“He should know he is paying for his crimes,” she said. “He should suffer as he made us suffer. He’s my father and I despise him, but I can’t let you take the life of an unconscious man. It’s morally wrong.”
“Don’t listen to her. You’ve been waiting ten years. This is your chance. Do it,” Frankie urged Nico. “Do it before anyone else comes. If you’re worried about her, I’ll take care of the problem.”
Sweat beaded on Mia’s brow. Taking care of the problem meant Frankie was prepared to ensure she didn’t walk out of the restaurant alive.
Nico lowered his gun and walked toward Mia, his expression vacant, seemingly unconcerned by the gun in her hand. Frankie gripped her shoulder, forcing her to turn with him as he pressed his weapon to her head. Mia gasped when she saw the carnage behind her—the restaurant red with blood, glass shattered, tables torn apart, the walls riddled with bullet holes, bodies on the floor, her father slumped over the table, covered in blood.
Madonna. Flashbacks of the night at Luigi’s restaurant assailed her.
Danny lying dead on the floor. Nico holding his dying father. The sickening sharp scent of blood mixed with what had once been the comforting scent of tomato sauce. Dante with the gun in his hand, horror on his face. And her father laughing—laughing because Dante, who had never wanted to be part of the family business, and couldn’t even kill a spider, was finally a made man.
Nico leaned across the table and put two fingers on her father’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Disgust curled his lip, and he aimed his gun at her father’s back.
“Please,” she begged, the word dropping from her lips before she could catch it. “He’s unarmed, defenseless, and it looks like he might die from his injuries anyway. Do you really want his death on your conscience?”
“I gotta lot of deaths on my conscience,” he said without looking up. “None of them keep me up at night.”
“But this will.” She gritted her teeth, hardly believing she was trying to save the life of the man who had meant to force her into a marriage she didn’t want. “I know what kind of man you are. I saw you that night at Luigi’s. You showed me your humanity, your compassion. If you won’t do this for him, do it for me. Please don’t make me watch him die.”
“You don’t know fuck all about me.” Nico’s eyes darkened almost to black, and in that moment she believed him. She’d changed the night Danny died. Maybe he had, too.
Frankie yanked on her hair, pulled her head back. “You are one crazy fucked-up bitch. You want him to spare a life after you just killed all these men. You should be happy he’s finishing the job.”
“I didn’t do it. I told you that. Look at the walls, the tables, the…” Her voice broke. “Bodies. My father. That wasn’t done with this handgun I’m holding. It was an assault rifle. I heard it.”
“So how is it everyone got hit, your father is still alive, and you didn’t get a scratch on you?”
She wondered that herself, but she had no answer. “I don’t know.”
Frankie released her hair, and pressed his gun to her head again. “Last time. Drop the weapon. I have no hesitation pulling the trigger.”
“I won’t drop it until Nico gives his word he won’t kill my father.”
Nico studied her, his face an expressionless mask. “Do you have no sense of self-preservation?”
“Do you have no sense of honor?” she shot back.
“Nico. C’mon man.” Frankie’s voice rose almost to a whine. “I hear sirens. Shoot the bastard and let’s get outta here. We can take the bitch. Hold her for ransom. If she did just whack two bosses and try for another, everyone will want a piece of her.”
“Fuuuuuck.” Nico screamed and fired six bullets into the table in front of her father. He yanked on his tie, loosening it from his neck. “Take her. We’ll find out what really happened here.”
“I gave you my story,” she protested.
Nico closed the distance between them, pressing his chest against the barrel of her gun until the pressure of his advance forced her to drop her arm or risk shooting him.
He stared at her, his fathomless eyes sending a chill down her spine. There was no trace of the man she’d met in the casino the other night or even the boy who’d held her the night Danny died; he was every inch the dangerous mobster he was reputed to be—cold, vicious, ruthless, and, depending on the rules of Toscani succession, now the boss, the new Don Toscani.
