Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One (7 page)

12

She was still shaking when she stepped into the elevator. Not because of what had happened, but because of what she’d wanted to happen. Because even as the elevator doors closed, she wanted to step back into the apartment. To feel Nico’s hands on her body.

Instead, she’d averted her gaze, refusing to look at him as the doors closed between them.

She took a deep breath when the elevator started to descend, the fog lifting from her desire-addled brain. She watched the numbers on the display in their countdown from the fortieth floor and realized something; she was completely alone.

She started pushing buttons on the control panel. Twenty-first floor, sixteenth floor, fourth floor; anything but the basement signified by the lit “B” that had somehow already been pressed when she stepped into the elevator.

But none of the other buttons seemed to work, and she was forced to acknowledge that Nico’s all-consuming power extended even to the elevator. It must be exclusive to the penthouse and controlled from the apartment.

She leaned back against the mirrored interior and pushed away the memory of Nico’s lips on her neck, her breasts. She needed to get away from him for good. She was losing it.

She was almost looking forward to seeing Luca—calm, reliable Luca—when the elevator doors finally opened. But it wasn’t Luca who stood waiting for her.

It was Dante, a mixture of pleasure and hatred in his eyes.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “I guess the boss is all done with you.”

She froze, pinned to the floor of the elevator like a dead butterfly on display.

“Are you stupid?” he said. “Let’s go.”

He reached into the elevator and grabbed her arm, twisting as he pulled her into the basement. She cried out against her will.

He pulled her down the hall so fast she had to trot to keep up, her arm bent at an unnatural angle, feeling like it was on the verge of snapping.

The black SUV was waiting when they crashed out of the basement doors. Fear turned her blood to ice when she saw that it was was empty. Dante opened the door and shoved her into the back seat.

“Where’s Luca?” she asked, rubbing her aching arm.

“Don’t you worry about Luca,” Dante said. He leaned into the backseat and grabbed her breast, squeezing so hard it brought tears to her eyes. “I’m not usually into sloppy seconds, but I’m going to take real good care of you now that the boss is finished.”

She was weighing her chances of gouging out his eyes and making a run for it when something came down over her head. She was plunged into darkness, and she fought against the return of her panic as the door closed with a resolute thud.

Think, Angelica. Don’t panic. Think.

She frantically felt along the door, looking for the unlock button or the door handle, anything that would get her away from Dante. A second later, she heard him slide into the front seat and start the car. She sensed him watching her in the silence.

“There are no handles back there,” he finally said. “No locks either.”

She wondered if she was imagining the satisfaction in his voice, but she didn’t have a chance to analyze it further. The car started, and then they were in motion.

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride.” He laughed like it was some kind of joke.

She tried to think of another way to escape, but it didn’t take long to admit to herself that it was futile. She would have to stay alert, look for an opportunity when they got back to the building where they were keeping her. Maybe Luca would be there. She hung onto the possibility like a life boat in a stormy sea.

They twisted and turned through the streets of New York City. The pasta she’d eaten at Nico’s had turned sour in her stomach, and she was fighting motion sickness when the car finally slowed down, then stopped altogether.

“Home, sweet home,” Dante said.

She heard him get out of the car and braced herself for another assault. He grabbed her already-sore arm, then dragged her from the car.

She thought he would remove the pillowcase, but it remained on her head even after she heard a lock turn, felt the warm rush of air as he shoved her inside. He moved her roughly down a set of stairs, and then she was being pushed forward, too grateful for the distance opening up between them to care that she stumbled and fell to the ground.

Her hands went instinctively to the pillowcase. She pulled it from her head, hoping Dante would be gone. But he wasn’t. He was in the room with her, the door closed.

He advanced on her, and she scrambled to her feet, determined to maintain as much control over the situation as possible. She might not be able to stop whatever was coming, but she wouldn’t be cowering from him when it came.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes dropping to her breasts. She was still wondering what was coming when he reached up and ripped open her blouse, as easy as if it were made of paper.

Her hands went up, instinctively trying to cover her body by holding together the two pieces of green silk. But it was no use. He was fast, and he grabbed her wrists and held them together, crushing them in one of his hands and backing her up against the wall.

He lifted her arms over her head and pressed his body into hers. His excitement was obvious through his jeans, and she turned her head, wanting to deny this was happening. She tried to get away, but his hands might have been made of steel for all the progress she made.

“You were with the boss awhile,” he said, grinding his hips into hers. “Must be good.”

Her stomach turned as his words echoed in her head.

The boss...

The boss...

Nico was Dante’s boss. Didn’t that means something—something important—in the mafia?

“Nico won’t like this,” she gasped as he lowered his head to her breasts.

He looked up. “What did you say?”

“I said...” Would mentioning Nico make her situation worse? It didn’t matter. It was all she had. “Nico won’t like this.”

He hesitated. “What? You think your father makes you
special
?”

“I don’t know, but Nico said it would hurt his business if something happened to me.”

Dante straightened, dragging his eyes from her chest to her face. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

“But he had you.”

She shook her head. “He didn’t.”

“Then why did he bring you to his apartment?” he asked.

“I... I don’t know. He just wanted to talk to me, I think.” She licked her lips. This was working. “He said he has to keep me safe to get what he wants.”

It was a white lie, but the stakes were too high to stand on principle. Maybe Nico had insinuated that keeping her alive only mattered as long as he got what he wanted from her father. But he would get it, and he had said that it was better for his business to keep her alive.

The seconds seemed to tick into infinity. Dante’s eyes glazed over as he thought about what she said. She sensed a reprieve, and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest while she waited for him to speak.

Finally, he let go of her hands and stepped back. The confusion cleared from his eyes, replaced by disgust as he looked at her.

“You better hope Daddy comes through. And if he doesn’t, you better hope Nico doesn’t ask me to deal with you.”

