me in the funhouse, using the mirrors as a disguise. Blood trickled from my wrist where I’d cut it trying to find my way out, the shattered glass something he’d done, not me, his anger evident by the bellow he’d issued.

  No one had come to my defense inside the club. No one had cared whether I lived or died, every guest determined to keep their precious identities secret. And I was one of them.

  I shifted to the edge of the bumper, darting a quick look around the fender. While I couldn’t see anything, I sensed he was close, his aftershave unique; the strange combination of moss and exotic spices left me feeling nauseous.

  I couldn’t stay here. I was a sitting duck. After taking a deep breath, I scurried away, remaining low to the ground. Then I heard a pinging noise, sucking in my breath as I noticed a coin rolling down the pavement. Dear God. The fucker was playing games with me. Still shaking, the moment I heard his dark chuckle, I knew I was a dead woman.

  “You can’t get away from me. I will find you and when I do, you will pay for your sins.”

  The man was obviously deranged, so much so I was almost as angry as I was petrified. But I refused to play the victim to some insane asshole. The keys were in my hand, my roommate’s car not that far away. At this moment, I was thankful mine was in the shop, the vehicle far too easy to spot. At least my roommate’s Monte Carlo was older, the kind of car that would fade into the woodwork. I crawled forward on the cracked pavement, grabbing the coin into my sweaty hand, clamping my fingers around it. This was about survival, and I refused to come in second in the game.

  I moved closer, holding my breath. He’d cut me off from the club and there was no one else on the street, no one that would come to my assistance. The moment I heard him laughing again, I shifted forward past several vehicles. Now I had to cross over an open space. Dear God. He was continuously walking between the cars. I glanced down at the coin in my hand. Then I reared my arm back, pitching it as far away as possible.

  As soon as I took a single step, I heard him chuckling in a dark and demonic way, growling under his breath and racing toward the sound, I bolted toward my car, remaining low. My hand was shaking like a leaf, but I managed to slide the key into the lock, panic rushing in when I opened the door. Thank God the hinges didn’t creak. After closing the door, I shoved the keys into the ignition, glancing out the windshield before turning the engine.

  Or at least I tried.

  My God. I’d flooded it immediately. Really? Another wav
e of terror rushed in as I watched him turning around slowly. Oh, my God. He pulled something shiny from his pocket. A weapon. I couldn’t care less whether it was a knife or a gun. I had to get out of here.

  He took his time, scanning the parking lot as he moved closer. I sucked in and held my breath, counting to five before trying the engine again. When it turned over, I was gleeful, but that was short lived as he took off running. A screech left my mouth, but I managed to throw the gear into reverse, backing out then forced to slam on the brakes, barely missing hitting another car. As soon as I changed gears, throwing it into drive, I hit the accelerator hard, perspiration trickling down my forehead, but I refused to remove the mask in case I was a random target.

  I hit the road and refused to stop, but in the rearview mirror, I could see him still running after me.

  By the time I hit the highway, I could finally breathe. I couldn’t go to the police; they’d make a big deal out of it. My contract. Morals clauses. Tears formed in my eyes, but I was safe. If there really was such a thing?

  “Answer the damn phone,” I said in passing, the fifth ring the same thing I’d gotten the last time I’d called. And the time before that. The first time, Ginny’s voicemail had been full. Why hadn’t she answered?

  She spent so much time with her boyfriend, which was why she hadn’t been home the night before when I’d raced back to the apartment, shaking like a leaf when I’d tried to lock and bolt the door. I’d remained in the dark, staring out the front window, half expecting the monster to burst in through my door at any time.

  I’d fallen asleep only when light had drifted over the horizon.

  I ended the call, disgusted that I couldn’t get in touch with her. At this rate, I’d be forced to drive over to her boyfriend’s place, even though I wasn’t entirely certain where he lived. Shit. I was sick inside, butterflies taking up residence in my stomach.

  The photo shoot had been arduous, more so than typical. And long. I’d worked ten hours and was exhausted. At least it paid well and had gotten my mind off the horrors from the night before.

  But someone had sent weird, horrible roses to the photoshoot. Maybe they’d been beautiful once, a dozen white roses, but the edges were already dark from age, drooping in the vase. The card had simply been addressed to me. I’d spoken with the florist, but the girl was only able to determine the order had been placed through the internet. After that, I’d rushed home without saying another word, constantly looking over my shoulder for ghosts and goblins. Jesus Christ.

  My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the key, finally jamming it inside and opening the door. There was a light on, which meant she’d come home. Thank God. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.

