“It’s not just Marco, Quinn. Someone else is involved. I told you that in the email. I couldn’t give a fuck for the brother, but I do need to work out who the hell this other threat is before we approach Marco to get him to back off.”
There’s grumbling on the line, barely coherent at that. I know why, but him not having all the information is useful for now. He’ll only go off on his own if I tell him too much about my concerns, and there’s no safety in that shit at all.
“Get yourself back here. Now. You understand? It’s fucking stupidity for you to be out there on your own and—”
“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Nate, get your ass home. Don’t do anything—”
I’ve cut him off before he finishes, more interested in my dick’s response to the woman I’m looking at than arguing with the family I’m trying to protect. It’s madness. He’s right. I shouldn’t be here with her. It’s why I sent him an email rather than talk to him direct, knowing he’d talk me out of it if I did. She should be locked up in the damn cellar at home until I can find a way out of this shitstorm, but that attitude of hers was about to get her into trouble. Not on my watch. We were on our way by the next morning, stupid or not.
It’s as idyllic as Bora.
Shame a threat is tailing us this time.
I wander the cobbles back to her, tucking my phone in my pocket and shrugging my coat in tighter to avoid the snow as it comes down.
“How’s the world of Cane?” she asks, brushing some of the white dusting off her fur hat and handing some money over to the guy selling flowers.
“Cold. Harsh. Annoyed. The usual.”
“Yes, he does seem a brute.”
“Hmm. He’s worried. It’s his version of care.”
“Nice to have some.”
She smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness as she leads us off in the direction of the main square, leaning her head onto my shoulder.
“Where are we, anyway?” I ask, reasonably happy to be meandering. It feels like it did in Bora, memories coming back at me with each passing minute as she guides me around.
“Grote Markt,” she says, her hand pointing at the elaborate building off to the left of us. “That’s the city hall. It’s sixteenth century. I miss the ages of buildings when I’m in the States.” I stare at the finials and gothic looking art casing the walls, barely interested in its display. “Does Nate Cane travel much?”
“What?”
“Holidays? Places to see? I’m forever travelling, but nothing is like Europe for age and authenticity.” I smirk at her, wondering what the hell authenticity has to do with anything. We’re nothing but two thieves in the middle of a market square, one of us slightly more legitimate than the other. “Now I know who you are, it might be nice to know the real you?”
“You’ve always known the real me.” She stops and looks at me, a frown glancing over that perfect face. “More than you’d know.” And there’s that smile again. Real, joyful. It makes me want to forget all this shit, hole up in a damn cave if we have to. But that’s not happening, is it? Not now. I shrug my shoulders and move us on again, pushing dreams to the side. “I travel when I have to. Nothing more than work.”
“Bora wasn’t work.”
“No.” I try to think back to any holiday I’ve been on that hasn’t involved work. There isn’t one I can remember, which infuriates me for several reasons given the amount of money I have.
I shiver and pull my coat tighter again, unsure how she looks so comfortable in this temperature.
“I’m hungry,” I say, trying to steer us towards a restaurant. I’m not. I’m damn cold, and the way she looks as if she could stay in this all day is making me feel like a fool.
“Oh, poor bebe. Do you need my hat?”
I frown.
“Do you need something shoving in your mouth?”
She laughs. She laughs so brightly, tipping her head back, that I damn near trip over my own feet trying to keep her upright on the slippery ground below us.
“Because I haven’t done that enough in the last month, have I?” she eventually says, laughter ebbing off slightly. No, she hasn’t. As far as I’m concerned, she can do it for the rest of my life, regardless of the current shitstorm she’s put us in.
And a month? I turn her towards me, a laugh of my own mirroring hers.
“That could be considered a relationship for me.”
“What?”
“A month.”
“Oh.”
“Hmm.”
I stare at her lips, wondering what the hell I’m doing, and certainly why the hell I just said that. Relationship? It is though, isn’t it? Has been since the day she ran off and left me in Bora. I knew then that I loved her. Not that I’ve said that. The thought makes me frown and feel my own lips tremble slightly, amusement making them want to lift into another smile. I’m here with a diamond thief in the world’s diamond capital, for some reason contemplating buying her one. That’s enough for me to snort and get us walking again, still focused on the restaurant.
“No, hold on. I’ve got somewhere to be first,” she says, dragging me away from the warmth before I can get us there.
“It better be good.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your warmth,” she says, giggling again as we turn out of the square and start down the back roads. They get narrower as we keep walking, reminding me of London in some ways. The decrepit nature of the buildings harks back to old times, like she says, giving that element of age that the US just doesn’t have.
She stops dead in the middle of the street and I nearly pull her over as I keep moving. “What is it?”
Gabby’s looking through the window of a small cafe near us. “Nothing. I thought I saw someone, that’s all.”
Her comment puts me on high alert. We came here to be safe. If someone is looking for her then how the fuck did they find us here?
“Tell me about Quinn,” she says, tugging us back along as if all is forgotten.
“What about him?” I grumble.
“I don’t know. You have family. I’d like to know about them. Your mother, father?” My brow pinches at the thought of telling her my fucked-up history involving those three people. “I only have Andreas, and well, you know it’s not exactly a loving relationship. Quinn seems to care about you.”
