Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One (17 page)

She held his gaze before looking around the luxurious bathroom. “Why did you chose this place? It’s so… isolated. ”

“I bought it on the suggestion of my father before he died. He thought I might need a place to escape.”

“And have you?” she asked.

“At various times for various reasons,” he said. “But never because I felt physically threatened.”

“Why do you feel threatened now?” she asked softly. “They were after me.”

He looked away. “There are things you don’t know.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Tell me,” she finally said.

“No.”

“Why?” she asked. “If what you say is true, I’m as involved in this as you. I deserve to know.”

He sighed. “I don’t dispute that, Angel. But I’m not going to be the one to hurt you if I can help it.”

“And telling me the things I don’t know will hurt me?”

“Yes,” he said.

He didn’t say the other thing; that she had already started to feel essential to him. He didn’t know what would happen to them when they were forced to rejoin the real world, but if he told her everything, she would hate him all over again, even if it was just because he was the messenger.

“If they’re out there, they have the power to hurt me anyway,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to know what I’m up against?”

The argument was valid, but it didn’t change anything. He stood, his body dripping. “I’m not discussing this with you, Angel.”

He stepped from the tub and headed for the bedroom. He was looking out over the storm-tossed beach when he felt her hands wrap around his waist, her naked body press to his back.

“I’m not sorry for asking,” she said. “I deserve to know.”

“You do,” he said hoarsely.

The stood in silence before she spoke again. “Let’s not talk about my father. I just want to be with you.”

He turned to face her. “Good.”

27

She was careful to avoid conversation about their families after the incident in the tub. It was a stupid kind of denial, but she didn’t have the energy to fight it. Something had shifted in the two days since they’d left New York. Maybe it was the way Nico took her, without inhibition, his need for her as raw and visible as an open wound. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like he would pluck the moon from the sky if she wanted it.

Or maybe she was just being stupid.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but she felt safe with him against all reason. More than that, she felt a connection to him she couldn’t explain. She tried telling herself it was just sex. She’d never been claimed so completely, never lost control of herself like she did in Nico’s arms. He did more than take her—he occupied her, took up residence under her skin. When his hands were on her, there was nothing but the two of them. Nothing but Nico’s mouth and hands, his hardness sliding exquisitely inside her. There was nothing but light then. For the first time that she could remember, there was light.

Whatever it was, she felt sick at the thought of losing it, and she blocked out the past and the future, determined to live in the moment with Nico, whatever waited for them on the other side of it.

She sat on the counter in his shirt and let him feed her succulent pieces of fish and tender fingerling potatoes while he cooked. He dipped her fingers in the cream sauce simmering on the stove, then put them in his mouth, sucking until she was wet for him all over again. They listened to music while he worked, talking about their childhoods and their adolescence, steering clear of anything that would take them too close to the forbidden territory of Angel’s father.

They sat close at dinner. Nico touched her wrist, his bare feet next to hers under the table. She thrilled with every stroke of his skin, had to resist the urge to touch her lips to his, strip off his shirt, run her hands over his perfectly sculpted body.

They loaded the dishwasher, then moved to the couch where Angel sat cradled between his denim-clad legs. His chest was solid against her back, and she leaned into him, resting her head in the space between his collarbone and chest. He stroked her hair while he told her about his parents, about the business he’d remade after their death. She wanted to ask him details; did he hurt people? Kill them? Somehow she couldn’t imagine it, despite the power he emanated. But she didn’t ask. She didn’t know what waited for them beyond the sanctity of the island, but tonight belonged to them.

The candles were flickering low in their holders when the lights over the dining room table flickered on. Angel looked up silently, fighting the despair that unwound in her body. How much longer would they be able to justify staying here now that the storm was coming to an end?

Nico kissed the top of her head. “I need to see if the phones are back up.”

She leaned forward so he could get out, then sat back, watching him prowl to the phone on the kitchen island.

He picked up the receiver. “It’s working.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“I’m going to make a quick call,” he said. “Sit tight.”

He turned off the dining room light before heading for a closed door off the living room. She tried to make out his end of the conversation through the half-open door, but he spoke quietly, raising his voice only once; “I’m not taking her anywhere until I know it’s safe.”

It went quiet again in the moments before he came back into the room, still holding the phone. He leaned in the doorway, watching her.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly.

His eyes darkened. “It is now.”

She smiled a little.

“We have to go back tomorrow.” Regret shaded his voice.

“I know.” She held out a hand for him. “Come here.”

He set the phone on the mantel and came toward her.

She pulled him down, stretching out against his body, fitting herself to him. He held her close, kissed her hair, his tenderness quickly turning to passion as her skin came alive under his fingers. He undressed her in front of the fireplace, sucking in his breath at the sight of her like he hadn’t already seen her without clothes at least five times. She knew the feeling. She was breathless in the face of his naked form, his chiseled body glowing in the firelight. They started slowly, drawing out their pleasure, but it wasn’t long before she guided him inside her, meeting his thrusts with her hips, urging him on with words, begging him to fuck her, to take her, to come with her. Wanted all of him, everywhere.

Hours later, they were still naked on the sofa. The flames had burned low in the grate, and the candles had long since burned out.

“We should go to bed,” Nico said,

“Hmmm….” Angel nestled into him, draping an arm across his chest.

He didn’t say anything at first, and she thought he might have fallen asleep.

“We’ll have to talk in the morning,” he finally said. “About everything.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes, listened to the muffled rhythm of his heartbeat. “But it’s not morning.”

He tightened his arms around her. “Fair enough.”

She let herself drift, carried on waves of containment and something too powerful to name. Tomorrow she would have to ask questions, and she would have to deal with the answers—and with Nico if he didn’t want to give them to her.

But not tonight.

