Grinning, he fucked her expertly, leaving her gasping, panting for air, and arching her back from the table as she came. Chase groaned, pumping cum deep inside her, then gathered her into his arms to kiss her. “God, baby, where have you been all my life?”
Selima kissed him back. “Just tell me we can do that every day.”
Chase grinned. “Sure thing …although we’re gonna go through a lot of maple syrup.”
She was still glowing as she made her way to class later that day, and didn’t see the man watching her.
Enda and Raffaelo arrived at the restaurant just before their client and were sitting, chatting, when he arrived. Roger Fallwell was an American property broker who dealt with all the major property scions around the world, but Enda and Raff were surprised when he called them to talk about their project. He had wanted to meet with them on this specific day, at one p.m. and was very adamant about it, which make them scratch their heads.
“Maybe he’s just here for one day? How did he even find out about it?” Enda wondered now, and Raff shook his head. “No idea.”
Enda shrugged. “Ah, well.”
Raff grinned. “You are so chilled out these days, my brother.”
Enda chuckled. “Ama,” was all he said, and Raff smiled.
“Gotcha.”
Enda grinned to himself. Last night had been the benefit they had talked about, and he had indeed fucked Ama in a dark alcove, where anyone could have walked past and caught them. No one did, though, but it had been a thrilling ride anyway.
At home, Ama was practicing a piece she had written over and over when her phone rang. “Ama?”
It was Christina, her best friend. Ama was delighted, but Christina’s voice was trembling. “Chrissy, what is it?”
“I’m not sure …someone broke into my home this morning. I was at the store buying milk. They left a message.”
Ama’s heart began to beat faster. “Chrissy, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“No …no, I’m not hurt. I don’t think this is about me. Ama, the message was written in blood on my wall. It said …‘Tell her everyone, until she’s the only one left.' Sweetheart, I think …”
“…it’s Jackson. Chrissy, I want you to pack a bag and get out of there now. Did you call the police?”
“I did; there’s an officer here. I told them what I told you and they agree – I need to leave for the time being. Darling …there’s something else. There was a fire at the conservatory. No one was hurt, but there was a lot of damage.”
Ama’s legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor, panting for air. Her chest felt as if it were in a vise. “Chrissy …my sister …”
“I already thought about that. There are police on the way to her apartment right now.”
“Thank you. Thank you. Chrissy, get out of there now.”
“I will, I promise. Keep in touch, Ama, please. Be safe.”
“You too. I love you.”
Enda checked his phone and saw three missed calls. Damnit. He’d forgotten to switch it off silent mode. He saw the calls were from Ama and he frowned. Just then, though, their guest arrived.
Roger Fallwell looked sweaty and pale as they shook hands, and Enda realized he was trembling. Was he going to have a heart attack? “Are you okay, Mr. Fallwell?”
Fallwell closed his eyes, muttering something to himself. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this …”
Enda and Raffaelo exchanged worried glances. Raff cleared his throat and signaled to the waiter. “Could we have some ice water, please? Our guest is unwell.”
Fallwell shook his head. “No, it’s okay, I’m not …god, oh god …”
As they looked on in amazement, Roger Fallwell started to sob.
Inca was at her favorite tea house in the city, the one she had opened with Raff soon after they became engaged. With an upstairs tea room over-looking the Bay, it was always busy, and Inca liked to help out as much as she could. It made her feel less like the princess in the ivory tower. The staff and customers alike adored her, and she loved spending time there. It had also improved her Italian exponentially, and she could chatter away to people easily now. She often told Raff that she felt more Italian than American now and she knew he was pleased.
Today, the upper tea room was packed, but downstairs was quiet and cool. Inca took the opportunity to go down and clean. She didn’t see the two men enter behind her until one of them cleared their throat. They were dressed casually and wore friendly smiles, and she grinned back. “Hey, fellas, come on in. We have plenty of room. Upstairs or down. I’m Inca, so if you need anything, just ask.”
The two men looked at each other and for a second Inca wondered if they had understood her.