He took one last look at her chest, covered only by her white lace bra. Then he left, locking the door behind him.

She stumbled to the bed, tears of relief stinging her eyes. It had been a close call. Too close. She’d been lured into a sense of safety—physical safety anyway, let’s not talk about the danger her body had been getting her into—at Nico’s apartment. Now she felt her vulnerability all over again.

She was at their mercy. All of them.

Where are you, Dad? Get me out of here.

When her breathing had returned to normal, she dug through her purse for the two small safety pins she kept in the change compartment of her wallet. They wouldn’t make up for the loss of her buttons, but they were better than nothing. She pinned her blouse closed and took inventory of her injuries.

The arm hurt, but she could move it. She’d have a nasty bruise, but at least it wasn’t broken. She carefully touched her wrists, still feeling the sting of Dante’s iron grip. Maybe a bruise there, too. But she was alive, and she hadn’t been raped. She would make it to see another day. At this point, it felt like a gift.

She curled up on the bed, hugging her purse to her chest, breathing in the scent of her old life. She thought of David, of his warmth and kindness, his pain over the fact that their father couldn’t accept him. She thought of her father’s stubborn strength, his refusal to let either of them in after their mother’s death. She had been the glue that held them together. Without her, they were puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. Angelica had always assumed they’d have the time to figure it out. Now she couldn’t help wondering if that was true.

But it wasn’t her family that drifted through her mind in the moment before she finally fell into sleep. It was Nico. She remembered his arms around her at the apartment and realized something; she hadn’t been afraid. Not once had she believed he would take her by force. Instead he’d looked at her with his amber eyes, and she would have sworn he would never hurt her.

And that he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her either.

13

Nico sat in the chair behind his desk, silently rolling the rosary beads through his fingers. His mother would be offended that he never said the rosary prayer. His complicated relationship with his faith wouldn’t allow for the hypocrisy of it, but he enjoyed the feel of the cool beads between his fingers. It was a kind of meditation, and he kept a rosary stashed in his desk at home, at the office, even in his cars.

He was ashamed at the turn of his thoughts. Not because of the infamous guilt wielded by the Catholic church to keep its members in line, but because his preoccupation defied every ounce of his business acumen.

He should not be thinking about Angelica—Angel—right now.

Not the way he was thinking about her.

But he couldn’t seem to help himself. The creaminess of her skin still glowed in his mind like a pearl, the perfect heaviness of her breasts in his hand, the point of her nipple rising to a peak under his tongue. It was all there whether he wanted it to be or not.

He’d prowled his apartment in the dark after she left, feeling like he would jump out of his skin if he didn’t have her. He’d taken a cold shower, even watched TV, something he hadn’t done in at least a year. Still she’d been front and center in his mind, and he’d finally gone to bed, tossing and turning until the sunrise started to sweep the horizon pale orange. Then he’d gone for a run along the river, hoping the pounding of the pavement under his feet would banish her from his mind.

None of it had done a damn bit of good.

“You need to get laid, Nico,” he whispered to the empty room.

Saying it made him feel better. That was the source of the problem. A man with his appetites needed release on a regular basis. A very regular basis. It had been too long. He would call his favorite escort service tonight, let off some steam.

He stood, dropping the beads into the top drawer of his desk. He walked to the window and looked out over the leafy suburban street lined with brownstones.

Carlo’s daughter was just like everything else he did—all business. Learning about her last night had been an interesting diversion, but it was time for something more substantial. Nico had put the word out that he had something belonging to Carlo. He’d made it known that if Carlo wished its safe return, he would contact Nico within the week.

And yet they still hadn’t heard from the bastard.

Word on the street was that he was in hiding, and no one seemed to know where the man was holed up. Nico was tired of waiting. And he was doubly tired of babysitting Carlo’s daughter.

He turned to grab his suit jacket. He was slipping it on when he met Luca in the stairwell, holding a paper bag and heading for the basement.

“Morning,” Nico said. “What are you up to?”

“Taking breakfast to Angelica.”

Nico raised his eyebrows. “Angelica?”

Luca shrugged. “It doesn’t seem right to keep calling her ‘the girl’.”

Was Luca Cassano blushing? Nico didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed by Angel’s ability to incite protectiveness in one of his most trusted men.

When they got to the basement, Nico put a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Why don’t you give that to me?”

Luca hesitated, before handing over the bag of food.

Nico clapped the other man’s shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he said. “For now.”

“It’s nothing to me,” Luca said.

Nico didn’t make a big deal of the lie. Luca could hold his own with any man in Nico’s army, but unlike some, he had a conscience. Hurting people was something he only did out of necessity, and he’d been one of the fiercest advocates for Nico’s sweeping changes of the family.

Nico appreciated Luca’s moral restraint. Violence was best administered by those who truly understood its consequences.

“We still haven’t heard anything from Carlo. I’m going to put some heat on Angel—Angelica. See if she might know where he’s hiding.”

“Got it.” If Luca noticed Nico’s slip, he didn’t say anything about it. “Want help?”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m going to get in a workout then,” Luca said. “Unless you need me for something else.”

“I’m good,” Nico said, already turning to make his way down the hall.

He continued to the closed door and withdrew a set of keys from his jacket pocket, then unlocked the door and stepped inside. Angel bolted up from the bed. He’d obviously woken her up.

He shut the door behind him. No need to lock it; Angel wasn’t going anywhere he didn’t want her to go.

“Good morning,” he said, putting the food on the desk. “I’ve brought you breakfast.”

Keeping his voice professional wasn’t easy. She was sleepy and rumpled, her hair a mass of tousled waves around her delicate face. Sex hair. He banished the thought as soon as it hit him, but it was too late. He already felt the stirring of desire in his blood.