Nailed Down: The Complete Series

by Bliss, Chelle

  “Very,” Kit said.

  “He’s not,” Gin interrupted, groaning as she sat up and looked between us. “Before…when things were normal,” she sighed, and her mouth hardened. I suspected she was trying to fight past the effects of the wine and her rage to remember how things had been between them before the shooting. “He’s just a little closed off… That…bitch Trudy did him so wrong.”

  “They all have bitches in their pasts,” I told her, head shaking at Gin’s defeated tone. “Is he marble or putty?”

  “What?” both women asked, unblinking as they watched me.

  “Marble or putty. That’s the type of men we’re left with. As women, it’s a struggle, most times, to find the perfect man. Let’s be honest, they don’t exist. And so, we’re left with marble men and putty men. Depending on what you want, you have to decide which ones you’re willing to tolerate.” When neither of them spoke, I continued, shrugging because I figured it was self-explanatory. It had been for me when my Nonna Maria explained it to me as a young woman fresh out of high school.

  I sat up, crossing my legs and leaned one elbow on my knee, gaze shifting between Gin and Kit. “Marble men are obstinate. They require that you work and fret and work even more to chip away the layers. It could take years. It could take you a lifetime, and even after all the drama you’ve endured chipping away at that marble, you might be left with something beautiful and unique, but you’ve spent so much of your time whittling away the layers that you don’t appreciate the art you’ve made once you’re done. Marble is hard. It’s difficult to mold to what you want.”

  Gin sat up, frowning at me like she wasn’t sure where I was heading. Kit seemed to get the analogy, offering a small half smile as I continued.

  “Putty, though, is flexible. Putty is easy to mold. It bends and stretches with little effort. It adjusts to your will, and sometimes, if you lay it flat enough, it takes on the shape you want. It doesn’t take much effort with putty, and sometimes that’s best because you get what you want, and you’ll go on getting what you want for as long as you’re willing to mold it to your liking. So, you have to decide: do you want this beautiful, obstinate thing that will require a lifetime of work to get to what you want it to be. Or, do you want something that’s soft and malleable and yours with careful attention.”

  Gin tilted her head, watching me, frown deepening as though something had just occurred to her. “I…I don’t think Dale is either of those things.”

  “He’s marble,” I told her, shaking my head when she started to argue. “You’ve tried chipping away at that hard stone. It’s easy enough to tell. You’re with him, around him, there like no one else, I bet, and he still hasn’t made a move. Even before that bitch ex of his showed up. There might have been moments, but no moves made, right?” She nodded, slumping back in her chair before she polished off the rest of her wine. “Uh-huh, that’s marble.” When the muscles around her mouth tightened, I leaned forward, hoping my smile looked more genuine than it felt. “Marble doesn’t always stay marble. Sometimes it weakens. Sometimes it will soften with enough attention. Especially,” I said, smiling at how focused Gin seemed, watching me, “when they fuck up. Dale did something stupid. He has to know about it.”

  “He’s been blowing up my cell,” Gin admitted, glass against her mouth.

  “Hmm…mark my words. That asshole is turning to putty.”

  “Kane’s putty,” Kit said, sounding proud, and I nodded, agreeing. Then she sat up, eyes shifting into a squint. “What’s Kiel?”

  “Oh,” I said, letting the smile I held widen. This time when it stretched across my mouth, I meant it. “There’s no bending Kiel. That mold was broken years ago.”

  Gin’s anger had ebbed. She didn’t look happy exactly, but some of the venom in her expression shifted. She stared at the flames, and I thought maybe she’d start to let some of her rage leave her. Dale had done something stupid, but I suspected it wasn’t the only time. Hell, if Kiel was right, Dale had dangled possibilities at Gin for years.

  Shit or get off the pot, Kane had said to Dale, but he wasn’t the only one who needed that lecture.

  “Maybe you should…”

  Oh shit, I thought, sitting up when Kiel and Kane stood, their attention behind them at the front entrance. Three of Johnny’s men ushered Dale inside. The SEAL waved off their help, clapping Kane on the shoulder as he came into the house. Kit caught my nod toward the new arrival, and we shared a look, glancing from the kitchen to Gin, who hadn’t noticed the change in our number. Kit stood, grabbing Gin’s glass before her friend could stop her.

