Nico

by Sarah Castille

  He leaned forward, whispered in her ear, his voice dangerously seductive. “No, but I’m looking forward to our acquaintance.”

  Her body turned to liquid heat, but before she could retort, he pushed himself up and rounded her chair.

  She felt his hands on her wrists, and the ropes gave way. He massaged her forearms, gently running his thumbs over her tender skin. His touch sent an electric spark through her, wicked and hot. How would it feel to have those hands on her most intimate parts, his powerful body covering her own?

  “Are you letting me go?”

  “I’m letting you clean up.” He led her to a small hallway along the side of the clubhouse and gestured to a filthy, decrepit washroom, all rusted pipes and peeling wallpaper. “You can wash in here.”

  Thrown off by Nico’s sudden change in demeanor, Mia turned to close the door only to find him in the doorway.

  “Can I have some privacy?”

  “No.” He leaned against the doorjamb, folded his arms, his muscles straining beneath his fine cotton shirt. Her nipples tightened at his hot, unwavering stare.

  With a sigh, she turned to the sink her gaze sweeping over the grungy bathroom for anything she could use as a weapon or a means of escape. She spotted a window over the toilet, and a thrill of excitement shot through her. Although too small for a man, she was pretty sure she could squeeze through. If she had oriented herself correctly, it opened into the alley they had driven down as they came around the garage. Forcing herself to look away, she washed her face, cringing when the water in the sink turned pink.

  She felt Nico’s hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. He dabbed at her cheeks with paper towel, wiping away the blood and water. Something flickered and flamed inside her, desire pushing fear away.

  “Who did this?” he demanded, his fingers brushing over her sore, swollen cheek.

  Mia opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. Family business was never discussed outside the family, and she would be a fool to forget who he was. A predator. And a dangerous one at that.

  “It must have been the same person who did this.” His finger traced along the tear in her dress to the crescent of her breast, his touch feather light on her skin. Unnerved by the arousing effect he had on her body, Mia slapped his hand away.

  His expression hardened, any hint of softness gone. “A little respect, bella.”

  “Respect goes both ways.”

  A cool stare. “So it does.”

  Her gaze moved over his face, searching for the man behind the mask. Instead she found something raw and primal—lust, barely contained, as fierce as her own.

  Electricity crackled in the air between them. He cupped her jaw with his hand, his eyes narrowing on her mouth. She saw the pulse throb in his neck. He wanted her. And in that moment, she wanted him like she’d never wanted a man before.

  Their staring contest was interrupted by a broad-shouldered, stocky man, bald, but with a thick, brown beard. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Toscani, but Mikey Muscles just got a call from a friend of ours. He’s got that … uh … information you asked for.”

  Just like that the connection between them broke. Nico’s hand dropped, leaving her bereft, and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  “Look after her, Big Joe.” Nico waved dismissively in Mia’s direction. “Don’t leave her alone.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Toscani.” Big Joe looked over at Mia, and for a second she saw concern flicker across his face.

  “You got … um … a civilian woman in there? Is she your…?”

  “My prisoner.” Nico turned away without another look in Mia’s direction. “Make sure you tie her up when you take her back to her chair. She might look harmless, but the minute you become distracted she’ll take a knife to your balls.”

  Mia wished she had her knife now as he stalked away as if nothing had happened between them. But maybe she’d imagined it. After all, what could happen between two family rivals, one of whom was a dangerous misogynistic Mafia bastard, and the other a punk rock hacker who couldn’t tell her Gucci from her Gaultier?

  “So what did you do to get yourself kidnapped by the mob?” Big Joe took Nico’s place in the doorway, his face creased with consternation. “We’ve never had a woman prisoner before.”

  “He thinks I killed six men with a machine gun.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Big Joe blew out a long breath. “Did you do it?”

  “Of course not. Do I look like a murderer?”

  Big Joe shrugged. “All sorts of people kill for all sorts of reasons. There’s not really a look to them. Maybe it was crime of passion, or sometimes people who’ve been abused just snap.”

