Dagger in the Sea

by Cat Porter

  Lovely, my ass.

  I’d live, although my cock was really pissed off, not to mention my fucking ego. I hadn’t flirted like that in fuck knows how long. Not just the same old suggestive bullshit and teasing looks back and forth, but something else. Something more. I’d actually enjoyed myself. Imagine that.

  Her warm scent lingered, teasing me—cinnamon, nutmeg, barely sweet, something darker. My insides hardened. Just as well; that’s not why I was here. Yeah, she was definitely different, but hell, I could get a flavor of the week any time of day or night back in Chicago.

  Note to self: Ask Tricia if she has any Mediterranean goddesses with an accent on the payroll. If not, get on it immediately.

  The happy couple hovered at the table with Gennaro Aliberti. Alessio brushed the side of her face with a quick kiss like a caring boyfriend would. Why hadn’t he torn my head off, or hers for that matter, when he’d found us together?

  Was Adriana one of the girls at the café with the Alibertis today? She looked different now with her hair down, glamorous short dress—not capri jeans, a loose blouse and sandals, sunglasses, a ponytail. Fuck, yes, it was her.

  A blonde stepped in my eyesight and spoke to me in a torrent of Greek, blocking my view of Alessio and Adriana. The woman laughed, holding out an unlit cigarette.

  “I don’t smoke.” I glared coldly at her, and she quickly turned off her tap of cloying words and fawning looks.

  Gennaro crossed the club terrace followed by his bodyguard. Luca, along with Alessio holding Adriana by the hand, also left their table. Other members of their group trailed behind. They were leaving.

  I paid my tab, which took forever, and quickly pushed through the crowd past the stone archway toward the main entrance. Outside, people stood waiting for their cars, waiting for taxis, talking, talking on their mobile phones. Flashing lights went off. Paparazzi stood in bunches to the left and right, on the other side of the road, yelling out names. People I assumed were Greek celebrities waved at them, posed, talked to the photographers. Others ignored them and hustled into cars, taking off.

  Alessio stood with his arm around Adriana speaking to her and she nodded, her body somewhat stiff, lips pressed together. He kissed the top of her head once more, and she leaned into him. She was uneasy. I ground my teeth. Their intimacy pissed me off. He still didn’t seem angry or annoyed with her though. He’d found his girlfriend kissing another man on their night out. Then again I’d only been her bit of fun while he’d been “busy” as she’d put it. I’d spotted him with another woman earlier.

  Was this their entertainment when they went out? They’d arrive together but give each other the freedom to play over the course of the evening? And now they’d go back to his hotel room and swap tales as they fucked wildly.

  The images exploded in my head, injecting their poisonous fumes into my lungs.

  One

  after

  the other

  after the other.

  I had a healthy imagination, which was good, but often not.

  Like now.

  My pulse sped, cold adrenaline surged up my chest and down to my fingertips, my blood icy, slewing through my veins. I swallowed hard against the urge to go bash that pretty boy face of his.

  This isn’t Chicago. Take a breath. She’s just another girl.

  Luca smoked a cigarette at Alessio’s side, his eyes on a group of women being photographed. Alessio had let go of Adriana and was in deep discussion with his uncle.

  “Adri!” someone shouted. Adriana pivoted quickly and lost her balance on those damned heels again. She rolled her eyes, grinning, wiping her hair back from her face.

  Fuck, she’s adorable. Hardly the pretentious beauty she could so easily be.

  She steadied herself, the lines of her face relaxing as she approached the woman she obviously knew. They embraced, exchanged Greek double kisses, spoke, laughed, and the friend got into a waiting Lamborghini.

  Adriana flinched at the shrill scream of a motorcycle on the bend of the narrow waterfront road. A hand went to her heaving chest. She turned away from the road, and her troubled gaze snagged on mine. Her eyes widened, and my pulse gained speed.

  Remember me, baby?

  Her lips parted, she shook her head at me. A slight movement, but I caught it. Was she calling Game Over or was she warning me off? Maybe she hadn’t been some random girl bumping into me, flirting with me? Did the Alibertis know I was shadowing them and had sicced Adriana on me as a distraction?