  “I’ll get another bottle,” she offered and was off the balcony and in the house before Gin could argue.

  “You okay?” I asked her, shifting my gaze from the redhead to the kitchen. Kit greeted Dale, gesturing to the bar, but she kept glancing at me. I wasn’t sure if she thought I could deflect Gin’s anger or maybe distract her, but Kit kept giving me looks, desperate, stupid looks I couldn’t decipher.

  “Fine,” Gin said, and there was less bite in her tone. “This is all just such a mess.”

  Dale had spotted Gin through the door, and he shook his head when Kane spoke to him, his focus on the balcony and the redhead who still hadn’t noticed his arrival.

  “Love usually is,” I told her, standing when Dale tried to hide the wince he made, opening the door. His expression was calm but firm, and if the man was worried, he didn’t give it away. He looked down at Gin, mouth drawn into a line, eyes narrowed so that his bottom lids curved. He wanted to say something, wanted her to listen, that much I read on his expression. But he didn’t seem able to do much more than take in her profile, absorbing her sharp features.

  When he went on watching, masking whatever he felt behind the hard set of his body and the tight muscles moving his jaw and neck, I intervened, unable to stand the quiet for too long.

  “Gin?” I said, watching Dale.

  She only lifted her eyebrows, a silent acknowledgment, and when I didn’t continue, she glanced up at me, frowning when I nodded toward the door.

  “Gingerbread,” Dale said, his voice so deep with a gravel that hadn’t been there before the shooting. His features were tense, though he let a soft smile twitch one corner of his mouth. It was a welcoming expression, something any woman with a pulse would fall for.

  Dale might have a redneck’s name, he might be a rough-around-the-edges SEAL, but he was still damn fine. I was married, not dead, and I had noticed the abundance of gorgeous men in the cabin more than once. Kane was almost as beautiful as Kiel, though I was partial. There was something about their beautiful dark skin and wide, tempting frames. But Dale was all muscle and lines, a gruff, disciplined man who never seemed too far from the edge of violence. He was always at the ready, always eager to defend, that much I’d made of him in the short time we’d been at the cabin. Now, though, as he waited for Gin to respond, that big badass looked a little lost.

  The redhead stood, pushing the chair away from her. The only sound I noticed was the crackle from the log burning in the pit and the quickening breath that came out of Gin’s nose as she watched Dale. He stepped onto the balcony, and I moved around him, leaving them to it as I went to Kiel’s side inside the cabin.

  We shouldn’t have watched. It wasn’t our business. I didn’t have anything invested in either of them, but Kane loved Dale and Kit loved Gin and Kiel loved them all. They’d be in my circle from now on, no matter where we ended up. Dale stepped closer, jaw working as he stretched a hand toward her, and we couldn’t look away. It was some pantomimed, silent display, those two on the balcony, and it was too consuming to ignore.

  “Touch him,” Kit whispered, seeming to will her friend to meet Dale halfway. And from the look on Gin’s face, I thought she might do just that. Next to Kit, Kane held a warming bottle of beer, and both he and Kiel watched their friend, silently, likely as nervous as we were for what would come next.

  Then Dale said something, forcing a laugh,
but it wasn’t anything the redhead seemed to find funny. Instead of taking his hand, Gin crossed her arms, her face pinched as she shook her head and pulled back the glass door.

  She was through the living room and to the back of the house before Dale made it inside. He was a large man, well over six-two, dwarfed only a bit by Kane when Dale stood by my brother-in-law. Despite his hard exterior, just then, Dale looked weakened, maybe from the gunshot, maybe from how surely Gin had dismissed him. It took strength to take that kind of rejection, but if he was hurt, physically or otherwise, Dale still stood tall and set his features like he was about to do battle.

  “Tell me,” he said, looking down the hall to where Gin had disappeared. My brother had done that, but the expression on Dale’s face wasn’t amused like Johnny’s had been. He was determined. Those two words seemed like a request for information, logistics and details he’d need before he began his mission.

