Unfortunately, her shrug slid the towel off her shoulders. If she didn’t keep the damn towel in place he’d have as much trouble concentrating as the garage roughneck. Jonathan averted his eyes, glanced at the old lady who had a scowl etched on her forehead, and cleared his throat. “I’ll try to find out who attacked you and who was behind it.”
Another shrug revealed her alabaster globes. In spite of his conscientious effort to keep his eyes fixed on her face, he couldn’t prevent a swift glance lower. Good thing, Dante hadn’t accompanied him. Flirting with the boss’s little sister ranked high on the list of no-nos in Dante’s book as he’d quite clearly insinuated after seeing Jonathan dancing too closely with Isabella at his wedding.
“We have a pretty good idea of who’s behind today’s episode,” Isabella said with a steady voice. “You see I grew up surrounded with vendetta talk. My grandfather taught us defense techniques at an early age. He put me in karate class at seven, taught me to shoot at ten. I trained for and won a marathon because this would help me escape if I had to run away as I did today.”
“No kidding. Huh, I mean…” Jonathan arched his eyebrows. Stunned disbelief clouded his mind. In addition, Isabella forgot to readjust the teasing towel and his mind had difficulty focusing. “Have you been in danger all your life?”
“Well, the Raveno family were on and off at war with our family for several generations. Every death was blamed on the enemy.”
Nonna nodded. “Their grandfather killed your mamma and papa in a car explosion.”
“Absolutely wrong,” Isabella uttered. “It was a horrible accident due to the carburetor malfunction. We’ve all read the police report. Please let’s not bother Jonathan with the ugly past.”
“If your past is related to today’s incident, I’d better take notes.” He retrieved his iPhone from his pocket, and dutifully kept his eyes glued to the screen while typing. “Tell me more, please.”
The old lady hissed. “Your grandfather was convinced of foul play. He made sure the old Raveno paid with his life.”
“He killed him?” In spite of his best effort to remain impassive and professional, Jonathan’s head snapped up. His eyes widened and the muscle at the base of his throat tingled. The sweet Isabella he’d been dreaming of dating was the granddaughter of a killer?
“Of course not, but my husband and his foe argued so much Old Raveno had a sudden heart attack,” Mrs. Cantari explained with a clipped voice.
“That caused a momentary friction between the Raveno boys and my brothers. They were in school together,” Isabella hastened to add.
“And they got their revenge on Rafael,” Mrs. Cantari muttered.
“Nonna, enough please. They all reconciled years before the terrible day. We’ll never know what caused the gunshot that took my brother Rafael’s life. The police said he was playing with a loaded gun. It was an accident. The Raveno brothers were not responsible.” Isabella lowered her head. A deep scowl wrinkled her pretty forehead.
“Isabella, girl, how could you doubt those bastards killed your big brother?”
Jonathan flicked glances from the young woman to her irascible grandmother and immediately schooled his expression. No need to add to Isabella’s ordeal by showing her he didn’t exactly fancy himself dating a Mafia princess.
“Great, we’ll never finish if you insist on hanging our dirty laundry in public. Nonno held Lorenzo Raveno responsible. The corrupt judge on the case was my grandfather’s buddy. He had Lorenzo thrown in jail for twenty-five years. Now his brother Marco is trying to abduct me in revenge.”
“God forbid, bambina. I’ll kill them with my own hands if they come near you again. I haven’t forgiven them for causing your Nonno’s heart attack.”
“Come on, Nonna, the Raveno brothers didn’t cause Grandpa’s heart attack. His health had weakened from all the stress and his heart failed. There was no crime. I wonder if there has ever been any crime, except those in the imagination and twisted minds of old Raveno and my grandfather. And we were left to cope with the heartache and suffering.” Her eyes sparkled with tears that melted Jonathan’s heart.
