"The drop is going to be on Christmas day?" Angelo Scaloni, Underboss of the Scaloni Family—perhaps the only family whose problems with Luciano can compete with ours—grins at me from across the table of his lavish home office.
The man is smiling like we're not talking about the horrible fate of a several dozen women and children, but that's just Angelo. He likes to act all buddy-buddy with me because we have similar names—their meanings being 'saint' and 'angel'—but are violent criminals. I'm not sure where he gets off acting like that's cute and we can be best friends because of it, but I tolerate it because of our common ground.
And despite his smiling face, Angelo is a deadly foe.
"Alberto Martinez gave me that information. He has no reason to lie—his daughter will be in that shipment—but Luciano could be pulling one over on him."
Angelo's eyes darken at the mention of the Genovese Boss. Luciano is the reason his wife was killed. It was two years ago now, but it perpetuated a grudge that the Scaloni Underboss will take to his grave. She was collateral in a drug exchange gone awry. A stupid, unnecessary death.
One life, stolen and extinguished. Meaningless to me and everyone else but everything to Angelo. Death is funny that way.
"And where will these women be taken on Christmas day?"
"An abandoned bait shop forty-five minutes off the harbor. It's a big facility—used to be a factory for heavy machinery back in the day. Off the grid, practically invisible. It's the perfect spot."
"Merry Christmas to them, huh?" Angelo grins, and I exhale air through my nose. That's about the extent of the positive emotion he's going to get from me.
"We need to confirm this date and location. It's a month out. We must be certain Luciano isn't planning anything else behind the scenes," Simo chimes in.
Angelo's eyes light up. He's been waiting to bring something else up this entire conversation, and he's just found his window.
"There was a body found, weeks back. Female. Dark hair. One hundred forty-five pounds. Beaten to a fucking pulp. But most notably, she had the mark of a Son of Serpentine on her wrist."
I stiffen. "And?"
Of course his slimy ass found out about that. Serpentine and the mark that every Son bears—freshly carved every month, always there—are no secret. It's more a whisper that floats through the lips of the criminal underworld obscured by the fog of uncertainty.
Angelo shrugs. "And could this be what you're worried Luciano could be up to behind the scenes?"
Luciano, making a calculated attack on Serpentine?
Yeah, right.
"There's no motive," Simo cuts in. "This is him making a mockery of my family, wanting something to laugh about when he calls us with silly demands. It's not anything deeper."
Angelo changes the subject, bored with this one. "Word on the street is that you have his son—that whiny, weak-minded halfwit."
The glint in his eye turns into a full-blown smile when he notes my silence. "Word on the street is also that you're in possession of his daughter. It appears the Romano Family has a lot of stake in the game."
My chest tightens, annoyance pulsing through me. Angelo always likes to fucking deviate from the business at hand to discuss personal matters. "The daughter is not involved in this. Carlo Genovese broke into our home. He'll be punished for that, right after we get as much as we can from him regarding his father's plans. Luciano has been pushing for weeks, and now he's in our city. That's the only stake we've ever had in this game."
"Good." Angelo appears satisfied, although I'm on edge now that Nina has been brought into the conversation. She will not be involved in any of this, even if it's something I have to ensure with my dying fucking breath. Catching her in that fucking basement was almost the end of me.
"I have an in," Angelo finally fucking gets down to business. "I'll talk to my guy and get back to you once I've confirmed the details for the drop. I agree that it's unusual Luciano let us find out about his plans and give us so much time to prepare, so we must be careful with this. My gut tells me there's something else happening here," Angelo muses thoughtfully.
I nod, hating that my gut agrees with him. Normally, I'd enjoy dragging this out, relishing in the chase and the fight. But the fact that Nina's family is pulling the strings here, that we're being forced to play into what could very likely be a trap, is making me uneasy. I want to finish this business as soon as possible. Eliminating the threat with no theatrics isn't really my thing, unless, apparently, the safety of one certain woman is involved.