“You gave us a story.” His words were ice. “As soon as we get out of here, you’ll give us the truth.” He gripped her chin so hard her eyes watered.
“You can’t take me.” She grabbed his wrist, tried to pull his hand away. “I’m a…” She trailed off, unable to bring herself to claim the protection afforded to women in the Mafia. She’d spent her whole life fighting against the archaic Mafia rules that deemed women worthless, useless, property to be traded away. She had pushed back every time her father tried to force her into the Mafia princess mold, struggled to win his approval for her skill and intelligence and not for the fact that she had breasts and a womb. How ironic that now, in a matter of life or death, the only thing that could save her was the one thing she had always resisted.
“Woman.” He finished the sentence for her. “I am very aware you are a woman, or you’d be dead already. It’s the reason I let you go in the casino. However, Cosa Nostra rules don’t protect women who involve themselves in Mafia business, and this…” He gestured vaguely around the restaurant. “Counts as being involved.”
“I didn’t…”
“I hope not.” He trailed his finger down her throat to the crescents of her breasts bared by her torn dress. “You’re too pretty to kill.”
SIX
What a fucking mistake.
Nico scrubbed a hand over his face. His soldiers had reported that the bosses and bodyguards from the restaurant massacre were confirmed dead on arrival at the hospital, and Tony Crackers and Don Cordano were in surgery and expected to live. He should have killed them when he had the chance. No doubt in a few short days Tony would challenge Nico to succeed Santo as head of the family, and he would have to go after Don Cordano all over again.
He picked up his pool cue and glanced across the Toscani clubhouse where his most trusted soldiers and associates sat around the card table playing poker. Big Joe and former boxer, Mikey Muscles, had racked up most of the chips, but there was none of the usual banter. The world as they knew it had been shaken to its foundations. Never in the history of the U.S.-based Cosa Nostra had an attempt been made to kill three bosses—Don Cordano, Don Falzone and Don Toscani—in one night, and the repercussions of tonight’s massacre would be felt in New York and as far away as Sicily. With Santo dead, Nico and Tony would be locked in a battle to control the family, taking time and resources away from his quest to avenge his father by killing the man who murdered him.
What had come over him in the restaurant? He glanced at the woman tied to a chair on the other side of the room and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d rushed into the restaurant expecting to find an army. Instead he found her. All lush curves, and long silky hair, full pouting lips and dark eyes the color of the warm, rich chocolate his nonna used for dipping her biscotti. She was so unlike the young girl he’d held in his arms the night his father died. And yet she had the same courage and determination, the same sense of justice and inner strength. But now they were coupled with a whole lot of sexy and a generous helping of sass.
He chuckled, remembering the venom that had spilled from her pretty lips as they dragged her to the vehicle. She was one hell of a fighter. Frankie had been forced to tie her hands with a curtain tie to save them both from serious injury.
But what to do with her? She wasn’t a docile, pampered Mafia princess, groomed to do her father’s bidding. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had pulled the trigger to get out of the marriage, in which case, he had a right to vengeance on behalf of the Toscani family, as did the new boss of the Falzone crime family. Did
he offer her to the highest bidder? If she was innocent, he had to let her go. Mafia rules prohibited involving women in Mafia business. He couldn’t even hold her hostage, or trade her for the man he should have killed tonight.
She was definitely woman. His gaze raked over her body, lingering on her chest where her torn dress only barely concealed the swell of her breasts, before dropping down to her black leather shit-kicking boots with flowers embroidered on them. Christ. Those damn boots called to him, spoke to the wild side that he had inherited from his mother and repressed in a bid to become everything his father hoped he would be.
He tore his gaze away and looked at her face, marking the wide bruise across her cheek, her black eye, the blood splattered on her hair and skin. He felt a flicker of anger that someone had hurt her. Ironic, really since he might have to kill her.