“Isabella Cantari, I forbid you to talk like that. Forget the nonsense. Too many people died because of the vendetta between the Cantaris and the Ravenos. Oh my heart.” The old woman sniffled as if she had trouble breathing.
“Are you in pain?” Isabella threw off her towel and bent over her grandmother.
“I’ll call an ambulance.” Jonathan punched a preprogrammed number on his phone.
“No need,” Mrs. Cantari covered his hand, interrupting the phone call. “It’s the emotion. God help us if the Raveno brothers have caught up with us. We will have more bloodshed. To think I expatriate myself to avoid this feud. And now it has followed us all the way to America. I am going to call their mamma and talk with her. She, too, is afraid for her sons. Dante won’t hesitate to kill them if they hurt you, or touch one hair on his precious wife’s head.”
“Don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself. I already did,” Isabella added with a proud smile. “And Dante is keeping Alexa under close watch.”
Having vented their resentment, the two women seemed to slowly calm down.
Diverting from their vendetta imbroglio, Jonathan realized that Isabella had the most perfect figure he’d ever admired in his life. And a pair of toned and tanned legs that matched the rest.
“I’ll report to Dante, and we’ll decide what to do next. But please, ask a security guard to accompany you while crossing the garage from now on.” As for him he’d run before succumbing to the temptation of inviting her out.
“Good idea,” Mrs. Cantari said.
“Nonna, I’m walking Jonathan to the visitors’ parking.” Isabella swayed her way to the end of the terrace and the gate separating the beach from the parking lot. She unlocked the door with her key and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Crossing her arms under her breasts, she squinted at him. “Jonathan Ramirez, you’re a liar.”
“Huh?”
“You claimed you were concerned about me but you didn’t even bother calling me after my brother’s wedding as you’d promised. So save yourself the trouble of acting worried.”
Of all the low blows, he hadn’t seen this one coming and lost his power of speech for a second. “I planned to call you. Really. But your brother mentioned that he didn’t condone, hmm…, consorting with clients.” Jonathan remembered Dante’s clipped tone when he warned him off dating Isabella. He’d made it clear their family wanted Isabella married soon.
A lump the size of a rock lodged in Jonathan’s throat. Everyone at the office knew that his amorous relationships never lasted more than two months, since the day Eva had broken their engagement a month before the wedding. He couldn’t indulge in a fling that might hurt Isabella and cost him his job.
His companion tapped her finger on his chest. “First I wasn’t your client, even if Dante asked you to make sure our house was protected twenty-four-seven when a killer was on the loose last year. And second, if you’re the type who follows your boss’s orders blindly, then I misjudged you,” she added with a haughty tilt of her chin.
He grabbed her hand and peered into her eyes. “I’m not the right man for you. I like some fun here or there. That’s all.”
“You mean I’m boring?”
“Of course not. Stop this game.”
“For someone who claims to like fun, you’re way too serious.” Her lips curled into a sarcastic pout that teased and tempted. As if her bikini hadn’t done a good job of that.
He stared at her eyes and caught a gleam of passion that took his breath away. “Isabella, you’re a sweet girl. Don’t play with fire.” He released her fingers and shoved his hands into his pants’ pockets to avoid wrapping his arms around her and kissing her saucy words out of her mouth.
“You can go in peace, Jonathan. I’m not interested in playing anymore. Not with you.” Her smile fell. She turned, giving him her back.
Taking the decision away from him, she pressed her lips on his, rubbing and torturing mercilessly. He was lost and delighted in her victory. Pushing into her open welcoming mouth, he touched her tongue with his, stroked and played. Warm breath sighed into his mouth.
But he couldn’t kiss her here on the building sidewalk—not the way he wanted, with a deep, thorough and long kiss that would take them both to heaven, or more probably through a sweet hell.
He eased away and held her at arm’s length. “I’ll call you in the evening.”
A warning gaze caught his eyes and she cupped his cheek. “I’ll be waiting for your call. Don’t forget me, Jonathan Ramirez.”
