Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One

by Michelle St. James

  She slid away from him, her legs shaky as she tried to put some distance between them. Between her and what she had done, what she had almost done.

  He stood, turning his back to her as he zipped his pants. When he turned around, his face was composed.

  “I apologize.” The sincerity of his apology was written all over his face.

  She swallowed hard. Part of her —- the crazy part—wanted to close the distance between them, put her hands on his face, tell him it wasn’t his fault.

  And it wasn’t. Not really. She hadn’t wanted him to stop. If he hadn’t paused to ask her permission, it would be a done deal.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “I… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  His eyes darkened. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  Her cheeks grew hot. “I got carried away. I’m sorry. But you have to know why it’s a bad idea.”

  His nod was tight. “The bad idea to end all bad ideas.”

  She had no idea why the words stung. “Exactly.”

  He bent to pick up her panties and held them out to her. She put them in the pocket of his jacket.

  “Thank you.”

  “Shall we go?” His voice was distant, polite. “Luca will be waiting.”

  She nodded.

  They retraced their steps in silence. She was careful to keep some space between them. Clearly she couldn’t be trusted to think straight when he was around. It was only smart to minimize their contact as much as the circumstances allowed.

  They passed the concession stands and headed for the gated archway. When they stepped onto the street, she slid the leather jacket from her arms.

  “I think this is yours,” she said, handing it to him. “Thank you.”

  She turned to open the car door, then paused and looked back at him.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I wanted to see you.” He met her eyes. “That’s all.”

  She pushed away the longing that made her want to step away from the car, to step back into Nico’s arms. She wasn’t thinking clearly. It was that simple.

  She got into the car and shut the door, then faced forward, staring out the windshield as Luca pulled away from the curb.

  18

  Nico sat in the backseat while the limo idled at the curb. His time with Angel lingered like a dream, and if he turned his head just right, he could still smell her on the jacket he’d loaned her earlier that day.

  He put his hand in one of the pockets, closing his fingers around the scrap of lace she’d forgotten there. He was immediately taken back to the moment he’d pulled the underwear from her hips, the smell of her desire hitting him like a tropical storm. He’d been ravenous for her, had barely been able to keep himself from driving into her then and there. It was only the image of her, spread out for him in broad daylight, that had stopped him. He’d needed to taste her then, needed to run his tongue along the soft crease at her center.

  He felt himself grow hard. He had just removed his hand from his pocket when the back door opened. A second later, Carmine slid into the seat next to him. Luca shut the door but stood in front of it, keeping lookout.

  “Nico.” Carmine reached over and kissed Nico’s cheeks. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Carmine. How are you?” Nico asked.

  “Doing well, doing well,” Carmine said. “Busy, but that’s always good for the family.”

  “True,” Nico said. “So what’s the problem?”

  Carmine smiled, his round face cherubic under the whips of hair he had left. “There’s no problem, Nico. I’m just checking in on the Carlo situation.”

  “There’s not much to report,” Nico said. “We’ve put out the word, but there’s no sign of him.”

  Carmine leaned forward and poured himself a drink from the bar. “And you still have the girl?”

  “I do.”

  Carmine took a drink, then stared down into the amber liquid. “How long do you intend to keep her?”

  Forever.

  “Until Carlo shows himself.”

  “And if he never shows himself?” Carmine asked.

  “He’ll have to,” Nico said. “Frank Morra can’t run Boston forever.”

  Frank was Carlo’s Underboss, and while Frank was every bit as ruthless, he wasn’t quite as bright. Things would start to fall apart eventually.

  “That may be true,” Carmine said. “But you can’t keep the girl forever either. Especially when it’s against the rules.”

  “It doesn’t seem like we’re playing by the rules anymore.” In more ways than one, Nico thought.

  Carmine sighed. “I understand. I do. But no one can farm scorched earth.”

  Nico turned his face to the window, watched people hurrying along the sidewalks. They didn’t have a clue how complicated things could be.

  “I’m not planning on lighting anything on fire.”

  “How long will you be able to keep the girl before you have to hurt her? Before you send a finger—or something else—to Carlo’s family to prove your threats aren’t empty?”

  Fury rose in Nico’s gut like a tempest. He forced it down, forced himself to think rationally. “Not much longer,” he admitted.

  Carmine studied his face. “You don’t want to do it.”

  “Of course, I don’t want to do it.”

  “And yet you’ve backed yourself into a corner by taking the girl in the first place. Now you have to follow through, or every threat the Vitale family makes will seem empty.”

  Nico pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to rub out the headache that was starting to hammer at his brain. “I know.”

  Carmine put a hand on Nico’s leg. “Good. You’ve had her over a week now?”

  Nico nodded.

  “Then I’d say you have another two days. I’ll leak it to Frank. Maybe he can get word to Carlo, wherever he is.”

  “Sounds good.” Nico had to choke out the words. The thought of hurting Angel, of damaging her perfection, made him sick. “Thank you.”