  Only one way to find out.

  I strode toward her. Toward them. The traffic on the road behind her got thicker. A tourist bus, droning motor scooters with helmet-less teens, motorcycles with couples, cars.

  Those blue gray eyes got huge. “Turo?” Adriana said, her voice low, stiff.

  “Leaving so soon?” I asked.

  Her long, elegant neck straightened. A swan preparing to take flight.

  Not so fast, Lovely.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” I asked.

  Alessio prowled over. Luca tossed his cigarette, tracking to the other side of Adriana. Alessio’s dark eyes gleamed as he gave me a curt shake of his head. That Italian “Who the fuck are you, what the fuck is this?”

  “Turo DeMarco.” I stretched out my hand to Alessio.

  Alessio stared at my hand, an eyebrow raised. His full lips twisted into a smirk. Luca’s face was a mask.

  “Adriana! Adrianaaaa!” shouted photographers from across the street. She immediately turned her back to them, pressing next to Alessio, her body bunching up. She was uncomfortable.

  “Adriana!” the paps shouted. Her jaw set, her face tightened. Was she famous?

  “Ignore them, Adri,” muttered Alessio, a hand at her back.

  Just over her shoulder, a few yards beyond us on the main road, a mud splashed motorcycle with two helmeted figures in long sleeved jackets slowed down at the curve approaching the club’s entrance, weaving in front of the line of cars parked at the end of the walkway. They moved deftly, swiftly. They weren’t paparazzi. They weren’t club-goers. Not to this club.

  Needles pricked the back of my neck.

  The rider in the back raised his arm, a semi-automatic in his grip.

  I lunged at Adriana.

  Crack. Crack.

  Twisting her into me, I rolled onto the ground with her in my arms. I covered her, our bodies pressed together into the pavement. She clung to me.

  Rat-tat-clip-clip-crack.

  A high-pitched scream ripped the air above us. Muffled moans. A tidal wave of shouts.

  I pushed up, digging my fingers in her hair, cradling the side of her pale face. Anguish, terror. “Are you all right?” my voice as tense as my grip on her. “Adriana? Are you okay?”

  “Yes! Yes—” She couldn’t catch her breath, her eyes opened widened even more, flitting to the side of my face. A hand reached out, touching the side of my stinging face. Blood stained her shaking fingers.

  I touched the side of my face and found torn, wet skin. Must have been from falling to the sidewalk.

  Alessio, Luca over us. A flurry of Greek, Italian. I pulled her up and held on to her. Her arms were cold, so cold. Alessio, the bodyguard, an ashen Gennaro hanging behind him. Luca shouting, gesturing. My head reeled, was I swaying on my feet? I grabbed Alessio by the shirt.

  “That motorcycle—” I gulped in air. “Did you see that motorcycle?”

  “Si.” Alessio grabbed Adriana whose eyes stayed on me, not wanting to let go. Alessio took her and brushed past me, and I staggered.

  “Turo!” shouted Adriana, looking over Alessio’s shoulder, eyes wild. She fisted Alessio’s shirt. “Don’t leave him here! Don’t!”

  A thick arm wrapped around me like a stiff belt, a hand at my chest, holding me up. Luca steered me toward a black Porsche Cayenne manned by a security guard who held the back door open. Alessio and Adriana climbed inside.

  “Come.” Luca picked up his pace, leading me towar
d the car. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  I shoved him off me. “What are you talking about?”

  He grabbed my arm again. “You are coming with us.”

  12

  Turo

  The heavy doors of the Porsche thudded closed, and the sudden stifling interior of the crowded SUV made me lightheaded. Alessio, Adri, and me in the back, the driver and Luca up front. Gennaro and his bodyguard were in another Cayenne in front of us. We tore out of the parking lane and zoomed down the road, police sirens blaring in our wake.

  Luca tossed me a first aid kit from the front seat, and I got the box open, tore at gauze, an antiseptic wipe. I glanced down at Adriana who sat in between me and Alessio. Dull eyes brimming with water, pressing her lips together against their trembling. She was visibly upset, but not hysterical. No, she was clamping it down, holding it in. Trying to control it. Something told me this wasn’t new to her.

