Life Sentence

by Jennifer Dunne

  Life Sentence

  Jennifer Dunne

  Samantha Taylor expected the erotic art book to offer her an escape, not release Master Giacomo. Italian, hunky and a skilled Master, Giacomo is a triple-threat devoted to giving Sam the ultimate pleasure as his submissive.

  Having let one man control her life, Sam will be damned if she’d let another do it, no matter how much he makes her body burn. But Giacomo is damned—and if he fails to dominate Sam, he really will go to Hell.

  Publisher’s Note: Originally available in the Summon the Masters anthology.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Life Sentence

  ISBN 9781419926136

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Life Sentence Copyright © 2007 Jennifer Dunne

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication 2007

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Life Sentence

  Jennifer Dunne

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Toys “R” Us: Geoffrey, Inc.

  The Twilight Zone: CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  Prologue

  Summer, 1967

  “He’s a menace. The officials should bar him from racing.”

  Giacomo Bravetti turned from the hydroplane race where Rodrigo Valente’s boat had just forced its way inside of another craft to gain speed around the turn, their sponsons passing within inches of each other, and smiled at his younger brother. “You’re just upset you’re not out there with them.”

  “I should be. If Valente hadn’t damaged my hull last week…” Nico’s glare could have ignited the motorboat fuel into a fireball, although minor crashes like the one he’d had with Valente were commonplace in the sport. At least one racer was sitting out for repairs at every meet, but Nico had no patience when he was the one with no ride. “Jeffrey’s right behind him. But he’s too conservative. He could catch him if he opened up the throttle a little more.”

  Giacomo glanced at Jeffrey Middlemarch’s bright yellow motorboat. Its sponsons slapped the water as it rounded the buoy then rose out of the water in the straightaway. Unlike his boat-crazy brother, Giacomo’s interest in hydroplane design was academic, the subject just one of the many facets of racing he’d analyzed and mastered to understand his brother’s obsession.

  He shook his head. “It’s riding rough. I don’t think he’s quite got the new design perfected.”

  “That’s just because he’s behind the others, crossing their wakes.”

  They watched in silence, the thundering roar of the aircraft engines powering the approaching boats making further discussion impossible, even drowning out the amplified voice of the announcer calling the race. Giacomo narrowed his gaze on Jeffrey’s boat as a dark green challenger sped alongside it. An American by the name of Michaelson, he had only joined the European circuit this year, but his different style of driving had already caused quite a stir. The yellow boat rocked, losing precious seconds, and the challenger flew past.

  The four leaders circled the near turn in a tight pack, the two remaining boats in the heat charging down the straightaway well behind them with no hope of a win.

  Valente’s bright red boat surged forward as he opened the throttle to full power. At over a hundred miles per hour, the craft was a red blur.

  His wake pushed the white boat behind him to the right just as the green boat tried to pass. The American swerved to avoid him and caught the tip of his sponson in the chop. The green boat spun out of control, crashing into the rear of the white boat.

  Both boats broke apart, their drivers thrown from the wreckage by the force of the collision. A collective gasp of horror rose from the crowd as thousands of spectators held their breaths, waiting to see if the drivers were all right. The announcer’s voice called out the details of the crash in hushed tones. Jeffrey cut his speed and circled wide around the accident.

  The driver of the white boat surfaced, clinging to one of his sponsons, and waved at the crowd, signaling that he was not injured. A cheer went up, cut short by the announcer’s curt, “There’s a body in the water. Michaelson is floating among the wreckage of the Sweet Liberty and he’s not moving.”

  Giacomo stiffened, adding his silent prayer to those he knew the crowd around him was saying. Minor crashes were common in the sport and spinouts or flips could easily destroy hundreds of thousands of dollars in equipment. As soon as they could get another boat in the water, the teams would be racing again. But very few men had the courage and skill required to drive a thunderboat, and any serious injury sent shock waves through the racing community.

  The accident had taken mere seconds and Jeffrey’s boat was just now rounding the debris. Instead of resuming the race and trying to catch Valente, he dove into the water and swam to the unconscious driver, turning him over and holding his head above water. A bright red flare burst in the sky as the officials halted the race.

  Giacomo could barely see the two men bobbing amid the waves and scattered debris. A chunk of debris briefly blocked his view and he hoped it hadn’t hit them. But Jeffrey managed to keep his hold on the other man until the rescue boats arrived and Michaelson could be loaded into an inflatable stretcher.

  The rescue team fastened the stretcher down, their every move described by the announcer. Then one of the rescuers raised his arm, signaling the shore.

  “Michaelson has opened his eyes,” the announcer reported, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

  Giacomo let out his breath in relief and turned to smile at his brother. Nico was cheering and waving like the rest of the crowd.

