In the apartment, Ally had already left for work, leaving Noosh a note not to worry about coming in late. Usually, Noosh was there earlier than anyone, but today she took Ally’s note at face value and took a long soak in the tub, hoping to ease some more of her back pain, then called her doctor and asked if there was anything she could do to speed up her recovery.
“Well, this is a good sign,” Beth said cheerfully. “You sound more motivated than ever. Well, it’s been almost seven months, so you should have started noticing improvements regularly. But, yes, I think you could help yourself along – maybe a yoga class or two a week, and swimming. Don’t try running yet, that may be too much.”
Noosh laughed, cheered by the thought of improving her situation. “I hated running before I got shot, so that won’t be hard. But yoga and swimming, there’s no problem there. In fact, my building has a pool, and my boss does yoga so I can piggyback on her class, hopefully.”
“Wow,” Beth chuckled, “what happened? Not that I’m not over-the-moon about this change in attitude, but what gives?”
A gorgeous man, whose magnificent cock I’m dying to ride. Noosh thought about saying it aloud, grinning to herself, then merely laughed. “Just want to get my life back.”
“Good for you, Spud.”
Noosh burst out laughing. “Spud?”
“I’m trying out an English nickname on you. Spud. Such a satisfying word to say.”
“You nutter,” Noosh said in her best London accent, laughing. “Listen, when you’re not my doctor anymore, let’s go out for drinks. I owe you.”
Beth laughed. “It’s my job, but yeah, I’d like that. You have my cell phone number.”
He watched her get into the cab from the black-out sedan he had rented. It was becoming more and more difficult to go on these excursions without telling anyone. A lot of burner phones and sneaking around, but the Secret Service were antsy now that he was officially the nominee. Destry’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his anger a slow-burning thing. He had seen the Mercedes pull up a couple of hours earlier, seen her kiss, of all people, Christofalo Montecito. That bastard had his hands on Destry’s property. He and Christo had history – yes, it had been a long time ago, but still. Christo had come out on top then, and now he was fucking Anoushka.
No. This was a good thing, he thought to himself. Let them have their moment, let them fall in love. Because at the end of it all, Destry would have a double victory when Christo mourned the death of his Anoushka. Yes, that was it.
But Destry wasn’t satisfied with just that. He wanted Noosh to be scared, to know he was watching. He wanted to test her.
And he knew exactly how to do it.
Chapter Nine
Fogliano Montecito listened to the radio interview with his only son with a neutral expression. He had to admit; Christo came across very well. He even managed to answer the difficult questions about Fogliano’s business without disrespecting his father, which Fogliano found astonishing.
And moving. Ever since that night at the mansion when he’d beaten his son, humiliated him in front of his friends, his family, Fogliano hadn’t been able to sleep. What had Christo done to deserve it? Nothing. But Fogliano, anticipating the sneers of the other heads of the families, had been thinking only of himself. And what was worse, he had known Christo’s defection had been coming.
Defection. Fogliano shook his head, rebuking himself. Going off to make beautiful, bespoke furniture was hardly defecting. He also had to admit he admired Christo for wanting to break free – he knew his son had serious moral doubts about some of Fogliano’s practices.
Fogliano had himself been born into this life. His father, Fausto, an immigrant from Sicily, had come to New York seventy years ago, already a consigliere to Maximo Gaboni. When Max, childless, had anointed Fausto heir, he had taken over the running of the family.
Fogliano had been his father’s trusted advisor, and he had hoped Christo would be his. And for years his son had been there to advise – on legal matters. Christo was very careful never to get involved with the seedier, more violent side of the business, and now that Fogliano looked back, he could see that from a young age his son was determined to tread a different path.
But Fogliano was a proud man, and that night, a drunk one too. He had showboated and lost his son in the process. God damn it.
He called in his second, a serious young man called Lucio, and asked him to call Christo. “Tell him I’d like to meet.”
