He growled, and a moment later he was inside of her with one, deep thrust.
The water spilled over her back as he took her. There was nothing tender about it. This was about urgency, about ownership. He took her with a savagery that stole her breath, holding her hips and bringing her body back to meet his thrusts until she cried out with the pleasure-pain of it. She didn’t want it to stop—ever— and she opened herself to him, wanting him deeper, harder.
He reached around her body and rubbed his thumb against her clit, and her body blossomed like a long dead flower in spring.
“Come for me, baby.”
The words sparked the fire in her pussy, and she felt herself closing in on the top of the peak that was never far when Nico was inside of her.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Come with me.”
He groaned as he buried himself inside her, the tip of his shaft hitting the most secret part of her body as his fingers worked in concert to bring her closer to climax, the edge of the universe in sight. Then she was over it, flying through the abyss, breaking apart like an ancient star while the orgasm rocked through her body and Nico shuddered with an anguished growl.
She lay limp against the shower wall, barely able to hold herself upright while Nico panted behind her, his hands still on her hips. He left kisses in the water streaming down her back, then turned her around, ferociously plundering her mouth like he needed to prove to himself that she was real.
When they’d both caught their breath, Nico turned off the water and came back with a towel. After they dried off, Nico took her hand and led her to the bed. He pulled her down next to him, holding her naked body against his as the waves rushed onto the beach below the house. There was too much to say and not nearly enough. She let herself fall into the rhythm of his heartbeat, as familiar as a lullaby. It was the last thing she remembered before she tumbled into the void of sleep.
8
He lay in bed for a long time after he woke up, trying to memorize the feel of her against him. He’d been surprised to see her walking toward the house, had been both desperate and afraid to see her. He’d learned to live without her, if that’s what you could call what he’d been doing. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d been doing it, had taught himself to tiptoe around her memory when it had the most power to harm him. Now she was back, and he felt anew the all-consuming need for her. It was beyond physical, although he wouldn’t fool himself into believing she wasn’t made for him, that her body wasn’t created as a perfect match to his.
But it wasn’t only that. It was something more elemental, something that went beyond flesh and bone. His soul knew hers, had experienced a visceral jolt of recognition the first time he’d seen her. It was ridiculous and fanciful, not at all in line with the practicality he’d honed to a fine point in the name of running the Vitale empire. Knowing when to reward, when to threaten, when to kill… those things were easy compared to the mysterious chemical attraction he had to Angel Rossi.
Did she go by Rossi now? Or had she stuck with Bondesan in the wake of her father’s death? He wouldn’t blame her if she had. Carlo Rossi had been one of the worst of the Syndicate’s bosses, had held his own daughter at gunpoint to try and escape Nico in London. He didn’t deserve to have her carry on his name.
Sunlight was leaking through the windows when he finally slid out from under her arm. He didn’t want to do it, would have stayed in bed with her all day if he could. But his business—and the only family he had left—was under threat. He couldn’t afford to be emotional at their expense.
He pulled on a pair of sweats and left the room, then descended the stairs to the kitchen. He dialed Luca’s number while he started the coffee.
Luca picked up on the first ring. “Boss.”
“Talk,” Nico said into the phone.
“Are you okay?” Luca asked.
“No,” Nico said. “I’m not okay. I’m hiding like some kind of pussy while someone targets my business.”
“Got it,” Luca said, his voice tight.
“I don’t care if you have it,” Nico said. “What are you doing about it?”
“We’ve put out the word, and we’re leaning hard on every informant we have, anyone who has an ear to the ground with the Syndicate, to try and figure out who’s behind Carmine’s murder.”
“And?” Nico prompted.
Luca exhaled. “It’s not much. Sara said the data breach looks like it originated in LA. Took her while to find it. Apparently it was routed through several other IPs in Asia.”
“LA?” Nico couldn’t hide his surprise. “That’s… unexpected…”
“I thought the same thing,” Luca said.
“I’ll call John, feel him out.”
John Lando was head of the west coast family, and while they were part of the Syndicate, John was a breed all his own. Born and bred in Los Angeles, the movie business was a big portion of John’s legitimate income stream. The man had a love for film that was unrivaled, and Nico often suspected he only bothered to run the illegal portion of his business to fund the movies that were so near and dear to his heart. John was Sinatra to Farrell Black’s commando, and he had never made secret the fact that he found the more violent aspects of the Syndicate distasteful. He usually stayed on the sidelines during Syndicate scuffles and turf wars.
“Want me to do it?” Luca asked.
“No. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay, but we should meet,” Luca said. “We need to figure out a game plan.”
“That’s a given. I have no intention of sitting on my ass, waiting for these bastards to finish the job they started.”
“Well, don’t come here,” Luca said. “It’s a fucking madhouse.”
