by Blaire Drake
Socci reached behind him and opened the door with a brisk nod in my direction. I returned the acknowledgment with a jerk of my head and walked through the door with my hands in my coat pockets.
Enzio was sitting behind his desk, his face hidden behind a book. It didn't hide his hair, though. It was black, streaked with silver strands that gave away his age. He didn't acknowledge my presence until I was sitting down, my hands removed from my pockets and resting on my lap. “Carlo.”
“Boss.” I inclined my head in his direction.
He shut his book and lay it on his desk. His hands, rough, like mine, came together in front of his body, touching only at the fingertips. He looked at me then. His eyes were such a dark brown they verged on being black, and if you didn't know the man, they were black.
Soulless.
They were the eyes of a dangerous man.
“I have a job for you.”
“I'm ready for it.”
“That's it,” he said, his voice flat. “I don't know if you are.”
“Why don't you tell me and let me be the judge of it?”
He stared at me. The air sizzled with tension, and I knew that if I were anyone else, I'd have felt his fist against my jaw for that. “My wife and daughter,” he said slowly, watching my expression.
I fought to keep it blank. “Are dead, Boss.”
“Are not dead.” His correction was swift, and his words dripped with ice. “They never were dead, I believe.”
My heart clenched painfully. The rumors were true. “I don't understand.”
“Alexandria and Adriana are alive and living in Los Angeles. I believe, but I cannot prove, that the Pontarelli family has been protecting them.”
“So punish the Pontarellis.” Every word stung. Fuck.
“They're useful allies to have. Keep an eye on activity south of the border. Stop those fuckin' cartels getting too big for their cheap-ass britches.” He smirked. “But my wife and my daughter are alive. This puts me in a bad position, Carlo.”
I didn't respond. He didn't want me to. I could see the thoughts organizing themselves behind his eyes as he stood.
“There are people, inside and outside, of this family, who believe they are dead. They need to continue believing that, or we will go to war with them. I'm unwilling to do that.” The drawer squeaked as he pulled it open and removed a handgun. He set it on his desk, next to the book. Slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he slid it across the desk toward me.
My eyes followed its path. It was a Colt M1911, .45ACP. It wasn't my favorite means of killing, but if that was the weapon the Boss wanted... I reached forward and grasped the handle, keeping my finger clear of the trigger, and stared at it. When I glanced back up, two bullets lay on the desk next to a silencer. I stared at the gold cases that wrapped around the deadly shots before looking up and meeting Enzio's questioning gaze.
He shut the drawer then leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk. His eyes, if possible, went even colder, darker... There was no humanity in them as they bore into mine with intensity. “Your job is to kill Alexandria and Adriana Romano. One shot each. Take care of them.”
I took a deep breath. My mind was buzzing. It was going crazy with the rumors and the confirmation, the thoughts blocking out all emotion.
The gun felt ten times heavier. It was like holding a ton of granite in my palm.
And Enzio was right.
I wasn't ready.
I put the gun on the desk, aware of Enzio's calculating gaze scrutinizing my every move. I opened my coat, then reached forward for the silencer and the bullets. I tucked them into the inner pocket on my right side, then picked up the 1911 and checked the magazine. It was empty, so I snapped it back into place.
Then tucked it into the pocket on the left side of my coat.
And stood.
Enzio's lips curved into a dark smirk. “There's a plane waiting for you. You'll be flying to Nevada and will be taken care of from there. You have three days to come back with your task complete, or you'll join them in their fate.”
I held his gaze to tell him I understood. I didn't trust myself to speak. If I spoke, I knew I'd say something I'd regret, so I turned and walked out of his office without another word.
As I slid into the back seat of the car and rested my head back with my eyes shut, I realized that I really did want to rip his throat out with my bare hands. He was asking me to kill the Romano family queen. He was the godfather, but Alexandria was the fucking queen. She was coveted and respected, feared more than Enzio ever would be.