Ten minutes later, Lucio got back to him. “He respectfully declines, Don Montecito.”
Fogliano sighed, but he wasn’t surprised. “Then we’ll have to do this from left of field. Have someone watch him – from a distance, don’t intrude. I want to know his daily routine, who his friends are, if he’s screwing anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fogliano sat back. If his son wouldn’t bend for him, then he would have to be the one to do it. By finding out as much as he could about how his son lived now, he would find a way in, something to bond over. He wasn’t yet ready to give up on Christo – his only remaining blood family. Because despite everything, he loved his son.
Noosh made a face when she walked into the meeting room to find them all watching a press conference Destry was holding. She dumped her bag on the table and nodded to Ally, who smiled and turned back to the television.
Even the sound of Destry’s voice made Noosh’s teeth grind, but she studied his image on the flat screen television. How could I ever have found you attractive? she thought, then sighed. She’d never found him attractive – she’d just gotten swept along by his love-bombing of her. She’d had no agency whatsoever in that relationship. A flashback of her shooting blasted into her mind, and she winced, her stomach twisting at the memory. She knew it had been him, knew he hadn’t sent a hitman, that he had wanted to do it himself. She remembered the pain of that first bullet slamming into her stomach, then the cold muzzle pressed against her belly and the fire that exploded in her as he shot her again so coldly. Noosh felt sick.
“You okay?” Liam nudged her, but she nodded, looking back at the television screen. Destry was playing the role of the benevolent nominee, his face set in a serious but caring expression.
“My hope is this – that this initiative will once and for all open up people’s hearts and minds to this spiraling situation.”
Vomit. Noosh leaned over to Liam. “What’s he talking about?”
“A new campaign to stop violence against women. He’s specifically talking about gun crime against women.”
Noosh stared at Liam as if he were mad. “Are you kidding me?”
“Shhh.”
Noosh gaped back the television screen. Destry had contorted his face into one of sorrow. Disingenuous bastard. Noosh’s hands, sweating, curled into fists under the table.
“Too often, because of the prevalence of privately-owned firearms, we see domestic situations escalate to murder twice as quickly when a firearm is involved.”
“Because it’s not so bad when they just beat, stab, strangle, or otherwise abuse their partners, is it, fuckwad?” Noosh said bitterly. Ally shot her a strange look, and Noosh realized she’d said too much. Impartiality. A journalist’s mantra.
She wanted to stand up and scream that this man had subjected her to horrific abuse even before he’d broken into her home and tried to kill her. That he was the last person on earth who should be bloviating about violence against women. Her nails dug hard into her palms.
But still, she knew no one would believe her. And if he ever caught wind of her talking about him, Noosh knew Destry would come back to finish her for sure – and make her suffer even more this time.
Noosh dragged her attention back to the screen. Destry paused and looked around at the audience.
“In these cases, there are too many victims, too many people who deserve to hear their names heard, and it seems wrong to highlight any one case, but I was listening to a late-night radio show here in New York a
few evenings ago and heard the story of a young woman who was shot and almost killed in her home.”
No. No. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t really going to call her out on live television, was he? He wouldn’t dare… Noosh realized everyone in the room was looking at her.
Destry smiled kindly into the camera. “Sarah Marsh was almost killed by gun-violence six months ago and has been kind enough to share her journey with the listeners of Allison Monroe’s Late Night with Ally over the past months. I understand that the perpetrator has never been found. What must it be like for Sarah Marsh to know that her would-be killer is still out there? That, whether or not he is known to her, he could… try again?”
Noosh felt as if a wrecking ball had been slammed into her chest. So, not only was he calling her out, but he was also threatening to kill her. On live television. The shock was constricting her chest and she couldn’t breathe. She stood, staggering as she pushed her chair back, and stumbled from the room. She heard Liam and Ally come after her as she moved towards the restrooms. “Please, let me be…”
Ally, of course, didn’t listen, and steered Noosh into the bathroom, ordering a startled woman out. The woman took one look at them both and skittered away in alarm. Ally locked the door behind her and wrapped her arms around a sobbing Noosh.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, get it out.”
