Savagely (The Italian Book 2)

by Krista Holt

  “Vince?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If Daniel finds out…” I say, my voice trailing off. I don’t need to explain the ramifications of consorting with Goretti’s estranged brother. He’s knows what they are. Trouble.

  “Then don’t get caught.” He shakes his head, the faintest of grins tugging at his lips. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just making good on an old favor. That’s all.” He waves me toward the door. “Do this, and then go to D.C. See that girl if you have to, but just make sure it’s done. I don’t want those politicians snooping around our business anymore.”

  “Understood. If you need me—”

  “I’ll call you,” he finishes for me as I stand there, somewhat lost, trying to wrap my mind around all the information that’s been tossed my way in the past couple of minutes. “Nicola?”

  “Uh, yeah…” I scramble for something to say, something to explain my hesitation. “Have someone deal with Frankie. He hasn’t been keeping his hands off the girls. And it seems like Saul was encouraging it.”

  The vein in my father’s forehead jumps as he clenches his jaw. “I guess Saul was hiding a lot of things from us, huh?”

  “Seems like.”

  He waves me toward the door. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of Frankie.”

  With a nod, I leave the room, and then the house. I get into the Mercedes and grab the burner phone, sending a text.

  I need to talk.

  His reply comes quickly.

  Bethesda Terrace. 45 mins.

  * * *

  We stand there, in the heart of Central Park, facing off. Concrete pillars at our back, and the ornately decorated Bethesda Tunnel overhead.

  Obscured by shadows, we don’t talk. The quiet sounds of nature surround us. A breeze whips through the trees, bringing an icy bite with it. I tug at the collar of my black coat, pulling it tighter to ward off the chill, struggling for words.

  Garrett seems to understand. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask any questions. And I’m grateful. Because my mind hasn’t stopped racing since I left my father’s study. He wants me to take over.

  I never thought that would happen. I was sure he’d die before giving up power, before giving up control. I was wrong. And that makes me nervous. It was unaccounted for. An unknown variable. Something with the potential to screw everything up.

  “We talked tonight,” I admit.

  Garrett glances at me briefly, then lets his eyes wander back to the shadows, checking for unwelcome visitors.

  “Really talked,” I continue. “He said he loved me. For the first time in…shit, I don’t know how long.” I don’t think it’s a sign, or some cosmic announcement from the heavens that I’m about to do the wrong thing. It was just something I hadn’t planned on.

  “And…?” he prompts, sliding his hands into his pockets.

  “He wants me to take over.”

  He stiffens, straightening as he pulls away from the cold pillar. “He what?”

  “He’s tired. He wants to hand it over.”

  “Don’t tell me you are considering this.”

  “I told him I would do it.”

  “We had a deal.” He takes a threatening step toward me.

  “I know.” I throw back my shoulders, meeting his heated look with one of my own. “And we still have it. But I had to tell him what he wanted to hear.”

  “Then what the hell is this? Why did you want to meet?”

  I don’t know if I can put my finger on it. I’m not sure why I needed to tell him this, to see his reaction. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a small part of me that is tempted by my father’s offer. That’s tempted to turn my back on Garrett and accept the money and power my father is offering. Even if it takes me straight to hell.

  And it would, straight there. Because Reagan would never stay. And I can’t imagine living without her. That would be my hell.

  Even now, I can’t stop thinking about her. She infiltrates my thoughts during the day. Every move I make, every action, is done with the intention of securing her love. Her affection. Her trust.

  And my nights, they’re haunted with her. Every time I slide under a sheet, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep, I wind up staring at the ceiling, thinking about her. How I left her on those steps in front of the FBI building completely confused. How I wish I could have told her everything. How I wish I could have stayed with her.

  “What are you going to do, Nic?”

  “Nothing.” I push away from the pillar. “But this? It was easier to do when I thought he didn’t care about any of us.”

  “That was never your reason, and you know it. It wasn’t about him. It was about her.”

  My head snaps up, meeting his sharp eyes. “I never told you that.”

  “You didn’t have to. There are only two reasons why a person does what you’re doing. Love and money. And you have plenty of money. So, the second you demanded to meet with me, I knew it was about a girl. It’s always been about her. About Reagan.”

  Irritation zings through me as he says her name, at the way he’s attempting to use her, and my feelings for her, to keep me in line.

  I tug at my cufflink, giving it a sharp pull as I glare at him. “She’s not a part of this. Leave her out of it.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “Fine, but you need to understand, this always happens. Practically like clockwork. As soon as someone does what you’re doing, everything converges upon them. Things start coming out of the woodwork. Old memories, past discussions. People start dropping hints, little loaded sentences that stir up your doubt. Or people you love start changing their minds. Deep-seated habits start to evolve, drop away, and make you believe they’re changing. That things are changing. And you start doubting yourself, start doubting the reasons you started this whole thing to begin with. I can guarantee you, Nic, none of it’s real. It’s your guilt talking. Your perception is being manipulated by it. You see what you’ve done as a betrayal, and no doubt, your family will see it that way, too. But, it’s the right thing to do.”