Maybe that's why he needed her dead. She'd given him what he wanted, but failed in what he needed. She gave him power, but no son. So he wanted her life, for whatever reason.
He wanted her blood.
And Adriana's. More terrifying than Alexandria. He wanted me to kill the princess. My principessa.
Fuck.
Chapter Three – Adriana
Rossi padded across my laptop keys without a care in the world. I stared flatly at my black and white cat as random letters, symbols, and numbers appeared on the screen.
“Are you done, Rossi?”
He turned his head toward me, his black eyes finding mine, and plopped down on the keyboard. He curled into a ball, still watching me. If cats could smirk, he'd be smirking right now.
I sighed and swept my finger across the trackpad and hit 'File' to save my now half nonsensical essay. I shut down the word processor, turned off my laptop, and pushed the chair away from the desk. “You win, cat. As always.”
I was so his bitch.
I mean, it wasn't like that measly seven hundred word document needed to be five thousand and completed within forty-eight hours. No big deal at all. I could knock that out in my sleep, no problemo.
My sigh was heavy as I left him sleeping in the sunlight on my laptop. Who had it right, eh? He got to lay there for the next several hours then meander his way downstairs and beg to be fed. Meanwhile, I was destined to fret over anything and everything to do with that essay while waiting for him to decide to free up my keyboard.
Piccolo bastardo.
Little bastard.
A note was pinned on the fridge when I walked into the kitchen, so I pulled it from the magnet and looked at it.
Addy,
You were studying and I didn't want to disturb you. Gone to work. See you at ten. Call me if you need me.
Dar.
Wow. I didn't even know he'd gone. I must have been in my own little world until Rossi barreled in like a feline avalanche. Ugh. I was never going to get that essay done on time.
The echoing sound of my phone ringing found my ears. “Shit,” I muttered, dropping Darien's note and turning. I ran back into the office and snatched my phone up from its place on the bookcase.
Gaige. Of course.
“What do you want, Pontarelli?” I answered the phone.
“Your pants, Romano,” he fired back with a deep laugh. “I wanted to check up on you. Make sure you're all right.”
“I'm fine.” I turned back down the hall to the kitchen, then opened the fridge. “Why would something be wrong?”
“Oh, I can't imagine why.”
“Don't take that tone with me, Gaige. I will beat your balls with a wooden spoon.”
“Such an Italian.”
“Vaffanculo,” I replied. Fuck you. “I told you, I'm good. If I need you or my life is in random, sudden danger, I'll call you.”
“Addy, if your life is in random, sudden danger, chances are you're not gonna be able to call me,” he drawled. God, I hated that damn dry tone of his.
“Your sarcasm is starting to piss me off, dickhead.” I pulled a bottle of water out of fridge. “In that case, if I don't call you, then worry.”
“You never call me. It's like I'm the only one trying.”
“Oh, booboo. Povero bambino.”
“Poor baby? Jesus, you're speaking a lot of Italian today.”
“You just told me I was 'such an Italian,' a
nd believe it or not, Italians speak Italian.”
“Your sass is out of this world.”
“Says the one who's been throwing shade at me this whole conversation.”
Gaige laughed. “All right, all right. Just check in soon, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Try not to break any hearts between now and then.”
“Not hearts, Addy. Only pussys.”
“Niiiiiice,” I muttered, hanging up.
I really didn't need to know that. Like, really fucking didn't.
I put my phone on the island in the middle of the kitchen and turned on the oven. I didn't realize it was dinnertime already, so I pulled a pizza from the freezer. Blasphemy, I know, but of the two of us who lived in this house, Darien was the one who could make a mean pizza base. I could do the sauce, but the base?
No. Not a damn chance.
He regretfully kept frozen pizzas for me. It was just another thing I did to wind him up. Really, I was lucky the man loved me. If he didn't, he'd kill me on a daily basis.
I put the pizza in the oven and set the timer so I wouldn't burn it—which had happened more than once—and walked into the front room to watch some TV. I had no idea what to watch, so I knew I'd end up on Netflix.