I hate the fact that I can't at least trust that Luciano won't touch her or try to hurt her. I hate the fact that she's been an outlet for his hatred for all these years. It makes him feel powerful, and it's not very easily that a man like him will give that up. And I hate the fact that her brother is in my fucking house. The only way I'd be okay with him being this close to her is if he's six feet under.
We shake hands, and I'm almost at the door when Angelo calls my name. When I look back at him, he's got a serious look on his face, one I've never seen on him before.
"It's cruel to fall in love in this business, Santo. That's one thing I know above all else. You can come to terms with the fact that your woman might be at risk because of your job, do everything humanly possible to protect her, justify being selfish because it feels so good—and everybody is a little selfish anyway, right? But that doesn't prepare you for the day that she faces hell and doesn't survive."
Fire and ice flow simultaneously through my veins at his insinuation. My life isn't one that is particularly conducive with family. With love. I don't think I know how love feels, much less how to do it myself—a fact that holds no sadness or regret for me. What ties me to my brothers is probably the closest thing to it, but any vestiges of love in my life lay fragmented beside an equally broken childhood. Love doesn't work with me. There are much stronger things than love. Things like pain, anger, violence. They win every time.
The day she faces hell and doesn't survive.
The words chill me to my bone. The idea that Nina would ever be in danger like that, in danger of... not existing? The idea is fucking inconceivable to me.
But what if I'm the hell she's going to face? My mind, heart, soul—it's all damned. It has been since I came into this world and it will be until I go out. Letting someone inside that, letting them hang up their coat and get comfortable, it's just a fucking death sentence.
+
Nina: Can we talk when you get back?
I stare at my phone, frowning as we pull up to the house. My mind is occupied with a million things, but those seven words from her are enough to pull all my focus solely to her.
What does that even mean? Isn't that what people say to each other when they want to break up?
A scowl makes a home on my face. I'm not sure that we're dating, the idea sounds so juvenile, but the idea of a break up—or the equivalent for our situation—is enough to make me ache with the sudden need to go find her.
If this woman thinks she's going to send me a measly text as a means of ending whatever we're doing, she's going to have to fucking think again. I ignore the side-eye I can clearly see Simo give me as I stomp ahead of him into the house.
She's not in the library, or her room, or my wing of the house. That has my already elevated blood pressure skyrocketing. I check the gym, already seething with the prospect that she's working out before she has the okay regarding her ankle. For better or for worse, she's not there either.
"Hey, can y—Jesus, never mind," Tommaso spins on his heel and turns around, walking the other direction when he sees the look on his face.
I work on schooling my features as I stride to the kitchen, having a sudden idea of where she is.
My suspicions are proven correct when I hear the hot tub jets. Nina is half submerged in the bubbling water, the column of her throat exposed as she leans back with her eyes closed, her chest glistening in the low lighting. She's as tempting as sin.
She sits up when she hears my not-so-subtle entrance, her face lighting up. It makes my eyes narrow. She's happy to see me?
"Hi," my girl blushes under my stare. She always does, and it fucking destroys me in the best way. "How did it go?"
"Fine," is my clipped reply as I drag my gaze over the exposed parts of her, unable to keep the ire off my face. Now, my frustration is two-fold.
She frowns, clocking my mood. "Um, are you sure? Because you look like you want to burn down the city right now."
"What was that?" I ask abruptly.
"What was... what?" Her confusion would be adorable if I wasn't worked up.
"You wanted to talk."
"Oh, yeah. Right. I—"
"You didn't remember?"
"No, I did remember. I just... I was going to ease into it."
"Why the fuck would you do that?"
She balks at my tone. "Because you seem upset about something? Did the meeting go horribly? You can tell me."
My chest feels unusually warm, and I rub at it to ease some of the discomfort. I just want to throttle the truth out of this woman, but I don't think that's the way these things work.
