by RC Boldt
Her words are blanketed with such a sinister promise that I battle to prevent my voice from wavering. “I’m not sure I understand.”
She laughs. “Ah, mi hija.” My stomach clenches at her words. Mi hija. My daughter. “You’ll understand soon.” The smooth yet icy quality of her voice has every molecule in my body on high alert. I turn to Nico as she speaks in my ear. “You’re helping already by bringing me—”
I drop the phone as soon as I spot the red dot moving to the center of Nico’s chest, pure panic coursing through my veins. Hurtling myself at him, I send us toppling over. Heat singes my arm before the chair slams against the concrete with me sprawled on top of Nico.
Without hesitation, he rolls me beneath him as shots ring out around us, covering my body with his. Bystanders scream while bullets ping the stucco building, inciting instant pandemonium.
This is a scenario many humans fail at reacting to in a manner that will keep them alive. The smart ones will duck or find a place to hide or even play dead. Others will run and scream, and in the process, garner the attention of the gunman by making themselves a target.
In this case, the bedlam works in our favor. Whoever fired that initial shot isn’t interested in mass casualties of innocent citizens. It’s evident by the bullet holes scattered along the top of the smoothie shop, effectively missing any other individual. The sound of return fire came from another direction, and I wonder if it was Goliath and whoever he had trailing us here.
The facts are undeniable, however. Whoever was behind that laser-sighted gun wanted one individual dead: Nico.
He stares down at me. “You okay?” His voice is gruff, but those brown eyes glitter with concern.
I nod.
Mouth flattening, he scans my face. “Gonna need to hear you say it.”
“I’m okay.” I wince as the stinging sensation in my left arm intensifies. “I might’ve scraped my arm when I”—I glance down at it and hurriedly lift my eyes to his, hoping he doesn’t notice—“shoved you out of the way.”
Goliath emerges from the swarm of people, some frantically sobbing and others bustling about. He grabs my phone and stuffs it in my purse, clenching the leather bag in his huge hand. Nico glances at him before pulling himself up, and the two exchange a weighted look. He turns to me. “We gotta go. Now.”
I grasp his outstretched hand and allow him to pull me upright. The burning sensation on my arm intensifies, and I bite back a wince.
He narrows his gaze on me or specifically, on my arm. When I glance down, tracks of blood run the length of my arm, and the cap sleeve of my cream blouse is stained red.
“You’re hurt.”
Goliath grunts. “Time to get outta here, Boss.”
Nico’s expression grows tense, but he quickly shrugs off his suit jacket and places it over my shoulders. “Gotta get to the car.”
My senses are on high alert in a way they’ve never been before. It’s as though the volume has been muted for ambient noises, but voices are on high.
“Did you see anything?”
“I heard gunshots, and I thought it was all over.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
The three of us walk at a rapid clip to where Nico’s men are waiting with the vehicles. The entire time, my mind replays everything that just occurred. The phone call. The woman’s voice. The way she spoke to me with an air of familiarity. The laser sight moving over Nico’s body.
Everything I considered fact seems as if it’s been set on a continuous path to be debunked.
My mind replays the night of the gala when I was initially approached, and then the woman at the coffee shop who enlightened me about my birth mother. Those strike me as uniquely different from the method the man took to ensure that I’d receive the thumb drive with Santilla’s message.
This means that two separate parties have contacted me. One of them has turned violent; Johanna Santilla, the woman for whom Nico holds a great deal of animosity.
Hurriedly, Nico tucks us safely in the back of the vehicle with Goliath behind the wheel. I turn and peer through the rear window, watching one of his other men climb in the car behind us. I assume the driver stayed behind to ensure nothing was tampered with.
“The fuck was that?” Nico somehow manages to thunder the words in a lethally low voice. His eyes sear into mine, a scowl etching his features, and I glower back. What right does he have to be pissed at me? I saved the goddamn asshole’s life.
