His whole fucking kingdom, he thought, remembering the ill-fated story of Bathsheba and King David. Ricardo was going to die, and this Bathsheba in his arms would be his reward. At least he didn't already have a wife. That would have been a complete mind fuck. He felt a moment of sympathy for the poor street kid who'd become a mythical king, then shook himself.
Once upon a time, the wily, manipulative bastard sent Bathsheba's husband to the front lines to die a warrior's death.
Jimmy didn't intend to bother with that subterfuge. He'd do whatever he had to take the girl, and if that meant Ricardo had to go, then Ricardo was a straight up dead man.
TWO
Rosalia couldn't say if she was in heaven or hell, but she knew better than to struggle. Ricardo would beat her for this, she knew, but how was she supposed to refuse the man who was at the top of Ricardo's food chain? Despite the simple truth that she'd ached to agree, surely Ricardo knew she had no option but to accept the invitation, to not give offense?
She'd dressed conservatively so as not to attract attention, and not strayed from his side the entire evening. No one had looked at her twice, not until James Savaggio himself had strode up with his entourage and picked her out of the crowd. She'd seen him earlier, of course, and had been careful not to stare. Even without four bodyguards and an admin who was a doppelganger for the classic Mad Men's secretary Joan Holloway surrounding him, the man exuded a power that had caught her attention and attracted her. Now up close and personal, with those same guards keeping others from straying any closer to them, Jimmy was irresistible.
In time with the music, she moved against him, almost moaning when her breasts pressed against his hard chest. Despite the urge to rub up and down against him and run her hands into his hair, she tried to remain still, moving only in response to the music. Somewhere, if it was at all possible, Ricardo would be watching.
This dance would make whatever fate Ricardo had in mind for her worthwhile.
Dear God in heaven, the heat and smell and erotic intention seeping from this man's body would bring Rosalia to her knees. She tried to imagine what rage Ricardo would enact at home, if she would even survive it. But instead, the only vision she could concoct was her kneeling at Jimmy Savaggio's feet, mouth open and her hands clutching his thighs as she begged for the right to touch him.
Jimmy slid her small handbag from her shoulder and tossed it to his assistant, who was standing near the wall, waiting on him. At her back, Jimmy's big hands shifted, subtly stroking up and back down a few inches. Already aroused by his commanding presence, she shuddered violently and tried to hide it by shifting awkwardly. An unfamiliar warmth dampened her panties. Rosalia swallowed a moan, thanking the saint she'd been named for that the room was dark and full of people. Jimmy Savaggio couldn't possibly see her flushed face or smell the juices that she'd just produced.
Hopefully Ricardo would let her visit the ladies room before they left.
"That's it, mia tesoro, mia rosa. Make yourself feel good. Sei una bella donna."
His husky voice at her ear made Rosalia feel lightheaded. Her knees wobbled and hit him awkwardly. Instead of stepping back or apologizing, he lowered one hand and cupped her ass, lifting her off her feet and shifting his hips to rub himself brazenly on her.
"Mother of God," she uttered, the words escaping before she could stop them. She felt him turn so that she was hidden from the room, her back to the wall and his guard dogs on every side of them. Rosalia buried her face in his shoulder and tried to remember to breathe but all she could process was his hand on her ass, squeezing as he rocked her against him.
The rhythmic pressure on her pubis was a better stimulant than she'd ever experienced. If this was her only taste of heaven, she'd take it and never forget. She doubted the big man who was holding her knew just how close to paradise he'd driven her. He was an Italian man, after all, and probably considered dancing with wives of his mafiosos one of the privileges of leadership. And as an Italian man, there was no doubt he danced as erotically as any Frenchman who wished to woo a woman.
"Vieni da me, amante." The words were clear enough, and Rosalia's mastery of the language was unquestionable. She translated them easily. Come to me, lover. But she couldn't grasp what he was saying, caught up in the seductive aura that surrounded him. Come to him, where? "Vieni per me."
Come for me. That was easier. Her body obeyed him instantly, shattering into a million pieces as the song concluded.
