Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One (24 page)

“I understand that,” Luca said. “And I’m not saying you should be grateful. I get that your life’s been turned upside down. I’m just suggesting you have a little faith. If Nico were anyone but Nico, you’d be in bad shape right now, if you were alive at all.”

“Why is he doing this then?” she asked. “Why risk the safety and reputation of his men?”

Luca’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Deep down, I think you know the answer to that.”

She didn’t trust herself to keep her expression blank, so she turned her face back to the window. She did know. God help her, she did. Nico felt about her the same way she felt about him. It was complicated and dangerous, but there it was.

The turned onto a busy street, and signs for Gucci, Prada, and Escada passed by on the other side of the window. Antonio pulled next to the curb and came around to open the door. He smiled as they stepped out of the car.

“Vi aspetto.”

“Grazie,” Luca said. He gently took Angel’s arm and guided her through the throng of shoppers lining Via Condotti.

They started at Valentino and worked their way through Hermes, Dolce and Gabanna, Philosophy, and Farragamo. She was embarrassed by the exorbitant prices at first; her father may have been wealthy, but Angel had never paid too much attention to labels. Now Luca calmly picked up the things that she liked and handed them to the sales clerks along with Nico’s credit cards. After awhile, she got used to it, and she reasoned that while she was perfectly happy with her clothes in the states, it was Nico’s fault she didn’t have access to them.

By the time they got to La Perla, the sky had darkened overhead, and the air was heavy with unshed rain. Luca followed her into the store, his lean muscle and protective posture looking almost comical amid the lace bras and satin underwear.

She turned to him inside the door. “Um… How about I do this one alone?”

He scowled. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

“You can protect me from out there.” She pointed to the street on the other side of the glass window.

He rubbed his jaw, like he was trying to solve a complicated problem.

“Seriously,” she said. “It’s not like I’m going to ask your opinion on any of this stuff. I’d kind of like some privacy, you know?”

He sighed. “I’ll be right there. Try to make it quick.”

She waited for him to leave before turning to the carefully curated selection; beautiful bras and bustiers, tiny slips of silk that revealed themselves to be underwear, all kinds of garters and stockings. It took her twenty minutes to choose seven panties with matching bras. At the last minute, she added a simple black nightgown with slim straps from the rack. Nico would like it, and she could use something else to sleep in.

A tall, slender saleswoman escorted her to the dressing rooms and asked if she’d like water, wine, or coffee. Definitely not the mall in Poughkeepsie. She had declined and was closing the curtain on the fitting room when a click sounded from the end of a long hall leading to the back of the store. She peeked out of the dressing room and saw that it was a door with a bright red sign reading USCITA over it.

Exit?

She leaned back into the dressing room, her heart beating faster. Was that a door to an alley or rear entrance?

She fished in her bag and pulled out her passport. It had been a last minute thing, adding it to the little purse. Now she wondered if it was some kind of divine intervention. She could make a break for it. Get to the American Embassy. Call David, then her father. Find out for herself what was going on.

Nico…

She couldn’t think about him right now. If she did, she’d never leave.

She took a deep breath and slipped out of the dressing room, hurrying down the hall before she had a chance to change her mind.

Please let it be unlocked, please let it be unlocked…

It was, and a moment later she was stepping out onto a narrow cobblestone street that ran behind the shops on Via Condotti. She only hesitated a second before she started running.

38

Nico lifted his arms, allowing Raneiro’s men to frisk him before proceeding into the house. He wondered if anyone was stupid enough to try and smuggle weapons into Raneiro Donati’s private residence. If they were, Nico felt sorry them.

He’d been angry when he’d left the hotel, but now he regretted not saying goodbye to Angel. The rational side of his brain understood why she questioned him, even why she doubted him. They hadn’t had the most auspicious beginning.

But the other part—the part that would die for her—wondered why she couldn’t see what she meant to him. Why she couldn’t trust him to do what was best. He’d kept her alive so far. Didn’t she know that had become his sole purpose?