The saddest part of that was I knew I would get to Netflix and still not know what to damn well watch.
I turned it on anyway. Why not? It's not like I could do anything with my cat holding my laptop hostage and being virtually house-bound. Sure, I could have called Gaige and gone out somewhere, but I wasn't in the mood for his flirting. Besides, it was Friday, and he was always busy on a Friday.
And not busy work-wise. Busy 'breaking pussys' as he put it.
Sometimes it was hard to believe he was twenty-four.
Something banged in the direction of the office, and I craned my neck around although I couldn't see past the door. “Rossi!” I yelled. Silence followed, so I turned back to the TV and my mindless scrolling of Netflix's TV showed.
Watched. Watched. Didn't finish because it was shit. Watched. Didn't want to watch. Watched. Watched. Watched.
Apparently, I had a Netflix problem.
There was another sound, this time from upstairs, and I sighed heavily. “Rossi!” I yelled for a second time, putting down the TV controller and getting up. I poked my head in the office, but he wasn't there anymore, so he had to be upstairs and trying to break out of my window. I grabbed the banister and started going up. “You know how to get out. Stop tearing the damn place apart. Rossi.” I made a kissy kind of noise to get him to come to me, but he didn't.
I paused.
“Rossi?” I asked, this time softer. “C'mere, cat.”
Nothing.
I swallowed and turned back downstairs. I was pretty sure I'd left my bedroom window open, so he'd probably jumped out of it and onto the garage roof. It wasn't a huge leap.
Although, I did feel a little... out of place.
I shook off the unsettled feeling and checked on my pizza. Fine. For once, I had the timer right, because the ten minutes left would have it cooked perfectly. A chill coated my arms, so I rubbed my hands up and down them, then went back to the living room.
I barely heard the steps behind me until the hand was clamped over my mouth.
I screamed as I was slammed back into a hard body, but the sound was muffled by the gloved hand covering my mouth. Fear bolted through me as the cold metal of a gun barrel touched my temple. Adrenaline pumped harshly through me, lending me the strength to force my eyes open.
When I looked up, into the mirror, my entire world stopped.
Steely gray eyes, flecked with silver, looked back at me in the reflection.
I didn't need the balaclava gone to know who was standing behind me with a .45 pressed to the side of my head.
“Are you going to kill me, Hunter?” My voice was barely a whisper, muffled by the thick material of his glove, but I saw the shock flash in his eyes when I said his name. I swallowed hard, my heart twisting and tightening inside my chest.
Those eyes. Oh, god. Those eyes.
I'd know them anywhere.
He pushed the gun harder into my temple, not saying a word. His body gave him away, though. His finger shook. It wasn't even touching on the trigger, more hovering in front of it. His hand trembled where it covered my mouth, slipping slightly, freeing me up to breathe properly. The slightest hint of hesitance shone in his gaze. It was hard... cold... Glacial, even.
I closed my eyes. “Do it,” I whispered. I cleared my throat and said louder, “Do it, Hunter. It isn't hard. Pull the trigger. Do your job.”
He inhaled sharply. “How... How did you know it's me?”
Despite the gun against my skin, I smiled, opening my eyes. “I might have forgotten what your voice sounds like and what it feels like when you touch me, but I'd never forget your eyes.” And my heart would never forget to skip a beat when he's close, and my soul would never forget to reach out for his. “I looked into them too many times to forget them.”
“Fuck.” Hunter stepped back, releasing me from his hold. He dropped the gun from the side of my head, and when I turned, he was pulling the balaclava off his head.
A feeling I couldn't put into words flooded through my body in one fell swoop as he threw the mask on the coffee table and set the gun of top of it. The gloves followed, then he straightened, and he looked right at me.
I didn't know what I expected, but it wasn't this.
He looked everything like I remembered, but nothing like I dreamed.
