The Muscle Part One

by Michelle St. James

  But if her face was a work of art drawn by a master, her body could have been sculpted by the hand of da Vinci himself. It was lush, with full hips and a narrow waist that rose to the soft swell of her breasts. He wanted to pull down her nightgown and flick his tongue over her nipples, probably cold and wet from the pool. It was a body he could lose himself in if he could escape her eyes long enough to try, and his cock pressed painfully against the restraint of his jeans, a side effect of having her pinned beneath him in the sand.

  “I was trying to help,” he finally said, trying to distract himself.

  “I don’t need your help,” she said.

  “That remains to be seen,” he said.

  “It doesn’t,” she said. “You don’t know anything about me, but I can assure you that I’m just fine.”

  He caught a hint of false bravado in her voice that told him she was lying. That maybe she was a lot further from fine than she was willing to admit.

  “Maybe,” he said, “but you were flinging yourself from the top of a building. What did you expect me to do?”

  “I didn’t expect anything,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone would be watching.”

  “Well, it was a damn stupid thing to do,” he said. “You could have been killed.”

  “But I wasn’t,” she said.

  “You could have missed the water.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, already drying from his unexpected dip in the hotel pool. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Are you always this nosy?”

  “Helpful, you mean?” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  She sputtered, something between a laugh and a sigh of resignation. “I have to go.”She turned away, and he felt a sudden sense of loss. He would probably never see her again. Why did he hate the thought of it?

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning away. “Thanks for the rescue.”

  The words were said drily, thick with sarcasm. She raised a hand in silent farewell, and he watched the sway of her hips as she disappeared into the shadows.

  6

  Isabel made her way back to the road and started walking. She could have taken a cab and paid when she got home, but she didn’t want to announce the fact that she’d been out of the house in the middle of the night. Diego was already frustrated with her, already impatient with her antics. She couldn’t afford to keep pissing him off. Sofia couldn’t afford for Isabel to keep pissing him off.

  Besides, her jump from the hotel roof hadn’t been for him. It hadn’t been a show of rebellion designed to get his attention or a way to make a point. In fact, she would have been totally fine if she never got his attention again.

  Diego’s attention wasn’t usually a good thing.

  No, she’d jumped into the pool for the same reason she’d done all the crazy things she’d tried in the past — to remind herself there was more than the mansions in Coral Gables, the prostitutes and brutish criminals Diego kept like pets in the house that had belonged to their father. Their family.

  It took her almost an hour to reach their gated property, but she didn’t mind. She used the time to let her mind wander, to think about the new piece she was working on, about Sofia and how to make things normal and safe for her. When she finally got home, she made her way to the back fence and the one hole in the elaborate security system set up by her father before his death. It had taken her awhile to find the gap in the camera coverage, and she was half-surprised it hadn’t been discovered by Diego after one of her many exploits. She’d heard him rail to the men who were tasked with securing the property, heard him demand they find out how she was getting out of the house. But none of them were very bright, and they’d never nailed down her ability to sneak in and out of the house unnoticed.

  The last time she’d been caught was when the police brought her home after her joy ride in Diego’s car. If she’d managed it unseen, she would have ditched the car in a good part of town and made it back to the house just like she was now, creeping around the perimeter of the property and hopping the fence in the dark spot, dodging the cameras as they made their slow rotation of the grounds, climbing in through the window left open almost year round to keep her room cool. She could only hope one of her brother’s enemies wasn’t smarter than the men who protected him.

  Otherwise, they’d all be dead.

  She slid through the open window and touched her feet to the marble floor of her bedroom. It was dark, the sheer curtains on her canopy bed rustling in the breeze from the open window. She stripped off her nightgown and walked naked to the adjoining bathroom, passing a row of finished canvases lining one of the walls. She turned the shower on hot and stepped inside. The water hit her cool skin, warming her immediately, and she tipped her head back into the spray, her mind turning to the man on the beach.

  Who was he? And why had he bothered chasing her after he knew she was alive?

  She poured soap into her palm and rubbed it along her full breasts, down the flat plane of her belly, between her legs.

  He’d been tall and well built, with sizable biceps that had bulged when he’d crossed his arms and pecs that were on glorious display through his wet T-shirt. His thighs had been muscular and strong, but not stupidly huge like some of the guards who used the gym on the property.

  She slipped her soapy hands into the folds of her sex, closing her eyes at the memory of his thigh pressed between her legs, the pressure of it rubbing against the mound there. Her pussy clenched at the thought, and for a moment, she could almost imagine what it would have felt like to open her legs, let him slide into her.

  A small moan escaped her lips, and her eyes shot open. She removed her hand from between her legs, turned toward the spray to rinse off. She couldn’t afford to think about stuff like that. Sex, love… they were for some other time far in the future. For after she figured out a way to escape Diego with Sofia. Besides, who would want her now, after everything that had happened?