28

She woke to the sun streaming in through the windows, the sound of rain strangely absent after two days of of torrential downpour. The waves rushed softly up the beach below the house, breaking more gently on the rocks than they had in the previous two days.

She turned on the couch, grasping in vain for Nico’s warm body.

“Morning.” He sat down on the edge of the couch with a steaming cup in his hand. “Thought you could use this.”

The smell of coffee coaxed her to a sitting position, and she looked down, realizing she was still naked. He handed her the shirt she’d been wearing the night before, and she put it on, leaving it unbuttoned, before taking the cup from his hands.

“Thank you.” She took a sip of the coffee. Heavenly. Then she noticed that he was wearing black slacks and a dark blue button down. “You’re already dressed.”

“I wanted to let you sleep, so I took a shower and packed.”

He was obviously waiting, trying to find the right moment to begin the conversation they both knew they had to have. She took a long drink of the coffee to fortify herself, then held it between her two hands.

“You said my father killed your parents.”

“I’d rather not talk about that,” he said. “Let’s talk about us.”

“I can’t do that. Not until we talk about my father.”

He nodded. “Okay, yes. Your father killed my parents.”

“I thought targeting family was against the rules.” She felt vaguely ridiculous saying it. The only thing she knew about the mob was what she’d read in the papers or seen in movies.

“It was,” he said. “It is.”

“You took me,” she reminded him.

“But I didn’t put a gun to your head and kill you. I didn’t kill your brother. I just want justice for my parents.”

She swallowed hard. “Do you have proof?” she asked softly.

“I can get it.” His voice turned flinty around the words.

“But you don’t have it now,” she said.

“I can get it.”

She forced herself to meet his eyes. “It’s not enough. It’s hard enough to believe that my father is a member of the mob. Now you want me to accept that he’s a murderer without any proof?”

“It’s true,” Nico insisted. “I wish it wasn’t. But it is.”

She put the mug down on the table and stood, the shirt falling open as she stalked to the fireplace. “Says you.”

“It was him,” he said through gritted teeth. “The thing I want… the thing I wanted when I took you, it will prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought. He was sure. She could hear it in his voice. Nico wasn’t the kind of man to posture, and he wasn’t the kind of man to lie. She felt crazy even thinking it. He was a criminal. Why would she think lying was beneath him?

And yet, she did. She knew it with a certainty she would have bet her life on.

Which meant what? That her father was a murderer. A cold blooded murderer. Or that Nico was simply mistaken.

“Let me go,” she said. “I’ll talk to him, and then I’ll know.”

He ran his hands through his hair. She wanted to go to him, to pull his face to her stomach, let him wrap his arms around her waist while she stood half naked before him. But this moment wasn’t about that.

“He’s not going to tell you the truth,” Nico said. “He wouldn’t even come clean to Raneiro. That’s why I need the evidence in your father’s possession.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Who is Raneiro?”

He sighed, then stood and walked to the windows. “He runs the Syndicate. It’s up to him to mete out punishment when members violate our honor code.” He gazed out over the beach in silence before turning to her, his eyes full of pain. “But I need proof.”

She heard the apology in his voice. He didn’t like this. The evidence that would avenge his parents would also be the thing to prove her father a murderer. She thought about her brother. What would he say when they found out—if they found out—that it was true?

She tried to focus on something practical to avoid screaming out loud. “How do you know one of your men was part of it?”

“Witnesses said there were two gunmen. And my father was careful when he went out with my mother—even more so right before he died. He didn’t advertise their movements, and he kept a bodyguard near them at all times. Only someone in our family could have known where they were going that night, and the guard was conveniently absent when the shooting occurred.”

His voice had turned clinical, as if he was trying to distance himself from the details of his parent’s death.

“Okay, but if it’s true, why would my father keep proof of his crime? It sounds stupid, and whatever you may think about him, he isn’t stupid. Wouldn’t he have gotten rid of the evidence by now?”

“Not if he wanted to hold it over the head of whoever was helping him,” he said.

“Then let me go,” she said. “I’ll talk to him, find out if it’s true.”

“He almost killed you!”

She jumped at the sound of his raised voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Those men…” He took a deep breath, like he was trying to compose himself. “They almost got you killed.”

“They were there to rescue me,” she said stubbornly.

“Rescue you?” His laugh was bitter. “Is that why they used you as human shield? Why the man who was holding you said he didn’t care if you lived or died?”

“That wasn’t my father’s fault,” she said, fighting to keep Nico’s words from piercing her heart. “His men must have… gone rogue or something. Maybe they were scared.”

He shook his head. “They would be as good as dead if they purposefully violated an order to get you out alive.”

“So what are you saying?” she demanded. “That my father told them to have me killed?”

“No,” he said. “I’m saying he told them to get you out, but made it clear that it was okay if they couldn’t get you out alive.”

She tried to laugh to show him how ridiculous it was, but it sounded strangled in her throat. “Then why bother sending them in at all? They could have just left me to you, let you do their dirty work.”

She saw the hurt on his face in the moment before he composed his features into a mask of indifference.

“In this business, you don’t let your enemies have at your family—at anything that belongs to you. It’s a show of weakness.”

“So my father sent them after me not because he loves me, but because he didn’t want to appear weak?”

“I”m not saying that, Angel. Just look at what happened. You were
there
. They treated you like a disposable commodity. Do you think I’m going to let you go to him? To risk something happening to you?”

“What do you care?” she hissed.

He stalked across the room until he was standing in front of her. He grabbed ahold of her shoulders. “Look at me.” She didn’t. Not at first. “Look at me, Angel.”

She did then, but only because she wanted this to be over. Wanted to get away from him, from his scent and the powerful body that called to her like a siren even now when she thought she might really and truly despise him.