Into the Fire (New York Syndicate Book 2)

by Michelle St. James

  She stood to leave and was surprised by the strength of his grip on her wrist.

  “You don’t walk away from me, bella. Not ever. I say when we’re done talking.”

  She turned to face him, had to force herself not to flinch in the face of the rage playing on his face. Primo in his fury-filled incarnation had become her boogeyman. It had long been the thing she ran from, the thing she hid from, the thing that had the most control over her.

  No more.

  She’d been to hell and back. Had dodged bullets in Capri and been dragged away from the man she loved in the night. She’d been locked up and beaten, forced to fear for her life.

  She’d survived, and now she knew Damian was right: she was stronger than she realized.

  She’d been strong all along.

  “Get your hand off me, Primo.” She was surprised by the coldness in her voice. “Now.”

  He blinked and let go.

  “You don’t get to touch me anymore,” she said. “You don’t get to bully me anymore. I’m here because you’re my brother, because I love you, But love isn’t supposed to hurt, Primo. I know that now.”

  She did. She knew it because of Damian.

  “Bella, wait…” Desperation had crept back into Primo’s voice.

  “Think about what I said, Primo. I’ll be in touch.”

  She walked out of the cafe, tears stinging her eyes. Was it possible to be both strong and sad? To love someone and be determined not to let them hurt you?

  Yes, she decided.

  Yes.

  17

  Damian picked up the phone on the first ring. “Yes?”

  “She’s on her way back,” Cole said.

  Damian resisted the urge to exhale with relief. “Don’t leave her until she’s in the elevator.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Damian tossed his phone onto the table and turned to the suite’s windows. The sun was setting over Paris, the cloudy sky a swirl of steely lavender.

  He’d left Christophe’s cyber lab after Cole’s second call — the one where he’d told Damian that Aria was meeting with Primo near the catacombs. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to head directly to the cafe and pull Aria out — by force if necessary.

  The thought of her with Primo, with the brother who had sold her out to Gatti and Anastos to satisfy his own insecurity, his own jealousy, made Damian want to punch something.

  Or someone.

  Or multiple someones.

  But force wasn’t what Aria needed from him. She still hadn’t broken open about what had happened in Greece. That meant it was still in there, festering, waiting for release.

  She’d been sexually ravenous since her rescue, her appetite surprising even to him. He understood, recognized the impulse to lose yourself in powerful sensation that blotted out all else. It was the same impulse that had driven him to fight and train while he’d been plotting her rescue, the same impulse that had forced him to steer clear of his thoughts.

  Thoughts were dangerous — deadly even — when you were vulnerable.

  He knew that better than anyone.

  Aria’s determination to avoid processing what had happened to her put her at risk — she just didn’t know it yet. Her kidnapping would always be a source of vulnerability until she faced it. She was off-balance but convinced she was just fine.

  A dangerous combination.

  Add to that the fact that she didn’t know Primo had been involved in her kidnapping and Damian shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d met with Primo.

  Damian didn’t have any siblings. He didn’t understand the connection. Sharing his history with Aria was one thing, but he had no desire to share such intimate details of his past with someone who had suffered alongside him.

  But he knew Aria and Primo had been through a lot together. Knew they’d come through the death of their parents, that Primo had supported Aria through high school and college. Aria had been Primo’s touchstone, pulling him back to the side of sanity when the riptide of his madness threatened to pull him too far out to sea.

  Damian had to imagine it was an airtight bond. He’d underestimated it, should have arranged for Aria to contact Primo while he was present, get it out of the way while she was protected.

  Most of all he should have told her about Primo’s involvement in her kidnapping. Damian had been trying to protect her, but she had a right to know. Had a right to protect herself from Primo.

  Damian stalked to the bar and poured himself a drink. He’d had no idea when he left Cole at the hotel to keep an eye on Aria that he would be protecting her from herself. He’d assumed the threat was Malcolm and Anastos, that if they got wind of Damian’s presence in Paris they would come after Aria again.

  The oversight had been his — which didn’t mean he wasn’t furious.

  He was contemplating the wisdom of another drink when he heard the click of the lock on the suite’s door. He set down the bottle and turned to face the door in time to watch Aria step across the threshold.

  She didn’t see him at first. It had been daylight when he’d returned to the hotel and he hadn't bothered turning on the lights as the afternoon darkened. He watched her unwind her scarf, remove her coat. She jumped a little when she saw him and held a hand to her chest.

  “Damian! You scared me half to death.” She walked toward him, then froze in her tracks. “You had me followed.”

  He wasn’t surprised that she knew. She was no fool.

  “It’s a good thing,” he said. “You could have been killed.”

  “Primo isn’t going to hurt me,” she said. “He’s my brother.”

  Damian inhaled, forced himself to control the storm raging in his body. It was a storm born of anger and fear and love, all churning inside him like a violent hurricane.

  “You told me you wouldn’t contact him.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I changed my mind.”