He’d left the city behind and made the hour drive to the coastal town of Ladispoli. Raneiro’s villa was perched on the edge of the sea, surrounded by lush lawn and leafy tress on one side and the Mediterranean on the other, but Nico wasn’t fooled by the picturesque location. Security cameras were spaced every few feet along the drive and throughout the house, the grounds patrolled by some of the most vicious men ever pulled off the streets of Sicily. He knew firsthand that Raneiro kept a store of munitions on the premises that would rival the stockpile of many small countries.

Finally Nico was given the all clear, and he moved past a beefy guard with a neck the size of a tree trunk and into the foyer, an elaborate three-story room with marble floors and gilded ceilings that made Nico’s Hudson Valley house look quaint by comparison.

He stood with his back to the wall—force of habit—while one of Raneiro’s henchmen stared at him from across the room. After about five minutes, clicking shoes echoed from somewhere in the house. The sound grew closer until a willowy blonde in a black skirt suit appeared from the hall.

“Mr. Donati will see you now.”

Nico followed her to the second floor and a library as big as the suite at the Waldorf.

“Would you care for something to drink?” the blond asked.

“I can get it,” Nico said, sinking into the familiarity of the room. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “Mr. Donati will be right with you.”

She disappeared into the hallway, and Nico crossed the room, remembering the many conversations he and Raneiro had in the room following the death of Nico’s parents. Raneiro had been his savior, the only person he’d trusted in the wake of the loss that still felt like a knife to the gut.

He poured himself a Scotch from the bar and walked to the wall of windows overlooking the water. He knew from Raneiro that the villa was old, but it had been carefully and lavishly renovated. It was the sole occupant of this stretch of coastline, and Nico had spent many hours walking the beach below, climbing over the scrubby coastline while he plotted his revenge.

“Nico, my son.” The voice came from behind him, and Nico turned to find Raneiro walking toward him with open arms.

“Raneiro.” They embraced, and Raneiro kissed both of Nico’s cheeks. “It’s been too long.”

“You’ve been busy,” Raneiro said, studying his face.

“Yes.”

Tall and lean, Raneiro Donati was a man who could easily be mistaken for a wealthy executive. But Raneiro had come up on the streets of Sicily in a hard-scrabble life that had included several brushes with death, and the Armani suits hid a dangerous man capable of holding his own with any of the men who worked for him. It was why he inspired such loyalty; he had a sixth sense for finding people like him, people who were alone in the world, people who had learned to do whatever must be done to insure their survival. Raneiro gave them a sense of belonging, educated and clothed them, made them loyal to the Syndicate and its families—and most of all to him. Every one of his men would die for him, and everyone in the Syndicate knew it.

One of many reasons Raneiro had been in charge for as long as Nico could remember.

“Let’s sit,” Raneiro said, patting him on the back.

They moved to a grouping of sofas and chairs in the middle of the room, and Nico took a long drink of his Scotch, bracing himself for the conversation to come.

Raneiro let the silence stretch between them before speaking. “It seems things are a bit… unstable in New York.”

Nico nodded, staring down at the amber liquid in his glass. “You could say that.”

“The kidnapping of family members is a violation of our code,” he said simply.

Nico swallowed. “So is the murder of family members.”

“We heard your case after the death of your parents,” Raneiro said. “You have no proof.”

“It was him,” Nico said, trying to keep his voice even. There was nothing to be gained by being disrespectful to Raneiro. “Carlo Rossi.”

“We have protocol for resolving disputes,” Raneiro said. “You know this, Nico.”

“I can’t let him get away with it,” Nico said softly.

“That’s not your decision.” Raneiro’s voice was firm.

“No, it will be yours after I bring you evidence of his crimes.” The words came out harsher than he intended, and Nico took a deep steadying breath. “I’m sorry, Neiro. But I can’t let it stand.”

Raneiro leaned back against the couch. “And now you have his daughter.”

Angel’s face flashed before him; the way she looked when he moved over her, the peaceful expression on her face when she slept, the way she gazed at him in the few moments she was able to forget what was between them.

“Yes.”

“Have you harmed her?”