“Don’t know, Boss.” Goliath navigates his way off campus. “Our guys didn’t pick up on anyone in the vicinity till Professor moved.”
With far more gentleness than I expect from a man who could compete with a male lion battling it out for king of the pride, Nico peels back the suit jacket from my shoulders. His eyes grow squinty, nostrils flaring, at the sight of my arm.
I attempt to infuse calm casualness in my tone. “A little peroxide and a bandage, and I’ll be right as rain. It’s no big deal.” Because it’s not. The bullet grazed me, and yes, it stings like a mother, but I’m still in one piece. “I just—”
“You just what?” The way he poses the question suggests he already knows the answer.
“I saw a red dot moving over your chest.” I swallow hard and attempt a shrug, ignoring the protest my arm gives. “I’ve seen enough action movies to know that’s never a good thing.”
Expression softening, he grabs a handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket. He eases my sleeve a bit higher to bare the wound and carefully dab at it with the silky cloth.
His features grow tense, a cavernous crease forming between his brows and deep brackets frame the sides of his mouth. “The hell were you thinkin’?” he mutters under his breath, eyes still focused on where he’s attempting to clean around my wound.
I feel like his question isn’t meant for me to answer, but I do it anyway. My voice holds more sass than I currently feel because a damn thank you would be awfully nice.
“Saving your life, that’s what. But maybe if I had been thinking, I wouldn’t have done it.” I cast him a squinty-eyed glare. “Especially after the way you treated me this morning.”
His eyes flick up to mine and his lips press thin. Goliath hands a small first aid kit over the seat, and Nico sets it on his lap. Opening the lid, he digs out an antiseptic wipe, a wide nonstick gauze pad, some tape, and a tube of antibiotic ointment.
“Wanna get this covered till we get to the house. Then I’ll have the doc come take a look at it.”
“It’s not necessary.”
His brow furrows while he makes quick work of bandaging my wound. “What’d I say?”
I squint at him. “You’re not the boss of me.” Oh, God. This man absolutely brings out my juvenile side like no other.
The edges of his eyes crinkle as if I’ve amused him. Smoothing the final piece of tape over the bandage, he leans in closer. “Maybe I wanna be.” His nearness sends my heart into overdrive, and his gaze lowers to my neck, to my wildly beating pulse.
I ease back into the leather seat without a word, resolutely ignoring Nico, and stare out the window at the passing scenery. Once the vehicle approaches the Bay Harbor Bridge, my breath catches when calloused fingers nudge the hand I have resting in my lap. I turn my head just enough to dart a glance from my periphery as Nico laces his fingers with mine.
The heat of his palm and the way his thumb caresses skin that I never deemed sensitive before have my defenses weakening. I close my eyes and draw in a slow breath while I battle against conflicting emotions.
Nico needs me—what I can do for him. Today, he partially got what he wanted. My presence and the gossip about my relationship with him succeeded in nabbing Johanna’s attention.
But it’s not enough. He needs her fully exposed in order to eliminate her. I’m simply his Trojan horse.
“Shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is muted, but it sounds raw, as if he’s attempting to stifle his emotions.
I exhale slowly, yet I can’t relinquish his ho
ld. It’s utterly insane that this man’s touch comforts me.
A tiny derisive laugh spills from my lips, and I meet his eyes. “You say that, yet you still haven’t thanked me for saving your life.”
Expression clouding, he places my palm over the center of his chest against the stiffness beneath. His large hand covers mine as he impales me with an indecipherable expression. “Feel that, Professor?”
I don’t respond, but his gaze holds me captive.
“And you still pushed me outta the way.” His eyes gleam with what I dare to think might be a hint of affection. “When you didn’t know I was wearin’ a vest.”
The words hang between us, and I watch his expression turn speculative. With a lofty tone, I toss out, “Perhaps that’s what I wanted you to think.” I turn my head, but his other hand snakes out to grasp my chin, forcing me to face him.