  Kit released a sigh, patting him on his shoulder, and it was only then that Dale looked away from the hallway. “Oh, honey,” she started, all the humor vacant from her tone. “It’s as bad as you think it is.”

  Dale grunted, a low, primal sound that sounded angry and desperate. “Well, then…” He grabbed the beer from Kane’s hand, downing it in one swallow. “I best figure out how to unfuck this.”

  19

  Cara

  The plane, minus a loose-lipped flight attendant, seemed so much smaller to me on the way back to New York than it had when we’d left the city. But then, that could have been from tiredness. Dale had not let things lie with Gin. The gruff, quiet man, it turned out, had a mouth on him when he was angry or desperate or ridiculously sorry. A mouth that kept us awake wincing and tsking all night. From what we heard in the shouting echoes, Gin didn’t care about anything Dale had to say. By the time we’d packed and notified the pilots Kiel and I were heading to the airport, Gin had left, and Dale was passed out on the sofa, drunk on pain meds or beer or plain heartache and regret.

  The return trip was welcome, and Kiel and I enjoyed it. Even when things got a little bumpy somewhere over Michigan and the turbulence made me feel sick. We’d landed, picked up by a fully recovered Arturo, who’d greeted Kiel with a handshake of thanks and many heavily accented refrains of “grazie mille” and “molte grazie,” for saving him during the shootout and me with a kiss on each cheek and a warm, grateful smile, I guessed, for having such good taste in men.

  Arturo filled me in on the museum and all the guests he’d had while he was in the hospital, while Kiel frowned, staring out the window like he was on his way to his own funeral.

  “Relax,” I told him, holding his hand. The gesture served its purpose. Kiel turned away from the window, slipping his arm over my shoulder.

  “I’m fine. I just…” He closed his eyes, grunting when we pulled up my father’s long, landscaped drive. “I don’t like drama.”

  I laughed, unable to keep myself under control. “Oh, bello, then you married the wrong damn woman.”

  He didn’t relax, not when Arturo opened the doors, or when Dante and Giovanni greeted us with professional half smiles and nods as we walked inside. Kiel, in fact, didn’t relax remotely as we moved down that long, tiled hallway and came into the parlor where my father sat in a wheelchair, right in front of the large wall of windows that looked out onto the lush garden.

  If possible, my father looked ten years older than when I’d last seen him. He seemed so small to me now, when all my life he’d been this giant of a man, always leading, guiding, never backing down from anyone. It wasn’t often that my papa was cowed by anything. As Kiel and I walked into the parlor of his mansion, the worry that moved across his face and the wrinkles that dented deep into his skin seemed to vanish. He met my gaze, his eyebrows lifting as though he’d just spotted something he’d misplaced and prayed would be returned. That seemed as close to the truth as possible. In his eyes, I had been lost. I’d almost been lost forever.

  “Vita mia,” he said, his voice lifted in a tone of utter disbelief. “My bambina.” Papa raised his arms, and I ran to him, slipping to my knees, cheek against his chest as he held me. “Ah, my bella amore.”

  “Papa…” There was a little disbelief in my tone too, but I didn’t care.

  My father had blood on his hands. I guess I did too now. So did Kiel. But he had been threatened, and by association, so had I. One word from me might have saved those lost by my father’s command. Vinnie might still be here if I’d just toed the line and done what Papa wanted.

  Kiel moved to the side of the chair, his expression soft but wary, and when he met my gaze, offering me a wink that did something funny to my stomach, I realized I wouldn’t have changed anything about how we ended up here. He was mine, and I was his. Forever. There was no more threat. There was no more worry for us but how to navigate my father’s life and the family we wanted together. Kiel wouldn’t be part of the family business. Neither would I.

  “Hush now,” my father said, pushing me back. “Let me see you. It’s been too long.” He returned the smile I gave him. I relished the feel of his palm against my cheek. It hadn’t been all that long, actually, but to my father, even a day was too long. He went on looking at me, smile wide and brilliant, and though he looked weak and older, he was still handsome, still elegant. One quick glance at Kiel standing next to us and some of the withering traces of illness left his face.