“No,’” Nico said fiercely. “I would never hurt her.”

The corners of Raneiro’s mouth lifted in a smile that was equal parts disappointed and chilling. “Then what is the point in taking her?”

“I…” Nico sighed. “I was going to use her to force Carlo to come forward with evidence of his crime.”

“And now?”

“The bastard doesn’t seem to care,” Nico said. “In fact, he seems to think she’s disposable.”

Raneiro waved off the concern. “I don’t have children, Nico, as you know, but if I had a daughter, I would sooner kill her than leave her to someone who might do worse.”

The words made Nico’s stomach turn. “The one person in my family who tried to hurt her was quickly corrected.”

“But Carlo doesn’t know that, does he?” Raneiro asked.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Nico said. “He seems to know a hell of a lot.”

“You think you have a mole,” Raneiro stated.

“I know I do. The first time—at Headquarters—I thought it had been a lucky guess. But the assault on the upstate house…” Nico shook his head. “No one knew we were there. Luca and Carmine had put the word out that I’d left the country.”

“Could it be that some of your men are discontented with the changes you’ve made to your organization?”

Nico stood, pacing. “If they’re discontented, they can leave. It’s nothing to me. My results speak for themselves.”

“You’re on the run with Carlo Rossi’s daughter,” Raneiro observed. “Under attack from your own men, in violation of the Syndicate’s code of conduct. Are these the results you’re referring to?”

“My results are increased profit and decreased liability,” Nico hissed. “Minimal exposure to legal action and income streams that were only a pipe dream two years ago.”

Raneiro nodded. “All true. And yet you risk it all by taking—and keeping—Angelica Rossi. I sympathized when I thought you were going to use her, although I didn’t agree with the strategy, but it’s my understanding that she remains in good health. It does beg the question of purpose, not that I’m eager to bring you up on charges before the Syndicate.”

Nico tried to find a way to explain the situation that would appeal to Raneiro’s business sense, but in the end he could only tell the truth.

“I love her.”

Raneiro didn’t say anything at first, and Nico wondered if this was how it would end. One of Raneiro’s men would take him out, dump him into the sea.

“How do you see this ending?” he finally asked.

Nico thought about it, wanting to be honest. “I find Carlo, get the evidence that he killed my parents—along with whoever helped him—and let the Syndicate handle it from there.”

“And the girl?”

The question gutted him. Whatever happened, at the end of it all Angel would have to live with it.

“I hope she can forgive me,” Nico said. “That she can find a way to move forward.”

“It’s quite a lot to ask,” Raneiro said. “Under the circumstances.”

“Yes.”

“What makes you so certain Carlo still has the security tape? It seems more likely he would have gotten rid of it after it came up at the original inquest.”

Nico shook his head. “Someone’s working for him. Someone from my family. No one would get rid of something so incriminating when it could be used to keep a traitor in line.”

He seemed to think about it. “Perhaps.”

He rose from the sofa and crossed to a 17th century writing desk, then bent over it and scrawled something on a piece of paper. He crossed the room and handed it to Nico.

Tell him what you know.

RD

Nico looked up at him. “What is this?”

“Take it to Farrell Black,” Raneiro said. “But this is as far as I go to mediate your dispute, Nico. You must understand this.” He clapped a hand on Nico’s shoulder and squeezed. It was just on the border of painful, and Nico forced his expression blank. “It ends there, however it ends.”

Nico nodded, leaning in to embrace him. “Thank you, Neiro. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you find out how it ends,” Raneiro said. “Sometimes the thing we want most is our undoing.”

Nico was still thinking about Raneiro’s words when he walked back into the hotel an hour later. What did Nico want most? That was easy.

Angel.

But getting there meant dealing with Carlo, and the outcome of dealing with Carlo was a wild card. Could he let it go? Walk away and try to build a future with Angel, if she’d have him?

Every ounce of his being rejected the possibility. His mother had been kind and gentle, and while his father may not have been perfect, he’d honored the Syndicate’s code. Neither of them deserved death at the hands of a treasonous coward.