  I don’t say anything. His attempts to reassure me are pointless. I know I’m doing the right thing. It’s just that before this evening, I had never let myself stop and consider what it is I’m actually sacrificing. I only ever thought about what I was getting: her.

  My father’s words had struck a nerve, though. Smashing right into an insecurity I didn’t know was still lurking in the background of my life. Somewhere inside me resides a little boy who only ever wanted his father’s affection. His attention. A part of me that broke the day he took me with him to deal with Uncle Donnie.

  Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s too little too late. The time for him and me to have a real, solid relationship is behind us. But, it’s still something I’ve always wanted. The warmth that should be between a father and his children. The sense of belonging, of having a safe place to hide from the world. Of knowing that no matter what you came up against, your father would be in your corner. What I got instead was a father who threw me to the wolves, knowing I’d either develop the skills I needed to survive, or I wouldn’t.

  Despite Gabriella’s belief that I’ve always been my father’s favorite, I know I’m not. What I have been is a tool my father could use and exploit. She assumes all those meetings with my father behind closed doors, being sent on special errands, and working for him are signs of his affection. She feels left out, like she’s unimportant. But what she doesn’t know is that I would have given anything to be the one he ignored. She has the luxury of not knowing what our father is really capable of. Hell, she doesn’t even know how Uncle Donnie really died. She doesn’t know that the official story of his death, a mugging gone wrong, was actually manufactured by the man who murdered him in cold blood.

  I don’t want that twisted dynamic for my kids. The lies. The deception. Any children I have will be loved and cared for. They will never, ever, doubt my love for them. I won’t compromise on that.

&nbs
p; “I know I’m doing the right thing, Garrett,” I assure him.

  “I thought you might be having second thoughts.”

  I’m not, but I’m not above using his concern to my advantage. “I want to tell her.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” he sputters, “because of half-a-dozen different reasons. What if she can’t keep her mouth shut? What if she tells the wrong person, and all our work goes up in flames?”

  “And what if she doesn’t? What if she keeps our secret, and everything goes to plan?”

  He clenches his jaw. “I thought you wanted her left out of it?

  “I did. I do. But there’s a difference in you using her to motivate me, and me choosing to no longer keep her in the dark. I’m tired of keeping things from her.”

  “You know the risks. You know how dangerous it is for us to be talking, here, right now. Are you seriously going to put that on her as well? Are you willing to increase the threat on her life to appease your conscience?”

  “No.” He’s right. I can’t risk her, even if I’m tired of keeping this secret.

  He glances at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. Soon, you’ll only have five more days. Surely you can wait that long.”

  A clipped nod signals my agreement.

  “Then we shouldn’t meet again. Keep the burner phone on you so I can get a hold of you if needed.”

  “I will.”

  “Anything else?”

  I’m tempted to ask him about Saul. Wondering if he has been going along behind me and cleaning up my messes. Maybe he’s got Saul’s body stuffed away somewhere? Then again, maybe he has no idea I killed Saul. And I really don’t want to admit to murder if I don’t have to.

  “Not a single thing.”

  “Good. Keep your head down, stay out of the fray as much as possible.”

  “I know how to conduct myself. I’m not some pimply-faced teenager about to go off half-cocked.”

  He smirks. “Don’t be an asshole either.”

  “Is that an order?” I call over my shoulder as I walk away.

  “Consider it life advice,” he shouts at my retreating back. “And keep your mouth shut when you’re with her!”

  I don’t reply as my steps cover the deserted path quickly, heading back to the Benz. I slide inside and let my head hit the leather seat. For the briefest of seconds, I savor the silence. The quiet.

  Until my regular phone vibrates against my chest, and with a groan, I open my eyes. Back to reality.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, boss,” Enzo answers, “we might, uh…there’s a problem, boss.”

  “You might have a problem, or you have a problem?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Use your words, Enzo, and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “The girl.”

  My heart slams into my ribs, like a bird hitting a clear glass window. Falling to the ground and floundering around until it can right itself.

  “What’s wrong with her?” My voice is low and lethal. A warning. Because if he’s let something happen to Reagan…

  “Uh, she kinda spotted me.”

  “And…?”

  “She didn’t exactly let it go.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  He sighs, pauses, and then sighs again. “She kinda chased me down an alley. I lost her, but she knows.”

  I close my eyes and scrub a hand down my face, barely biting back an expletive. “You had one job. One job. Watch her, and don’t get caught.”

  “I know, I know,” he groans. “I screwed up.”

  “Yeah, you did. Now I’ve got to come down there and fix your damn mess.”

  “Sorry.”

  I glance at my watch and groan. “There’s something I have to do first, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Some time tomorrow, probably. Stay out of sight until then.”

  “Yeah, sure thing, boss. And…uh…”

  “Was there something else?”

  “Maybe, yeah. She…uh, wanted me to tell you something…”

  “What?”