  “The only person I passionately want to kill right now is Nico.” She turned back to the sink to wash her arms and neck, taking her time as she formulated a plan. Maybe Nico was right that she would be a target outside, but better a moving target than a sitting duck.

  “You know Mr. Toscani?”

  “I thought I did. Now, I’m not so sure.” She tipped her head to the side, tried to force a blush. “Could you give me a minute to … ah … use the restroom?”

  Big Joe shook his head and kicked at the stone holding the battered door open. “Sorry, love. Not going to happen. Mr. Toscani said not to leave you alone.”

  Damn it. She needed that door closed. She scrambled to find some way of convincing him to leave her alone and came up with the one thing she would never in a million years have imagined she would say, a betrayal of everything she had fought against when she realized her father despised her for being a girl. She hadn’t been able to make herself play the woman card in Vincenzo’s, but since it was clear Nico wasn’t going to let her go, she had no choice.

  “It’s … um … that time of the month.” Mia glanced around and lowered her voice, feeling no small bit of remorse for falling back on the stereotypical alpha male fear of all things period. “It’s kinda messy to watch. And really, there’s nowhere I can go in here. Look at this ass. There’s no way I can’t fit out that tiny window, and if I don’t deal with it now, it’s just gonna leak all over the place, drip on the floor—”

  “Whoa.” Big Joe held up his hands palms forward, and took a step back as if she might infect him. “Okay. Woman things. Not a big fan. You can close the door to do … what you gotta do. I’ll be right outside. But don’t take long.”

  “Thanks.” Mia dragged the stone inside and closed and locked the door. She’d never had to escape from anywhere before, but she’d seen it in movies. Taps were good. They made noise, and in this rusted out, leaky bathroom, a lot of noise. Too bad they had her damn purse. She could have just called for help.

  Heart pounding, she climbed on the toilet and peered through the glass. No bars. No lock. But then who would be stupid enough to break into a Mafia clubhouse? Maybe the same type of stupid person who would try to break out. She slid her hand around the window frame and cursed under her breath. It was sealed shut. She would have to break the glass, and even with the tap running it would draw attention. Well, she’d already dipped a toe in the water, might as well go for a swim. Mia turned off the tap and shouted through the door. “Do you have any tampons?”

  “Fuck.” Big Joe muttered. “This is why we shouldn’t take women prisoners.” And then loud enough for her to hear, he yelled. “I’ll get Cherry. You stay put or I’m not gonna care that you’re a girl, and I’ll treat you the same as I would any dude who tried to escape.”

  “It’s not like there’s anywhere I can go, especially not in my condition,” she retorted as she quickly hefted the rock. When she heard his footsteps fade away, she turned on both taps and flushed the toilet for maximum noise, then threw the rock through the window. The glass cracked and splintered, shards clattering over the toilet tank and onto the floor. Mia froze, certain that someone might have heard, but when the footsteps didn’t return, she untied her boot and put her hand inside, using it to clear the small shards of glass from
around the window frame. Slipping it back on, she climbed on the tank and pushed herself through the window.

  “Cherry’s coming.” Big Joe knocked on the door. “She’s got your … girl stuff.”

  “Great! Boy do I need it.” Mia yelled over her shoulder, realizing as she hung half in and half out of the window, that the forward approach wasn’t the best idea. But now she was stuck, and her ass clearly was bigger than she’d thought because no matter how much she wiggled, she couldn’t get through. She scrambled, kicking the wall and the toilet tank as she tried to shake herself free. Her undone boot came loose and tumbled to the floor. No time to retrieve it. With one last shove she pushed herself through and tumbled headlong into the garbage bags piled below.

  “Open up, honey.” A female voice called out. “I got what you need right here.”

  Mia pushed herself up and limped for the road, her booted foot thudding on the sidewalk. She heard a shout, the splinter of wood, and the slam of a door. She sprinted away from the garage, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might break a rib.

  Run. Run. Run.