As if he could. Isabella’s intoxicating fragrance and delicious lips had woven a tight web around his heart, body, and senses…
Chapter Three
Isabella couldn’t wait to be in the privacy of her room. After Jonathan left, Nonna bombarded her with questions about why she took so long to walk the young man to the end of the driveway. “He was explaining about his work,” Isabella said with a shrug.
“Since when does criminal justice interest you so much? You never pay attention when Dante talks about important matters.”
“Maybe because Jonathan is more patient when he explains things.” Not that she gave him time to explain anything. She’d rather have him look at her with desire and kiss her long and slow.
“In that case, you should ask Dante to hire you as an interpreter. You’re fluent in English, Italian, and French. You could help a lot at his firm.”
For a moment she imagined herself sitting in Jonathan’s office, listening and taking notes. Slowly, she would glide onto his lap and he’d continue to dictate. While he tried to think about the next sentence after punctuation, they would exchange a kiss or two. Isabella scoffed.
Poor Jonathan wouldn’t be able to function efficiently and Dante would chop off her head. No, she’d rather meet Jonathan far away from her brother’s office.
“It’s not healthy to work with a relative. Dante would upset me with his endless orders.”
Right now Isabella would rather be left in peace. “I’m going upstairs. Are you coming?” Without waiting for her grandmother’s answer, she collected her belongings and covered herself with a towel. “Let’s go by the driveway. I’d rather not use the garage after what happened.”
She slipped the old lady’s arm under her own and they shuffled at a turtle’s pace to the driveway and the receiving entrance on the side of the building.
“Good afternoon, Robert. How are things going?” Nonna never failed to greet the building staff with a nice word and garner the latest gossip.
“You wouldn’t believe it, Mrs. Cantari. Tom Dallen and his wife Julia saw a strange guy in the garage and called 911.”
“And?” Both Isabella and Nonna squealed.
“The man seemed in pain, holding his belly. The police wanted to take him to the hospital but he started running. They found it suspicious and arrested him. We don’t know how he’d managed to slip into the building in spite of all the security we have.”
“Interesting. Bye, Robert.” Isabella pulled her grandmother toward the elevator.
In the apartment they shared on the twenty-first floor, Isabella enjoyed a spacious room overlooking the ocean. Other than a bed flanked by two night tables she’d bought in Fort Lauderdale, she didn’t own furniture. On the built-in credenza running along the wall under the bay window, she had arranged in an artistic disorder the many valuable knickknacks she’d brought from Sicily. Vases from Murano, jewelry boxes in Capodimonte porcelain, and mosaic frames decorated her souvenir area.
Isabella closed her door and carefully opened her beach bag to dig out the gun she’d picked up from the garage floor. She hadn’t mentioned it to Jonathan. Should she keep it to defend herself or hand it to the police? Still hesitating, she opened the safe hidden in her closet behind hanging clothes and locked it inside.
After showering and changing into a burgundy short nighty, she lay on her bed to daydream about Jonathan, his unruly hair falling over sparkling green eyes, his chiseled nose and jaw, luscious lips, strong…
Her phone ring interrupted her visual of a most interesting male specimen. Annoyed, she checked the caller ID and smiled.
“Hi Emma. What a nice surprise.” Not wanting to miss a word of the long distance call and difficult connection, Isabella bounced up, and crossed her legs under her. “I haven’t heard from you in more than a month.” In addition to being a relative—in Sicily, half of the citizens claimed to be related—Emma had been Isabella’s best friend and classmate since first grade. They’d even attended college together in Boston.
“Things are not good in Palermo.” Tears underlined the wobbly voice.
“Why? Tell me.” Emma and Isabella had shared confidences most of their lives.
“And they may turn ugly at your end too.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“In spite of his good behavior, Lorenzo is still in jail. You know he didn’t kill your brother. It was an accident. None of them knew the gun was loaded.” Emma’s cries filled the phone.
