by Sarah Curtis
“Perfect.”
He exhaled and buried his face in her neck while hugging her close.
Yeah, perfect was a fucking perfect way to describe it.
A few hours later, Marco drove through the gates of Nico’s estate, feeling like shit, unable to get his last minutes with Gabriella out of his head. It hadn’t been a tearfully clingy goodbye. That probably would have been easier to handle. Instead, he got a too short hug and a solemn, “Please be careful,” before she turned her back on him and stepped into the house.
It had taken everything in him not to go in after her. He’d hated leaving her on such a note. Was she mad? Upset? Both? A few minutes into his journey home, unable to resist, he’d tried calling her, but it had gone straight to voicemail, so either her phone had been dead, turned off, or had no signal. He refused to believe she’d been ignoring him.
Even a little banged up, he knew Frankie and Dino would keep the girls safe, but he still had an uneasiness that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He just wished he knew what had put it there.
He looked in his rearview mirror and saw Nico follow him in through the gate. It was nearing midnight, and they probably wouldn’t get much done that night. Not to mention, he was fucking tired and just wanted to crash for a few hours.
A dumpster took up space in the driveway and Marco parked well away from it to wait for Nico to park and get out of his car.
His phone rang, Gabriella’s name flashing on the screen. “Streghetta, everything all right?”
“It just turned midnight. If I couldn’t have a kiss, I wanted your voice to be the first thing I heard in the new year.”
He closed his eyes. Fuck. In all that had happened, he’d forgotten. “I love you, cara mia. We won’t be apart for long.”
“I’m worried, Marco.”
“Nothing to be worried about.”
“I’m worried I won’t see you again.”
The unease in his gut grew. “Tell me you love me.”
“You know I do.”
“I need the words.”
There was a small hitch to her voice as she said, “I love you,” and he wanted to reach through the phone and touch her. No, fuck that, he wanted to go to her. Wanted to hold her and never let go.
“I’m just a phone call away.” He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself.
“You’ll call me in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
He’d never known her to be so insecure, and the ball of unease in his stomach grew. “I promise, cara mia, as soon as I get up.”
“Okay.”
He heard Fred bark in the background. “Do me a favor, double check everything’s locked up before you get in bed.”
“I will.”
“All the windows. Even the ones on the second floor.”
A laugh came over the line, and he was happy to hear it. “You’ve seen the size of this house. It would be morning before I got it done.”
“Just do it,” he growled over the line.
“Yes, sir.”
He smirked. “I like the sound of that.”
She chuckled. “You would.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“I already did.”
“Say it again.”
She sighed as if he were putting her out. “Fine. I love you.”
He smiled and for the first time since the shooting, the churning in his gut lessened. “I love you, too.”
He clicked off the phone as Nico approached. “Everything okay?” he asked, gesturing to the phone he’d just slipped into his pocket.
“I forgot it was fucking New Year’s.”
Nico nodded. “Yeah, Olivia called while I was in the car. Did the whole countdown thing while I was on the line.”
A guy in coveralls appeared and threw a large black trash bag into the dumpster. It landed with a clanging of glass. Nico must be paying a fuckload to have a clean-up crew come out on a holiday.
As if reading his mind, Nico said, “Come on. Let’s go inspect the damage and see if my money is being put to good use.”
It was well after two by the time Marco crawled into one of the guest room beds. All the windows had been boarded, and the mess cleaned up. The guy to measure for new windows was expected sometime the next day. A general contractor was coming, as well.
Marco closed his eyes and willed his mind to stop racing with all the shit that needed to be done. Top of the list?
Finding Volkov, so he could be back with his girl.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The door to Nico’s office opened, and Ricky poked his head through. “Sir? Derek Miller’s at the gate. Says it’s important, so I didn’t kill him.”
What the fuck? “I’ll escort him in,” Marco said, standing from the couch.
Nico sat back in his chair and sighed. “Try to keep him alive. At least until we hear what he has to say.”
Easier said than done, Marco thought as he slipped his gun from the holster at the small of his back and made his way out of the house.
Guarded by two men, Derek eyed him through the metal bars as he approached. He opened his mouth, but Marco beat him to it, raising his gun and pointing it directly in the center of Derek’s forehead. “You’ve got three seconds to tell me why I should let you live.”
Derek’s hands flew up, palms out. “I know where my father is and I’m willing to tell you.”
Marco didn’t lower his gun. “Why?”
“Before I tell you that, I want assurance from the Conti Family.”
Marco flicked his eyes to Johnny, one of Nico’s soldiers, who had a hold of Derek’s right arm. Tony, another soldier, had Derek’s left. “You search him?”
“Yes, sir. He was clean.”
Came unarmed. That was surprising. Smart of him, but surprising. He motioned to the guy in the gatehouse. “Open the gate.”
Marco walked ahead as Johnny and Tony kept hold of Derek. They shoved him in a chair at the front of Nico’s desk but stayed on his either side. Marco went around the desk and stood next to Nico’s chair.