  “Ginny! Are you here?” I called as soon as I closed and locked the door. “I need to talk to you.” I dropped my things, smiling from hearing her favorite heavy metal music blaring from her room. She was okay. Everything was going to be okay. We’d figure out what to do together. I laughed, imagining her in her usual attire. The girl managed to make leather and chains look good, something I’d never been able to do.

  I’d be forced to tell her I had a stalker. Then she’d convince me I needed to go to the police. God. This was so bad. I’d fucked up everything. Why? Why? Why had I wanted a night out by myself? Why had I wanted to pretend?

  Ginny and I were an unlikely pair of friends, but it worked and we’d been roommates for a couple of years, although I’d been successful in modeling where she’d been struggling. Still, she had a rich boyfriend, rarely staying home any longer. Maybe I’d advise her to go stay with him for a week or so. Just to play it safe. That was the best plan.

  Then what about you?

  I couldn’t just pick up and leave, although the strains of modeling and the hatred for Los Angeles and all the fake people were intensifying. But going home wasn’t an option. I laughed. My home was no longer in New Orleans. And my mother couldn’t give a shit. I was nothing but a bother to her. Jesus. I wasn’t even thinking straight.

  Calm down. Breathe.

  “Ginny!” I called again, trying to ignore the sick sensations tearing through me as I reached the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. She’d left the kitchen a mess as usual, which forced me to roll my eyes. Other than that, she was the perfect roommate. I cracked open the bottle, taking a sip before heading down the hallway to her room. The closer I came, the more intense the nausea became until I felt faint. I could swear there was a strange smell coming from her room.

  The door was partially open, which meant she wasn’t with Rory. Still, I knocked. “Hey. Are you in there?” There was definitely a disgusting scent. What the hell?

  When she didn’t call out, I pushed open the door.

  No matter where you go, I will hunt you down. You will pay for your sins.

  The words skittered in the back of my mind, starting and stopping several times as if a broken record skipping and repeating. My stomach lurched and I slapped my hand over my mouth and nose, the bottle of water slipping from my fingers. I watched as it tumbled to the floor, water splashing everywhere.

  Everything was suddenly in slow motion.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

  Mortal Sins Must Be Paid in Like Kind

  The horrible words were written across the wall in red ink. No, blood. Strings of it oozed from the letters.

  There was no way to describe the scene of horror. She was dead. Dead. Her body lying in the middle of the bed, blood… Oh, no. No!

  I stumbled backward, hitting the hallway wall. There was blood everywhere, strings of it on the walls and the floor.

  Her head was turned, her lifeless eyes depicting the horror she’d been through.

  He’d gotten the wrong person. Because of me. I killed her. Me. Oh, God. Oh…

  “Ginny. Ginny!” I slid to the floor and wailed.

  CHAPTER 2

  New Orleans

  Francois

  “You’re out of your mind. You do know that. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  As if death bothered me in the least. I was used to bloodshed and violence, dead bodies, and twisted limbs. However, not today.

  Grinning, I grabbed the helmet from one of the pit crew. “So what? You only live once.” I couldn’t help grinning at my buddy of two decades before buckling the strap under my chin, taking long strides toward the specially designed Corvette I’d had a hand in designing. Racecars weren’t my forte, simply a love I’d had since my father had taken me to the Daytona 500 when I was eight or nine. After that, I’d been addicted to speed.

  Owning not only a racetrack outside of New Orleans but also a racing team had been a dream come true. My buddy and I were business partners in the venture, utilizing not only combined capital but our powerful influences to ensure the project didn’t run into any hiccups. I held extreme power not just in New Orleans but all of Louisiana, as well as several other states. Politicians were terrified of what my family and I could do, the influence we could wield. Elections were won and lost on who we supported.

  And those we destroyed for crossing us.

  Brandon Baxter had taken the high road where I’d been forced on more than one occasion to use more… down and dirty methods of achieving our goals. Weeding through the red tape had been eye-opening. Getting the project to this point hadn’t been without significant hurdles or threats. At least I’d kept the bloodshed down to a minimum. I grinned at the thought.

  The first race was in a few days, but I was testing out the track and the racecar Brandon and I had commissioned almost eight months before. We’d had a hand in every detail, right down to the perfect paint color. Fire Engine Red. We’d built our pit crew and secured the driver of our choice through providing top of the line pay scale and benefits. However, I wasn’t in this as a hobby. I had no intentions of us losing. Period.

  Nothing I touched had ever lost, both naysayers and admirers admitting I had a Midas touch. I was fortunate in that I was wealthy and brutal enough to demand and get what I wanted.

  With no exceptions.

  “Incidentally, I won’t be able to make the race,” he said far too casually.