  He stalked toward her. “That’s not your decision to make.”

  “He’s my brother.” She walked to the bar, poured herself a drink and tossed it back. “If it’s not my decision, whose is it?”

  “You put us all at risk.” He hated himself for saying it. He wasn’t worried about himself or Cole or anyone else. It was the thought of losing her that had shaken him to his core.

  She turned to face him. “I’m sorry you think that,” she said. “For the record, I was careful. No one followed me.”

  “Cole was on your tail the whole time,” Damian said. “Did you spot him?”

  “No, but since you were having me followed, I imagine Cole would have noticed a tail, don’t you think?”

  Her attitude was getting under her skin. He’d expected her to beg for forgiveness.

  To be sorry at least.

  He hadn’t been prepared for her show of stubbornness.

  “I’m glad you can be so cavalier about this, Aria.” He turned to face the window, wishing he’d had time to pour that second drink. “It was foolish. Reckless.”

  A moment passed before he felt her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you. I knew you would say no.”

  He spun to face her. “You’re fucking right I would have said no.”

  “Why?” she cried. “Why is it so wrong for me to want to talk to my brother?”

  “Because he’s a blind spot for you, Aria,” he said. “You don’t know him like you think you do.”

  “And you do?” she challenged him.

  “I know more than you think,” he said softly.

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “Bullshit. You’ve met him once. I’ve known him my whole life. I know he can be erratic and stupid, but I also know he can be kind and generous. I know Malcolm brings out the worst in him, but I also know I’m the one person who can keep him sane.”

  His fear for her mingled with his anger, all of it from the same source.

  All of it stemming from his desire to protect her, his terror over losing her again.<
br />
  He tried to stuff it down, to keep it in the locked box where he’d been keeping his anger since getting Aria out of Greece. The rage had served him well when he’d been planning her rescue, but it wasn’t what she needed from him once she was safe.

  It wasn’t working. All he could see was Aria’s terrified face as she’d been pulled over the balcony in Capri, the squalor of the apartment in Greece, her pale skin and emaciated form, the compliant way she’d let him bathe her in Italy, so unlike the fiery woman he’d met in New York three months ago.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Aria,” he said quietly.

  He walked to the bar and poured himself another drink with shaking hands.

  “Then tell me! If you know so much about Primo, tell me, because right now it just seems like you want to keep me from my brother.”

  He drained the drink and turned toward her. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a voice screaming at him to be careful.

  To be gentle.

  It was stifled by the roar of his fear and anger.

  “It was him,” he said. “It was Primo.”

  She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  He walked to his bag on the table in the suite, removed a folder full of paper, and handed it to her. “Primo worked with Malcolm and Anastos to kidnap you from Capri.”

  She took the folder but didn’t move to open it. “I don’t believe you.”

  He nodded at the folder. “It’s all there.”

  Her throat rippled as she swallowed. She opened the folder and paged through the sheets of paper. A moment later they slid to the floor, her hands falling to her sides.

  He crossed the space between them. put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook off his hands. “You’ve known this whole time?”

  He nodded. “I wanted to protect you.”

  She backed away from him. “By lying to me?”

  Her words weren’t a surprise. He’d known she would be angry. But she was so calm, her voice so flat. Nothing scared him more than that. It was like watching her disappear inside herself.

  “You’d been kept prisoner for two months, Aria. I wanted to give you time to recover.”

  Her eyes had gone glassy, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

  She shook her head and backed toward the door. “I can’t do this. I can’t do any of this.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked. “Let me come with you, Aria. It’s not safe for you to go out alone right now.”

  She opened the door and spun to face him, her face a mask of pain.

  “It’s not safe for me anywhere right now.”

  He wanted to tell her she was always safe with him. Always. But she was gone before the words emerged from his throat.

  He fought the urge to go after her, to follow her at least. It was the last thing she would want. He picked up his phone, dialed Cole instead.

  “Boss?”

  “Follow her,” Damian said. “Keep your distance, but keep her safe.”

  “Done.”

  Damian disconnected the call. He stood in silence, replaying everything that had been said, the expressions of disbelief and pain that had crossed Aria’s delicate face.

  She’d seen too much pain already. Damian was going to make Primo pay for visiting more of it on her.

  He let the fury build in him until he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, until it crawled out of his skin. Then he swept his laptop off the table, sending the computer crashing against the wall.

  18

  Aria didn’t know where she was going or what she hoped to accomplish. She knew only that she needed to escape the hotel room, the pity in Damian’s eyes.

  That was the worst part — knowing she’d been naive enough to believe Primo hadn’t played a part in her kidnapping, that she’d said as much to Damian.

  That she’d defended Primo.

  And all along Damian had known, had kept her from the truth.

  Even now, she was reasonable enough to know her anger wasn’t directed at Damian. He’d lied, yes, but only to protect her. That’s not what had driven her from the hotel, out onto the cold, damp streets of Paris.