  She turned the corner and raced down the empty street, the thrill of escape tempered by the loss of her boot and the reality of being on the run from three crime families who all thought she was responsible for the massacre. If she didn’t make it home …

  No. Defeat wasn’t an option. Tonight, she wasn’t a victim. She was free.

  And she intended to stay that way.

  SEVEN

  “Are you sure you need me there?” Mia folded her arms and leaned against the wall in the bedroom of her brother’s lavish penthouse, all cool marble and floor-to-ceiling windows with incredible east to west views of Las Vegas. Three days after her dramatic escape from the Toscani mob, life was back to the crazy kind of normal that was Mafia life.

  “It’s a matter of respect.” Dante adjusted his tie, his gaze on Mia in the mirror. They shared the same dark eyes and olive skin, but his hair was fair where hers was dark, and his face was sharp and angular where hers was smooth. “With Papà in the hospital, I’m the acting boss, and I want the whole family to be at Don Falzone’s funeral to show our support. We aren’t enemies with the Falzones like we are with the Toscanis,” he continued. “And in this time of upheaval we need to keep our allies close.”

  Mia rarely participated in mob-related events, and then only under duress. In her mind, the day she walked out of the family home was the day she was done with the mob, and with their father now in the hospital, there was no one to force her to go.

  “It’s not safe,” she protested. “The Toscanis will be there.” And in particular, the dangerously handsome, Nico Toscani, who made her feel the kinds of things she shouldn’t feel for a family enemy who had kidnapped her and tied her up, albeit for a very short time. “What if they told everyone I was responsible for the massacre?”

  “No one would dare pull a trigger on holy ground. And the police found the murder weapon over a mile away. I’ve made sure all the families know you weren’t responsible. They wouldn’t have believed it anyway. You’re a woman. And it’s been three days since it happened—long enough for the message to be passed along.” His voice rose to a pleading tone. “Please, Mia. I need you. It shows my strength to have the entire family with me. I’m asking, but you know Papà would make you come.”

  She couldn’t refuse her brother. Although he’d never been there for her in the way she’d always thought a big brother should be, he was still family and he had saved Kat from Tony. “I’ll come for you, not for him. You know how I feel about Papà.”

  Dante’s lips tightened. “He may be hard on us, but he cares about the family.”

  “Hard on us?” She stared at him aghast. “He beats me. He killed Danny right in front of me. He tricked you into shooting Don Toscani by telling you the don had pulled a gun. And he got away with the lie.”

  “He saved me,” Dante snapped. “He let everyone think he pulled the trigger. I wasn’t a made guy. It was an automatic death sentence for killing a boss without approval from New York, no matter what the circumstances were.”

  Mia put her hands to her hips. They’d had this argument again and again over the years, but no matter what she said, Dante refused to accept the truth. “He had to save you because he’s the one who told you to do it. If he hadn’t taken the blame, he would have had no son and heir. I don’t understand how you can excuse what he did, how you can think he cares about anyone except himself.”

  “Why are we going over this again?” he snarled. “It’s been ten years. What does it matter?”

  “Obviously it matters to the Toscanis or they wouldn’t have started a war.” And, no doubt, it mattered to Nico or he wouldn’t have kidnapped her the other night.

  Her cheeks heated, and she looked away. Although it didn’t make sense, she hadn’t told anyone about the kidnapping. Why incite more violence? For some reason, she hadn’t felt threatened by Nico. Why wash the blood off her face if he intended to harm her? Despite his cool composure, she’d sensed passion within him, and a hint of the compassion she’d seen the night Danny died.

  “Maybe this can be a chance to mend fences.” She walked over to the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, stared out over the city spread out below. “Since Papà is in the hospital and Don Toscani is dead, you could ask for a meeting with Nico as the new Don Toscani, offer reparations—”

  “The Wolf says Nico won’t be the new boss. Tony will be the successor.”