  Not even an hour ago she’d exuded a breezy self confidence, sexual allure, radiated glamour, but now, now she was a terrified and withdrawn girl. A girl whose body shuddered against mine. Had those bullets been meant for her?

  Her hands curled into fists in her lap. My hand slid over hers, my thumb stroking over her cold flesh. She let out a ragged breath, her hand turning, clasping mine.

  Alessio leaned forward toward his brother. “What the fuck was that?” he bit out in Italian.

  I winced at his sharp tone. My skull ached, the blasts still echoing in my head. That pitched wave of screaming, everyone crouching, scattering like rodents played over and over again in my brain, in my bones.

  Alessio and Luca argued, Luca spitting out a torrent of seething Italian at his brother and Alessio firing back. It was all too quick for me to understand, but I recognized the name of another Naples family. Did a rival family follow them to Greece?

  Alessio slid back against the leather seat. “We weren’t even supposed to be here tonight, but you insisted, Luca.”

  “I heard it was a great club, I wanted to see for myself,” Luca replied, his voice colorless.

  “This cannot be happening. Not now, dammit!” Alessio rubbed a hand down his face.

  “Have you pissed someone off since you got to Greece?” I said.

  “We piss people off all the time,” replied Luca calmly, his gaze sliding to mine. “And you?”

  “Me?” I asked.

  Had Valerio told the Tantuccis about my killing Med? Were they out for me all the way here across the Atlantic? Slightly melodramatic? Not really. Nowadays, families were huge organizations that had multinational business relationships. Anything was possible.

  Alessio’s narrowed eyes darted to my and Adriana’s hands clasped together. “Who the fuck are you to even open your mouth?” His sharp voice split the air. “Why is he here?”

  “Alessio—”Adriana wiped at her face. “Turo saved my life and yours.”

  “Yes, so he did.” Alessio focused on Adriana, his tone now considerably softer.

  Her hold on my hand remained tight. “The gunshots, the sounds, the screaming…just like…”

  “No cara, no,” Alessio murmured. “This was different.”

  She’d been through a gun assault before? Because of Aliberti? Who the hell was she, really? She clamped her eyes shut, her hand in mine remained cold, stiff. She was doing battle with memories of the past and sensations of the present. A grim twist remained on Alessio’s mouth.

  “I can’t get Papa on the phone, and I really don’t want to try again if someone is tracking us.” Luca smacked his cell phone on his thigh, releasing a wave of Italian curses. “We must leave Athens. Now. Tonight.” Luca’s jaw muscles flexed, his hard gaze drilling holes into me. “You will come with us.”

  My pulse drummed. Adriana stiffened at my side.

  “What? Why?” spit out Alessio.

  “His response out there was quick, efficient. Professional,” said Luca in that low, ominous Italian accented English of his. “I know who you are, Turo DeMarco, and I want you on this trip. You are of use to me.”

  Of use to him? To Luca Aliberti?

  The back of my neck razored with a thousand spikes like it did with every confrontation, expected and unexpected. Part excitement, part tense twitchiness. I let go of Adriana’s hand. “And what do I get out of this?”

  “A few moments with my uncle. Isn’t that why you’re here?” Luca said, his lips curling at the edges.

  Adriana sat up against the dense leather upholstery of the seat. “What are you talking about?”

  Luca ignored her. “If you cooperate, Mr. DeMarco, my uncle may be open to discussion.”

  “Adriana,” Alessio said, his voice just above a whisper, a hand on her leg. “You keep refusing to have security on you, even after everything that’s happened, and I keep telling you, your father keeps telling you, but you are stubborn.”

  “Having security with me attracts more attention, Alessio. The kind of attention I’ve been trying to avoid,” she replied.

  “No. After tonight, you need professional protection.”

  “Now, you have Turo,” Luca said.

  “Ti?” she said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, what the hell are you talking about?” my voice snapped.

  A thick eyebrow rose up Alessio’s forehead. “Don’t tell me you two aren’t pleased.”

  “I’m not for hire,” I gritted out.