“Exactly why I’m coming back tonight. I’m not going to leave the men exposed while I play it safe.”
“Whoever’s doing this is after you. The business, Carmine, the shipments… they were all just a means to an end. If you want to protect the family, you’ll steer clear of Headquarters until we get this figured out.”
“I need to pay my respect to Carmine’s family,” Nico said. “I’ve known them my whole life.”
Luca lowered his voice, like he didn’t want anyone around him to hear what he was saying. “That is not a good idea. And I’ve already talked to Mary. She understands.”
Mary was Carmine’s wife of four decades.
“That may be,” Nico said. “But I’m not a coward, and I won’t hide from these people, whoever they are.”
“Nico—”
“I have some arrangements to make,” Nico said, cutting him off. “I’ll call you later with the details.”
He hung up before Luca could say anything else. He meant well, but whoever had targeted the Vitale family intended to drive Nico underground. He’d be damned is he gave them the satisfaction of succeeding.
A glance at his phone told him it was only eight am. Plenty of time for a run to clear his head. He went to the entryway and pulled on his shoes, then slipped out the front door, and started down the gravel road.
The morning air was cool and wet, with the promise of heat that was only present a few months out of the year in Maine. He made his way through the trees—slowly coming back to life after the long winter—and headed for the beach, then turned right to run parallel to the water.
The island was his sacred space, even more so since the two days he’d spent here with Angel. No one knew about the hideaway, not even Luca. It was the place Nico came when he needed a break from the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders, a place where nature could remind him how insignificant he really was. It was comforting, and he’d found himself stealing away more often since the shootout with Angel’s father, trying to quiet the churning of his mind and the questions that seemed to have no answers.
Questions like; did the Syndicate and its businesses add any value at all to the world at large? Was the little good he managed to do worth all the death and destruction? And most importantly of al
l, was he really a businessman? Or was the price of his suit the only difference between him and the criminals shoved every day into the back of police cars?
He pushed himself to run harder and faster over the rocks that jutted out over the water. It was a test of his concentration and agility, and for a few moments he didn’t have space in his mind for anything but running without breaking his neck.
When he returned to the sand, he circled back toward the house. Angel was there, waiting for him, maybe still in bed, her long hair spread across his pillow. He felt a stirring in his blood at the thought of her naked body sprawled across his sheets, and his feet moved faster of their own accord.
He passed by the front door and continued onto the deck, following it to the back of the house. The glass doors were open, Angel standing with her back to him while she cut oranges on the countertop. He leaned against the door jamb, wanting to soak her in, remember the way she looked in all the moments to come when they wouldn’t be together.
Her hair was piled on top of her head, loose tendrils tickling the collar of the shirt—his shirt—that hit the top of her bare thighs. He was immediately hard, wondering if she was naked underneath it, if he could come up behind her, snake his arms around her waist, be inside of her in seconds.
She was humming softly to herself while she placed the oranges into the juicer, her slender arms working as she pressed down on the handle. The sleeves on the shirt were too long, and she’d haphazardly rolled them up to keep them out of her way. Catching her this way, unselfconscious and innocent, was strangely endearing, and a familiar wave of protectiveness washed over him.
He didn’t want her back in his world. It was vile and dirty and dangerous and violent.
Everything she wasn’t.
There was nothing for her with him. Nothing but death and fear, and she deserved better than that. Deserved better than him.
Which is why she would have to go.
9
She was turning to rinse her hands in the sink when she caught sight of him in the doorway.
She jumped a little. “You scared me.”
His lips curved up in the slight smile she loved so much. It was a smile that said he had a secret or three. A smile that was meant only for her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I never want you to be scared, least of all with me.”
She looked at him for a long minute; the well-formed chest, bare over sweatpants that should have made him look sloppy but instead made him as alluring as ever. The shock of dark hair falling over his forehead. The sweep of eyelashes, so dark and long they would make any woman envious. There was some color in his cheeks, and she suddenly saw him as he must have looked when he a boy. The image caused an unfamiliar hitch in her chest, a moment of loss that cut her to the bone even though he was standing right in front of her.
She rinsed her hands, then grabbed a dishtowel and dried them as she crossed the room. She draped the towel over one of her shoulders and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, surprised to realize he was already hard for her. She pressed against him, stretching on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. He groaned when she slipped her tongue into his mouth.
She pulled away to look at him. “Where were you?”
He grabbed her hips, tugged her back against him. “Running.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Running? I could have come up with some physical activity if you’d wanted the exercise.”
He growled, squeezing her ass until she could feel his shaft against her belly.
She laughed, turning away as he grabbed the towel and swatted her ass with it. “Hungry?” she asked him.
“I’m hungry, all right.”
His voice was dangerously low, and she couldn’t hide the grin that rose to her face. “Me, too. But first, we eat breakfast.”