  She finished rinsing off and got out of the shower. After she’d dried off, she threw on a pair of silk lounge pants and a tank top and crept out into the hallway. The house was quiet except for the soft thump of music coming from Diego’s bedroom, and she hurriedly made her way to Sofia’s room at the end of the hall. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

  The room was dark except for a series of muted images thrown across the pale pink walls. Whales and dolphins and colorful fish danced across the room in pale green, light blue, and vibrant pink, casting shadows onto Sofia’s face as she slept.

  Isabel smiled and crossed the room, easing herself gently down on the bed next to her little sister. She was sound asleep, one arm flung across the big bed, her dark hair a shadow on the pillowcase. Isabel reached out and touched her cheek, lifting a stray piece of hair and tucking it back on her pillow. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. Isabel felt a familiar surge of determination. She was all Sofia had now. Their father had adored them, but he was gone, and Diego was too much of a wild card to know what he might do if Isabel didn’t obey him. He was head of one of the biggest drug empires in the country. He did business with people who didn’t think twice about committing horrific crimes, sometimes simply to send a message to anyone who might consider crossing them.

  And Isabel was under no delusion that she was any different because she was Diego’s blood.

  She would have to be careful. Make plans and backup plans. Make sure everything was in place for her and Sofia to get away the first time. Because Isabel knew one thing for sure; there would be no second chance. If she tried to leave with Sofia and Diego found them, she would be dead. She couldn’t even think about what that would mean for the little girl sleeping soundly in front of her.

  She leaned over, kissed her sister softly on the cheek, smiled as Sofia murmured in her sleep. Then she padded across the cold floor in her bare feet and slipped out of the room.
/>   “What are you doing?”

  The voice made her jump, and she turned to find Diego staring at her with dilated pupils, an unsettling grin on his face.

  “Just checking on Sofia,” she said.

  “Why do you baby her so much?” Was it her imagination that he was slurring his words? Probably not. “She’s almost a teenager.”

  “She’s eight,” Isabel said, her voice steely. The last thing she wanted was for Diego to start thinking their baby sister was old enough to be exposed to his twisted predilections.

  “Exactly,” he said, leaning in close enough that she could smell the tequila on his breath. “Eight, not five.”

  Isabel sighed, trying to raise some semblance of sibling affection for the drunken man in front of her. She could hardly remember him as a child. Had he been nice? Had they loved each other? She thought they must have, but it seemed as impossible now as the moon rising in the morning instead of the sun. She tried for a conciliatory tone.

  “I’m just looking out for her, hermano. She misses Papa so much.”

  It had been the wrong thing to say. Diego saw any mention of their father as an unflattering comparison. His eyes darkened, and he swore in Spanish. “Papa is dead. I’m Sofia’s papa now.” He grinned. “And yours.”

  Isabel held her anger in check for Sofia’s sake. “No, carnal. You’re our brother, and we love you very much.”

  His face softened, and he leaned in, pulled Isabel into an almost-painful embrace. “You think you’re so smart, niña,” he murmured, grabbing a fistful of her hair hard enough to make her eyes water. “Just don’t get too smart now.”

  Isabel forced herself to kiss his cheek. “Don’t worry, mi hermano. All is well.”

  A door opened and a skinny blonde with a bad spray tan stumbled naked into the hall. “Where are you, baby?” she whined. “I woke up and you were gone.”

  Diego turned away from Isabel and started back toward his suite of rooms. “Just talking to my sister, the punta,” he said.

  The girl laughed, and a minute later they disappeared behind the closed door. Isabel leaned against the wall, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  She had to get out of here. And soon.

  7

  Luca was up with the sun the next morning. He went for a run on the beach — his favorite new routine since moving to Miami — and returned to the hotel. He ordered room service, took a quick shower, and threw on his slacks just in time to open the door for his food.

  Today he would meet his employer, Diego Fuentes. He’d done his research before his interview with Hector Diaz, Diego’s head of security, but Luca knew that the information found online was usually a pale version of what was more often than not a more complex story.

  What he did find out is that Diego’s father, Silvio, had reportedly run one of the biggest drug cartels in the country before his death the year before. Rumor had it that Diego was heir to the business — and he wasn’t exactly the best man for the job. According to the gossip columns online, Diego was best known for playing the part of wealthy playboy. There were plenty of pictures to back up the claims — Diego draped with women at exclusive clubs, sunning himself on his yacht, smoking a cigar surrounded by suited men in darkly lit rooms.

  But there were other rumors, too. Rumors of violence and brutality that gave Luca second thoughts. It’s not like he was sheltered. He’d worked for the Syndicate since Nico had pulled him off the street, and while Nico had prided himself on running an efficient, modern version of the old-school mob, there had been plenty of violence.

  Still, rumors of Diego’s crimes had initially made Luca hesitate to accept the job. Then he’d reminded himself that it wasn’t his place to pass judgement, and it definitely wasn’t his place to try and figure out how much of what he’d read was true. For all he knew, every word had been fabricated by the tabloid vultures who fed on bad news and created it out of thin air when there wasn’t any. Besides, Luca had followed his conscience with Nico and Angel, had helped them escape Raneiro and start over. Luca didn’t want to know everything anymore, didn’t want to be part of the inner circle. He just wanted to show up for work, put in his time, and go home to the beach, a beer, and sometimes, a woman in his bed.