“My father’s dead. Mother is…Mother. And Quinn is my big brother. It’s his job to care.” I slip my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer into me for heat. “Always has been his job.” I look at the floor as we amble onwards, shops passing us by. “Guess he always felt it was his job to protect us. Not that he had much choice.”
“Us?”
I sigh, annoyed at myself for letting that slip. The last thing she needs to know about is the fuck up that was Emily and Josh. “Yeah, the family.” She points over to the right, steering me over to a non-descript doorway tucked away in a corner, then ducks in front of me almost using me as a shield.
“Stay exactly where you are.” She lets go of me and opens a small section of the wall, the brick swinging open to reveal a pad. “Has Quinn got a girlfriend, wife?” What the hell are we doing?
“Yes, fiancée.” I stare at her as she inputs a code, then lowers and says something to the machine in a language I don’t understand.
“She must be something special.”
“What?” She closes the brick again and turns back to me, arms around my neck instantly.
“His fiancée?”
I shake my head, trying to look around her. “What are we doing?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets, Nathan Cane.”
Four short beeps sound out suddenly, and a whirring has the door rolling inward as if it’s mechanised. I look round her again as she smiles, a deviant little grin raising my brow as she loosens her hold round my neck. “Are you going in first? Or would you like to follow me?” she says. “I know what you’re like about being in control.” I look down the
dark little rabbit hole she’s opened and frown, unsure what the hell she’s playing at. “It’s alright to be scared. I mean, remember the shorts? Pussy.” The fuck? My eyes swing to hers. She’s giggling. Or rather trying to hide it.
“It’s going to be more than fucking bananas if you keep up with this shit, Gabby.” She snorts and turns away from me towards the door. “You’ve caused enough trouble already.” She drops her smile a little at that and ducks under the low arch, disappearing into the recesses.
“Gabby?” I mutter out as I follow. Pitch black greets me the moment I enter.
Nothing comes back so I reach for the walls on either side of me to find my way along, and eventually see a dim light coming at me in the distance. “You up there?” Voices echo back—the voice of a man talking with her in that language again. I frown and hurry on, clattering over the stone floor and running my hands along crumbling masonry.
“Ah, here he is,” the guy says. “Hallo.”
“Nate, this is Christophe Murdain. He’s a diamond specialist.” I look between the pair of them, sizing up my competition who happens to be too fucking good looking for my liking. Brown hair, taller than me, built like Quinn and carrying a smile that would drop any woman’s panties. “I think that’s what his name is anyway. It’s what I’ve called him for four years.” He chuckles and extends a hand to me. I glare at it, jealousy owning every part of me. Jesus fucking Christ. “Nate?” He laughs again and forces his hand to mine.
“I’m gay. Lose the attitude, yah? Attractive as she is, it is only her glitter I’m after. Nothing more.” I might huff and shake his hand too firmly, suddenly perplexed at my own irrationality. He points at me, then her. “Love does that to a man. Or lust. Be careful with that around women like her,” he says, looking back at her and smiling. “She will be like a ghost in the night if you push too hard.” I know that already. Dick. “Or a thief in its depths.”
He laughs. She does, too.
I feel like punching the ever-loving fuck out of someone.
“I thought I’d show you what I do now we’re here,” she says softly, drawing my eyes back to her. “Look.” She nods at Christophe and he pulls back a burgundy cloth draped across the table. The jewellery that lies beneath it has me widening my eyes, trying to calculate its value. Not that I know shit about diamonds, or their worth, but fuck. She points at the smaller stones. “Asia, last year.” Then the slightly larger ones that have been worked into some bracelets. “India. That was a hard job. Real fucking hard, Nate.” I raise a brow at her dig. “Took me a long time to plan that one and get it right.” My eyes drift to the four large stones, three of them buried in a necklace that royalty should probably wear, and the last in a ring most women wouldn’t dare to wear. “And you don’t want to know where I got those from. I might have to kill you.” I look back at her, unsure who the fuck she is all over again. She smiles. It’s pride—pride and a sense of happiness all wrapped up in what she does. And she couldn’t look more stunning because of it. It flows from her now in this little dark room full of dishonesty and vice. It’s part of who she is, isn’t it? Who she’s become. My little thief in the night. Mine. “Christophe turns them into something I can move on. After I’ve got all the accreditations I need, anyway.”
“Prachtig,” Christophe says. I look up at him. “Magnificent, no?”
Even I must accept that they are, regardless of how much I despise the thought of her being anywhere near the world she lives in.
“And the other thing I asked about?” she says, picking up the ring and looking at it through a small glass she places over her eye.
“Ah, yes. What have you been doing?”
“Me? Nothing.” She inspects the jewellery closer, holding it up to the light. “I just need the information. Diamonds don’t disappear off the face of the earth. Someone planned and took them. I knew if anyone could find them, it would be you.” Christophe moves over to the side of the room and pulls a folder from a metal chest of drawers in the corner.
“You flatter me.”
“You’re worth flattering, Christophe.” The guy chuckles. It annoys the fuck out of me.
