by Fiona Murphy
“The woman in the jeans, where did she come from?” I’m compelled to ask the question even though I’m sure he has no idea about the cargo other than where he got it and where it’s going.
Crying, he shakes his head. “The fat bitch was there with all the others.”
Anger fires through me at him calling the woman fat. I slide the knife into his stomach. “Tell me where the truck was going.”
His scream is his only answer.
“I can end this quickly or you can suffer some more. Where was the truck going?” I’m already bored with this piece of shit.
“Denver.” He screams. “Reyes property, from Guadalajara.”
I pull the knife up from where it sits in his stomach, to his chest. Yanking the knife out of him, I kick him over as he writhes in agony. “Bury him with his friend.”
Mike drags him away as he screams in pain. “Boss, can I pop him? He’s fucking loud.”
“Not until you’ve almost completely buried him.” I shake my head.
He doesn’t bother arguing as he walks into the desert.
“You think there’s something off about the woman too?” Sandro holds out a bottle of water to pour over me so I can wash the blood off. Once I’m clean, he hands me my shirt. Then nods at where Charlie is protecting the woman from seeing what I did to the driver.
I nod as I button my shirt. “For one, she’s a woman and not a girl. And although she looks a little worse for the wear, she’s nothing compared to the girls who were with her. I’m also wondering if the delay of the dime getting dropped on this shipment had something to do with her. The quickest run is twenty hours if it came from Guadalajara. You and I both know it’s usually twenty-four hours. He has never left us with only two hours to get ready.”
“So you know it’s probably not a good idea to slide between those thighs until we’ve figured out who she is?” Sandro doesn’t look at me, his eyes are on the vehicle too.
“Fuck you.” I hate the idea of him thinking about her thighs.
The asshole laughs. “I had a feeling it was going to be like that. Luca, you heard him. The shipment was supposed to go to Denver. If Denver was the destination, why go through Vegas? It should have been through Albuquerque or at the very least Phoenix. For the truck to come through Vegas means it was told to. That makes this stop is different.”
Shaking his head, he finally looks at me. “Reyes property, it’s been almost two years since a truck came through here from Reyes. Hell, the other traffickers only try it once or twice in a year anymore after so many years of not getting anything through. She is the other thing that is different. That means there is something up with her. And until we know, you need to not touch her.”
Because I don’t want to hear what he has to say, I walk away. It doesn’t matter he’s right. The woman is mine, I will have her. I will keep her. A Sabatini knows his woman once he’s found her and he doesn’t let her go. It doesn’t matter where she came from, she’s mine now.
Opening the door to the back of the vehicle, there is tension in every line of her. I hope to fuck she didn’t see what I did to the guy. “Are you okay?” I ask, barely remembering to speak English. She nods before she can stop herself.
“Que?” she whispers.
I swallow my smile at how badly she lies. “Never mind.” My skin is hot and tight with a desperate desire I’ve never felt in my entire life. The need to touch her is too great, I run my fingers over the tight fist she has at her side. A little gasp leaves her as she opens the fist beneath my touch. Without thought I catch her hand in mine. And it’s there again, that crazy fucking electricity that shocks every cell in my body into aching need for her.
I open my hand to let her go. To my surprise, she clings to my hand and my cock fucking aches. Her response is beyond perfect—she feels this need and wants me too.
The front door opens. Sandro gets into the passenger seat in the front. Charlie takes the driver’s seat and Mike gets in the back, behind me. I’m annoyed at everyone in the vehicle. I want to be alone with her. I want to know every fucking thing there is to know about her and I want it now. Except I can’t open my mouth because to do so will lay bare my obsession with her in front of my men.
***
Isa
With every mile the large SUV eats up toward Vegas, tension is building within me. I should be happy I’m closer to disappearing from Augusto. Yet, I can’t help thinking it also means I’m closer to never seeing Luca Sabatini again.
