Savagely (The Italian Book 2)

by Krista Holt

  “Maybe that’s for the best,” I hedged. “All this time, all these months, and nothing you’ve asked me to do has helped. Maybe we both just need to move on.”

  “No! I can’t.” His palm hit the table, rattling the silverware. “I won’t!”

  My eyes went wide, and my breath caught in my throat. “I can’t keep doing this, Simmons. I can’t.”

  “You can. And you will.”

  “Please, I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I planted a bug in his car, I’ve checked the messages on his phone and his computer, I’ve told you everything I know —why can’t you let me out of this?”

  Simmons studied me carefully. The silence between us remained tense and loaded for several minutes. “Because you’re useful to me. You have something no one else has. Access. And I need access.”

  “Access to what?”

  “To his phone,” he snapped. “I need to see what he’s been up to. I’m sure there’s something on there I can use. It could be what I’ve—what we’ve been waiting for.”

  “I don’t think—”

  He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “Listen to me. Under the table, by your purse, is an envelope. Inside is a device that you’ll plug into his phone. It’ll run a short search, try to find anything incriminating he might have stored on there, and then it’ll just shut off. He’ll never even know it was there.”

  I bit my lower lip, working it over as my thoughts raced. This didn’t feel right. Like it was a step too far. I didn’t think I could do it, and even more, I didn’t think I should do it. It was too much, too wrong.

  “No, I won’t do it.” I shook my head. “You said I was done. I’m done.”

  He paused, then slowly picked up his fork and took a bite of his steak. “I don’t think you understand how important this is, Reagan. How important it is to your safety.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I can only protect you if you cooperate.”

  I stilled, cautiously meeting his angry stare. “What exactly are you saying, Simmons?”

  “It would be in your best interest to fall in line, Reagan, and do what I asked you to do.”

  I had no words. It wasn’t the first time he’d alluded to something like this. But, it was the first time he’d blatantly threatened me. “So, that’s how it is—do what I want, or else?”

  My stomach soured at his smug look. Pointedly, he set his fork down on the plate, whipped the napkin off his lap, and deposited it on the table. “Let’s just say, you want to be on my side of this. It’s the best thing for everyone.”

  I stared at him, mouth parted. “What makes you think I’ll even see him again?”

  He stood and reached into his pocket, threw a couple of bills onto the table, and looked down at me. “I think out of all of us, you’re the only one that underestimates his feelings for you. He’s incapable of staying away.”

  “Simmons, I—”

  “Call me when it’s done.” He started to walk away, but not before throwing one parting shot over his shoulder. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  I glare at my purse from across the room. It’s still on the table where Nic left it, the envelope with the device still inside. My traitorous little secret.

  At war with myself, I listen for any sound, desperately hoping he’ll wake up and slam my window of opportunity shut.

  But it doesn’t happen.

  I exhale slowly, heart racing, fighting against the overwhelming desire to scream at the top of my lungs. Fighting the desire to spill all of my secrets to the man sleeping down the hall, and then throw myself at his feet and beg for mercy. Surely, he’d protect me. From his family. From retribution.

  But then, I remember that man’s hand around my throat, and how Nic just watched it happen. Watched me get hurt. And suddenly, I’m not so sure.

  I close my eyes and wipe away the extra moisture leaking from the sides. I hate this. I hate the fact that I don’t think I can trust the man I’m so desperately in love with. How messed up is that?

  With another faltering breath, I push to my feet and collect the device before returning to the couch.

  I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’m afraid. Incredibly afraid Simmons might make good on his threat and let my identity slip into the wrong hands.

  I wish I had another option. Another choice. But I don’t.

  I have to protect myself.

  After running my hand down the front of my fitted skirt, I rip open the package. And with it, the litany of lies I’m telling myself pours out. This could be a good thing. This little device could find nothing, it could prove Nic’s innocence. It could put this all behind us, for good.

  Maybe?

  Or maybe I’m just a gullible, love-struck idiot.

  A love-struck idiot officially out of options.

  With trembling hands, I reach for the phone he carelessly left on the table. Almost dropping it in my attempts to connect it to the small gray box that’s supposed to collect Nic’s secrets and open them up for every watchful eye at the FBI to dig through.

  After a few tries, the metal plug slips inside, and the small screen on the device lights up with a question.

  Initiate Search?

  All I have to do is tap the yes box. That’s it, one tap. My brain is screaming at me, demanding I hit the stupid button. But my heart, my stupid, foolish heart is telling me not to. It’s pleading with me to walk away. To wait.

  But I can’t, not anymore.

  I close my eyes and tap yes.

  The screen changes instantly, displaying a small progression bar. The red line moves slowly toward the one-hundred-percent mark as a heavy wave of guilt swamps me, like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s crushing. Nausea slams into my stomach, and I think I might be sick right here on the floor. Fear has me by the throat, and I struggle to breathe.

  The bar moves to 27 then jumps to 33.