Nico maintained his position as the most powerful capo in the family with direct acts of violence or with violence carried out on his behalf. Reputation was everything. The minute he showed mercy or tried to be a peace broker, his younger and more vicious soldiers would seize the reins of power from him. He had made an uncharacteristic tactical error tonight when he walked away from Don Cordano, and the repercussions could be severe. He couldn’t make the same mistake again.
“What’s the news?” Frankie and Luca joined him at the pool table as he took his shot. Nico thought best when his hands were busy, and pool was his favorite game.
“Tony’s alive.” He watched the four ball drop into the corner pocket. “He’s in the hospital under guard. Vincenzo’s is crawling with cops. Our man in the police department is giving me regular updates. The police have been all over the restaurant parking lot and they are combing the area. They haven’t found the murder weapon yet. They think it was one shooter and he managed to get pretty close before he opened fire.”
“Or she,” Luca said.
Nico’s gaze flicked to Mia. He couldn’t believe she had killed all those men in cold blood. When he’d turned on the lights, her face had registered only terror and shock, not guilt, satisfaction, or the fear of being caught. And if she had been responsible, the police would have found the gun. There hadn’t been enough time for her to run and hide it. And it wouldn’t make sense. Why go back?
Frankie gave an irritated grunt. “You gonna question her?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna question her. I didn’t bring her here to sit and look pretty.”
Luca grabbed a stick from the rack on the wall. “Cut Nico some slack. We don’t all want to walk on the dark side like you.”
Nico felt a tightening in his gut. He was losing Frankie. Ever since Santo and Tony had dragged their crews into the drug trade, Frankie spent more and more time alone, taking on jobs for Santo that no other soldier would touch. Every time he returned, he seemed less of the Frankie who had first come to Vegas, and more a dark version of himself.
“Forget about it.” Frankie made a rude gesture and walked over to the makeshift bar in the corner.
“He needs a woman.” Luca chalked his cue. “Someone who really gets him. Maybe you should ask if that girl who’s coming from Sicily has a sister.”
Nico doubted his prospective bride would “get” him either. No one really understood his wild side except his mother. As a teenager, he’d learned how to hide the wildness beneath a veneer of civility, how to leash the beast and walk among men. He had been on his way to becoming a man worthy of walking in his father’s shoes when fucking Battista Cordano put a bullet through his father’s heart.
And now he had his enemy’s daughter tied to a chair in the middle of his fucking clubhouse. So what the fuck was he doing over here?
“Keep everyone busy,” he said to Luca, making a quick decision. “I’m going to talk to our little assassin and decide if this is the night she finds herself dead.”
*
Mia twisted her wrists trying to loosen the ropes that secured her hands to the back of the chair. If she could just get free before Nico closed the distance between them, she could try to fight him off, or even make a run for it, although she had no idea where she was or how to get out.
When Frankie had slowed the vehicle in front of the rundown auto body shop, after a circuitous drive around the city, she thought she might be able to escape and find help. But she was quickly disabused of that notion when he parked around the back and led her into a deceptively large workshop that had nothing to do with auto-body repairs and everything to do with a secret meeting place for the Toscani mob. With a wet bar in one corner, a pool table in the other, a couple of card tables and worn out couches, and a nauseating odor of beer and cigarettes, it was everything she imagined a typical Mafia clubhouse would be.
Off course, she’d have to get past Nico’s soldier, Luca, who had joined them as they left Vincenzo’s, and now hovered near the door. Luca was tall, although not as tall as Nico, his shoulders broad, hair blond and spiked up on his head. He seemed more laid back than the dark, glowering Frankie who had pressed Nico to let him interrogate Mia as soon as they walked through the clubhouse door.
Her wrists scraped against the rope, and she grimaced. Something cracked on her cheek, and a brown flake dropped to her lap. Blood. So much blood. She had a vague memory of it spattering on her during the massacre, had seen it on her hand when Nico turned on the lights.