He held her a moment longer before he settled her on her own feet, his hands sliding up and down over hips as she remembered that she could walk on her own. When she stepped back, he let her go. She dared not look at him, embarrassed by her wantonness. Did he know she'd orgasmed, without any sort of intimate touch? He'd done no more than dance with her.
Before she could gather her courage and speak, the efficient admin who was holding her purse was thrusting out a tablet to him. "Sir, I apologize but we have an urgent matter. È una questione famiglia."
That sentence was easy enough to interpret. A family matter. Rosalia stiffened. The moment ended and she stepped back, not wanting to know more about his business than absolutely necessary.
Jimmy took the tablet and scanned the message, scowling. He looked up as Rosalia blinked, catching her jaw in his palm. "La mia rosa, I apologize but I must attend to this immediately. Mia madre is ill. I will see you very soon, I promise. My people will make sure you get home safely tonight."
Rosalia blinked as she absorbed that his sudden distraction was his mother and not the mob, but his security people were already drawing him away. She'd lost the chance to speak at all, not even to thank him.
Beside her, the women holding her purse held it out, along with a business card. "Mrs. Dinapoli, he really must go. Here's my card, my personal mobile number is on the back and so is Mr. Savaggio's. If you need anything, please call me anytime. I'm certain I'll see you again soon."
Rosalia leaned against the wall and blinked before pulling herself together and leaving the dark room. She knew Ricardo would be angry but she did not see him spying on the dance floor. Hopefully he wouldn't have seen that overly intimate exchange.
After tucking the card deep in her purse, she headed for the ladies' lounge, raising a hand and forcing a smile to her lip when Ricardo saw her across the large ballroom and started toward her. She gestured with two fingers and headed inside, knowing he'd be waiting for her when she came out. At least Rosalia had the chance to pull herself together before she had to explain anything to Ricardo. It was a small rebellion, but one he would likely not even recognize.
In the bathroom, Rosalia cleaned herself thoroughly, careful to wipe off everywhere she thought Savaggio's scent might remain, as well as between her legs where her own juices had soaked her panties. They went into the trash, replaced by the emergency pair stuffed in with her menstruation supplies in her handbag. She refreshed her make-up, making sure her skin had lost its telltale color and was the usual unexcited hue Ricardo was used to seeing.
She didn't wince or even flinch when she exited the lounge and found him waiting. As she'd expected, he gripped her above the elbow again, his hand tight enough to leave bruises over the older bruises from where he continually grabbed her. "Time to go home," he grunted, this time heading directly for the front entrance. It was clear he didn't want to give anyone else the opportunity to stop or intercept them, and no one did.
Ricardo's SUV was waiting. He must already have sent the valet to retrieve it, probably while she'd been in the lounge cleaning up. What she didn't expect was the Savaggio guard that came with it. "What the fuck do you want?" he challenged, the brusque words rippling through the air. The foreboding of the violence to come almost made her shudder, but Ricardo still had his hand on her arm, and she dared not cause a scene.
"Orders, Mr. Dinapoli," the guard replied. "I've been assigned to drive you and Mrs. Dinapoli home, as you've had more than two drinks tonight. A chaser car will follow to bring me back."
They didn't even make it past the mud room before Ricardo was berating her. The guard, whose name was Jack, had parked Ricardo's Lincoln Navigator inside the garage and climbed into the white Cadillac that idled in the driveway. Ricardo hit the garage door to close it, slammed the door to the mud room, and typed in the code on the security panel, locking them inside for the night.
Locking her inside, anyway. She wasn't permitted to know the code. The alarms would go off if she tried to leave, by any of the doors or any of the windows. And where would she go? Ricardo's SUV was the only car, and she wasn't permitted to drive it. Along with confining her to the house and watching her with the system's in-home security cameras, he locked the keys and security remote with his two handguns in the safe behind the door of the bedside table every night. It was another code she didn't know, along with the safe where her passport and driver license had been kept for the last four months.
