Dangerous Desires

by Tia Siren

  “She's not a nanny,” Sam said with a laugh. “She's a housekeeper you're paying to nanny for you.”

  Marco didn't deny it. He stood up, took Bella's hand in his and gave the boy a lopsided grin and a shrug.

  “Well, I can’t fool you, little lady,” he said. “I did the best I could with the time I had. I'll see what I can do about getting you a real nanny—promise.”

  Another child—a smaller boy of about nine or ten—came running in behind Sam. The two boys looked almost identical, having the same dark hair and eyes. They were obviously Italian, like Marco. It dawned on me that their father was probably part of the Moretti family.

  “How much longer are we staying?” the other boy said.

  Marco's eyes softened, and for the first time, he looked uncertain. I could tell that he was torn about what he was about what to tell the children.

  After a moment's hesitation, he answered, “I don't know, Jack,” he said. “I wish I did, but I don't know right now.”

  I was taken aback—and maybe even a little impressed—that he'd opted to tell them the truth. He didn't sugarcoat things or placate them with promises he couldn't keep. He'd given it to them straight. I was still lurking in the background of the foyer, with no one acknowledging me yet. But, then Bella turned and looked at me with a toothy grin.

  “Is this your girlfriend?” she asked.

  My cheeks flared with heat as I blushed, and not waiting for Marco to answer, I shot that idea down as quickly as possible. “No. I'm not his girlfriend,” I said. “Not even close.”

  I may have said it a little too harshly, but the question came as such a shock, I didn't stop to think about who I was talking to. Marco just laughed.

  “No, Bella, she's just a friend,” he said. “She and I have some important business to discuss together, which is why I need you in bed.”

  “What kind of business?” the girl asked.

  “None of your business, that's what kind of business,” he said with a grin, ruffling her hair. “Now let's get you in bed. You too, Jack.”

  “Why doesn't Sam have to go to bed now?” Jack asked.

  “Because Sam is older,” Marco said. “But he'll have to be in bed in half an hour anyway, so you're not missing much.”

  Marco rounded up Jack and Bella before glancing back at me. “You want to join me?”

  “Why? You afraid I might try to escape?” I asked.

  He shot me a cocky grin. “Not if you know what's good for you.”

  Not feeling like I had any choice, I followed behind, watching as Marco tucked the kids into their beds. I was actually surprised to see that he had two rooms for them—one for each of them—all set up and decorated with an eye for kids.

  Bella's had an expensive dollhouse along with other toys and a princess bed, while Jack had superhero bedding and pictures of dinosaurs on the walls. It was obvious they'd made themselves at home there at the Moretti mansion, and Marco seemed to be enjoying his role as a father figure. Right down to giving them a kiss goodnight.

  “What a handful, those two,” he said as he closed the door. “But I love having them here.”

  “They seem to like you a lot,” I said.

  “You sound surprised,” he said, tipping me a wink as we walked back downstairs.

  For the first time, I had a chance to take in the house around me. The spiral staircase led us into a front room, of sorts. It was obviously used for entertaining with its giant flat screen TV, an enormous fireplace, a pool table, and oversized Italian leather couches. It was decorated nicely, with tasteful artwork upon the walls—artwork that probably cost more than I made in a single year.

  “Would you like something to drink?” he asked me.

  “Just a water, please.”

  “I have wine,” he said.

  “Just water,” I repeated, giving him a harsh stare.

  I didn't want my inhibitions lowered or my judgment impaired. Not when I was dealing with the likes of Marco Moretti. He could get a girl like me in trouble if I wasn't careful. And his flavor of trouble was absolutely deadly.

  “Fine,” he said, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the mini fridge. “If you insist, party pooper.”

  He made himself a drink at the bar before sitting down, and then motioned for me to sit down beside him on the sofa. I took the chair across from him instead which made him chuckle under his breath and shake his head, the smile on his face rueful.

  “So, what is it that you want to talk to me about, Marco?” I asked, crossing my arms in front of me. “I'm beginning to get tired of these games.”

