In one fist he holds the stub of a cigar. In the other he holds the girls’ leashes.
He’s thirty-five, maybe forty, wearing a tailored dark suit even more beautiful than Enzo’s. His hair is thick and midnight black. His jaw is as hard as his eyes. He’s handsome in an ugly sort of way, all the violence inside him barely contained, oozing out around the edges.
Vincent Moreno.
The most evil creature in the world, next to the Devil himself.
“Mari,” he says softly. “You’re here.”
With a savage jerk of his arm, he drags both girls off the sofa. They land at his feet in a tangle of pale limbs and pained yelps, quickly silenced by another cruel jerk on their collars. They cower on the carpet, heads down, clinging to his legs.
My back teeth are gritted so hard, I think they might shatter.
“Capo di tutti capi,” I say. Boss of all bosses. “I am.”
Those dead eyes slice straight through me. For a long moment, he simply stares at me. Then, horribly, he starts to laugh.
“Enzo! Have you ever seen such a look!” He motions to me with his cigar. A fat clump of glowing ash falls onto one of the girls, burning her leg. She pulls her lips between her teeth and whimpers.
“Ya,” drawls Enzo, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. He winks at me. “When some guy wants to kill me, he looks just like that.”
Smiling, Capo tilts his head back and looks at me from under hooded lids. “You want to kill me, Mari?”
Only every day, you worthless piece of shit. “I’m not in the murder business.”
His smile vanishes. “You’re in whatever business I say you’re in.”
I swallow. A cold bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Behind me, one of the fighters lands a vicious blow.
The crunch of bone makes the collared girls shudder.
“Yes, Capo. I meant no disrespect.”
Gazing at me thoughtfully, he draws on his cigar. The tip burns red. He exhales a plume of smoke. Then, without looking away from me, he raises the hand that holds the girls’ leashes and turns to Enzo. “Get rid of this garbage.”
Enzo leads them off like they’re a pair of dogs on choke chains. They crawl behind him on hands and knees toward a door on the far side of the room. I can’t watch, because I can’t help them, and I’m concentrating on swallowing the scream of impotent rage building in my throat.
I start counting all the places I’ve hidden weapons on my body.
Left thigh. Lower back. Right forearm. Shoe.
I’m not going to attempt anything because I’d be dead within seconds, but it calms me.
Capo motions for me to join him on the sofa. “Come. Take off your coat and have some champagne.”
The six bodyguards watch me rebel for a moment against an order from their king. Try as I might, I can’t move, and my body remains frozen.
Capo’s hand is extended toward me. His eyes glitter with malice. Very quietly, he says my name.
I drag in a breath and find the will to get my shaking fingers to untie the belt on my coat. It falls open, Capo’s eyes flare, and I freeze all over again.
Abruptly, he stands and comes to me. He cuffs my wrists in his hands and gives me a short, hard shake. I smell his cologne, sandalwood and cloves, and almost groan in terror.
“You seem reluctant.” His voice is low, his face close to mine. “Are you afraid of me, Mari?”
I could die in this room, and no one would ever know. I’d never see Reynard again. I’d never see the sun again.
And the American… Will he think of me?
I’m hyperventilating. It must be my fear that answers Capo, because I would never be so self-destructive to utter the words I say next.
“Yes. But I hate myself for it. You’re not worth the wasted breath.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. He looks at my mouth. “I’ve killed men for less than that,” he says softly, deadly. His gaze flashes back up to mine. His grip around my wrists is viciously tight.
I think of the American again, the way he touched my body with such reverence, how he was so sweet I couldn’t bear it. It’s comical that I should be thinking of him at this moment. Or maybe it’s madness. Either way, it gives me a welcome boost of strength.
“I can’t help it if you don’t like to hear the truth.”
Capo exhales slowly. His lids droop. He moistens his lips.
With a fresh dose of horror, I realize he’s aroused by my defiance.