I don’t understand my longing for him. After enduring four years of rapes and beatings from my husband, I believed I was incapable of wanting a man. No matter how nice a man has been, I’m used to flinching or shying away from them.
Staring down at the way my hand almost disappears in Luca’s larger one, I marvel at how such a simple touch calms the rioting chaos within me. I tried once to remove my hand, only for him to hold me tighter until I stopped. I’m not sure why I was relieved he didn’t let me go.
The driver turns into the parking garage of a huge, glittering hotel I’ve heard of. This time when I pull my hand from Luca’s he lets me go, and I miss his touch the second he does. The SUV stops in front of an elevator without parking. Luca opens his door and gets out. Then suddenly he’s opening my door, holding out his hand for mine.
“Go with Mr. Sabatini. He’ll take care of you,” the man from the front passenger seat tells me in Spanish.
Fear kicks up inside me. I believe Luca will take care of me. I have no doubt of it. But who will take care of him when he goes against Augusto? “Can you take me to the bus station?”
“No. You’re going with Mr. Sabatini. Be a good girl,” he urges.
At Luca’s frown, I don’t dare argue again—too many years of beatings have me sliding out of the leather seat. Only this time I don’t take his hand, avoiding it and his eyes as I frantically go through my few options. He walks me into the elevator then presses his thumb to a reader, and the panel comes to life. He presses the button for the penthouse.
It’s unnerving the way Luca simply stares at me, without saying a word as the elevator shoots up to the top floor. The air around us is throbbing with a tension I don’t understand. I barely notice the elevator come to a stop, suddenly the doors open to a white marble entryway. I follow him through the rooms unable to take my eyes off him. Dimly I’m aware the place should be in a magazine, everything is marble, and leather and silk and clean. It doesn’t really feel like a home. Art on the walls consists of bold geometric shapes dotted throughout each room. There is nothing personal I can see.
Finally he stops in what I guess is the living room. Dark wood floors are covered with a large, white plush carpet. He nods at a long emerald-green silk couch. “Sit.”
He goes to the bar in the corner and pours a drink before turning back to me. A thick black eyebrow goes up. “Drink?”
I almost shake my head then remember. “Que?”
Black ice glitters warningly as he smiles, flashing dimples in both cheeks, and shakes his head. “Don’t. I know you understand me. I know you speak English.”
Scared, I mumble, “Que?”
He tugs down his tie and my eyes are drawn to his chest again. A wall of muscle moves with each breath he takes. If he was going for intimidating with the black on black, he achieved it. It’s also extremely sexy. There is a two inch-long scar on his chin, I wonder where he got it from.
Raising the glass to his lips, he drinks before chuckling. “You are a shitty liar, gorgeous. I hope you aren’t a wannabe actress-slash-model. Better give up on that dream right now.”
The man is already disgustingly beautiful; he doesn’t need dimples. And what the hell is he talking about? Why would he think I would believe I could be a model?
Those black eyes roam over me as heavy as a touch stirring up the longing I don’t understand all over again. “Talk to me, gorgeous. What’s your name and how did you wind up in the back of the truck?”
Why am I such an idio
t blushing over the word gorgeous? He can’t really mean it, can he?
He sits at the end of the couch, catching my hand in his. Again, he’s gentle even though strength is every inch of him. So the electricity is always going to be there, and it’s always going to make me want more than just a simple touch. “No one will ever hurt you again. I promise. I will protect you from whatever you are afraid of. Tell me your name and why you were in the back of the truck.”
I believe him. I want so badly to tell him, only I don’t dare. It doesn’t matter how big and powerful he is. Augusto is truly psychotic and will stop at nothing to kill him if Luca dares to get in his way. I shake my head. “Please let me go.” I fumble the words in Spanish.
Growing up, I only spoke English. I didn’t learn Spanish until I was six and Augusto, ordered my mother to teach me Spanish—a language she didn’t speak. The maid married to the man who guarded me and my mother in the tiny home where my father kept us was the person who taught me Spanish.