  But he had to admit to being curious. Diego was only twenty-eight, and Luca couldn’t help wondering what that kind of power and violence would do to someone so young. It softened his conscience to know that he had been hired to protect Diego’s little sister. Apparently, there were two of them — one in her early twenties and one who was only eight years old. Luca didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but he liked them well enough, and protecting a kid would be nice change from watching the backs of men who had a talent for getting themselves into trouble.

  A glance at his phone told him he was cutting it close. He left his tray outside the room, then slipped on the pale blue button down he’d set aside. He grabbed his jacket on the way out of the room and headed to the valet where he gave them the ticket for Nico’s red LaFerrari. Luca had felt bad taking the car, but Nico didn’t need it anymore, and if Luca hadn't taken it the sleek vehicle would have been sold off to someone who might not appreciate it.

  And that would have been a crying shame.

  The drive to the Fuentas estate took him less than half an hour. He pulled up outside two imposing stone pillars and an iron gate, then gave his name to a voice from the intercom. A moment later, the gates swung open, and he pulled up a brick drive that wound through palm trees and led to a large white house fronted with columns. A meaty guy in a suit was standing out front, arms crossed in front of him. It was a position with which Luca was intimately familiar. It was designed to send a message.

  I’m watching you. And whatever you’re thinking about doing - don’t.

  Luca pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, stepped out, and confidently approached the man. There were protocols to working with a dangerous group of men. Showing that you were willing to be part of the team was number two on the list — right after making it clear that you could hold your own.

  “Luca Cassano,” he said.

  The man nodded. “Robert. Hector sent me to bring you in.”

  “Where should I park the car?” Luca asked.

  “Give me the keys,” the man said. “I’ll have someone move it.”

  Luca hesitated. He wasn’t crazy about someone else driving the LaFerrari, but making an issue of his hot car wasn’t going to win him any points with his new coworkers. Besides, Luca had learned a long time ago that things were replaceable. Over the years he’d replaced furniture, clothes, and yes, even cars. There was something freeing about being unattached, and he planned to keep it that way. He handed over the keys without another word.

  He followed Robert into the house, making a point not to stare too openly at the expansive foyer, the staircase that wound to the second floor behind an iron banister, the pristine marble underfoot. It’s not like he hadn’t been in a nice house before. Nico had some of the most beautiful properties Luca had ever seen. But it never ceased to surprise him how many people had so much, and he could never quite reconcile himself as one of them. It didn’t matter that he had millions stashed in an offshore account thanks to his work with the Vitale family. Part of him still felt like the orphaned homeless kid, sleeping in cheap motels and under overpasses, eating out of dumpsters.

  “You’ve done this kind of work before?” Robert asked as they headed down a long tiled hallway.

  “More or less. Although never assigned to one person,” Luca said.

  Nico didn’t count. Luca had been Nico’s Underboss, which made him Nico’s employee, not his babysitter.

  “The girl’s a handful,” Robert said. “Lost two guards in the last month alone.”

  “They quit?” Luca asked.

  Robert met his gaze, and Luca realized the man’s pupils were so dark they were almost black. “Something like that.”

  He opened the double doors to
the study and indicated that Luca should go inside. Luca did, and the doors shut quietly behind him. The room was large, with elaborately carved furniture and expensive rugs. The ocean beckoned through large, multi-paned windows, and a set of french doors were left open to let in the breeze. It was almost too lavish: the intricacy of the furniture, the gilded wood framing the art, the vibrant colors outside the windows. All of it felt overdone compared to the sleek elegance of New York. He kind of liked it.

  “It’s nice to see that you made it,” an accented voice said to his right.

  He turned to find Hector Diaz regarding him from the edge of the room. He was older, maybe mid-fifties, with thick, dark hair and a mustache to match, and while he wasn’t intimidating — Luca was rarely intimidated by anyone — there was something unsettling about his gaze. Cold and slippery, it was the gaze of someone lying in wait. Luca didn’t know what the other man was waiting for, but Luca would have to be ready in case one day it turned out to be him.

  He pushed the thought away. He was here to do his job. Babysit the little girl. Go home and eat dinner. Watch the water from the windows of his yet-to-be-rented house.

  “I did,” he said, holding out his hand. “Nice place.”

  Hector shook his hand. “Have you found somewhere to live?”

  “Still working on it,” Luca said. “But I’m sure it won’t take long.”

  “Nonsense,” Hector said. “You’ll stay here. There’s plenty of room.”

  Luca hid his surprise. No one had said anything about room and board being part of the package. He valued his privacy, now more than ever, and had no desire to live under the same roof as someone like Diego Fuentes.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

  Hector clasped his shoulder, his grip steely, and Luca had to fight the urge to wrap his hands around the other man’s wrists, take him down, press his face to the cold marble floor.