  “Yes, you are.” Luca’s dark gaze slid to me. “For as long as we need you.”

  Pulsing against my aching skull, that tick went off in my head. My what-the-fuck tick. My this-isn’t-everything-it-appears-to-be tick. My there’s-something-behind-door-number-three tick.

  I’d been recognized by my targets, hired by them, and I had no choice but to go off with them on their yacht. Glass half full or glass half empty? At least there would be Greek wine in that damned glass.

  Adriana muttered something in Greek, folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead, legs pressed together. Her body no longer touched mine. What did she object to more—having a bodyguard or having me as that bodyguard?

  I settled back in my seat. There were worse assignments than being a beautiful young woman’s security detail on a yacht, Greek island hopping. Most definitely, incredibly fucking worse assignments and I’d had quite a few in my time.

  Alessio rubbed a hand down his face. He was troubled by the shooting, by me, by plenty more. He sprang forward toward his brother. “Luca, everything this week in Mykonos must go perfectly. Cleanly. Capisce?”

  Luca didn’t even look at him, his attention remained on the road ahead.

  “Kaspar is flying in from Norway or Berlin or wherever the hell he is now,” Alessio continued. “All sorts of celebrities will be there, even the Mahmouds from Dubai. Tag is coming from Istanbul with friends from London and—”

  “They are my friends too, Alessio,” Luca muttered, cutting him off with his low, grim voice in Italian.

  “Yes, they are. But this is a very special time for me and my company, Luca. Adri and I organized this party for almost a year, and it’s fucking important. And you—” he shot his brother an even darker look, a snarl on his lips.

  Luca’s eyebrow arched, his jaw set, offering his own warning, his own ultimatum. Weapons drawn against a threat.

  Alessio’s shoulders rose, his teeth dragging on his lower lip as he took in a deep breath, maybe to help him rearrange his words, his argument, to get a grip on his temper. “You take care of what you need to do without the crazy, eh? If this gets fucked up for me—if you start—”

  Luca’s eyes flared at his little brother. “Cosa?” He challenged him with a big ‘what are you gonna do about it’ in that smoky, ominous voice of his. No challenges tolerated. Alessio clamped his mouth shut and slid back in his seat.

  There was tension between the Aliberti brothers.

  I knew Luca, unlike Alessio, worked directly with their father along with two older brothers of theirs. Ale
ssio was the youngest of the four brothers. Obviously, Luca was on some sort of business trip here to Greece and not just vacationing with his brother and uncle, and Alessio wasn’t happy about it.

  “We are getting on the boat tonight,” Luca said, his hard gaze landing on me. “All of us.”

  13

  Turo

  We got into the heart of Athens where I picked up my small suitcase from my hotel and checked out. Now, we were headed to Adri’s house in a northern suburb so she could grab her bag.

  “It’s about time they finished building this bloody highway,” muttered Alessio as the Cayenne flew over the smooth asphalt.

  We were headed north on the new Attikí Othos highway which ribboned through Athens connecting the city to the surrounding suburbs. An essential in preparing for the Olympics next summer.

  We exited off the highway and a sign flashed by—Ekáli. Manicured, fenced off properties, tree lined streets and huge villas, some modern and new in their sleek, clean lines, others older with the aristocratic charm of a bygone age. We stopped at a huge, black iron gate decorated with griffins, and Alessio got out of the vehicle, letting Adriana out to tap in the key code. They got back in the Cayenne, and the gates opened. We passed through and up a slight hill of lush green lawn enclosed by a high stone wall. A contemporary Mediterranean mansion rose before us. Adriana took in a tight breath at my side.

  The SUV came to a stop, and I immediately opened the door and got out, holding out my hand to her. She took it, hers still cold, shaky. She quivered, her legs as unsteady as a young deer’s.

  I quickly gripped her waist, pulling her up against me. “Adriana?”

  Her eyes skidded to mine. “I’m fine. Fine.” Her voice trembled.

  “Not fine enough. Why don’t I come in with you?” I said.

  She pulled away from me. “You take your new job quite seriously, don’t you?”

  Alessio lit a cigarette. “It’s a good idea. Go with her. Don’t be long.”