Then the large man grabbed her so quickly she couldn’t react, clamping a huge hand over her mouth and easily holding her arms with the other massive arm. Without hesitation, the other man stepped forward.
Terrified, Inca only saw a brief flash of steel before he drove the knife into her belly again and again.
The pain was unimaginable.
Enda tried to calm their guest down. “Sir, please …what is it?”
Fallwell gasped and gulped and finally calmed himself. “He has my wife and my four-year-old daughter. He told me he’ll kill them unless I brought you here today, at this time. Both of you.”
Both Enda and Raff knew instantly. Jackson. Raff leaned forward. “What does he want, Roger? Why bring us here today?”
Roger looked at Raff with sorrow-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Winter …he wanted her unprotected.”
Raff’s color drained from his face. “No …no …not Inca …”
Roger started to sob again, nodding. “And, Mr. Gallo, he told me to tell you …this is it. This is where they all die, including Amalia.”
Stella, the tea house’s barista heard the scream from downstairs and hurried down. At first, she just saw the shocked tourist standing at the doorway, her hands at her mouth, staring down at the ground. As Stella rounded the corner, her heart almost failed.
Inca was splayed on the floor, eyes closed, with blood spreading everywhere across her dress. Dark purple knife wounds were on her stomach and belly. Her breathing was ragged and hitching, and as Stella dropped to her knees, Inca opened her eyes. In them, she saw confusion, bewilderment, and agony. On the floor beside her was a lethal-looking knife, covered in blood. The tourist was crying, but was on her phone, obviously calling the emergency services.
“Oh, mio Dio, mio Dio.” Panicked, Stella pressed her finger gently to Inca’s throat. There was a weak pulse, but it was slowing.
Inca made a strange noise, like she was fighting for breath, and then her eyes closed and her head slumped to the side. Stella knew instantly.
Inca was dying.
Then Stella too started to scream for help.
Raff was out of the restaurant in a second, his face yellow with terror, his phone to his ear. Enda followed him, trying to call Ama, but the phone was engaged. As he reached Raff, the other man was talking to someone on the phone. He looked at Enda, and there was untold grief in his green eyes.
“Oh god, no, please …yes, yes. No, I’m coming now …god, please, Stella …tell me she’s still breathing …thank god …I’m on my way.”
He turned to Enda, who was still trying to call Ama. “Inca was stabbed. It’s bad, Enda. It’s so bad …god … I have to go. Get to Ama, now. This is Jackson. I know it.”
Enda drove like a madman back to the villa, still unable to reach Ama on the phone. As the car screeched to a halt outside, he could see his security team in disarray, and it was only when Ama flew out of the house and into his arms, obviously healthy and apparently safe, that he could breathe again.
But Ama was hysterical, and he couldn’t understand what she was saying at first.
“Baby, calm down. Tell me. Calm down …”
“He has her, Enda …he has my sister …”
Oh god …Selima …Enda was staggered at the scope o
f Jackson’s revenge plan. First Inca, now Selima.
“What does he want?”
Ama looked like she was about to pass out. “Me. He told me he will kill her unless I go to him.”
“No …no …not going to happen.”
“Enda, I don’t have a choice. Do you honestly think he won’t go through with it if I don’t?”
Enda closed his eyes and thought about Inca. No …Jackson would happily kill Selima.
Just like he would, without a doubt, murder Ama the moment she went to him.
There were no happy endings here …
Ama sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, her head in her hands. Thankfully, the nausea that had attacked her so suddenly in the night had passed. Enda tilted her head up gently and pressed a cold flannel to her burning forehead. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and crying, but Enda was concerned about the utter despair in them.
Jackson had taken Selima and had ordered a hit on Inca, who was fighting for her life in a local hospital after two of Jackson’s men had brutally stabbed her and left her for dead.
Raff’s voice on the phone had sounded like it coming from the grave. “They’re still operating …they said she’d been stabbed nine times …oh god …I thought that part of our lives was over. I don’t know if she’ll make it, Enda. I really don’t.” He sounded broken.