  It rushes to 51 and I grab the glass of water, struggling to drink it.

  62 then 68.

  I don’t blink. I don’t breathe. I stare at the progression bar, unblinking. I could still unplug it. I could rip his phone away from it and stomp on the device, tell Simmons I didn’t have a chance to use it. I could stop this.

  But I don’t.

  I sit on my hands until the bar enters the ninety-percent mark.

  91.

  94.

  96.

  There’s a faint beep as it finishes, the red line moves all the way to the 100. Search Complete flashes on the screen and I release a faltering breath.

  It’s done.

  I disconnect the device and unsteady limbs carry me back to my purse, where I stash it back in the envelope. I stand, shoulders curled inward, as I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to comfort myself.

  Until a buzzing noise from inside his coat shatters the quiet. And since I’ve already gone this far, I go ahead and search his pockets, finding his keys and…another phone?

  I frown at the screen. There’s a new message from an unknown number. I don’t open it, I don’t need to. The message preview is damning enough.

  Three days. Be sure to say your goodbyes.

  Goodbyes? Is he leaving again? Was he even going to tell me?

  Worry claws at me, slicing deep. Is it going to happen like last time? Like California? Because I don’t think my heart can take that again.

  My mind is a mess as I head back down the hallway, toward the bedroom. Torn between sliding into his bed and begging him not to leave, and shaking him awake to demand answers.

  But there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want to say a word about that text. A part that wants to wait and see what he’s going to do. I want to test him.

  Will he choose me this time?

  Will I be enough for him?

  Will I finally be able to trust him, with everything?

  I hate myself for being this pathetic. This attached to him. Why am I so devoted to him, considering he can’t be bothered to even tell m
e the damn truth?

  I know, I know I’m keeping secrets, too. But…

  As I lean against the doorframe, watching him sleep, I ask myself if I can just forget about that stupid text and pretend everything’s okay. Convince myself that he’s not about to crush my heart into little pieces, again. That I didn’t just betray him, again, because of Simmons’s not-so-veiled threat. That maybe, just maybe, if I pretend hard enough, we can be what we used to be.

  It’s that nasty hope again, flaring to life. I can’t seem to shake it.

  With a resigned sigh, I crawl into the space beside his warm body. He stirs, but doesn’t wake as I press myself into the sheets, and rest a hand on the side of his sleeping face. My fingers brush a wayward piece of hair from his forehead.

  “I’m such an idiot,” I whisper as I lean over and gently kiss the outline of his jaw. I have no idea why I can’t sever this tie between us. It would be so much easier if I could.

  But I can’t. I keep hoping it’ll change. That he’ll change. I close my eyes and breathe a wordless prayer, begging someone to help me stop hoping, because as much as I love him, I need to be able to draw a line somewhere, at some point.

  This thing between us, this cycle we can’t seem to escape, I’m afraid it just might destroy me. And it won’t be his fault this time; it’ll be mine.

  * * *

  The sound of a shower shutting off wakes me. I lie there for second, staring up at the ceiling, almost happy. Bordering on blissful. And then, I remember what I did. I remember the device sitting in my purse, potentially holding damning evidence against the man I slept beside last night. I remember the text he got, and how he might be leaving, again.

  Feeling sick to my stomach, I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and searching for a clock. I find one on the dresser across the room. 7:31. I’m already late.

  I kick back the sheet and land with a creak on the hardwood. I’m busy trying to find my shoes somewhere on the floor when the door opens seconds later, revealing a still wet Nic with a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “I thought I heard you up.”

  I freeze, struggling to take in the sight of shirtless olive skin, coarse hair, and water droplets all over his chest. “Uh, yeah, I was just going.”

  He notices that I can’t quite look away, and the corner of his mouth twitches. And then his infuriating smirk appears. “Give me a second. I’ll drive you back to your place.”

  “That’s not necessary.” I force my eyes to the floor, searching again for my heels. Finding them in the corner, I pull them on, one foot at a time. “I should go. Now.”

  I hurry down the hallway, even though he’s calling my name. Heavy footsteps hit the wood floor as he follows me.

  “Hold on a second.” He grabs my arm, his other hand holding up the white towel. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I smile, even though I feel sick inside. “Really, I’m fine.”

  His brow wrinkles adorably, adding to my growing guilt.

  “I thought we’d have breakfast or something before you ran off.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” I reach for my coat. “I have to get to work.”

  “You’re sure?” His brown eyes study me, like he can see right through my lies.

  “Completely.” Tugging on the heavy coat, I glance at him when he doesn’t let me go. “Uh, my arm?”

  His hand drops to his side as he watches me fumble with the buttons. “I got a text a while ago.”

  My heart squeezes tight, and I’m suddenly unable to speak. Be sure to say your goodbyes.

  “I have to go back to New York. There is something I have to do in the city, but then I’ll be back.”

  “Oh, okay.” I nervously lick my bottom lip, looking up at him. “But…you’ll come back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.” He smirks. “Which is why I’ll let you go, for now, but not until I get one more thing.”