  He hesitates for a full minute. “She wanted me to tell you that she’s done.”

  I grip the leather steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles turn white. Frustration sweeps over me, knotting the muscles in my neck. “Fine, consider the message relayed. Just do your damn job until I get there.”

  “I got it.”

  “And, Enzo?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If she sees you again, you’re a dead man.”

  I hang up the phone and fling it across the car. It hits the passenger side door with a loud crack and tumbles to the floor mat.

  This woman…I swear she’s going to be the death of me.

  CHAPTER 6

  Reagan

  THE CHIRP OF MY BLACKBERRY wakes me.

  Blindly patting around on my nightstand, I find the phone and drag it back into bed with me. Squinting at the screen in the near dark room, I tap open an email from Cameron.

  I’m not sure how I’m going to proceed with this investigation moving forward, and you both could use some rest. Take the day off. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  Seconds later, it starts to ring.

  “Yes, Scott,” I answer, sitting up. “I got the email.”

  “What the hell do you think it means?”

  “Honestly, I think he’s going to stop the investigation, but he wants to think about it some more without staring into our expectant faces.”

  He chuckles. “For one who was so optimistic about life a few weeks ago, you’ve sure taken to being the unpleasant voice of reason.”

  “Hi, I’m post-kidnapping Reagan, nice to meet you.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Scott groans. “What are we supposed to do now? Want to meet for breakfast or something?”

  I rub my eyes, glancing at my clock. It’s just a few minutes past five in the morning. The sun is barely up and I’d only been asleep for about an hour before the phone went off. “No, I need a few more hours of sleep.”

  “Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow. Bye, Scott.” I end the call right after he echoes my goodbye and drop the phone back onto the nightstand, just as the screen of my personal phone lights up with a text from Simmons.

  You can’t keep ignoring me. We need to talk. Call me!

  I stare at the text, remembering the last time I saw Simmons face-to-face. It seems like so long ago, but really, it was just a day after Nic returned from New York, after abandoning me over Christmas, and a little more than a week before he kidnapped us.

  Still, that meeting is like a mark I can’t remove. Something that permanently separates my past and my future. Because, it did.

  Simmons was late. After watching tourists snap pictures of the World War II Memorial for a few minutes, I glanced at the time on my phone and made sure I hadn’t missed a call from him.

  I hadn’t.

  Families moved in and out of the memorial as I paced, until a body suddenly appeared next to me.

  “Simmons!” I jumped in surprise. “Damn it! Are you trying to scare me?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “I thought your guard would be up. My apologies.”

  I glared at him, not feeling the sorry in his so-called apology. “What am I doing here?”

  His eyes traveled over me quickly, and then went back to the tourists. “You’re in a mood.”

  No, what I was, was tired. Nic had shown up the night before with another lame apology, and I’d thrown a coffee cup at his head. I was emotionally drained, and not willing to put up with Simmons’s mind games. The only reason I even showed up was to get the one thing he’d dangled in front of me with his texts the previous night—out. Out of this mess. Out of the deal I made with him back in California, back when I’d been a lovesick fool and too naïve to know any better.

  But not anymore. Now, I was just sick. Sick of the bullshit. Sick of
Nic messing with me. Sick of Simmons using the fact that I agreed to spy on Nic against me. I mean, he’d never come right out and said it, but it was there, hidden in the brain teasers he called sentences—if I didn’t do what he said, there was a chance my identity might fall into the wrong hands.

  I pulled my coat tighter around me and ignored his accusation. “You don’t really care about my feelings, do you, Simmons? So let’s move on to why I’m here.”

  “Okay, fine.” He held out a small gift bag with a drawing of Santa and a reindeer smiling maniacally on the front.

  “Really?”

  “It’s not the bag that’s important, it’s what’s inside it. Take it.”

  With a glance around to make sure I didn’t recognize anyone, I tucked it into my purse. “What’s in there?”

  “A device that lets me listen to his conversations.”

  My stomach dropped. “What?”

  “It’s a bug,” Simmons reiterated. “Put it somewhere permanent. Somewhere he won’t notice it, like his car. His apartment.”

  I’d never even been to his apartment. Not his one here. Where he lived was one more thing Nic had kept hidden from me.

  “All you have to do,” he continued, “is click it on before you place it. It’s simple, like a retractable pen. Click and then stick it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Simmons sighed heavily. “It’s not that hard. Find a way to distract him, if needed. Then plant the device.”

  I broke the unwritten rules of every meeting we’d ever shared and turned to him. “How?”

  “How else? You’re a woman. He’s a man. It’s not that complicated.”

  My mouth fell open. “I’m not whoring myself out for your investigation.”

  “What’s one more time after what I’m sure is hundreds? Besides, it’s for a good cause. The greater good. Remember that? It’s why you agreed to do all this to begin with.”

  “That’s not why I was with him,” I objected. “I didn’t stay with him to help you.”

  He shifted toward me. It was not a lot of movement, just a few inches, but suddenly, he towered over me.