Our eyes clash, and the pad of his thumb sweeps along my jaw. His whispered words sound hoarse as though they’re being forced through a too-tight throat, rife with unwanted emotion. “Could’ve ended up with a bullet in you.”
“Well”—my voice is teeming with bravado—“I didn’t.”
We stare at one another for a long moment until he sighs and releases his hold on my chin. He appears to have more to say, but his expression borders on tormented, as if he’s warring with himself on choosing the right words.
“You really didn’t know what that thumb drive was about?” Nico peers at me, and I get the impression he’s attempting to gauge my reaction. Any flicker in it could lead him to believe otherwise.
Luckily, I can answer honestly because the message came from—at the time—an unknown source. “I had no idea.”
But now, the knowledge that there’s more at stake here than I or anyone else could have foreseen has my stomach churning with dread. I knew from the start that I’d be going into this alone, but that was before I discovered the truth about Johanna Santilla.
Before Nico peeled back a few of his layers.
The saying I’ve heard about not ignoring people when they show you the real version of them needles at me because of the unexpected moments I’ve shared with Nico. Is it all contrived? Or is that the real man beneath the criminal exterior?
For the first time in my life, my heart and my gut instinct war with my head. With what I know to be true.
And what I hope…isn’t.
30
Nico
Rafe steps inside my office, shuts the door, and takes a seat.
“Doc checked her out. She’s good.”
I lean back in my desk chair, lacing my hands behind my head. “What’re your thoughts ’bout today?”
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and stares down at the floor for a moment before meeting my eyes. “As soon as she saw it, she acted.”
“No hesitation?”
He shakes his head. “None.”
I exhale slowly. “Santilla called her mi hija on the phone.” Scrubbing my hands down my face wearily, I grunt. “She looked like she was gonna be sick.”
Rafe’s mouth purses. “Tellin’ you, she ain’t workin’ with Santilla.”
“Then who the hell gave her that goddamn obituary?” I shoot to my feet and begin pacing behind my desk. “What the fuck are we missin’ here? ’Cause we’re tryin’ to get shit done, and all of a sudden, we’re up to our fuckin’ eyeballs in cloak-and-dagger bullshit. Fuck this!”
Rafe straightens in his chair and holds up his palms. “Easy. Gotta keep our heads on straight.”
I swivel around and pin him with a brutal glare, my words heated with fury. “You were there! You saw her almost take a goddamn bullet for me!”
He waits me out like only a man can do with someone he’s known for years. I grip the back of my desk chair in a punishing hold and attempt to calm my breathing. My voice is muted when I speak again. “If somethin’ happens to her—”
“Ain’t gonna happen on my watch,” he interjects, eyes cold with determination.
“I’m gonna need you to assign the best guys to stay with her when you’re with me.”
He gives a curt nod. “On it.” He stands and turns for the door but hesitates before facing me again. “I gotta say something else, but you ain’t gonna like it.”
I hold his gaze, waiting in expectation for the words I have rolling around in my mind. There’s a reason we’ve been friends and worked together this long. We’re almost always on the same wavelength.
“Still think she’s hidin’ somethin’. Don’t know what the hell it is, but I can’t shake the feelin’.”
Rafe closes the door behind him, leaving me with his words hanging over me, dense like Miami’s thick humidity.
After an hour of calling contacts and putting out feelers, I toss the phone aside and stare at the suit jacket I’d covered Olivia with earlier. It’s draped over the fancy-as-shit hutch that I can’t stand.
It’s fucked up, I know it, but I want it staring back at me to serve as a reminder of how close things came to hitting the fan today.
“Goddammit.” I grind out the word as frustration pulses through my veins.
I know she’s hiding something, but it doesn’t have shit to do with Santilla. I’d bet my life on it. And the woman—the goddamn minx of a woman—attempted to save my life today. She had no idea I was wearing a bulletproof vest. I’ve learned to hide it well and not carry myself differently, regardless of the added layer and weight.