Nico’s gaze stayed steady on her as he crossed the floor. He’d removed his tie and suit jacket as soon as they entered the clubhouse, and unbuttoned his collar just enough for her to see the hint of tattoo on his broad chest. Unlike her father, who wore a suit even when he sat down to dinner, Nico seemed uncomfortable in the traditional mob attire. She imagined him in worn jeans and a T-shirt, maybe a leather jacket and a pair of boots. He had the swagger to carry it off, the presence to wear anything and command a room, and a hint of dangerous wild that his suit could contain.
God, what was she doing? He was the enemy. A kidnapper. A fierce, ruthless mobster who, no doubt, was considering whether it would benefit him most to kill her, hurt her, or ransom her to the highest bidder. And what was she? A victim. At the mercy of men. The story of her fucking life.
His brow creased in a frown as she studied his handsome face. Was it the chiseled jaw, the chiseled cheekbones, or the hair that was slicked back like he fancied himself James Dean that drew her? Or was it the power rippling beneath the surface? Why couldn’t he have been a civilian? Maybe a lawyer or an accountant or the CEO of a software company? Looks like his were wasted on the mob.
Mia trembled when he stopped in front of her, then caught herself, stilled her body. For all that she hated her mob family, and despised her father, she was Battista Cordano’s daughter, Mafia royalty, and she knew better than to show her fear.
“So, this is the real you.” Nico gestured vaguely to Mia’s clothing. “Not what I expected.”
Indignation gave her the courage to overcome her fear. “Apologies if I don’t fit the stereotype of a typical Mafia princess.”
Something cold and dangerous moved in his dark eyes. “I got that when I walked into Vincenzo’s and saw you standing in the middle of a massacre with a gun.” Nico’s gaze raked over her body, openly lingering on her chest where the torn dress barely concealed her breasts. “You seem to attract trouble wherever you go.”
“It’s this life. No matter how hard I try to run from it, it always seems to find me.”
All business, he grabbed a chair from a nearby table, straddled it in front of her, and rested his arms on the back. Her gaze drifted to his powerful forearms, the soft hair, strong wrists, and Toscani tattoo. Sexy. She’d never thought a man’s arms could be arousing, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“What were you doing there? Tell me.” His voice was pure steel, sharp and biting.
A shiver of excitement ran down her spine. She wanted to obey and resist, both at the same time, but a life of secrecy in the mob overrode her desire. “I can’t tell you.”
“I don’t want to hurt y
ou, bella.” He reached out and touched her cheek.
Unable to read his intentions, Mia shuddered.
“Shhh.” He rubbed his thumb gently over her skin and held it up for her to see. “Blood.”
Papà’s blood. A wave of emotion threatened to breach her walls at his hushed voice and gentle touch after all the horrendous events of the evening. She dipped her head so he didn’t see her falter. “I wasn’t there by consent. Well, not real consent. So now you know the truth. You can let me go.”
“No.”
“Could you at least pretend to think about it?” She tipped her head to the side, looked up at him through her lashes, hating herself as she did. But this was a matter of life or death, and she couldn’t let pride take away her only advantage.
His eyes sparked, amused. “If you killed those men, you will die either by my hand or another. If you didn’t, then you are safer here with me until the shooter is found.”
“So you kidnapped me and tied me up to protect me?” She almost laughed at the irony. Only in death could she finally be equal to a man in the Mafia world.
“Some might say I’m protecting myself.” He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, his touch so gentle, it was almost a caress.
Uncontrollable desire pooled in her stomach. Anticipation and fear warred inside her as his touch lingered. “Are you afraid I’ll grab a gun and try to shoot my way out of a room full of wiseguys?”
His fingers trailed down her neck, rested in the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt the throb of her exposed pulse, as heat swept through her body.
“I’m not afraid of girls with guns, bella. They either don’t know how to shoot or they don’t have what it takes to pull the trigger.”
“Then you’ve never met a woman like me.” Her hoarse, throaty voice betrayed her desire.
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