Nico sat forward in his seat, hands clamped together, fingers laced, forearms to his desk. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Which is it?”
Marco had to give Derek credit. He didn’t flinch. “You forgot desperate.”
Nico raised a brow, and Marco frowned, trying to figure out the guy’s agenda.
Nico sat back, placing his clasped hands on his abdomen. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your story?”
Derek issued a mirthless chuckle. “My story? I was born into a fucking nightmare with no opportunity of waking… Until now.”
“Explain,” Nico ordered.
“In exchange for the information I’m about to give you, I want to disappear.”
“I don’t have a problem making that happen,” Marco said tersely.
Derek looked at him and nodded. “I can understand your feelings. I know you’ve been seeing Gabby.”
Seeing was too mild a word to describe what he had with Gabriella, but he wasn’t going to correct him. “And how do you know this?”
“My father. He knows everything about your family.”
“Go on,” Nico said, sounding impatient.
“I want a new identity. Go somewhere no one knows me. Start fresh. I know you can make that happen.”
“We’re not the fucking witness protection program,” Marco barked.
Derek eyeballed him again. He had to admit, the kid had balls. “No. I bet you’re better.”
Nico jumped in. “Let’s say I agree. What do I get in return?”
“The location of my father. Everything I know to help you take him out.”
“Why the change of heart? Why now?” Marco interrupted again.
Derek shook his head. “Not a change of heart. My heart has never been in it. I’ve just never had a way out until now. And witnessing my father gun down your home, knowing women and children were there,” he sho
ok his head again, “I couldn’t be a part of that any longer. Not without losing a fundamental piece of me.”
Nico sat quietly for a moment before he spoke. “Okay. You’ve got yourself a deal. Start talking.”
And Dmitri Volkov, AKA Derek Miller, did just that.
Marco stared at his phone for a full minute before he hit the button that would connect him to Gabriella. They were about to go after Ivan Volkov, and he wanted to check in with her before shutting off his phone. He hesitated because he didn’t want to lie. But he also didn’t want to tell the truth and leave her worrying all night.
The phone rang twice before she picked up. “Hey, perfect timing. I was just getting ready for bed.”
“I’m glad I didn’t wake you.”
“I would’ve waited up until I heard from you. You going to bed?”
“Soon. Nico and I have some shit to do first.”
Truth.
She made a humming noise that he took as an acknowledgment.
“What did you do today?” he asked, wanting to keep the conversation focused on her.
“Oh, you know, the usual house-arrest stuff. I painted my toenails, kicked Olivia’s butt in gin rummy, and watched a lot of TV.” She paused a moment before adding, “I won’t ask you the same question.”
Marco chuckled. “Smart girl.”
“Not sure how smart it is, but I figure it’s better for my sanity to stay in the dark.”
Marco took a deep breath as a weight lifted off his shoulders. He wouldn’t need to stretch the truth. “Get some sleep, cara mia, and I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“You know I do.”
“I need the words, streghetta.”
“I love you, Marco.”
“I love you, too.”
He was about to click off when he heard, “Marco?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful doing whatever it is I don’t want to know you’re doing.”
“Always.”
“I’ll give Fred a kiss from you.”
Marco chuckled, “You do that.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, cara mia.” Marco clicked the end button and stared down at his phone, wishing he was saying goodnight to her in person while she lay sprawled on top of him after he’d gotten her off two or three times. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of her head as it rested on his chest and the warmth of her breath coasting over it. Almost smell the clean, fresh, floral scent of her hair with its stray strands that would tickle his chin. Almost hear her breathing deepen and steady as she drifted off to sleep.
“You ready?”
Marco turned. He hadn’t heard Nico come up behind him. Not a good thing. He powered off his phone and pocketed it. “Yeah.”
Nico nodded and gave him a meaningful look, “Let’s get this shit over with so we can get back with our women.”
Sounded like a fucking good plan to Marco.
From the outside, the place looked deserted. Marco hoped that wasn’t the case and Derek hadn’t lied. He was fucked if he had. In more ways than one—if he hadn’t told the truth or if things didn’t go well for them.
At that very moment, Derek was sitting in a locked room, heavily guarded, and only Nico had the key—metaphorically speaking. In other words, his life depended on Nico’s survival, so he could hold up his end of the bargain. And if Ivan Volkov wasn’t there or they’d been played, well, Derek was just fucked.
Personally, Marco didn’t give a shit what happened to the guy. He didn’t care that he was trying to redeem himself, he’d always be guilty in Marco’s eyes. Setting up Gabriella, there could never be enough good graces given for Marco to ever forgive the prick.
They were parked on the outskirts of a rundown strip mall in the middle of fucking nowhere. Their target? A mechanic shop in the northeast corner.
The place was a ghost town. As he watched, even a fucking tumbleweed rolled through the empty lot. And fucking dark. Nothing was lit. Not the neighboring street lights, not the light poles in the parking lot, not any of the business signs. Thank God for the full moon, or they wouldn’t be able to see jack shit.
He looked over at Nico, sitting in the passenger seat, texting on his phone. “Everyone in position?”