  “Kaino,” he said. Papa didn’t smile at Kiel exactly, but he did stretch his arm, offering him a shake. Kiel took it, bending down a bit to let my father grip him in both his frail hands. “I owe you my apologies,” Papa began, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes at me, a small admonishment he didn’t mean. “And my gratitude.” Kiel nodded, beginning to pull away, but he paused when Papa pulled him forward, refusing to release him. “My daughter, she’s my world, sì?”

  “And mine,” Kiel replied, his features firm, sincere. He didn’t try to get away from my father again, and he let the old man have his say.

  “Bene,” Papa said, reaching up to pat Kiel’s face. “That is good to hear.” He released Kiel and rested back against his chair, hands folding over his lap. “Now, first you must see Father Michaels,” he said, nodding at me.

  “Why?”

  Papa shook his head, tongue clicking as though I’d asked a pointless question. “So we can plan the wedding. But first, I want to ask you, Kiel,” he said, his attention turning to my husband. “My son says you are a writer.”

  “Journalist. Yes.”

  “Why do we need a wedding?” I interrupted, earning a glare from Papa. I hadn’t gotten one of those since I’d snuck out at seventeen to go parking with Alfonse DeAngelo the night of his graduation.

  “You will be married in a church, bella. In front of a priest and God and the Blessed Mother,” my father explained, motioning for me to hush when I opened my mouth again. Papa disregarded me in favor of looking Kiel over as though he needed to get the make of him. “Are you a good writer?”

  Kiel shrugged but didn’t deny it. “I am.”

  “Molto bene. Come,” he said, motioning to the chair next to his. And then, as though he hadn’t missed me, as though he had never been disappointed in me for my defiance or worried over my being attacked, my father moved forward, ready to tackle the next item on the unseen list he kept in his head. “We’ll discuss a project I have. A book, sì? About my life.”

  “Papa,” I fussed, wondering why he’d be so willing to expose himself and his friends for something as trivial as a book, or why he seemed so eager to forget I was standing next to him, uninformed about what he planned.

  But my father waved me off, as if my worry was pointless. “An anonymous book, sì?”

  For the next hour, my father ignored me, drawing Kiel into a lengthy discussion about exclusive, firsthand accounts of criminal masterminds, and how he was old and wanted to retire. He wanted grandchildren and to keep them safe. He wanted Kiel to provide for his bambina.

  A half hour
later and Kiel was all in, excited about what could be. And I realized, with very little effort, my husband had become the one thing he swore he’d never want: a member of the Carelli family.

  20

  Kiel

  One month later…

  “You shouldn’t be in here,” Cara said, covering her body with the sheet like I hadn’t seen, tasted, and touched every inch of her skin already.

  I walked toward her, laughing as I stripped off my clothes, fumbling with my jeans as they tangled around my feet. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.”

  Cara shifted her gaze, eyes narrowing as I finally got my pants off and threw them in the air. “Are you drunk?”

  “I never get drunk,” I said. My expression was sincere, poker-faced, though I knew that promise was the biggest load of garbage ever. I hadn’t planned on getting shit-faced tonight, but Johnny mumbled some nonsense about bachelor parties and welcoming me into the family. Kane told me to stop being a tight ass, pushing the shots in front of me and replacing them as quick as he could. “I’m buzzed.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, tightening her grip on the sheet, but her eyes skated down my body and landed on my hard cock. “It’s the night before the wedding. You’re not supposed to see me.”

  I yanked at the sheet, but she moved, keeping her naked flesh on lockdown. “We’re already married,” I reminded her and tugged harder at the fabric, needing to bury myself so deep in Cara that everything else fell away.

  She covered her breasts with her arm and sat up a little straighter. “But this time, it’ll be before God.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes because I was horny and damn sure didn’t want to have another argument about the lavish, unnecessarily big Italian wedding I’d been roped into. All that mattered was that we were making the entire marriage official for her family, even if they were going over the top. Her father insisted, his one wish before he died. That was how he played the entire thing, using guilt to get his way.