“Always so reckless, Mari,” he says in a lover’s tender murmur. “Always so proud. Do you know what I’d like to do with that pride of yours?”
My mouth goes dry. My stomach knots. I’m sure he can hear my knees knocking.
He leans closer, inhaling deeply against my neck, raising all the tiny hairs on my body. The tip of his nose nudges my earlobe as he breathes hotly into my ear. “I’d like to beat it out of you.”
Then he releases me abruptly. “Now sit your ass down on the fucking sofa!” he snarls.
He shoves me so hard, I stumble and fall to my knees. A hand grips my hair and yanks my head back. I look up into a handsome, unsmiling face.
Capo makes a clucking noise and chides, “Clumsy.”
He drags me to my feet by my hair. I suck in a sharp breath from the pain but don’t scream. I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction. He pushes me onto the sofa, then stands glaring down at me while I wait, heart hammering, for him to pull out a gun and shoot me in the face.
But he only runs a hand over his hair and adjusts his tie, smooths a wrinkle in his beautiful jacket.
“You always manage to disrupt my equilibrium.”
There’s an edge like a knife in his voice. He sits next to me and pours champagne into both glasses. An acrid coil of smoke wafts up from the carpet beneath the coffee table where he abandoned his cigar.
I take the champagne he offers, ashamed to see how hard my hand shakes. Unsure if it will be the last taste of champagne I’ll ever have, I swallow it in one gulp.
One of the fighters hits the other with a vicious undercut to the jaw. It sends him flying. As the soprano hits a high note, his body lands on the carpet with a dull thud. A tremor shakes the floor under my feet.
Get up. Keep fighting. Please don’t die in front of me. Please don’t die and leave me here alone with him and his soldiers and nothing else to hold their attention.
“I told you to take off your coat.”
Capo has leaned back against the sofa, and is watching me from the corner of his eye. I do as he orders, my gaze averted. When I try to drape my coat over my legs, he warns softly, “Mariana.”
I place the coat on the arm of the sofa and fold my hands in my lap. I’m sitting ramrod-straight, staring at nothing, when I feel his hand settle onto my thigh.
I flinch. He squeezes my leg. I grit my teeth and close my eyes. “So you know I finished the job.”
“Speak again without permission,” he says casually, “and you won’t walk for a week.”
“Who told you you could speak, you bad girl?”
Why, why is the American in my head? Why can’t I get him out? Why am I thinking of him as I’m sitting here with this savage of a man, my life in danger, my heart exploding in fear?
Even as I’m asking myself those questions, I know the answer.
Because the further away I get from that beautiful night, the more clearly I can see what I was given.
“Why are you smiling?” Capo asks sharply.
My eyes snap open. The fighter who was knocked out has rolled onto his side and is struggling to stand. It seems like a sign, so I decide to tell him the truth. “You remind me of the things I’m grateful for.”
My honesty surprises him. Something like amusement flashes across his expression, but of course it can’t be amusement because he doesn’t have a sense of humor—because he doesn’t have a soul.
“How interesting. That almost sounded like a compliment. If you’re not careful, I’ll start to
think you’re sweet on me.” After a beat, he adds, “Although those murderous eyes tell a different story.”
We stare at each other. My fingers itch to claw into his eye sockets, to dig out his eyeballs and crush them under my feet, to feel vitreous liquid, warm and gelatinous, ooze between my bare toes.
I wonder if evil is contagious.
“May I please have permission to speak?” I ask politely.
His grin is unexpected. It’s also terrifying.
“Do you know why I like you, Mariana?”
He likes me? Dios mio. His hand, heavy and warm, still rests on my thigh.
“No, Capo. Why?”
“Because you’re a warrior. Even your submission is defiant. You’d rather die on your feet than live on your knees. Like me,” he adds thoughtfully.
Like me? He thinks we have something in common? Revulsion curls my tongue when I say, “Thank you.”