Ignacio outlawed me speaking English, so for the six years I was married to him, even when he banished me to the house in Tampico, I wasn’t allowed to speak English. For the last ten months, living in Dallas, I’ve only spoken English. Although I have yet to lose the heavy accent I’d developed.
A gentle finger runs over my cheek and I can’t stop the trembling that runs through me at Luca’s touch. Yet, for the first time in my life I’m not trembling from fear. That electricity is buzzing through every inch of me heating my blood until it’s hot and sticky like honey. He tips my face up. “You are safe with me. Tell me who and what you’re afraid of. I cannot fix what is going on if I don’t know what is happening.”
I nearly break down at the sincerity in his eyes, the firmness in his words. This beautiful, powerful man wants to break everything around me to get to me. I don’t understand what is happening; all I know is Luca Sabatini makes me want things I can’t have. The fear is back and finally more powerful than the longing he stirs within me. “Please let me go.” I give up and speak English. The words are a little stronger this time.
“I cannot do that. Tell me what is going on. I’ll kill everyone who is a threat to you.” It’s a promise.
I believe he means it. If I thought it was possible, I would tell him. I had grown to hate Augusto long before he married me to a man more than forty years older than me. Over the years the hatred has only deepened. Yet the fact he had found me was enough to scare me into the belief it would be next to impossible to go up against him and come out alive. There are always men at his side to protect him.
His sigh is soft as he squeezes my hand gently. “For tonight, I’ll let you keep your secret. Why don’t you go have a bath? I’ll order some food. What would you like?”
Fear wells up within me. At how badly I want to give in to him, when I’ve never wanted to before. I shake my head.
“Shh, everything is going to be okay. I want you to take a nice hot bath. You’ll feel better.” His hands go around my arms as he pulls me up. A hand goes to the small of my back as he guides me to a large bedroom I know immediately is his. It smells of him, leather, spice, moss, and something undefinably all Luca. We’re in a bathroom done almost entirely in marble. There is a large two-person bath with jets overlooking the Vegas strip. I’m grateful he turns it on. I don’t understand the buttons along the side. He motions to a heated rack for towels and tells me to take my time, then he’s gone.
Staring longingly at the bathtub filling and the hot water moving around from the jets, I give in. I move to lock the bathroom door then begin getting undressed. I’m hungry and feel gross; maybe once I’ve had a bath I’ll feel strong enough to take on Luca Sabatini.
3
Luca
The minute I close the bathroom door on her, I have my phone out and am calling Valdez. Diego Valdez heads a security contracting company that does everything from run special ops for governments—on and off the books—to background checks that come with the blood type of the person.
“Mr. Sabatini, how may I be of service?”
“I have a nameless woman who needs a name.” I’m in my office pulling a picture from one of my security cameras. I send it to him along with the fingerprints Sandro got from inside the vehicle tonight that are waiting in my email. “She was on a truck to be sold by the Reyes cartel, but things aren’t adding up.”
“Looking at her, she doesn’t look familiar. Call as soon as I have an answer? Or email and then follow up with a phone call?” he asks.
“Phone call, day or night.”
“I’ll call you by this time tomorrow with a follow-up, information found or not.”
My next call is to my assistant. My woman needs new clothes. Natasha loves to shop. It doesn’t matter that it’s just after ten o’clock, Natasha assures me she’ll be here in less than an hour with what I asked for. “New woman already, I’m not surprised, just jealous. What’s the story on this one?”
“Found her in the back of a truckload of girls. She was the only woman. I’m keeping her. A word of warning in case she tells you she wants to leave. She isn’t going anywhere.”
I met Natasha in my senior year of high school when I was sixteen. After I graduated high school early and started at UNLV, we lost touch. Once she graduated from USC she returned to Vegas and applied at one of my hotels. She is my most trusted person in my organization besides Sandro and is one of the few people I have no secrets from.