She looks concerned now, rising and stepping out of the water. I'm mesmerized by the water streaming down her smooth skin. She looks like she's been dipped in liquid silk, kissed by angels. She's devastating and she has no fucking idea.
I track the movement of her hips as she walks to me.
I don't know what she sees when she looks at me, but it makes her face soften. I'm about to balk at that, at the idea of her seeing something on my face that would warrant something like pity or gentleness, but then she's kissing me and I can't think of anything else I could want.
My hand slips into her hair, pulling on the strands hard enough to tilt her head—and then some—so I can really kiss her. The breathy sound she makes into my mouth is enough to ignite me, and my dick strains against my zipper, my pulse pounding in rapid-fire declarations of her, her, her.
She pulls back, a delicious smile on those lips as I try and chase her, go back for more—which she puts a stop to with a hand on my chest. I swear that when she moves it, her handprint is going to be burned into me, and I'll never be able to be rid of it. Of her.
"I wanted to talk to you about Luciano," she says firmly. "I've remained blissfully ignorant for long enough, and I want to know what's going on."
I frown, feeling some unnamed emotion rocket through me from my hair follicles to the tips of my toes. Relief? Exhilaration? Whatever it is, it makes me wrap both arms around her and drag her tripping into my chest, so her cheek bumps into the space right above my heart—where I keep her, tightening my arms until she gives a content sigh and cords her arms around my waist.
So I still have her. For right now. For another day, at least. I can breathe better.
"You're sure that's what you want?" I lean down to press a kiss into her hair, a surge of fierce and furious protectiveness almost bringing me to my knees. It's so sudden that for a second I think I'm having a heart attack. But then I catch my breath and realize that it's a reaction to the thought of anything happening to her, of even my words as I tell her about Luciano hurting her in any way.
"I'm sure," she murmurs quietly but confidently. "I don't feel like I need to be afraid of him like I used to be. I know I... have you now. He's not in charge anymore."
My heart does something else that I'd think would be indicative of a medical event if I didn't already know the effect this woman has on me.
"You never have to be afraid of anything with me. Il mio mondo. I'll tell you about Luciano as long as you promise me you'll let me handle everything. You're capable, but we need to be careful. Luciano is unpredictable."
Her eyes are glistening when she pulls back, her hair sticking up a little bit from having the side of her head mashed into my chest.
"I promise. As long as you promise to tell me everything that's going on. It's dangerous for you too, Santo, and I know this is what you're used to but I need you safe too."
By the end of her sentence, she's furiously blushing but with a fierce resolve on her face, like she's never communicated affectionate words to someone before but won't let that stop her.
I cup the back of her head, kissing the tenseness away from her mouth, liking that I'm the one who gets to hear these words from her. "I promise," I tell her, and her breath hitches.
She's pressing her body flush against mine and feeling the tips of her nipples poke through her thin bathing suit has my mind on one track that I'm not sure she's intending us to go at this moment. I don't even care about the fact that she's getting me wet; all my energy is being poured into not focusing on the fact that she's pressed up into me wearing practically nothing, and I can feel every single curve on her.
"Would you like to hear about Luciano, or would you like for me to fuck you? Because I'm having a hard time not thinking about the latter right now."
She gasps at my words, pulling away like she's been caught doing something illegal.
"Um, yes, sorry." But she doesn't look so sorry as she keeps looking at me with a dazed, lust-drunk look in her eye, and my smirk widens.
"I'm going to go change real quick," she rushes, and I've got my eyes glued to her ass her whole way to the door.
Once she's gone, I can finally think straight for a second. And as everything comes rushing back, I'm unwittingly reminded of Angelo's words. He got one thing wrong—I can protect her. And I will. I will move heaven and earth to protect her, and nobody will touch a hair on her head.
But in the process, I'll expose her to parts of myself that nobody else will be able to protect her from. And I have no idea what will happen then.
—-
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- G