“Got confirmation from Sal. Just waiting on Johnny.”
Marco turned off the headlights and pulled into an alley that ran along the back of the mall, stopping the car about fifty yards from their destination. Coming in from the other end, another car stopped about the same distance away. That would be Ricky and Tony.
Derek had given them a key to the back door of the garage along with the security code. A set of stairs located directly to the right of the door led up to living quarters and the supposed whereabouts of Ivan Volkov. They’d been told, if they hit the place late at night, only a couple of his men would be with him.
The whole thing sounded way too fucking easy.
“Johnny’s on the roof,” Nico said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’re ready to go.”
Marco opened his door and stepped out. He did a sweep of the alley, noting nothing looked odd or out of place.
Nico came around the front of the car, and they made their way to the door and waited for Ricky and Tony to join them.
“You know the plan. I want this shit done quickly and silently,” Nico said, pulling his stiletto from his pocket and hitting the switch with his thumb to flick it open. He turned to Tony. “When we get inside, you let Sal in and do a sweep of the garage while we go upstairs and take care of Volkov. Any of his men get past us and escape downstairs, that’s on you to take care of.”
Tony nodded. “Got it, boss.”
Nico slid the key in the lock. It opened the door. The security panel was right where Derek said it would be. Marco punched in the code. The soft beeping stopped, and the armed light changed from green to red.
They waited a few seconds in silence, unmoving, waiting to see whether anyone was alerted. So far, so good.
Nico gestured to Tony to get a move on, and Marco watched as he carefully made his way across the garage, moonlight shining through the many, large overhead windows guiding his way. He stopped at a smaller door next to a large bay door, opened it, and let Sal in. All without sounding any additional alarms.
Nico whispered, “Let’s go.”
The lighting on the stairs was murky, but enough filtered in from the garage they would be able to see where they were going. Though it did get darker toward the top landing where a hall led to office space that had been converted into living quarters. At least that’s what Derek claimed. Three rooms in all, with Volkov in the last one at the end of the hall.
Marco double checked his gun before hitting the stairs. He went up first with Nico behind him and Ricky taking up the rear. He didn’t like that they had to walk up single file, but at least Nico was protected.
“Go straight back to Volkov’s room. We’ll get the others after,” Marco heard Nico whisper from behind him.
Marco nodded. No way they were letting this fucker escape.
The hallway was carpeted. Some low-grade industrial shit in puke brown, but at least it muffled his footsteps. They’d been told none of the rooms upstairs would be locked. Marco placed his hand on the knob and prayed like hell that was correct because there was no quiet way to break down a door. The knob turned easily in his hand, and Marco breathed out a sigh. The door opened soundlessly, and he stopped just over the threshold to scan the room, gun out at the ready. Enough light shone through the only window in the room to show it was empty.
The space had been converted into a living room—couch, TV, desk with a computer sitting on it. To the right, a makeshift kitchen was created from a mini bar, complete with sink, under-counter fridge, and a hot plate. The place looked lived in, borderline messy. Take-out wrappers and soda cans littered the coffee table. Stray pieces of clothing—a tie and jacke
t—had been thrown on the back of the sofa. More take-out trash overflowed a wastebasket and lay on the floor, surrounding it. A door was to the left. Presumably, the bedroom and hopefully where they would find Volkov.
Nico came up beside Marco, but said to Ricky, “Wait here and keep a lookout.”
He took a step, but Marco stayed him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll go first.” He didn’t give Nico a chance to respond before making his way to the door.
Heart pounding, Marco placed his hand on the knob. Opening it would reveal one of three things. Volkov asleep—which would be ideal. Volkov awake—not as ideal. Or no Volkov at all—which would suck. He supposed there could be a fourth option, someone in the room other than Volkov. But he would never know unless he opened the damn door.
Why was he hesitating? He wanted this fucker dead more than anyone else in the room. Refusing to give in to the boulder-size ball of apprehension lodged in his gut that had been steadily growing all day, he took a deep breath, twisted the knob, and swung the door open.
The room was dark but enough light filtered through the slats of the blinds to see a body lying on the bed, back to the door. Silently they moved in, Nico staying at Volkov’s back, Marco going around to his front.
The light from the window hit directly on the guy’s face. Mid-to-late fifties. Reddish-brown hair graying at the temples. Bushy eyebrows, an overly large nose, and a square jaw. Same as the guy in the picture Dmitri showed them and later confirmed by Gabriella.
Ivan Volkov.
It’d pained Marco to drag Gabby back to that night, but, not trusting Dmitri, he’d sent her the picture, knowing she was strong enough to handle it. And he’d been right, his girl was tough. Not only had she confirmed the guy in the photo was Volkov, she’d told Marco to make him pay, while—in true Gabriella fashion—stipulating to be safe while doing it.
Nico’s hand shot out, covering the guy's mouth and his eyes flew open. He jolted, rolled and tried to sit up, but the pressure of Nico’s hand held him down. Marco added a gun to Ivan’s forehead to still his struggles.