Noosh couldn’t stop the tears, but she had enough control to know that she couldn’t tell Ally the real reason she was crying. She played it off as being reminded about the shooting and being upset at hearing that her killer hadn’t been caught, and Ally seemed convinced.
Ally shook her head. “I was all ready to give the guy a parade until he said that. He’ll lose some of the ground he gained by saying it. Insensitive jerk.”
It was such an understatement of Destry’s evil nature that Noosh couldn’t help give a laugh, wiping her tears. “I’m okay. It just sometimes catches up with me.”
“I’m not surprised – I’m just shocked it didn’t happen sooner. You guys not heard of PTSD over there in Blighty?”
Noosh smiled. “Oh, we have. We just have that stiff upper lip thing going on.”
Ally smiled and let her go so she could splash water on her face. “Noosh, we can arrange counseling, it’s not a problem.”
Noosh hesitated. “I just don’t know if I’m ready, Ally. Not yet. I’m trying to get back on an even-keel. So much has changed.”
Ally grinned. “Like a certain handsome Italian-American?”
Even the mention of Christo made her whole body relax, and she smiled shyly at Ally. “He is…very sweet.”
“The sweet Mafioso’s son.” They both laughed. “Come on, details…are you seeing him again?”
Noosh nodded. “We’re going to his place upstate this weekend.”
Ally’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
Noosh chuckled, some color returning to her face. “I want to say it’s not like that…and, for the moment, it isn’t. Sort of. Because of my back.”
“Plenty of things you can do without, um, straining yourself.”
Noosh giggled, her cheeks now burning pink. “Oh, I know.”
Ally hugged her. “He’s gorgeous, and he clearly likes you a lot. I’m glad, honey. You deserve a good one.”
Noosh returned to her desk, ignoring the curious stares of her co-workers, knowing that only Ally and Liam would be brave enough to question her. She checked the time. It would be about four p.m. in London, and seeing as Destry obviously knew where she was, she risked a call to her parents.
“Hello, love, how are you?” Hearing her mom’s soft voice made her want to cry again, but a half hour later, she hung up with a smile on her face.
There was no way she was letting Destry ruin her life. He could go fuck himself. If he messed with her, she would go to the press, and whether people believed her or not – she would bring him down.
With new resolve, she got back to work.
Destry Papps walked away from the podium and greeted some of his well-wishers, all the while thinking about Noosh and whether she had seen the conference. Yes, he was playing with fire by goading her, but he wanted her cowed and terrified before he inevitably killed her, to know that she was his, that he controlled every aspect of her life…
…what remained of it.
Chapter Ten
“So,” Christo said, steering the car out of the city, “why on earth was a girl like you at that club that night? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that club.”
Noosh grinned at him. “Well, you were there, so there really was nothing wrong with it. But I was doing a story on BDSM culture in New York, and that was a research trip.” She reached over to touch his face. “And no matter how it ended, I’m glad I did go there.”
Christo kissed her hand. “Me too, sweetheart. So, what happened to the story?”
“I canned it,” she said, uncomfortable, and smiled wryly as he turned to frown at her. “I didn’t feel I was qualified to write it. Amazing sex doesn’t count as BDSM. But I’m more interested in why you were there.”
Christo hesitated. “I admit…I behaved appallingly that night. I was drunk and sad, and you were too good for that place. But I have been a…client of that type of club in the past. Does that shock you?”
Noosh shook her head. “No, actually…it’s kind of hot. So, are you into being dominant, or submissive?”
Christo grinned. “Look at you with the terminology. Well, have you heard of a switch?”
“Like a whip?”
“Ha, no, I mean someone who can either be a sub or Dom depending on their mood, or the person they are with.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she chuckled, feeling her face redden.