She was taking off her boots when it started. Rosalia knew to take off her shoes at the door. She could retrieve them tomorrow and put them away properly. She'd once tried to walk to the bedroom in her heels when he'd gone into a rage, and she'd twisted her ankle trying to keep up with him. He dragged her up the stairs when she couldn't walk, dislocating her shoulder and leaving deep bruising and welts on her hips and butt. That had been during their third week of marriage.
"Those welts on your thighs weren't fucking enough, were they?" he began, dropping his jacket. "I warned you not to draw attention to yourself, so what did you go and do? You batted those eyelashes at Don Savaggio! Dio! You flirted with him, you little whore. You think he will ride to your rescue like some goddamned white knight? He's the don of a fucking crime family, and he'd leave you at the bottom of Lake Ontario when he was finished with you. You're a fucking puttana, Rosalia, but I will cure you of that if it's the last goddamned thing I do. It's for your own fucking good."
He slapped her across the face, and Rosalia forced back her instinctive need to react. She'd learned not to cry, not to scream. It only made him angrier, more brutal.
THREE
"Mamma mia, you must not wait until you are so sick before you ask for help," Jimmy said patiently. He sat by his mother's bed and patted her hand. "I could have hired a nurse to come and stay with you at your house, and you would not have gotten so dehydrated and ended up here."
"I know, Jimmy." His mother sighed, sipping from the mug. "But it was just a winter cold –"
"Mama, no excuses," he stopped her.
She shook her head, knowing when arguing was futile. "If you insist on a babysitter, see if you can get that girl Lucia from next door to me, would you? I don't think she's working and she's nearby. Her mother is Italian, at least. I don't really need a nurse."
"All right, Mama." He noted it in a text message to Margot, then glanced at her. "Anything else?"
"I don't suppose Lucia might do as a prospect as your wife?" she asked bluntly. "She's young and pretty, has good manners and her mother has taught her to cook."
"No," Jimmy smiled. "I've seen her, met her, talked to her. She's pretty enough but I'm not interested. I think maybe I've found the one to have these bambini you say are so necessary, but there are complications I'm working out and I'm not ready to discuss it yet."
She sighed. "All right then." A hopeful looked passed over her face. "Can't you tell me anything?"
He grinned at her. Jimmy wanted to tell her all about Rosalia, but he didn't know enough. Still, he had read the cursory background report Danny's team had provided to Margot on the way to the hospital. "She's second generation Italian, Mama. Both of her parents were born in Palermo."
"Sicilian!" His mother beamed at the news.
Before he could say more, Margot appeared in the doorway. Jimmy frowned. Margot knew she was to stay in the hall or the waiting room unless summoned. The hospital permitted only one visitor at a time, so whatever had brought her to the door –
"There's trouble, big trouble," she said bluntly. "Max is running the command center, Mario is on the way there, Danny and the others will get you there. Danny will brief you."
His mother paled. "Who –"
"I can stay with your mother," Margot offered.
Jimmy scowled. Another damn crisis – two in one night – when all he wanted was to break down Ricardo Dinapoli's doors and take his woman home where she belonged. And his mother knew of whatever was going on, too. He rose, then nearly fell back into the chair when Margot said, "It's Ricardo, sir. He's beating her, right now. Maybe more."
An emotion far greater than rage ran over Jimmy. "That mongrel dog –"
"Don't tell me, just go rescue her, Jimmy," Margot said, a breath of emotion in her own voice.
Jimmy took a bare second to kiss his mother's cheek squeeze Margot's upper arm. As he strode through the hospital halls, he positioned a Bluetooth earpiece and mic on his ear, so he could join the mobile briefing he and his guards were going to get from Max. He kept moving, and they were in the vehicle and away even before Max had finished.
"Jack drove Dinapoli and Rosalia home, as directed, with Frankie behind them in one of the fleet cars. Dinapoli uses one of the corporation's smart home security systems, so Frankie already had the alarm cued up and they verified that Ricardo set it as they went into the house. You ordered a guard on her twenty-four-seven and he hadn't arrived yet, so they parked down the street out of sight and walked back to the house. The place is a decent-sized acre-plus lot and it isn't gated in the front but they heard noise from inside. At first, they thought there was just a television turned up loud, but after they circled the house and ended up under the master bedroom window, Jack and Frankie realized it was Ricardo and he was shouting. That's when they realized what he was doing."