My expression makes him laugh. When he lifts his hand from my leg, it feels like I’ve been sprung from prison.
“We could’ve made an incredible team, you and I. It’s a pity you chose to take the oath to repay Reynard’s debt instead of…the easier way.” His gaze drifts down to my breasts. He sinks his teeth into his full lower lip.
I wish I hadn’t guzzled all my champagne. I need something to wash the taste of vomit from my mouth.
He glances at my face. Whatever he sees there makes him prompt, “You may speak.”
My plan was to try to get right down to business and find out why he called me here, but something has occurred to me that’s much more important.
And far, far more dangerous.
I start haltingly. “I want…I want to ask for a favor.”
For a long, tense moment, he stares at me. I wonder how long the fighters will be able to continue, because I sense I’m starting to run out of time.
Then he leans forward, sets his champagne glass on the coffee table, and rests his elbows on his knees and smiles. He’s never looked more ruthless.
Holding my gaze, he speaks softly. “You know my favors aren’t free.”
I almost lose my courage then. But I’m gambling that the blood oath I’ve taken will give me some measure of protection against the worst part of his nature. Sicilians value blood oaths more than anything, except family and respect.
“Yes, Capo.”
His eyes blaze with anticipation. He inclines his head, permission for me to speak granted.
“The girls who were with you when I came in…”
That muscle in his jaw flexes again. He looks hungry. Like a starving wild animal about to rip into a carcass with his teeth. “What about them, Mariana?”
My name on his lips is so sinister, I have to take several breaths before I work up the courage to speak again. “May I have them?”
He looks startled for a split second, then his face clears with understanding. His voice comes out as a hiss. “Save them, you mean. Rescue them. From me.”
When I don’t answer, Capo sneers. “They’re two of hundreds. Thousands. All exactly alike. You can’t save them all.”
I stare at my hands. They’re shaking. With fury or fright, I don’t really know. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.”
He grabs my jaw and forces my head around so we’re nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes. “This is about your sister, isn’t it?”
My silence infuriates him. He snaps, “There are better ways to respect the dead than throwing yourself on their funeral pyre!”
I’m shocked. I thought he’d jump at the chance to degrade me the way I know he aches to.
“Is that a no?”
His nostrils flare. His hands clamp around my throat and start squeezing before I can react. He jerks me toward him. The movement is so violent, it lifts me clear off the sofa.
“You stupid fucking woman,” he growls, veins popping out in his neck. “You stupid, proud, sentimental woman. You’d sacrifice yourself for a dead girl and two worthless whores who’ll rob you and stab you in the heart the second they get the chance?”
He flips me onto my back on the sofa, a big, dark presence looming over me as I cough and struggle against his grip. My eyes water. I draw my knees up against my chest in useless defense.
He shouts into my face, “Do you know what I’d do to you? Do you have any fucking idea?”
I don’t understand what’s happening. I know he’s furious with me, I know his hands are squeezing the life from my body, and I know that very soon I’ll lose consciousness, because the room is starting to fade.
But I still don’t get why I’m not already stripped naked and strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross, watching Capo approach with nothing but a dark smile and a whip.
Enzo strolls back into the room, wiping his hands on a white handkerchief. Capo catches sight of him from the corner of his eye and abruptly releases me.
He stands and roars, “Fuck!” at the top of his lungs, then stalks to the ring outlined in silver, interrupting the two fighters.
He grabs one of the men by the throat and punches him so hard I can hear his nose shatter all the way across the room. The fighter crumples to the floor. Capo turns to the other man with an animal snarl and lunges at him, striking him with his fists over and over, mercilessly, even after the man falls motionless on his back on the carpet.
Enzo watches this outburst with vague interest, his lower lip puffed out. He’s still wiping his hands on the handkerchief.
I sob when I realize what he’s cleaning from his hands is blood.
The aria from Madama Butterfly ends. The only sounds now are ragged, heaving breaths, Capo’s and mine.