She’s going to die … Enda pushed the thought away. Come on, Inks …you can survive this …you must.
When he’d told Ama about Inca, just after she’d had the news that Selima was abducted, she’d collapsed, screaming and sobbing great, wrenching sobs. Enda knew she blamed herself, but now he was more concerned by her silence than her screams.
The police had told them to sit tight while they contacted Olivier, and an hour later, Olivier had called them.
“He’s obviously been planning this for months,” Olivier said, sounding as desolate as they did. “He emptied his accounts and sold most of the stuff from the house. When they went there tonight, it was on fire. It was gutted …the house is gone, man. All dad’s stuff. Enda, he’s got unlimited funds. He can hide anywhere in the world and he won’t stop until Ama’s in his grip.”
“Not going to happen,” Enda said grimly. “He’ll kill her the minute she goes to him.”
“Agreed. Look, my suggestion is to stay there. It’s too dangerous here, even though I don’t think Jackson is even in the States anymore. He’s gone underground. Someone, somewhere surely will have to see him sometime, right? I’ve already sent out a team to scour California.”
Enda sighed. “Good. I’ll do the same here. Listen, Tommaso Winter said the same thing. We need to cover the globe. He spoke to Raffaelo—you can imagine what he said.”
“How is Inca?” Olivier’s voice was soft; he loved Inca as much as the rest of them.
“Not good, brother. Not good at all. God, poor Raff.”
“What is this, now? The fourth or fifth attempt on her life? That’s way too much for any lifetime.”
Enda tried not to let the tears in his eyes fall. He pinched them shut with his fingers. “Let’s hope we can still say it was only an attempt when this is all over. Raff won’t survive if Inca dies.”
There was a heavy silence on the other end of the phone. “Enda …when we find Jackson,” Olivier hesitated, then sighed. “You know what I’m going to say.”
“Yes,” said Enda in a hard voice. “And to answer you …yes. I want that fucker dead. I know he’s your brother, but …”
“He’s no brother of mine,” Olivier said. “Live or die …he’s dead to me now.”
Enda heard the heartbreak in Olivier’s voice and felt the weight of responsibility. His older brother had always been the peacemaker—the steadying hand. Enda hated that he was alone in San Francisco, dealing with all this. “Come to Italy,” he urged. “Be with us.”
Oliver gave a short, sad laugh. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better …but someone needs to be here. Besides, Selima’s boyfriend could still give us some information.”
Chase, Selima’s boyfriend of a few weeks, had been shot and critically wounded when Selima was abducted. He had been trying to defend his girlfriend and took a bullet to the chest.
“Fuck,” said Enda, “What a mess.”
Olivier sighed. “Yeah …and right now, I just don’t see how it could get any worse.”
A week later and nothing had changed. Ama stared out of the window at the heavy security around their villa and felt like a prisoner. Not just here in Italy—but of Jackson’s. He hadn’t contacted her again after that first call, when he’d sounded so triumphant.
“I told you there would be no limit to what I could do if you defied me, Amalia …now say hello to your little sister.”
Selima’s sobs—her cries of pain—as Jackson obviously inflicted harm on her, wherever he was holding her. Ama had screamed at Jackson, but he’d merely laughed and told her to wait for his next call.
A week. Doing God knows what to Selima …fuck.
She went to look for Enda, who was in his office with Tommaso Winter and their respective chiefs of security.
She nodded at Tommaso. He looked desolate. Inca was in a coma, still hovering on the brink of life, and Ama knew Tommaso was trying to keep it together and support his brother as Inca fought to recover. Tommaso smiled at her, his eyes tired and heavy. Ama touched Enda’s arm.
“Baby, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Enda nodded and followed her out of the room. She led him into their bedroom and closed the door. Enda opened his arms, and she went into them. He kissed her tenderly. “Are you okay, Piccolo?”
She shook her head. “No. I just needed alone time with you. I can’t bear all this worry and sadness. I think I’m going mad.”