  Jeffrey declined the rescuers’ assistance and climbed back into his boat. As he turned his craft to shore, only his left hand was on the wheel. The announcer reported this development, speculating that his right arm might have been injured while he was in the water. If that were true, he wouldn’t be able to race in the rematch.

  “I’ve got to get down there,” Nico cried, race fever burning in his eyes. “He’ll need a substitute driver.”

  “There’s no hurry. It will take at least an hour to clear the course.”

  Giacomo could have saved his breath. Telling Nico there was no reason to hurry was about as useful as telling a hurricane there was no reason to blow so hard. He lived for speed.

  Shaking his head, Giacomo followed his brother more slowly through the crowd, pausing to speak to the business acquaintances who were his reason for attending the race. By the time he reached the Middlemarch
pit crew, Nico was already suited up and in Jeffrey’s boat.

  The announcer reported that Michaelson had been examined at the hospital. X-rays showed he had two cracked ribs but otherwise he would be fine. A second hearty cheer rose from the crowd, drowning out his next words and rendering the five-minute horn barely audible.

  Giacomo waved at his brother who returned the salute before starting the boat’s engine and motoring toward the starting line. Jeffrey stood beside him, silently watching his boat queuing up for the race.

  “Your first heat looked rough,” Giacomo said. “Are you sure the new design was tested enough?”

  Jeffrey startled, whirling to face him. “I didn’t see you there.”

  The crack of the starter’s pistol silenced any further conversation as the four remaining boats opened their throttles and roared down the straightaway. Valente’s red boat surged into the lead with Jeffrey’s yellow boat at his side. Slowly Nico edged forward, running neck and neck with Valente then beginning to pass him.

  They thundered up to the first turn buoy. Giacomo frowned. Valente was on the inside and would gain precious tenths of a second in the turn.

  “He’s not throttling back enough,” Jeffrey muttered beside him.

  As Valente slowed for the turn, Nico shot past him. He cut sharply, the yellow boat rocking violently as the sponsons bounced over the waves. The nose dipped, brushing the surface of the water and Giacomo’s heart clenched as he realized his brother was losing control of his boat.

  The world slowed and sound became a meaningless roar as Giacomo watched helpless. The front of Nico’s boat submerged, caught in the water, and the heavy engine thrust the rear of the boat into the air, flipping it over to crash upside down. The sponsons separated and the deck splintered, the boat snapping in two between the cockpit and engine compartment. The heavier engine section quickly sank.

  “Come on, Nico,” Giacomo whispered. “Get out of the cockpit.”

  But his brother did not appear.

  The rescue boat arrived, divers leaping into the cold water. Long seconds passed as they worked beneath the surface. Then their heads broke the water and they lifted a limp body out of the waves.

  “Nico!”

  He started forward, intent on rushing to the pier where the rescue boat would dock, but two firm hands held him back.

  “Wait, Giacomo. Give them room to work.”

  He struggled briefly against Jeffrey’s hold, unable to break it, then froze as the meaning caught up with his stunned brain. Jeffrey was strong enough to grip both of his arms. He was strong enough to drive his boat.

  “You knew. You knew there was something wrong with your boat and you let my brother drive it.”

  Jeffrey released him, stepping back. “There was nothing wrong with my boat. Nico took the turn too fast.”

  Giacomo growled but didn’t want to waste time debating with him. He turned and ran to the pier, forcing his way through the crowd with a mixture of apologies and curses. The leisurely pace of the rescue boat as it tied up to the dock told the tale but he refused to give up hope until they carried Nico’s lifeless body ashore, the unnatural angle of his head bearing mute testimony to the cause of death.

  Tears streamed down Giacomo’s cheeks as he fought his way to where the race doctor was declaring Nico officially dead. Grasping his brother’s cold hand in his, Giacomo fell to his knees. For the last five years since their parents’ deaths, Giacomo had cared for Nico like a father as well as a brother. He’d done his best but he’d failed. Silently, he vowed not to fail his last task for Nico—vengeance.

  His brother’s funeral was held at their family estate outside of Palermo with Nico’s final resting place in the private cemetery overlooking the ocean. Giacomo hoped the view would give his brother’s spirit joy. It was the least he could do for him.

  Jeffrey had the prudence to stay away, but many other racers came to pay their respects. Nico had been well-liked and his fellow racers mourned his death as a tragic accident.

  They didn’t know what Giacomo did. After the mourners left, he knelt in the newly turned earth of Nico’s grave and swore again that he would see the man responsible brought to justice.