“Sir, yes, sir. When this blows up in your face, be warned I reserve the right to laugh at you.”
“Fuck you. Just get what I asked for and anything else you can think of to make her happy. I’ll take her shopping in a few days.” I hang up before she can talk back. My last phone call is to the kitchen. I am promised everything will be ready and here within twenty minutes.
I go out to the rooftop deck as I think over tonight. I finally understand everything Pop and Dominic have talked about with their women. How Pop could have held out hope and love for a woman for five long years. How Dominic was willing to go back on vows long held to make his woman happy. The willingness to completely flip your world upside down for one person. Hell, I kind of understood it for a kid, since they were a part of you.
Yet looking into her eyes, it was as if she was a part of me too. A part of me that I had no idea was missing. I could have put it down to my odd longing when I held Santino, if I hadn’t seen she clearly felt the same shocking thing. It scared her even as she was drawn to me.
I consider her. Fear was high inside her. A fear of whatever is going on now but another, deeper fear as well. It was something she lived with for a long time, nearly embedded in her. Someone hurt her, made her afraid of life, of men. The fear doesn’t bode well.
I’m going to have to learn patience. In business my level of patience is high, long learned, and as much of a weapon as a gun. In my personal life, I have very little patience—especially when it comes to women. For her, I’m willing to be as patient as she needs for her to trust me. I’ll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes.
After hearing the hell Pop and Dominic have gone through with their women, I made a vow if something did happen to me, no way was I going to make the same mistakes they did. Especially when the worst of their problems could have been resolved by simply being up front with their woman.
I never believed in any of the whole at-first-sight thing. The word love still feels weird to me; I flinch away from it. Yet, any other word doesn’t feel right either. Lust, for sure. It’s also so much more than mere lust.
My phone rings, it’s Pop. I chuckle as I answer. Him calling now is so perfectly Pop. “Hey Pop, how are things?”
The urge to talk to him is strong; my excitement over finding my woman is higher than I imagined it would be. Except it’s too new. I don’t have the answers to most of the questions he’ll probably ask, including the most basic, like her name.
We talk for a little while about how Milos is doing with Carlo’s oldest daugh
ter and the negotiation between Milos and Carlo that Dominic is handling.
My alert goes off, it’s room service. Pop hears the alert and lets me go with a promise to talk tomorrow.
I go and let the guy in and have him set it up in the living room, hoping keeping it casual instead of in the dining room will put her more at ease. I didn’t realize I was hungry until my stomach growls at the smell of the food. I lift off the lid for my kung pao chicken and make a plate.
She hasn’t been in the bath for very long, I decide to give her some more time. As I look over the table, I maybe went overboard. There’s a dish of beef and broccoli, chicken fried rice, spring rolls, chicken marsala, spaghetti and meatballs, and lasagna.
I’m finishing eating as another alert goes off, this time it’s Natasha. I open the door and she’s handing me three large carrier bags then picking up two more at her feet. “God, I had no idea what poor women who aren’t a size four endure. Holy crap, the struggle is real. The shopper ranted and raved over having to dress a size eighteen. What in the ever-loving fuck? Poor thing, it also sucks she’s only five foot two. It wasn’t easy to find pants. So I went with dresses and leggings. These awesome wrap dresses will give her the kind of curves that will make other women envious and are super easy to dress up or down.”
I frown at the idea of anyone disparaging a body like my woman’s. I’m glad I wasn’t there. I tell her to stay in the living room as I take the bags into the bedroom and put them on our bed. Through the door I can hear her splashing and the jets still humming. Good, she had me worried for a minute there.
I should just dump the bags and let her decide, except curiosity gets the better of me and I begin to unpack them. Fuck, my dick is hard enough to break at the clothing Natasha picked out. A few items are more low-cut than I like. I straight up tear one dress in half, no way is she going to wear something that looks so tempting on a damn hanger.