Enda sighed and hugged her tightly to him. “I know.”
Ama tilted her head up to kiss him again. “Let’s just make the world go away for a few minutes.”
“You sure?”
She nodded and his fingers pulled at the belt of her wrap dress. Pushing back the fabric and letting the dress fall to the floor, he kept his hands gentle on her skin as he lay her down on the bed. He pulled her panties down and found her wet for him already. “Don’t wait,” she whispered.
Enda stripped quickly and lay on top of her. “No matter what …I love you,” he said softly, and she nodded, tears in her eyes, as his cock pushed into her.
They made love slowly, rocking gently as his thrusts grew more intense. They gazed at each other, as if drinking each other in, and both their orgasms were mellow, shivering things. When she came, all her suppressed emotion flooded to the surface and Ama began to cry hot, silent tears.
She cried herself out in Enda’s arms, and finally, thankfully, fell asleep.
Raffaelo stroked the hair away from his wife’s face. “Her color is a little better.”
Bo Kennedy, his brother’s partner, couldn’t see any improvement. It made her sick to see Inca so still and pale. Her usually glowing honey skin was yellow and gray, tubes stuck in her arms, and the breathing apparatus filled her throat. Jesus …how the hell had this happened? Why? Some sick psycho’s way of getting revenge on his wife was to kill her friend?
Bo sat down heavily in the chair opposite Raffaelo and took Inca’s cold hand. She couldn’t die …could she? Not after everything she’d gone through to get to the happy life she had with Raffaelo.
“Whoever this Jackson Gallo wanker is, I’d like to kill him. What a fucking coward. Send two men to kill a defenseless woman? For what? Spite. Fucker.”
Raffaelo, his green eyes heavy and exhausted, nodded. “I know …that’s what gets me …the sheer spite of it. Inca had nothing to do with Ama’s decision to leave Jackson.” He smiled briefly. “Although, Inca did knee him in the balls.”
Bo half-smiled. “Still …deciding to have her killed for that?”
“Sadly, Jackson is that vengeful and that psychotic. He only went after the women. Idiot thinks they�
�re the weaker sex.”
Bo was incensed. “Yeah? Then come at me, bro, I’ll show you different.”
Inca gave a low moan and they both sat up. Raff leaned over his wife as Bo pressed the button for the nurse. “Inca? Cara mia? I’m here. Please, open your eyes. Wake up, baby. I love you, please …”
He was rambling, and Bo was saddened by the desperation in his voice. The nurse came in and looked at them questioningly. Bo suddenly felt stupid.
“She moaned …we, um, we thought maybe she was waking up.”
The nurse smiled at her sympathetically. “Let’s hope. Excuse me, sir. I just want to check Mrs. Winter.”
Raff moved, looking discombobulated. “Of course, sorry.”
She patted his arm warmly. “Let’s just hope,” she said again. She took a small flashlight from her pocket and checked Inca’s eyes, then checked the machines keeping her alive, and her blood pressure. “Okay, well, I’ll just get the doctor and we can make a determination.”
Raffaelo and Bo waited impatiently for the doctor to complete his examination. Raff stared at Inca’s hand. He was sure her fingers had briefly squeezed his as he held them, but he was so dog-tired and grief-stricken that he told himself he might have been hallucinating.
The doctor stepped back and smiled at them both. “Mrs. Winter does appear to be coming out of her coma.”
The relief hit Raff like a sledgehammer and he gave a low gasp of release. Bo went to him and held him up. The doctor patted his shoulder.
“Now, listen, this is very good news—very good news, but, Mr. Winter, your wife has a long way to go. A long way. Her injuries …remember, we had to remove her kidney and her liver was lacerated. There’s still a high risk of infection. The hysterectomy will have taken a toll too. So, long haul. But this is a great positive step forward.” He smiled kindly at Raff, who couldn’t stop the tears from flooding down his cheeks. “Now, the thing to remember is that it could take days or even weeks, for Inca to emerge fully from the coma. So, be patient. I’ll come back later and run some more tests.”
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