  “What?”

  He slowly leans down and brushes his lips against mine. My mouth opens in surprise, and his tongue slips inside. And then he’s kissing me. Like he’s relieved, like he’s in love with me.

  His hand moves to the back of my head, holding me close. I let him, kissing him back until my body demands oxygen. I put my hands on his chest, touching his bare skin, and push us apart. His chest heaves as he inhales. Mine does the same. We stand there, breathing heavy. Unable to say anything. Unable to think.

  His hand strokes my chin, tilting my face up until my eyes meet his. “I love you, Reagan. Please, tell me you know that.” His brown eyes cover every inch of my face, desperate for my answer.

  I swallow hard, dropping my eyes for just a second before I force myself to meet his pleading expression “I do. I know.”

  He kisses me again, and all I can think is—please, please don’t break my heart this time.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nic

  “MORNING,” I SAY WARMLY, CAREFULLY reaching around my mother to grab the cup of espresso I’ve been patiently waiting for.

  “It’s after two.” She pats my cheek. “Where have you been?”

  “Just got back from D.C. I have a few things to wrap up here today.”

  “Such as?”

  She opens the cabinets and sets things on the counter in preparation for our family dinner later tonight. Well, the family, plus Enzo.

  “Nothing for you to worry about.” I grab a jar off the top shelf for her. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “With everything?” I glance at her, raising a single brow that is loaded with implication.

  She slowly turns around. “Gabriella told you? About the baby?”

  “She did.”

  “When?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, not so much as who you might have told.”

  “He doesn’t know.” I swallow the rest of my drink then rinse the cup out in the sink.

  She reaches in the fridge and pulls out a roast wrapped in butcher’s paper. “We’re all going to pay for keeping this secret from him.”

  She’s not wrong, and helping my sister find the right way to announce her news is another hurdle I haven’t had time to tackle.

  “Where is she?” I ask, reaching over to close the fridge door for her.

  “She should be here soon to help me with the meal.”

  “Does he realize she’s not sleeping here?”

  “I don’t think so. She should stop it though, otherwise he’s bound to figure it out.”

  My mother quietly moves about the room, and my mind runs back to Reagan. It was such a welcome feeling, waking up to her on the other side of my bed. She was blissfully asleep, but she’s never been more beautiful to me. I’ll take that version of her any day. I don’t care if her hair is messed up and she doesn’t have makeup on, if she’s in my bed, every morning…

  I swallow hard, forcing back the growing need to have her like that, exactly like that. With me, constantly. I want to build a life with her more than anything, which means I don’t have time to be sitting here, doing nothing.

  “I have to go.” I push off from the counter. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

  “Okay, kiss your mother goodbye before you go.”

  I grin, shaking my head before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Ciao, Ma.”

  * * *

  Stopping the Benz in front of Midtown Trust, I kill the engine. I hand the keys to the valet and check over my shoulder for anyone tailing me before I head inside.

  The gust of heated air that rushes out the door is stifling. January is cold, but with the way they heat these places you wouldn’t know it. Tugging open my coat, I approach the front desk.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” an older man greets me, peering over the bifocals resting on the lower part of his nose. “How can we assist you today?”

  “I need to make a transfer, and then access my safe-deposit box.”

  “Of course.
The teller over there can make the transfer for you, and then if you’d like to take a seat across the lobby, the first available personal banker will assist you with your deposit box.”

  “Thanks.”

  I make the needed transfer and then sit down in the quiet lobby. Checking the messages on the burner phone, I reread the one from this morning.

  Three days. Be sure to say your goodbyes.

  I can’t fight the way my heart races, or how my hands dampen slightly. Three days. That’s it. That’s all I have left.

  With so little time left, I had to pry myself away from Reagan this morning. There’s too much to do, and I couldn’t tackle it all from another city. I needed to be here.

  How? I text back.

  I tap the device against my thigh, waiting on him and on the banker.

  A few minutes pass and then a young woman comes marching up. “Mr. Selvaggio, I understand you need access to your safe-deposit box?”

  “I do. Sooner rather than later.”

  “I can take you back as soon as we verify your identity.”

  “Lead the way.”

  She turns on a thick heel and I follow her to a small office, complete with a fingerprint scanner and electronic signature pad. She takes a seat behind the desk and points to the closest chair.

  “Have a seat. This will just take a minute. I need to see your ID, and then it’s just a matter of scanning your fingerprint and confirming your signature.”

  I give her a polite smile, and go through all her steps. We leave her office and she leads me down a bright hallway to a large vault door, just as the burner chimes with an incoming text.

  It’s better that you don’t know.

  No, I want details.

  Did you forget our agreement? You work for me. Just do as I say.

  That heavy-handed dick.

  “Sir?” The teller pulls my focus back to the present, gesturing to the open vault door. “Take as much time as you need. The button to the left of the door will page me as soon as you’re ready to leave.”