  It was the revelation itself, the knowledge that Primo had played a part in her kidnapping. That he'd subjected her to the shootout in Italy and the terrifying flight across the water to Greece, the long weeks in the apartment in Athens, Malcolm’s questions and violence.

  He hadn’t even come to see her. She didn’t know why that part hurt, but it did. He hadn’t even wanted to make sure for himself that she was okay. He’d trusted Malcolm even with that. Then he’d met her in Paris and lied to her face.

  It was evening, the streets already dark and filled with late commuters heading home after work and others on their way out to the city’s bars and restaurants. She had no idea where she was going or how far she’d come from the hotel when she found herself on the bank of the Seine.

  A white bridge stretched over the water, the city’s old fashioned street lamps lighting the way across. The Eiffel Tower rose beyond it, an advertisement for Paris’s magic.

  She sat on one of the old iron benches and wrapped her arms across her body.

  She’d been too shaken to remember a jacket on her way out of the hotel, and while it wasn’t as cold as New York in January, it was close. She’d been warm while she was walking — heated by anger and the movement of her legs — but now the cold began to seep into her bones.

  She ignored it, focusing instead on the scent of the cool air, moist and peaty, wafting off the Seine. It was different from the smell of the river in New York, and she remembered all the times she and Primo had taken long walks through the city when they were too young and broke to do much else.

  They’d walked the city a hundred times over, always somehow making their way to the water. There they would sit, sometimes in silence, other times talking about their parents, and later, Primo’s dreams for the future of his business.

  He’d come a long way in spite of his illness, especially given his lack of treatment. In fact, his ability to amass a fortune, to lead a contingent of dangerous, violent men, was a small miracle.

  His success had been a blessing and a curse. It had allowed her to attend college, to fool herself into thinking they were normal at a time when she desperately needed it to be true.

  But it had also allowed her to forget how sick Primo was. It had allowed her to make excuses, to convince herself that he was manageable, that even if Malcolm sometimes preyed on Primo’s worst instincts, she could counter them.

  It had been a kind of narcissism. She’d wanted to see herself as Primo’s savior, as the one person who could save him from himself.

  A mental illness in its own right.

  It had taken this to come to her senses —the knowledge that Primo had sanctioned her kidnapping on Capri. That he’d sanctioned her imprisonment in Greece.

  What did that say about her?

  There were other questions pushing at the back of her mind. How long would he have allowed it to continue? Would he have eventually ordered her release? Or would he have had her killed to keep her from Damian?

  She was no longer sure.

  She looked out over the water, watched a couple lean into each other as they made their way across the bridge. It made her think of Damian, of the strength he’d shown in coming for her in Greece.

  Of the tenderness he’d shown her since then.

  She’d never doubted him. Not once. Even in the hotel when he’d been telling her about Primo, she’d known he’d lied to protect her. That he would do anything to keep protecting her. Confronting him with the lie was just a way of avoiding the real issue of Primo’s betrayal.

  She’d made Damian’s takeover of the New York territory — made his life — exponentially more difficult. She hadn’t even been able to wrap her head around what it had taken to get Farrell Black and the other Syndicate leaders to commit to her rescue in Athen
s, but she knew Damian had done it. That he’d done whatever it took.

  Damian had never been the problem. It was her — her refusal to see Primo clearly, to admit the danger he posed not just to her but to Damian and everyone in her life.

  She hadn’t wanted to choose. Now she saw that not choosing was a luxury she could no longer afford. It meant turning a blind eye to everything Primo was — and that meant turning a blind eye to the danger he posed to Damian.

  To her.

  She’d read the emails with her own eyes. Had seen him okay Malcolm’s plans to work with the Greeks, to take her to Athens.

  Maybe that will teach her a lesson…

  The words, embedded in her mind, swam before her eyes. Primo’s words.

  He’d sanctioned her kidnapping not out of some grand strategy to overtake Damian. That she might have at least understood, but he’d agreed to Malcolm’s plan simply to teach her a lesson, to grind the ax of his jealousy over the fact that she’d left New York with Damian.

  Everything she needed to know about her brother was contained in that realization.

  The only question now was whether she was strong enough not just to face the truth but to do something about it. Was she strong enough to accept what Primo had become? Was she strong enough to make a choice once and for all? To stand by that choice whatever the future brought?

  She considered the alternative, tried to imagine herself leaving Damian, returning to New York with Primo, being wholly on his side in the fight for New York, doing it in the name of family. It would mean setting aside everything she believed in, everything she now knew about her brother. It would mean setting aside what little honor and dignity she had left. It would mean giving her implicit approval for Primo’s tactics — tactics like setting fire to the shelter on Franklin street, imprisoning someone like her just to make a point.

  It was unimaginable.

  Then again, she could stay with Damian and refuse to take sides. Be the same rudderless boat she’d always been, adrift on the seas of everyone else’s decisions.