“Japan, according to my sources. Yakuza.”
My eyes swing to him the moment he says it, interest piqued, and then to her because what the hell? I thought she was a jewel thief, not part of that shit. Her hand pulls the glass away slowly, a look of disbelief flashing across her face. Fear cloaks the joy of a moment ago.
“Why would they want my diamonds?” She lets the ring tumble to the table. “I’ve never had anything to do with Yakuza.”
“Your diamonds?” he asks.
“Sort of.”
“You are in a little deep, Gabriella.”
“You can damn well say that again,” I mutter, turning from the room and trying not to explode. Yakuza? Screw that.
And screw her, too.
I storm out into the darkness again, ducking along the corridor to get some damn air. Jesus Christ. I thought Marco was bad enough, but I could have worked that, made it safe again somehow until I found the other invested party and pushed them down a peg or two by coercion. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do? The Yakuza are the one organisation we’ve got nothing on. And because of everything I’ve done over the last year, trying to make us safe, I’ve lessoned that nothing to fuck all leverage and barely any hope.
Jesus, what has she gotten herself into?
The cold snaps at my skin as I pull the door wide and slam it against the wall, snow blasting me in the face. I scowl at it and keep my head down, walking onwards with no idea where I’m going. Who cares? I don’t. I’m just walking to try to find a plan that I haven’t got. I can’t even do this on my own now. I need Quinn. Need his contacts. And won’t that be fucking enjoyable for him? Big brother comes to save the damn day. Nate Cane, unable to stay in front without the great Quinn backing him up.
Fuck.
At least I know who else is involved. Information is key here.
The thought has me scowling and trudging on, trying to find anything inside this brain of mine that can make this situation fuck off. There’s nothing there but how spread out their organisation is, how much more power it has than Cane. Quinn’s right; he’s barely held them back all these years, and that’s lessened still, given his dealings over the last year. We’ve got nothing but the hands attached to our bodies and the threat of death against them.
Not something that bothers the Yakuza in the slightest.
“Nate, wait,” she calls from somewhere behind me.
I’m not waiting for her. She’ll go at my pace if she wants to stay even remotely attached. She’ll do everything I say, exactly when I say it. I should never have let her back in that room, should have fucked my whores and told her to leave before this became something that risks everything I’ve tried to protect. “Please, Nate.”
My fucking heart stutters at the sound of those words, my feet slowing a touch. My name from her lips, the slight tone of fear attached to the plea—they’re everything a Cane shouldn’t have guiding them. Everything that kills safety. “Please. I can’t…”
I shake my head and keep walking, trying to drown out her voice with each footfall that lands in the snow. It doesn’t work. She’s in every breath I take. I can feel her fear from here, regardless of the distance I’m trying to keep. Why? Why her?
Fucking woman.
I stop and stare at the floor, hands shoved in my pockets and my heart pulsing with an energy I don’t know what to do with. Shout? Fight? Leave? My body swings around before I’ve gotten control of anything.
“Fuck you,” I snap out. She halts five feet away. “Just…fuck you, Gabby.”
“I…”
“Zip it.”
She stands perfectly still, arms folding around herself like a lost kitten in the middle of chaos, lips trembling around words she’s struggling to find. That’s exactly what she is—lost and in trouble, wolves closing in as she quivers and waits. And what? I’m s
upposed to be some kind of saviour?
Jesus.
Time passes, both of us staring each other down in a back alley, snow filtering between us. It’s not a pissing contest; it’s her asking for help without knowing how to, and me waging a war with myself about how I do that and keep everything I’ve worked for safe. Sounds fucking harsh, but it’s true. Conscience or not, love or not, I will not put Quinn in danger for her, nor my mother.
Two dead in my family is enough.
“I don’t know what to do,” she says eventually, fingers gripping onto her coat as she draws in ragged breaths.
No, neither do I.
I continue to stare, part of me desperate to close the distance between us, pull her into my arms, and go all in for her with no care for the consequences. “I’m scared, Nate. I can’t do this on my own. Even I know what the Yakuza mean. I thought I could handle things if it was just Mortoni, but I...” My foot inches forward as I hear her breath catch, her eyes dropping to gaze at the floor. “I’m…” Her hands go to her face, wiping beneath those damned eyes, frustration and chaos clouding them. “I don’t know how to…” My hands come out of my pockets, ready to reach for her no matter how much I’m trying to force them to stay put. “Oh god, what am I going to do? I can’t…” Her legs buckle, the weight of it all becoming too much for her to deal with as she gasps in more breaths. “I can’t save him and I…”
Fuck.
Six steps have her in my arms before I’ve managed to stop myself, her body sagging into me and tears of defeat coming quicker than I thought possible. The sound of them makes me grab her tighter, wrapping her up into me so I can stop questioning shit that shouldn’t even need discussion. Mine. My piece of happiness. For whatever reason, and perhaps because of my life, this thief is mine. Nothing is getting in the way of that.
Yakuza be damned.
My chin rubs across the top of her hair as I grip her tightly, holding her to me so she knows she’s got someone to lean on. I’ll always be here, won’t I? She’s my first. First love, and the first thing to be put before Cane in my life.
Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Page 18