“Either, huh?”
He grinned at her. “Curious?”
“Yes, actually…if I was with someone I trusted.”
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll strive to be that person.”
Feeling brave, she took his hand and slid it under her skirt. Christo grinned and caressed her through her panties.
“God, Noosh, I want you so much.”
Noosh put her hand on his crotch, feeling his cock harden beneath her fingers. “That night in the club…I’ve never, I mean, that was the most exciting night of my life – up until now. I wish so much that I was well enough to say to hell with it. Believe me, I would fuck you right here, right now, if I could.”
“Baby, there’s plenty we can do…and think of the anticipation. I’d never risk your health, even if you are the sexiest woman on this planet.”
It seemed strange that he, he who could have any woman in the world, would say that about her. Her old insecurities bubbled just beneath the surface and she was quiet for a time. Christo held her hand the whole way into the countryside, and when he turned down a long track, Noosh was surprised to see a relatively modest farmhouse in front of them. It was such a stark contrast to his polished Upper East Side apartment that she gave a little laugh and Christo grinned at her reaction. “You like?”
“It’s beautiful.” She beamed at him. “More how I imagine you living.”
They got out of the car and Christo offered her his hand. “I bought it because it reminded me of where I spent summers in Italy with my Mom. Despite Dad’s fortune, she insisted that she wanted a smaller place, no staff, no hangers-on. Something that was a family home.”
“Is she still with you?”
“No, she died when I was seven.”
“I’m sorry.”
Christo nodded tightly and Noosh could see he was upset. She stopped him and stood on her toes to press her mouth to his. “I’m sorry, baby, you must miss her.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Thank you. I wish she could have met you, she would have loved you.”
“Me too.” God, this man was driving her crazy, and yet he was still so sweet, so sensitive she could hardly believe he was the same man who’d roared at her in anger the night they met.
&
nbsp; It wasn’t him then, she told herself, he was in pain. She remembered, in the first days after she had been shot, angry, scared, frustrated in the hospital, she had taken it out on her parents, Beth, the nurses, even Ally. She had, of course, apologized for her angry behavior, but she could understand how he felt, and she was way past forgiveness with him.
Being with Christo as he showed her around the small farmhouse, she felt closer to him every moment. He made her laugh one moment, and then the next he would look at her with such skin-scorching desire that she felt weak. Right here, right now, if the rest of the world faded away, she wouldn’t be sorry.
“Are you hungry? We might have to go to the local farmer’s market to stock up. Like Mom, I don’t have staff here, so it’ll be just us for the weekend.”
Noosh smiled. “Good, and yes, I could eat a walrus.”
Christo laughed. “That’s…random. Let’s go see if the market has walrus.”
It was weirdly domesticated, but a lot of fun, pushing a cart around the market, choosing fresh produce. This man comes from a mafia family, and here he is discussing the merits of pomegranates over grapes, she laughed to herself.
She let Christo take the lead in buying ingredients; he clearly knew what he was doing, and when they were packing their paper sacks into his car, she asked him about it.
“Mom, again,” he said, shrugging good-naturedly. “While Dad taught me the harsh truths of the world, she taught me the finer things. Cooking, painting, even carpentry.”
“And now you’re a full-time carpenter?”
Christo nodded, pride in his eyes. “After lunch, I’ll show you the workshop. Get you all sawdusty.”
Noosh giggled at the playfulness in his eyes. “Nutter.”
“Excuse me?”
But she just laughed and he leaned over to kiss her. “I’ll take it.”
“Drive faster, man, I’m starving.”
For lunch, they sat outdoors at a picnic table he had set up, enjoying freshly baked bread, soft oozy Brie and sweet peaches, and cold white wine. Christo had arranged their chairs so that she could lean back against him afterward. The view looked out over rolling fields and she gave a laugh. “Only an hour or two outside the city and we could be anywhere else but New York.”
No Promises: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 6