  Carmine wrapped a hand around Nico’s neck and kissed his forehead. “No thanks necessary. I’m watching your back. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Nico said. “And I appreciate it.”

  “We’ll talk soon,” Carmine said. “Maybe get some food?”

  Nico forced a smile.

  Carmine knocked on the window and Luca opened the door. Nico sat in silence, Carmine’s words ringing in his ears as Luca came around to the driver’s side and started the car. He looked at Nico in the rearview mirror.

  “Where to?”

  Nico pulled his phone out of his pocket. “The Plaza.”

  He made the call while Luca worked his way through the city. By the time they got to the hotel, Nico was feeling better. Angel was just a woman, like any other. The fact that she was Carlo’s daughter had brought out some twisted sense of retribution in him. It was understandable, but he couldn’t let his personal vendetta cloud his judgement. Angel was a pawn in a very complicated chessboard. She could be sacrificed, but it would have to be clean, the same way he’d sacrifice any pawn.

  Starting with her fingers.

  He met the concierge in the lobby and picked up his key. It wouldn’t do to be seen checking in at the front desk in the middle of the day in his home town.

  He made his way up to the tenth floor and let himself into the suite. Then he loosened his tie and headed for the mini-bar. He poured himself a drink, downed it in one swallow, and poured another before crossing to the big windows overlooking the park.

  It had been helpful to meet with Carmine. The older man had been part of the business for a long time, and he could always be counted on to see the big picture when Nico’s mind became clouded with rage. Raneiro served the same purpose, but he was headquartered in Rome, and Nico didn’t often get to spend time with the man he thought of as a second father. Carmine was right here, and this wasn’t the first time he’d given Nico some much needed perspecti
ve.

  A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He put down his drink and opened the door to a curvaceous brunette in a designer dress. Classy, the way he liked them.

  “Come in,” Nico said.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Can I get you a drink?” Nico asked.

  She set her purse on one of the end tables. “No, thank you.”

  He wasn’t surprised. Escorts at this level were professionals. Nico suspected they were told not to get drunk.

  He sat on the sofa, and she came to sit next to him. Carefully, and not too close.

  Good. He liked it when they let him set the pace.

  She traced a line down his arm with one manicured hand, and he caught the scent of her perfume, expensive, probably french. Nothing at all like Angel, who smelled like fresh air and clean water and an undercurrent of desire.

  Even better. This woman didn’t remind him of Angel at all.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked, her voice sly.

  “Straddle me,” he said.

  She climbed over him and hiked up her dress, then sat purposefully on top of him. His cock always had a mind of its own, and it didn’t let him down this time, arising immediately to the occasion.

  He slipped his hands under dress and realized she wasn’t wearing underwear. He held onto her hips as she moved back and forth, rubbing her bare pussy against his hard on.

  This was good. This was working.

  She lowered her mouth to his, her hair falling on either side of his head, and kissed him deeply. For a few seconds, his tongue did the work for him. But she didn’t taste right, didn’t feel right.

  She didn’t taste like Angel, didn’t feel like Angel.

  His eyes flew open, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d shoved the woman off him.

  “What the…” She got up and put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

  He stood and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. You need to leave.”

  She smoothed her dress. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. I’ll make sure you’re paid, and I’ll make sure the agency knows you did your job.” He walked to the window and turned his back on her. “Now please go.”

  He heard the sounds of her moving around the room, picking up her purse, closing the door behind her. When she was gone, he closed his eyes, remembering the taste of Angel in his mouth, the feel of her moving under his hands, the sound of her coming for him. When he had banished all trace of the other woman, he opened his eyes.

  Fuck. He was in deep shit.

  19

  Angel tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable in the small bed. The room wasn’t hot, but her skin was clammy, and she threw off the sheet as she rolled onto her back.

  She had spent the day pacing her room after Luca brought her home from the garden. She’d been ashamed, barely able to look Luca in the eyes. Would Nico tell him what had happened between them? Would it be a story to tell the men who worked for him?

  Somehow she didn’t think so. She flashed back to the moment before he’d lowered his mouth to hers. What she’d seen in his eyes had been more complicated than ambition or simple lust.

  Then again, maybe she was just rationalizing what she’d done. And she needed to rationalize. Otherwise she would have to live with the fact that she’d allowed Nico Vitale—the criminal responsible for her captivity—to bring her to an orgasm in broad daylight. Worse, that she’d wanted him to take her then and there. That only his own chivalry—for lack of a better word—had prevented it.

  She turned the pillow over the cold side. What was wrong with her? She was romanticizing him. Assigning him qualities he didn’t have to make her desire for him more palatable. It wasn’t like her to be dishonest with herself.

  She almost laughed aloud. She’d been dishonest with herself all along. Her father was a criminal every bit as violent as Nico, and she hadn’t looked close enough to ask a single question. Denial was practically her middle name. She had wanted Nico, plain and simple. She still wanted him.

  The thought of him brought a flash of memory; his dark head between her legs, the feel of his tongue, hot and insistent, against the petals of her sex.