  Mia turned and caught a flicker of guilt cross Dante’s face, but it disappeared so quickly, she wondered if she’d seen it all. “Tony Crackers? Nico is the first son of the first son.”

  “He’s also a bastard.” Venom laced Dante’s tone, and Mia frowned at his sudden change in demeanor. “His mother was his father’s mistress. There were only daughters from his father’s legitimate marriage. The Wolf says that gives Tony a stronger claim.”

  Mia felt a growing sense of unease. She’d heard that Tony survived the shooting, but with his father, the former Don Toscani, now dead, he wouldn’t be forced to go through with the marriage their fathers had arranged. Or would he want to? “Dante…?”

  “How do I look?”

  Mia pushed her misgivings aside and forced a smile. “You look like a boss.”

  “Acting boss until Papà is out of the hospital. And you can be my secret underboss. I’ve got the password to his computer and all the accounts.” His face reddened ever so slightly and he looked away. “I need your help to find a way to free up some cash without Papà knowing.”

  “Oh God, Dante. You aren’t gambling again, are you? After Papà bailed you out last time, I thought you were going to get some help.” Dante had had a gambling problem for as long as she could remember, sometimes running up debts so high her father had to send out his enforcers to deal with the bookies who tried to collect. No matter how much Papà threatened, Dante couldn’t stop, maybe because he knew Papà couldn’t disown his only son.

  “I was on a roll at the craps table at the Golden Dream, Mia. I’ve never had such a long run. You should have seen the crowd! The atmosphere was electric. And there was this beautiful blonde who would blow on the dice before every roll…”

  “I’m not getting involved.”

  Dante knew better than anyone how much she loathed the family business, how determined she was to separate herself from her father’s criminal enterprise. There was no way she was getting mixed up in her father’s affairs, especially to feed Dante’s gambling addiction.

  “We can talk about it after the funeral.” His voice had a pleading edge that made Mia cringe. Dante became a different person entirely when he was on a gambling high.

  “We’ll have to do it another time. I’m teaching a coding class for girls this afternoon at the community center. I have to leave right after the service.”

  Dante’s gaze flickered over her floral black lace dress, with its black underlay, deep V-neck and lace sleeves. She’d paired it
with knee-high black socks, a pair of thick-soled Doc Martens shoes, and beaded jewelry.

  Mia tensed under his scrutiny. Her father never held back on expressing his disdain for her sartorial choices.

  “At least you wore black.” Dante held out his hand and Mia let out a quiet breath. He wasn’t entirely his father’s son.

  “I always wear black,” she said. “It’s the kind of world we live in.”

  *

  Mia hurried along the sidewalk away from the church. She’d done her duty. Everyone had seen her, and Dante was now busy shaking hands and playing politics on behalf of their father, while Kat and Mama smiled dutifully beside him. Although she’d wanted to get him alone to ask if he’d been serious about drawing her into the family business, she wasn’t prepared to spend any more time with her family and she was running late for her Sunday afternoon class.

  Her tension eased when she turned the corner and spotted her cherry red 1993 Mustang convertible parked in the shadow of a tall, brick apartment building. Although it had been well-used when she bought it and was now in even rougher shape, it was the first thing that was truly hers, paid for with the money from her first security contract after she started her business.

  She unlocked the door and slid into the seat, trying to push away memories of the funeral, the shiver that had slid down her spine when she looked out over the sea of mob bosses, captains, soldiers, and associates from the three Las Vegas crime families. They had come together ostensibly to mourn the death of one of their own, but in reality to see how the power vacuum would shake out. She had narrowly escaped being part of that. Married into the mob. Imprisoned for life.

  Mia turned the key. The car turned over but wouldn’t start. After several tries she slammed her fist on the dashboard, hoping the little jolt would shake it awake, but no such luck. Maybe it was a quick fix. She had twenty minutes to get it started before she’d have to call a cab. With an irritated groan, she grabbed her tools from the back and popped the hood.

  Doing her best not to get grease on her dress, Mia leaned over the engine and proceeded to go through her usual four-step check.