Capo stands. He spits on one of the men on the floor. He wipes his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve, then drops his head back, closes his eyes, and inhales a deep breath.
I roll to my side on the sofa, get my feet under me, and slowly sit up. My whole body is shaking. I cough and gag, dragging in excruciating breaths. My throat is so raw and bruised, I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk.
“You want I should order up some sandwiches, Capo?” Enzo asks, as if he’s a bored waitress in a diner.
Sweating and disheveled, his gaze disoriented, Capo turns and squints at Enzo. He shakes his head like a dog coming out of water. He swallows, rakes his hands through his hair, and staggers away from the bodies in the ring.
I can’t tell if either man is breathing.
“It looks like you’re in luck, Mariana,” Capo says, panting a little. “You won’t have to owe me a favor after all.”
He’s looking at Enzo’s bloody handkerchief.
I cover my face with my shaking hands. In a moment, another song starts up. Another aria. Another woman singing in her beautiful, soaring voice.
I’ll never be able to listen to opera again.
Sounding more under control, Capo answers Enzo. “Yes. Order food. But not sandwiches. Steaks. Bloody rare.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Whistling, Enzo wanders to the elevator doors. He steps right over one of the unconscious fighters on the way.
Between my fingers, I see feet approach. A pair of big, expensive black wingtips polished to a mirror shine stop a foot or two away.
“I called you here because I wanted to discuss your next job. Only two left to go under your contract.” Capo has regained all his control now and sounds like any boss addressing any employee in a staff meeting.
I can’t look at him. My voice comes out as a painful croak. “One.”
“It was one. Your dumb fucking Mother Teresa act just added another.”
I stay silent, eyes lowered, impotent rage boiling in my veins.
A heavy sigh breaks from Capo’s chest, stirring my hair. He lowers himself to the sofa beside me and pours himself more champagne.
“Ah, Mariana,” he murmurs. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. I wanted us to have a drink, visit, spend a little time together. But you always make me so goddamn…” His voice shakes over the next word.
“Angry.”
I don’t dare look at him. I don’t dare speak. I think of tropical rainfall and roosters crowing at midnight and a man who called me Angel, and I try not to cry.
After a moment, Capo whips the silk pocket square from his suit jacket and digs into the silver ice bucket, rooting around the magnum of champagne. He grabs a handful of ice, ties the ends of the pocket square together, and silently holds the dripping packet out to me.
I take it and press it against my burning throat.
Because this is my life.
Sounding tired, Capo says, “Listen to me. The job.”
I nod. Ice water slides down my neck and trickles into my cleavage. It might as well be acid for how it burns.
“It’s in Washington, DC. At the Smithsonian. I want the Hope Diamond.”
I turn my head and stare at him with wide eyes.
“By the first of the month.”
I drop the ice into my lap.
“And before you tell me it’s impossible, remember what happens to Reynard if you fail.” He takes a long swallow from his glass of champagne. Gazing at the unmoving bodies of the men on the carpet, his voice is bitter. “You can do it. I have faith in you, Mari. Your loyalty to that old dog is even stronger than your need to be a hero to whores.”
When he turns back to me, his eyes have changed. Gone is any hint of humanity. What I’m looking at now is the raw, brutal beast who would’ve strangled me to death if Enzo hadn’t accidentally interrupted him.
“Now get the fuck out of my sight before I lose my temper and tear you to shreds!” the beast snarls.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I grab my coat and stumble away, vision blurred with tears of rage and desperation, vowing for the thousandth time that someday, somehow, I’ll find a way to take him down. Until then, I’ve got to figure out how to steal a world-famous diamond from one of the most secure locations inside the capital of the United States.
Within ten days.
Or Reynard dies.
I grip the small velvet bag of silver coins in my pocket and hurry back down to Limbo to pay a visit to the concierge.
Twelve
Ryan
Wicked Intentions: The Wicked Games Series, Book 3 Page 10