His hair was the same dark brown, but it was cut close to his head on the sides and longer on the top, and the longer bits were swept backward from his face. And his face... Sweet fucking Jesus. He looked like Hunter... except he wasn't that fifteen year old boy I left behind.
His rugged features, from the shadows that highlighted his cheekbones and the stubble that dotted his sharp jaw, to the prominent line of his brow that was exaggerated by the frown marring his features, they were...
He was a man.
Pure, one hundred percent, man.
But it was his eyes. Always his eyes. They studied me with an intense scrutiny that made me want to squirm, and my blood pumped harshly around my body as he ran his eyes over me from head to toe. If I weren't so stunned by his appearance, I'd be more conscious of the fact I was wearing unforgiving yoga pants and a tank top that hugged my torso. I knew he could see every dip and curve of my body—and every dip and curve of my body could feel his burning gaze.
My mouth was dry, but I needed to say something. I couldn't take the silence anymore. I didn't know what to do with it, even though once upon a time we could spend hours without saying a word. Now it felt foreign, unnatural, and I wanted to get rid of it.
“So it's true. He found me,” I said, my scratchy voice breaking the tension that was building between us. “And he sent you to kill me. How lovely.”
Hunter dragged a hand across his face, and the white scars on his knuckles caught my eye instantly. “And Alexandria.”
“Good luck with that,” I drawled. “Mother Nature beat you to her.” I stalked past him as the oven beeped.
“What do you mean?” He followed me into the kitchen, still wearing the giant black coat he arrived in. Man, he must be hot in that.
“I mean,” I said, opening the oven and grabbing a tea towel to pull the pizza tray out. “She died two years ago. Breast cancer.”
“Shit. I'm sorry, Addy.”
“It's Adriana.” I closed the oven door, not looking at him. I couldn't bear to hear him call me by my nickname. I hated the way his voice dipped at the start. I hated the way I wanted to hear him say it again and again and again. “And you're not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn't have just had a gun to my head.”
“You think I wanted to do that?”
“You think it matters if you wanted to or not?” I spun around, my adrenaline subsiding, allowing anger to take its place. I could feel the red hot tendrils of my fru
stration snaking through my veins. “You did anyway. You still broke into my fucking house and tried to kill me.”
His expression hardened. “If I'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead, Adriana.”
I slammed the drawer shut after grabbing the pizza cutter. “Then you should try a little damn harder and finish the job, shouldn't you?”
“Jesus. I don't want to kill you.”
“Then fuck off back to New York and leave me alone.” A lump formed in my throat, and I slammed the pizza cutter blade into the middle of the pizza and rolled. Him standing in front of me was too much.
I'd spent endless hours and an unimaginable number of nights imagining what it'd be like to see him again, but I knew now they were all the dreams of a hopeless romantic. They were eyes meeting across a bar, bumping into each other in a store, maybe him even tracking me down... We'd see each other and we'd still love each other and everything would be perfect.
This was bullshit.
“I can't go back to New York,” he said quietly, eyes pinned on me. “It's your life or mine.”
“Well, you need to make a choice.” I put the cutter down and threw the slices onto a plate. “Judging by the fact you're here, I'm guessing you don't make many choices. Just do as you're told, right?” I raised my eyebrows as I passed him.
Kitchen. Living room. Kitchen. Living room.
I felt like Rossi probably did when he went on a crazy balls to the wall energy fit and ran from room to room aimlessly.
I put the plate on the coffee table and turned to Hunter, my hands on my hips. “Well? I'm right, aren't I? You're his fucking lackey. God forbid that pezzo di merda get blood on his hands.”
Hunter unbuttoned the heavy black coat and shrugged it off. He threw it on the arm of the chair.
My eyes were drawn to his arms. They were so muscular and toned that they strained against the material of his t-shirt, and tattoos decorated his right bicep. It took everything I had not to stare at his trim body and broad shoulders. “Staying, are you? Figure it's easier to kill me in my sleep?”
Once again, he rubbed his hand across his face. He said nothing.