  “I'm not playing any games with you, Kendra,” he said. “I just wanted to chat. More than anything though, I wanted to tell you that everything you've heard about me is a lie.”

  I rolled my eyes so hard, I feared they might get stuck. “Is that so? You should know me well enough by now to know that I'm not stupid, Marco.”

  “I know exactly how smart you are,” he said, taking a sip from his drink. “Which is why I want to ask you what you thought of me before you read my file and talked to your boss?”

  I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and tried to avert my eyes, but found it hard to look away from Marco who was looking back at me with his piercing eyes, grinning like a fool. He knew that I had a thing for him once, dammit, and he was using it against me now.

  “What I thought of you before is irrelevant,” I said. “Because I didn’t really know you.”

  “You didn't?” Marco said, cocking his head to the side. “So all those chats in your office about our weekend plans, television shows we enjoy, books we love—none of that matters? None of that was real?”

  I remembered our conversations clearly. His interest in me was flattering, and when I found out we both had a love for classic American literature, it made him even more intriguing than just any other good-looking man I'd meet in a bar. Marco was special. Different. He was handsome, well-spoken, intelligent, and rich. He seemed far too good to be true. And as I found out, he was.

  “In all those conversations, you failed to mention that your favorite hobby was killing,” I said. “So no, none of that matters. I don't associate with murderers.”

  “So what you're saying is your initial opinion of me was all wrong. But what if I told you that you, Kendra, were the first person who ever got to see me as me. Not as just another Moretti. The killing, well it's a necessary part of the business, I'm afraid. I don't like it in the least. But like I said, I'm working on making changes. And I don't kill innocent people, regardless of what you might think.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You're really not convincing me of—”

  “You mentioned Nelson Burke earlier—an attorney you knew well,” he said, cutting me off. “At least, you thought you knew him well. But did you know that Mr. Burke has ties to the Mexican drug cartels? Look at his client list, and you'll see a trend among the names you find. And if you dig deeper, you'll see that he got paid dividends from a nice little human trafficking ring he helped set up. The same ring that got busted last year. Surely you remember the one where he defended the ringleader and got him off?”

  “None of that is true. You're making that up,” I said, but I choked on the words.

  I suddenly found myself confused. Disoriented. I remembered that Nelson Burke had, indeed, worked on a sex trafficking case, defending the ringleader, and the man did get off on a technicality. He'd done his job—as distasteful as it was. But the rest of it? His involvement with the cartel itself? I had trouble believing it—even if I never met the man myself.

  “Oh? It's not?” Marco's tone was grim as he got up from the couch and walked over to a cabinet.

  My heart raced as he opened it, half expecting to see weapons or something equally as scary. But instead, he pulled out a tape recorder. He sat back down and without another word, looked at me as he pressed play.

  In the background, I heard two voices—one of them sounded like Nelson Burke, but I couldn't be sure. I'd onl
y heard his voice when he spoke on TV—never in person. The other man had a thick accent and at times, it was hard to make out what he was saying.

  “What is this?” I scoffed.

  “Just listen,” he said.

  “Dammit, Santiago, I told you—” the man I thought might be Burke screamed. “I told you bringing that many girls in at once was risky. And you fucked up, amigo. You fucked up big time this time.”

  “Nelson, you're a lawyer—you can get me out of this. I trust you.”

  “This is too fucking big,” Nelson said. “Too big for even me to cover up. Ten dead girls, their bodies just left there like that. You should have done a better job cleaning up. What were you thinking?”

  “Come on, Nelson, you can make it go away. Do what you do and make it go away. It's what I pay you for.”

  Marco stopped the recording and I almost couldn't breathe.

  “The ten girls, they were all under eighteen. Hell, most of them not even sixteen yet,” I said. “I remember that. It broke my heart.”

  “And Nelson Burke was one of the big players behind it all along,” Marco said. “He helped cover their murders up.”