Closing my eyes, I replay today in my mind, and the calm and collected way she initially handled the call. When Santilla called her mi hija, she’d been visibly shaken, but nothing the average person might detect. She’d done her best to school her voice not to show how troubled she was.
When she turned and launched her body over mine, the unmistakable panic and determination etched on her beautiful face confirmed it wasn’t a ploy. That she wasn’t in on a setup, attempting to gain my trust by shoving me out of the line of fire.
Yeah, I’ve come to know Olivia Wright better than she realizes. When she’s upset, there’s a slight tightening around her mouth and a narrowing of her eyes. When she’s trying to maintain control over her temper, her shoulders stiffen and she lifts her chin.
Her blue-green eyes appear bluer when she’s turned on. Greener when she’s sad, like the night at the gala when “What A Wonderful World” played or…fuck, the night Lorenzo assaulted her.
Just thinking of that night has my fists clenching and every muscle in my body tightening. If things were different, I would’ve had the cops here to arrest him. Made sure she had the best lawyer so the fucking bastard never got away with that shit ever again.
But I couldn’t—it’s not possible with a life like mine. No way can I bring cops in here, because that’d mean bringing a goddamn shitstorm to my front door. We take care of things ourselves—do things our way.
I need to do better by her, but the world I’m in makes it complicated as hell. She makes me wonder what could be. If I weren’t Nico Alcanzar, king of Miami’s drug trade. If I were just a simple man. The man I once was.
But it seems so long ago, I’m not sure I can ever go back.
Hours later
It shouldn’t matter that she’s sleeping in her room. It’s for the best, but hell if I don’t miss her. Even though I wish I wasn’t left with only the remains of her scent on my pillows.
I have a full day ahead tomorrow, and fuck knows I need rest, but I’m antsy as shit. I can’t seem to focus, so a few minutes past midnight, I venture down the hall to her room where two of my men—Tino and Marcus—flank her door like I’d directed.
Lowering my voice, I ask, “Any issues?”
“No, sir,” they both answer.
“Good.” Expression placid as always, I turn around and return to my room.
When I slide beneath the covers of my bed once again, the expensive who-the-fuck-knows-what-thread-count sheets cool against my skin, I admit it.
I’m soft on Olivia Wright.
Johanna Santilla’s daughter.
The woman I’m using to eliminate Santilla.
The woman who’s embedding herself in my cold, black heart that hasn’t worked in years.
31
Olivia
The doctor Nico insisted I see at the house yesterday pronounced me healthy and just “a little banged up,” so I’m determined to get back to my normal schedule today. I need some sense of normalcy.
Mr. Drug Kingpin doesn’t approve.
His eyes spark with anger the instant I enter the foyer, dressed for work the following day. “What’re you tryin’ to prove?”
In my heels, I don’t have to tip my head back as much to meet his eyes. “Unlike some people, I’m not ridiculously wealthy. I need to work.” Cutting my eyes to Goliath, I offer a polite smile. “I can’t be late, so I have to leave now.”
The beast of a man glances at me and then his boss, the edges of his mouth barely twitching. “I better take the professor to work.”
Nico’s hands fist tightly at his sides. Holding my gaze, he addresses Goliath. “Make sure the others keep her safe. I need you while she’s teachin’.”
“Got it, Boss.” Goliath walks past me toward the front doors. “I’ll get the car pulled up, Professor Wright.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, Nico shifts toward the hall leading to his office but suddenly spins around and closes the few feet between us. Toe to toe, his features are turbulent, as though he’s wrestling with something that makes him uneasy.
“You look tired.”
I level him with a steely glare. “Smooth, Mr. Alcanzar.”
His expression never wavers, eyes sweeping over my face with what appears to be concern. “You slept in your room last night.”
I dip my chin in a quick nod. “I did.”
“Could’ve stayed in mine.”