"And?" Jimmy demanded. Lanz was driving. He was fast and good, but every second added to the trip deepened Jimmy's urge to turn Ricardo's last hours of life into a living hell.
"Called her – you sure you want to hear this, Jimmy?"
"Tell me, goddamnit," Jimmy snarled.
"Forgive me for repeating it. Called her a whore and a gutter slut, told her she would spend the next week crawling through the house on her hands and knees because she'd be too sore to sit or lay down, and she wouldn't want to walk because he was going to keep her cunt pounded and full of his spunk. They could hear some sort of rhythmic smacking, but they didn't know what Ricardo was hitting her with. After that much, Jack called me and Frankie started to hack the security code, so the audible alarm wouldn't attract attention from the coppers when they went in. It's one of the 8 digit ones so it took a few minutes. Frankie had just gotten in when you dialed in. He and Jack were headed inside."
"Merda! How much farther Lanz?" Jimmy demanded. All of his immediate security team were on the call, too. They had to know the situational assessment if they were going to get involved. Jimmy silently prayed that they weren't being tapped tonight or under any surveillance because he didn't have time to be discreet. Whatever the hell Rosalia Isabelle Martelluci – he'd hang himself before he thought of her as belonging to Dinapoli – had done to his brain and body in the space of fifteen mind-blowing minutes, he was going to have to live with, and so would she.
"GPS says five minutes, Jimmy," Danny replied from the front seat.
"I want Doc Gallo on the road to meet us at the Dinapoli house." Ricardo wouldn't need a doctor, but Jimmy wanted his personal physician to check on Rosalia.
Jimmy's phone registered an incoming call directly from Jack's phone. Jimmy added him to the call. "Report, Jack," he ordered. "You're on the conference line."
"Frankie is sitting on Ricardo, sir. He's alive and breathing but not exactly in pristi
ne condition. Mrs. Dinapoli is here with me but she's pretty banged up but conscious and terrified. She's going to need some care, sir. There's blood – I don't want to touch her in case I hurt her more –"
Jimmy growled. He looked out the window. They were north of Oswego, traveling east. His own house was only a few miles away. "Max, get Doc Gallo to my house instead, he can see her there. Next one on the scene, find someplace in that house where we can hold Dinapoli and get Frankie to help move him there," he ordered.
Max took over, issuing directives until the SUV turned into the driveway of their destination. As if by magic, or Max, the garage doors opened. They slid smoothly inside, the door closing about them. The garage had two bays, but only the one SUV that Jimmy knew was Ricardo's because it had a corporate parking permit on the windshield.
Upstairs, he found what he considered to be hell on earth. Danny, Lanz and Frankie were dragging Ricardo out of the bedroom. The sight of Rosalia curled up on the bed, her pants at her knees and her sweater gone was bad enough. Jack had covered her with a light sheet, but Jimmy ripped it away and had to force the tears from his own throat at the sight. The bastard had beaten her with the buckle end of a belt, leaving small welts all over her torso and beautiful breasts, down to her knees. Some of the lashes had broken her skin and blood oozed from them down into the sheets. Older bruising was visible along her thighs and hips, evidence that tonight was not Ricardo's first sin.
"She hasn't spoken a word, sir," Jack told him. The guard had turned his back as soon as Jimmy arrived, but stayed, waiting on his orders.
Jimmy had a flash of memory from earlier, when he'd lifted her off her feet, cupping her ass as he held her to him. She hadn't winced or evinced any pain, but it must have hurt her. Instead, she'd gone off like a beautiful fucking firework in his arms.
She wasn't excited now. Rosalia was terrified. "Don't give me back to him," she begged, her voice no more than a thready murmur.
The Don's Rose Page 2