Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One (22 page)

He leaned back against the sideboard and considered his options. Angel was waiting for him, and who knew how many men Luca was fighting off outside. Nico couldn’t afford to engage in a standoff with this asshole.

He grabbed a nearby candlestick that had fallen off the cabinet and hurled it toward the kitchen door. The man emerged from behind the cabinet, firing in the direction Nico had thrown the candlestick. Nico took advantage of the diversion by firing at the man, then making a break for the kitchen door. The man stumbled back, clutching his chest, his eyes finding Nico’s through the dark.

Dante?

The question was still ringing through his ears as he burst into the kitchen. He could hear the sound of gunfire outside, footsteps on the floors above, but he hurried out the terrace door to the SUV with darkened windows that stood waiting by the back door. He hated leaving his men, but nothing was more important than getting Angel out alive.

He was looking for Angel and Luca when Luca stepped out from behind the car. “She’s inside,” he said. “Told her to keep her head down.”

Nico nodded, placing a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” he said. “What’s the situation?”

“Men on the upper floors—not sure if they’re ours or theirs—and two in the dining room. One of them’s dead. I think the other one was Dante.”

Luca couldn’t hide his surprise. “Dante Santoro?”

Nico nodded. “I hit him, but I don’t know if it took him down. Be careful.”

“Will do.” Luca glanced back at the house as gunfire burst from the top floors. “Now get out of here. Plane’s waiting.”

Nico opened the door, relief flooding his body at the sight of Angel in the passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said to Luca before closing the door. He put the car in gear and glanced at Angel. “Put on your seat belt.”

He heard the buckle click into place as he turned the car around and headed for the front of the house. They hit the front courtyard in a hail of bullets.

“Get down,” Nico shouted at Angel.

She ducked, and he veered around the fountain and headed for the drive as bullets shattered the rear window.

Nico held his breath when they entered the path leading to the main gate. The trees on either side blocked out any light, and he had no way of knowing if more gunmen were laying in wait.

But it wasn’t until the gate came into view that he saw what they were up against; six men standing in front of the closed gate with semi-automatic weapons. A quick rundown of their options left him with little choice. The iron fence surrounding the house was built to withstand severe force. If he tried to veer off road and crash through it, he and Angel might be killed. And if the fence didn’t give and the impact didn’t kill them, it would only be minutes until Carlo’s men—if that’s who they were—found them.

He pressed the button clipped to the visor and watched as the gate rolled open behind the men raising their weapons.

“Stay down and hang on,” Nico ordered Angel.

He took aim at the gate and ducked his head as the men started firing. Then he floored it, trying to keep the wheel straight so it would take them through the gate. He couldn’t have cared less about the men standing in front of it. They could move or die.

There was a split second when he wondered if they would make it. The car was barreling forward, bullets pinging off the hood, shattering the windshield. Then there was a sudden quiet, and they were skidding onto the private road outside of the house, fishtailing as Nico raised his head and corrected to keep them from sliding into the dense forest around the property.

He sat up and pressed the gas, relieved to feel the car respond even as wind whistled through the ruined windshield. Far behind them, he heard the sound of bullets, but the gunmen were too far back to do any damage.

He got off the main road leading from the house as soon as he could, winding his way toward the Thruway through the backroads. He half expected to see cars in the rearview mirror, but fifteen minutes later they were turning onto the highway, the road clear behind them.

He took a deep breath and looked at Angel. “You okay?”

She nodded, her eyes wide.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her eyes drifting to his thigh. “You’ve been shot.”

He looked down at the blood soaking his slacks. “It’s fine.” He reached for her hand. “Let’s just get out of here.”

35

A private plane was waiting for them in Newburgh. They passed through customs and were on board before Angel had time to ask about her passport. Apparently, Nico’s influence extended to the TSA. The pilot welcomed them aboard the luxury jet, and they were in the air less then ten minutes later.

Once they’d reached a cruising altitude, they went into the stateroom so Nico could change. Angel had to fight panic when he stripped off his bloody pants. The wound was only half an inch in diameter, but blood still streamed from it, and the skin around it looked raw and sore. She told herself it was the blood that made her woozy, not the thought of losing him. She ignored the voice in her head that called her liar.

Nico inspected it dispassionately and declared that the bullet had gone straight through. He tried to dress it himself from an on-board first aid kit before Angel insisted on helping. She touched his skin lightly, cleaning the wound before slowly wrapping gauze around his leg. It was a different kind of intimacy, trying to keep from hurting him while he acted like it didn’t hurt at all, both of them avoiding the subject of everything that had happened at the house.

When they were done, Nico poured them a drink. They downed the contents of their glasses, and he pulled back the covers on the bed so she could climb in. Then he stretched out carefully next to her and took her in his arms. Neither of them said a word.

She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but the hum of the plane’s engines coupled with Nico’s solid presence slowly calmed the churning of her mind. Nine hours later, they deplaned and stepped out into the Rome sunshine. A car was already waiting, and Angel was surprised when Nico stepped forward, kissing the driver on both cheeks like an old friend.

“Buona giornata,” he said to the stocky, older man.

“Buona giornata,” the man repeated, his smile wide.

“Come ti va la vita?” Nico asked.

“La vita è bella a Roma,” the man laughed.

Nico smiled. “Thank you for picking us up.”

The man opened the back door, switching seamlessly to English. “Say nothing of it, my friend.”

He put their bags in the trunk while Angel slid into the backseat. Nico followed, and the man shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side.

“This is Antonio,” Nico said to her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet such a magnificent woman,” Antonio said, turning around to look at her.

“Stop flirting with my woman and drive,” Nico said with a smile.