  A surge of desire rolled through her. She was already—or maybe the most appropriate word was still—wet for him. She imagined him prowling the halls of the building that was obviously his headquarters. He could be right on the other side of the door for all she knew, thinking about her like she was thinking about him.

  There was a vibration between her legs now, and she punched the pillow and rolled over, willing herself not to think about his mouth on her inner thigh, the look in his eyes when he’d spread her legs and called her beautiful.

  There was nowhere for this to go. The fact that her father was in the same business as Nico didn’t make his profession acceptable. She would have to cut ties with her father if it were true, and she would definitely have to cut ties with the man who had kidnapped her. She didn’t want to be part of their world, and that meant Nico could never be part of hers, assuming he wanted to.

  Which was a pretty big assumption.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, sinking deeper into the pillow. A moment later she heard a bang from somewhere outside her room. She opened her eyes just as the sound of breaking glass crashed through the building.

  She bolted upright, her heart picking up its pace in her chest. A series of thuds sounded in quick succession, and then there was no doubt.

  It was gunfire. Somewhere in the building, someone was shooting.

  She heard the sound of men shouting and jumped out of bed, walking cautiously to the door as a cacophony of gunfire, breaking glass, and splintered wood exploded from elsewhere in the building.

  It was reflex to look for a way out. Stupid. She’d already looked a thousand times. But something was going on outside, and she was locked up in this stupid room, completely helpless.

  A burst of noise, closer now, came from outside her room. She stepped back from the door, not wanting to get hit by a stray bullet, and tried to stay calm around the adrenaline flooding her brain.

  Fight or flight. Except there was no flight.

  Tuning her ears to the sounds outside the room, she tried to determine what was going on from the shouting and exchange of gunfire. She jumped as a series of staccato bursts rang from the hall. Whoever it was would reach her in seconds.

  She scanned the room, desperate for a weapon. It was pointless. Nico hadn’t given her anything but clothes ands toiletries. There wasn’t even an object heavy enough to hit someone over the head.

  The shouting was just outside her door now, the pop of gunfire nearly continuous as she backed up against the wall. Seconds later, something smashed against the door in three sharp cracks.

  She jumped, watching the door splinter as the banging continued. She barely had time to register what was happening when the door crashed inward.

  Two black-clad figures in masks strode into the room and headed right for her.

  She shook her head. “What are you doing? Who are - ”

  One of the men grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Move,” he ordered, propelling her toward the door.

  The other man stood in front of them, covering them with his gun as Angel was shoved forward.

  She struggled, kicking and screaming, trying to wrench her arm free from the man’s steely grasp. There was a voice inside her asking what she was doing—she wanted to escape, didn’t she?—but it was drowned out by the panic of being dragged kicking and screaming from the place that had sheltered her for the last week.

  “Stop it,” the man ordered. “You’re father sent us. We’re trying to get you out of here.”

  She stopped fighting and moved with them to the door. The man still had ahold of her arm, but she wasn’t resisting anymore. She was finally going to get out of here.

  Nico.

  She ignored the voice inside her head and moved.


  20

  He’d been in his office, trying to concentrate on work instead of the dilemma with Angel, when the first round of gunfire erupted from downstairs.

  He jumped up, reflex kicking in as he grabbed his gun. He flattened himself against the wall next to the door and listened, trying to get a handle on how many shooters were in the building and what they were up against.

  It took him less than a minute to determine there were at least three gunmen, maybe as many as five. He hurried to his desk, grabbed extra ammo, and stuffed it in his pockets. Then he threw open the door and eased into the quiet third floor hall.

  He was working his way carefully toward the stairs when Luca burst out of the stairwell with his own gun in hand.

  Nico lowered his weapon. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Luca ran toward him. “Five gunmen, three of them heading for the basement.”

  “Then what the fuck are you doing up here?” Nico roared, running for the stairs.

  “Marco and Vincent are going for her,” he said, following Nico into the stairwell.

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” He was screaming inside, the placidity he’d learned to count on abandoning him at the thought of Carlo’s thugs going for Angel. Carlo might be her father, but Nico didn’t trust him or his soldiers.

  He stood against the wall, listening for sounds in the stairwell, then took a careful look down the stairs.

  Clear.

  He hurried down, half-expecting someone to burst into the stairwell from one of the other floors.

  “I’ve got to get you out of here,” Luca said, descending after him. “If they’re Carlo’s men, they’re going to take Angelica and then come for you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Nico said. “Angel won’t stand a chance in a gunfight.”

  Luca’s hand came down on Nico’s arms. “If they were sent by her father, they’re not going to hurt her.”

  Nico shook off Luca’s hand. “Take your hand off me.”

  Luca removed his hand.

  “Do you think Carlo gives a fuck about her?” Anger fought its way through the adrenaline pumping in Nico’s veins. “He’s left her with us for over a week. She’s better off with us at this point.” He leveled his gaze at Luca. “Now you can either come with me or go help someone else, but I’m not going to debate it with you.”