  I looked up at him and he looked sincere. Genuine. I wanted to believe him so badly, but I couldn't think clearly. Anyone could have faked that conversation. I couldn't even be sure that really was Nelson Burke's voice on the tape. He could be messing with me. But why?

  “How did you get those tapes?” I asked him.

  “We had his office bugged,” Marco said. “Because we suspected he was playing both sides. As you know, before we came to your offices, we worked with Mr. Burke for a while. He's the reason my father is in jail, and we suspected it wasn't an accident. Come to find out, the cartels wanted to take us down—and they happened to pay more.”

  “And why should I believe you?” I asked.

  “Kendra, you know me. You know the real me. I'm not a monster, and I didn't personally kill Burke. That was my dad's order and I didn't carry it out. But knowing what I do about him, I can't say I blame him. Not just for betraying us, but for every woman and child he's profited from through his involvement with the sex trade.”

  As he spoke, his voice rose and he gripped his glass just a little tighter. I almost feared he might crush the glass in his hand as the heat rose in his face and voice. He was angry when he talked about Burke. Truly angry.

  I so badly wanted to believe him, but I was afraid my heart was tricking me. Afraid that he was tricking me. Because before all this happened, before I found out what I had, I'd wanted Marco. I'd wanted him badly. And there was still a part of me that wanted so desperately for him not to be a bad man.

  Selfishly, I wanted him to be the good man I'd once believed him to be, so I could have him.

  “I don't know, Marco,” I said softly. “I don't know what to think about any of this.”

  “I know,” he said, his voice softening. “I don't expect you to change your mind overnight. I just want you to think about it, that's all. I want you to give me a fair shake in all this. I'm not the monster you think I am. I promise you that.”

  “I will think about it,” I said, feeling unsure of how I could ever reconcile my feelings about him.

  “I also hope you decide to stay with me—for your safety, of course.”

  “So am I your prisoner now or what?” I asked.

  “No, of course you're not,” he said, looking shocked I'd even suggest such a thing. But then a coy grin spread across his handsome, chiseled face. “I mean, unless you want to be.”

  I was surprised when my most intimate parts started to tingle as he looked at me with such lust in his eyes. It was the same look he used to give me when we'd sit in my office and chat for hours. It was a look that used to give me fantasies about having him bend me over my desk and take me right then and there.

  I used to think filthy things about him and I'd enjoyed every moment of those fantasies.

  I forced myself to look away from him. “No, I don't want that. I want to leave, Marco.”

  When I spoke, I was careful to keep my voice as flat as possible. I didn't want him to see how much I was struggling with my feelings and my desire for him. I knew he could use it against me, and I had to remain strong. I couldn't let him get under my skin, or into my heart.

  “Just think about it, Kendra. That's all I ask. I'm going to make sure Sam is in bed, I'll be right back,” he said, putting his drink down. His smile had long since faded, and I could see sadness in his eyes as he spoke. “Just know, Kendra, I can't promise your safety if you leave here. You're on your own. I'm happy to protect you as long as you let me—”

  “I don't need your protection, Marco,” I said. “Honestly, you're the only person I'm afraid of. And if you're not going to hurt me, I'm going to be just fine.”

  “Just think about it, that's all I'm asking,” Marco said with a sigh. “Just know that there are some dangerous people out there who'd like to see you dead. Let me go check on Sam. He's got school tomorrow, but I'll be back down and we can talk about it some more. I don't think you understand the full weight of the matter.”

  His words sent a chill down my spine and a flutter through my heart, but there was no way I was staying. Marco got up and went upstairs, and as soon as I heard his footsteps fade away, I grabbed my bag and hurried toward the door. I needed to get away from Marco before he pulled me into whatever mess he seemed determined to pull me into.

  I needed to get far, far away from him, even if my body was screaming otherwise.