Angel looked out the window, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure at the idea of being Nico’s woman. What was wrong with her? She was confused. Obviously. She hadn’t even tried to run back at the house in New York. True, she’d been half asleep, not even sure the men invading Nico’s property were there on her father’s behalf.

But that wasn’t it, was it? Not if she were honest with herself. Part of her—a big part—wanted to stay with Nico, rebelled at the idea of leaving him even as she knew it was inevitable. At some point she would have to learn the truth about her father, and there were only two ways it could turn out; either Nico was right and her father was a killer, or he was wrong and Nico was a liar. Was there any way forward for her and Nico in either scenario?

She thought about David. It had only been four days since she’d last spoken to him, but it felt like a lifetime. She missed him so much it hurt. She needed someone to talk to, someone who could give her perspective. She’d been too close to Nico for too long. She’d lost touch with herself, with the person she was before, and no one knew that person better than her brother.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the streets of Rome, vibrant on the other side of the window. Stylishly dressed people mixed with tourists as scooters weaved in and out of traffic. In the distance, she could make out the dome of Vatican City and the sun-burnished stucco of Rome’s older buildings. She felt suddenly ashamed. Despite her heritage, she’d never even been to this country, didn’t speak a word of Italian. She’d been sucked into the apathy of post-college life, drifting through the days and weeks. She wished she could do it again, go back to the naive Angel who had no way of knowing how drastically things would change. But that Angel was gone forever. Whatever happened, nothing would be the same.

Antonio chatted idly in Italian with Nico, pausing to shout at taxis and mopeds, on the way into the city. Angel’s stomach was rumbling by the time they pulled up next to the entrance of the Waldorf, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

Antonio retrieved their bags from the trunk and handed something to Nico, then kissed him on both cheeks.

“Stammi bene, amico mio,” he said.

Nico patted his shoulder. “Anche tu.”

He took Angel’s hand and led her into the hotel, seemingly unworried that she might try to escape. The realization annoyed her. He thought because they’d slept together she was his, that she didn’t still want to get away from him. And she’d let him think it.

They passed the front desk and headed straight for a bank of elevators.

“Don’t we have to check in?” Angel asked. She was trying to maintain some kind of control over the situation, even if it was just to ask questions instead of just following along in Nico’s wake.

He flashed the little envelope Antonio had given him; their room key.

“Taken care of,” he said, stepping into the elevator.

They ascended to the top floor and exited into a private entry. Angel had to fight not to gawk at the luxurious room stretched out in front of her; an open living and dining room furnished with eighteenth century antiques, damask draperies, and fine art. Beyond the living room, she could see a bedroom with red walls and plush bed linens.

“What is this?” she asked, dropping her duffel bag on the floor.

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“This… this room. What is it?”

“It’s the Petronius suite,” he said simply. “I thought about a smaller hotel, but I think this is safer. And Raneiro knows we’re coming. That will offer us some kind of protection in his city.”

She walked to the glass doors at the far side of the room and stepped out onto a balcony that seemed to teeter at the top of the world. A whirlpool bubbled on one side, and a row of lounge chairs lined up to take advantage of a breathtaking view of the city.

“We won’t be here long, but I hope you’ll be comfortable while we’re here,” Nico said.

She turned to find him leaning in the doorway. She almost thanked him, then remembered her earlier resolve to keep things in perspective. Still, it wasn’t easy to keep her distance. He was a beautiful man. The urge to go to him, to link her arms around his neck and press her mouth to his, was almost overwhelming.

“Why don’t you shower and change,” he finally said. “I think you’ll find everything you need in the duffel bag. If there’s anything else, let me know and I’ll see that you have it.”

He turned away.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe,” he said. “I’ll be making calls in the study if you need me.”

36

The master bedroom was every bit as plush as the rest of the suite. There were not one but two massive beds in the middle of the large room, both of them surrounded by rich, scarlet wallpaper and flanked with polished mahogany end tables. She didn’t even try to sell herself on the possibility of sleeping in one while Nico slept in another. What would be the point? She knew she would be helpless as soon as he touched her.

Opposite the beds, a chaise and chair were upholstered in red velvet and trimmed in gold leaf. A tray holding two glass bottles of Pellagrino, a small bowl of oranges, and a silver dome sat on a gilded table between the chairs.

She removed the dome to reveal four sandwiches made with thick, crusty bread, each of them oozing mozzarella and red peppers. She ate two of them standing up, guzzling the water between bites, and left the other two for Nico. When she was done, she spread the contents of her bag out on the bed.

There were three sets of underclothes, a pair of pants, three blouses, a T-shirt, and a skirt, all of them things she recognized from the stash of clothes Nico had placed in the Hudson Valley house. There were toiletries, too; shampoo and conditioner and high-end body wash, a hair brush, even face wash and make up that was way out of her price range in her normal life. Whoever had packed for her had done so carefully, and while the clothes would only get her through a couple of days before she’d have to repeat, it was more than she could have hoped for given their hurried escape in New York.

And there was something else in the bag; her passport.

She had no idea how Nico had gotten ahold of it. Presumably, he’d sent someone to her apartment. It should have given her the creeps, but instead she felt a rush of gratitude. The passport was her ticket to freedom. If she could get away from Nico, she could warn David, tell him to go into hiding while she figured out what was going on with their father.

She tried not to think about the other fear uncoiling in her belly; that if Nico were right and her father was willing to use her as a pawn in their war, he might be willing to use David, too. Which meant Nico wasn’t the only thing to fear when it came to David’s safety.

And maybe not even the thing to fear at all.

She didn’t really believe Nico would hurt David—not after he’d promised not to—but the distance between them gave her additional comfort. It would take Nico awhile to get to someone in the states who could then get to David. If she acted fast enough, David could be gone by the time anyone reached him.