  But as days turned into weeks, it seemed he was destined to fail his younger brother in this as well. The officials ruled that the cause of Nico’s accident was unsafe speed around the corner, helped by the many witnesses who’d heard Nico’s hotheaded declarations that he would beat Valente in their next match, whatever the cost. Giacomo’s warnings about the boat’s rough riding during the first heat and Jeffrey’s feigned injury were dismissed as the rantings of a grieving brother, especially since Jeffrey received his injury saving John Michaelson’s life. Yet when Jeffrey announced his plans to build another boat and continue racing, only Giacomo found it suspicious that he was abandoning his last design and building one similar to an older boat. Surely that indicated he knew the design was flawed!

  Giacomo tried once more to confront Jeffrey, needing to prove to himself that the man had known of his boat’s flawed design during the race when he let Nico drive it, rather than discovering the flaw after he’d had a chance to reflect on the accident. He waylaid him as Jeffrey escorted his wife and young son to a matinee theater performance.

  “You go ahead,” Jeffrey told his wife. “I’ll be there before the curtain goes up. This won’t take long.”

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Giacomo asked, “Tell me the truth, Jeffrey. We both know your boat had a design flaw. But did you know that when you let Nico drive it?”

  “I told you, there was nothing wrong with the boat. Nico was just driving too fast.” He looked away, his attention on his wife and son who waited on the steps to the theater. “I’m sorry he’s dead but there wasn’t anything I could have done to prevent his accident.”

  Giacomo’s blood turned as cold as the frigid Atlantic water. Years of high stakes gambling had made him an expert at reading body language. Jeffrey was lying. And he was going to get away with it. “This isn’t over.”

  Jeffrey looked back at him, annoyance compressing his already thin lips to a faint line. “Yes, it is. The investigation is officially closed. The accident was your brother’s fault. It doesn’t matter what you think happened. The boat’s been scrapped and your brother’s buried. Put it behind you and move on.”

  He shouldered past, striding quickly to catch up to his wife and child. They were too far away for Giacomo to hear what Jeffrey said but his wife glanced back, frowning. Giacomo glared at her. Jeffrey was the one in the wrong, not him. Jeffrey was the one who needed to pay for Nico’s death. Only then would Giacomo be able to move on.

  That night he put his plans in place. He slipped onto Jeffrey’s cruiser where it was tied up at the dock, opened the engine compartment and carefully nicked the fuel line, just enough to let gas vapors escape. After making sure that all the doors and windows of the cabin were closed, he slipped back to the dock then walked quickly to where the Bravetti boat was moored. He spent the rest of the sleepless night surrounded by Nico’s possessions, his brother’s memory reassuring him that he was doing the right thing by destroying Jeffrey’s other boat.

  The sunlight spearing through the cabin’s windows roused him from his dark reflections. Voices drifted on the early morning air as engines coughed and growled, heading out for a full day of fun on the water. Hearing Jeffrey’s voice, Giacomo hurried onto the deck.

  Jeffrey had thrown open the door of his cruiser then turned back to call further directions to his family. His wife was wearing a blue halter-top, white shorts and a broad-brimmed white hat, a blue and white beach bag over one shoulder. Their son trailed behind her in navy blue swimming trunks and an orange-and-blue-striped polo shirt.

  Giacomo’s stomach churned, his throat tightening so that his shout of “No!” was barely a squawk. Jumping to the dock, he raced toward Jeffrey’s boat. Jeffrey had already disappeared inside the cabin.

  “No!” he shouted again. This tim
e his voice carried.

  Jeffrey’s wife grabbed her son’s hand and began hurrying him to their boat, no doubt trying to get the boy away from the madman her husband had warned her about.

  He reached the boat just before she did. Ripping her son from her grasp, he threw the boy into the water on the other side of the dock. Grabbing her around the waist, he tried to toss her after her son. She kicked and clawed at his arms.

  “What are you—?”

  Jeffrey turned the ignition, cutting off her words in a ball of fire as the boat exploded. A wall of heat and sound swept over Giacomo, followed a moment later by pain more intense than any he’d ever experienced. The world went black.

  Then everything was silent.

  The pain disappeared, replaced by bone-chilling cold. He began to shiver.

  Light stabbed his eyes and he blinked. A sudden fog had rolled in, obscuring everything from his sight except the small patch of dock upon which he stood. He couldn’t see Jeffrey, his wife or his son.

  Giacomo whirled, eyes straining to see into the fog, ears tuned for the sounds of splashing or a child’s frightened cries. He circled around to where he’d started and saw a masked man standing before him.

  The same height and build as Giacomo, the man was dressed entirely in black. Black leather pants hugged his legs and a loose black shirt fluttered in the faint breeze off the invisible water. Most ominously, a black mask covered the upper half of his face.

  “Did you see what happened?” Giacomo asked. “The woman and the boy, are they all right?”

  The man lifted his shoulders in a liquid shrug. “That is no longer your concern.”

  Giacomo took a step backward. The fog moved with him.

  “You are, as you’ve no doubt just realized, well and thoroughly dead.”