  As I power walked out of Marco's mansion, there was a small part of me that expected—and actually longed—for him to chase after me. I didn't want to be his prisoner, but I also didn't want to end things on this note. What I wanted was for Marco to be the banker I'd met at the very beginning. The man with the cocky grin and quick wit. The man who could hold his own in an argument without losing his temper. The man who brought me coffee sometimes, and came into the office just to chat, even when his lawyer was out for the day.

  But Marco didn't chase me out and beg me to stay, promising to change his ways. He didn't magically transform himself from brutal killer to fascinating and fun banker. Not that I really expected him to. But there was still a small part of me that hoped we could maybe find some way to make this work.

  Yeah, little old me with the head of the Moretti crime family. Very realistic, Kendra, I thought, laughing at my childishness.

  I pulled up my phone and ordered an Uber who happened to be in the area already. Lucky me, considering how late it was and how far from the city we were. A Lexus pulled up before I expected my car to get here, and I hesitated before knocking on the window and asking, “Are you with Uber?”

  The driver nodded.

  “Uber drivers must make a lot in these parts,” I joked as I climbed inside.

  “Why do you say that?” The driver asked.

  “Your car,” I said. “It's very nice. Nicer than most drivers I've seen.”

  He looked back at me in the rearview mirror and smiled.

  “What can I say? I do pretty well for myself,” he said.

  We turned out of Marco's property, and he took a right turn instead of a left, like I thought he should have. I looked down at the little map on my phone, and it too said we should have turned right.

  “Are you going a different way?” I asked him.

  He didn't answer. My heart started pounding.

  “The GPS says you should have gone right,” I said, turning around to look out the back window. The road looked clear as far as I could tell. “Is there traffic or something in the other direction?”

  Still, no answer. My heart raced so hard I thought I was having a heart attack, and adrenaline flooded my body, but I told myself it was okay. It was all okay. Maybe he hadn't heard me.

  Then he turned down a dark, narrow road and I panicked. I knew we weren't headed back toward Chicago, and the fear inside of me ratcheted up even higher. It was dark and we were surrounded by tre
es, and when I tried the door, I found that it was locked. I noticed the driver watching me in the rearview mirror. The look he gave me sent a chill through me.

  “Listen, I don't have any money, so if you're intending to rob me—I know where you picked me up, but I swear that I'm not tied to the Morettis or their fortune in any way. I'm nothing but an unemployed paralegal with a bank account near zero.”

  The driver laughed, and it wasn’t at all a pleasant sound. We stopped at the end of the road, which seemed to lead us to nowhere. The driver turned to me, and for the first time, I saw the gun in his hand. Its steel glinted ominously in the moonlight that filtered in through the windshield.

  “I'm not robbing you, bitch,” he hissed. “I don’t give a shit about your money.”

  I couldn't take my eyes off the gun and felt a breath catch in my throat. My heart pounded so hard, I feared it might explode right out of my chest, saving the driver the trouble of having to kill me. Time slowed. I couldn't even listen to him as he continued to speak. I kept thinking over and over again, he has a gun. He's going to kill me.

  “I said, get out of the fucking car!” The guy shouted.

  Not wanting to, but not having any other choice, I stumbled out of the car. The gunman hit me across the face, knocking me back down to the ground. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth and I felt dizzy. Still, I had to try to fight. I had to get away. I couldn't let him kill me in the middle of the road. It wouldn’t end for me like that.

  I tried to stand again, but this time, the dizziness took me down, which made him laugh at me.

  “Look at you. You're helpless, Kendra,” he said.

  “How do you know who I am?” I asked, spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground.

  He lifted my face with the barrel of the gun, forcing me to look up at him. For the first time, I saw his face, and I knew how he knew me.

  He looked a lot like Marco.

  He was a Moretti.

  If Marco wanted me dead, why didn't he kill me himself?

  Because he doesn't want me dead.

  Or so I told myself. Maybe the whole thing had been some sort of fucked-up head game? Or some kind of test—one that I'd perhaps failed. Maybe Marco had this planned all along. If I didn't believe him after his song and dance, maybe his plan was to have me disposed of properly by one of his men.