She’d been conflicted he last time they’d been together—and understandably so. She was still conflicted about a lot of things, but not about her feelings for Nico. They were as obvious and undeniable as the sea that surrounded the island. The time would come for them to talk about what was next, but not yet. This was the place where they could be together with no ugliness between them. She wouldn’t worry about the future until she had to.
She made bacon and eggs from the store of food in the fridge, then set the table, all under Nico’s voracious gaze. She thought he might devour her whole before they ever got to breakfast, and she had to fight against the tide of her own desire as she moved around him. She was like a moth to a flame; she knew he was dangerous, that her feelings for him were dangerous. But he was so mesmerizing she couldn’t seem to stop herself from dancing gleefully around the fire.
They sat close at the table. He covered one of her bare feet with his own while they ate, like he couldn’t bear not to touch her for even a minute. They talked about the island, about the massive snow storm that had landed when he’d been there over Christmas. It caught her off guard, and she had to fight to keep her face impassive. Nico wouldn’t want her pity, but the thought of him alone on their island at Christmas opened up a floodgate of sadness inside her. The holidays had been rough in the wake of her father’s death and the loss of Nico, but at least she’d had David. For all of Nico’s power and authority and wealth, he might be the loneliest person in the world. In spite of everything, she thought that he deserved better.
They took a shower and got dressed, then headed outside, walking the same path they’d traveled last October when lightning had ripped the sky and the rain fallen in sheets. Now the sun was high overhead, a mild breeze drifting in from the water. They walked mostly in silence, and she thrilled at the feel of his big hand over hers. For the first time in six months, she felt complete. Her father’s death and everything that had happened in London seemed a million miles away. She didn’t even know how she felt about it anymore. Had she come to the place where she could forgive Nico? Where she could give him the benefit of the doubt about his motives, believing that he’d killed her father to protect her and not to exact vengeance for the death of his own parents?
She didn’t know, and she didn’t know if she’d ever have a chance to find out. They were back in crisis mode, trying to survive with minimal collateral damage. It was impossible to think about the future and what it held for them, impossible to even fathom what it might look like. She knew she didn’t want to be part of his world—part of the world her father had occupied. But could he be part of hers? Could he be a regular man? She tried to imagine him heading off to work at MediaComm, the business he owned that operated as a front for the illegal income streams that were part of the Syndicate. Nico waking up and heading into the office every day? Home in time for dinner? Little League games on the weekend?
It was impossible.
Nico was a different breed of man. A man who would kill to protect what was his.
A man who had.
Life with him wouldn’t be normal, and normal had been all she ever wanted.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, dropping a kiss on her head.
They were heading back toward the house, working their way along the beach until they had to cut through the trees.
She leaned against his arm and laughed a little. “You don’t want to know.”
She felt him sigh. He knew what she was thinking about without a word between them. “It’s unavoidable.”
“I know.”
They continued to the house and made their way up the rear deck to the living room. She poured a glass of water from the tap, bracing herself for the words Nico would say. She could feel them hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken significance.
“Angel.”
His voice was quiet behind her, and when she turned around, he was leaning against the counter, his big arms crossed over his chest.
“Let me help.” The words were out of her mouth before she could even think about them.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “No.”
“Nico—”
“You don’t know that,” she said. “I have access to the Rossi family, to people there who might have information on what’s happening.”
“They won’t talk to you, Angel. And even if they would, I wouldn’t want them to.”
“If you’re trying to protect me, it’s too late.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and immediately regretted the words. It was a low blow. She knew Nico was sorry for what had happened in London.
He didn’t flinch, but she saw his anger in the hard set of his jaw, the flinty shine in his eyes. “I’m just getting started,” he said. “I may not have been able to protect you before, but I can do it now.”
“It’s not your decision.”
“The hell it’s not.” It came out as a shout.
“You don’t control me, Nico. You tried that before, remember?”
“I do remember,” he said, his voice flat. “And look what happened.”
She felt the words like a punch to the gut. “So what happened in London is my fault.”
“I’m not saying that, Angel. You know I’m not. But I tried to protect you then, to keep you out of whatever was coming.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I couldn’t sit back and have my nails done while you confronted my father about whether or not he killed your parents.”
He stepped toward her, placing his hands on her arms. “That’s not what I expect of you, and you know it. This business is ugly. Why do you want to be involved?”
“Do you have to ask?” She looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. She might fall in, never to return, and then Nico would have his way, like always.
“Angel.” She didn’t turn back to him. Couldn’t. “Look at me.”
She did then, because she could never resist the pull of his voice, his eyes.
“I love you. I think it’s been true since that first night in my apartment. You were so scared and stubborn and brave. I’d never seen anything more beautiful. Still haven’t. Don’t you get it?”
Fearless: Mob Boss Book Two (Volume 2) Page 4