“I know Emma.” Dante had been present at the time and had told her as much.
“I love Lorenzo.” Her friend’s sobs escalated.
“Calm down, please.”
For a moment sobs and statics mingled into a cacophony. “It’s not fair… not fair. We want to get married, have a family. I’ve had it with this vendetta.”
“Me, too, believe me.”
Emma sniffled. “Isabella, be careful. I heard Lorenzo’s brothers, Franco and Marco, discussing ways to force Dante to ask for my Lorenzo’s release.”
Her back stiff, Isabella asked, “What ways?”
“They hired a Sicilian guy who lives in Florida illegally. This man said he befriended a trash collector and is helping him collect garbage at your building so he can access the garage. Franco and Marco are paying him big money to…to abduct you. I want you to be careful. But please keep it secret.”
Okay, that made sense. “This Sicilian man who’s in Florida has already tried to abduct me today.”
“Madre di Dio, what happened? How are you?”
“I got rid of him, thanks to my Nonno’s famous move, the kick in the belly. Remember?” she chuckled.
For a few minutes, laughter echoed from both ends of the line. When they finally sobered, Emma sighed. “There is more. Marco will travel to Florida in three days. He insists you’ll change your mind about him once he brings you back to Sicily and you see how much he loves you.”
“Oh no.” Isabella didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
Marco Raveno had nurtured a crush on her since high school. She’d never returned his feelings. He’d even got into an argument with her big brother Rafael just before the tragedy.
Isabella closed her eyes. She’d heard the story first-hand from Dante in Nonno’s office.
Their grandfather had been so mad because his two grandsons had kept their friendship with Lorenzo, Marco and Franco secret for years, sneaking off to go on long bike rides in the country side or meeting at remote beaches to swim together in the sea. It was a kids’ solid friendship until that day.
“Isabella, are you still here?”
“Yes. I don’t want Marco to come. I told him often enough that I don’t love him.” A long time ago she’d figured she had become an obsession for Marco, a prize he had to win, not a real love.
“We can help each other,” Emma suggested. “My sister Patric
ia loves Marco. My parents have been inviting him and Franco often for dinner at our house. Isabella, I beg you, talk to Dante. Ask him to come here and plead for Lorenzo’s release. Dante is a famous international lawyer now, well-respected in Palermo. He can make things happen.”
“Dante would never leave his wife. She’s pregnant. And he’s afraid that if Lorenzo gets out he’ll cause more bloodshed.”
“We have to take matters into our own hands. You get the man I love out of jail. And I guarantee you that Marco will stop harassing you and I’ll convince Lorenzo to forget about revenge. Deal?” Emma’s voice had turned cold.
She was a woman in love, fighting for her man and her happiness.
Captivated by Emma’s obvious adoration for her beloved, Isabella wished she could find an unconditional love such as the one Emma and Lorenzo shared.
“I will help you. Not sure how yet. Let me think about it.” A faint beep alerted her to another call. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’re friends, Emma. Chill out.”
She cut the connection. Jonathan was on the other line. He did call after all.
Excitement filled her. “Hi there. Are you still at work?”
“On my way home.”
“Where is home?”
“Not telling. You’re a dangerous girl.” He chuckled. “Where are you? Still at the beach?”
“No, lying on my bed. Thinking of you.”
A gasp answered her, followed by fast breathing. Was he visualizing her? She glanced down at her nightie. Not transparent or indecent. Just cute and sexy.
“Hold a sec, Jonathan. I’ll get back to you right away.” She ended the call and arranged her long dark hair to frame her face and cover her naked shoulders. Big smile for Jonathan. She extended her arm and shot a selfie. Not bad at all. Hope he liked it. She sent it to him and held her phone, waiting.
Two minutes passed. Should she call him? Not yet. Patience is the name of the game, Nonna often said. But on the other hand, Nonno advised the opposite. Strike when the iron is hot.