Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

by Catherine Wiltcher

  How did you do it, Zaccaria? How did you infiltrate La Società Villefort so profoundly in such a short space of time?

  “That name is a pile of TNT. It’s like he wants us to pick a fight with the 'Ndrangheta,” says Frankie, cutting to the chase as usual.

  “What’s the status of their relationship with the Cosa Nostra?”

  “Strained. Ever since Zaccaria terminated Rossi’s Consigliere outside a Brooklyn deli last year.”

  “Jesus.” I run my hand across my jawline. “We kill his men, we escalate the conflict.”

  “Who gives a damn as long as we make the targets? Fourteen years, Aiden,” he reminds me.

  Frankie sees revenge in black and white, while I see gray tributaries running in all directions like streaks of war paint. Regardless, we’re both on the same page as far as Gambino’s concerned.

  “I want his location.”

  “Zaccaria sent it through as an extra wedding gift. There’s even a business address.”

  “It’s too easy, Frankie.” I ran my hand across my jaw. “Where?”

  “Siena, Italy.”

  “Good time to visit.”

  “Good time to kill.”

  We both fall silent as another group of tourists shuffle past, and then I’m swinging back to the car with a familiar fire detonating in my veins. “I want twenty-four-hour surveillance on Ielena when I’m gone. Tap her phone, her laptop, everything. If she contacts her sister, or if her sister contacts her I want it lighting up every listening and tracking device we possess. She doesn't go anywhere without you or the boys, and log into the security feeds in that shop on Rue Meynardier.”

  “You got it.”

  I grab his arm as he reaches for the passenger door. “And if Maxim Lebedev comes sniffing anywhere near The Cristo in the next day or so, you have my permission to put him down like a dog.”

  Chapter Eight

  Issa

  The devil has taken a hold of my new husband.

  I’m forced to watch on, helplessly, as he drives Maxim’s face into the car window and holds him there until his scarred skin turns a wicked shade of white.

  “No!” I reach for the door handle to put a stop this lunacy, but the driver slams his hand down on the in-car locking mechanism. “Let me out!” I scream, tugging on it regardless.

  “I can’t do that, madame,” comes a flat drawl, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “Fuck you!”

  It occurs to me that I’ve never actually said those words out loud before as I smash my palms against the bulletproof glass.

  It’s all for nothing.

  Aiden can’t hear me or see me. Not that he’d give a damn if he could. When he finally lets go of Maxim, my cheeks are wet with frustration. Best laid plans are being ripped apart before my eyes, and it’s all because of him.

  Fine minutes later, he’s sprawled out on the seat next to me, his long hard body taking up all of his allotted space and more. He’s loosened his necktie and a graze of stubble is beginning to darken his jawline, adding an extra layer to his danger. There’s a storm in his calm and a shudder to his stillness. Whatever is going on inside of him, it’s filling up the vehicle and squeezing me out as we travel the streets of Monte Carlo toward my new home. There’s no apology or explanation for what he’s done and I know better than to ask.

  I’m still fumbling for the positives to keep hope alive when he takes a call on his cell. Fluent Spanish. Is there any language this man doesn't speak?

  We’re a war that neither of us can win. He calls me a princess like it’s a dirty word. He splashes my life with ridicule and shades me with humiliation. I call him a beautiful bastard, but really, he’s a field of poppies in Normandy. Beneath his surface, he’s littered with razor wire and dirty bombs. Oh, and kisses that shake my foundations… It’s safe to say I didn't see that landmine coming.

  Men like him aren’t supposed to hate kiss like that, shooting sparks into places they have no business being. I felt it all, from the heat of his possession to the lust in his touch. The call him the Raven, but really he’s a wolf—a living, breathing predator dressed up in Armani, with lawlessness dripping from his jaws. And my father tossed me at his feet like the grains of rice he never tossed at me on my wedding day.

  Positives, Issa. Positives.

  Karina is safe. She’s in England in a place where neither the Italians nor the Russians can find her yet. I may not have acquired Zaccaria as my last name, but whatever Aiden is to La Famiglia, he means enough to be offered my hand in marriage.

  “Here, I almost forgot.” He hangs up and reaches into his inner jacket pocket, before flinging a gray jewellery box onto my lap with all the care and grace I’ve come to expect for him.

  “What’s that?” I prod at it like it’s a six-inch cockroach.

  “Your new best friend.”

  An annulment? Deliverance?

  No such luck. It’s a diamond engagement ring. The biggest, boldest most vulgar thing I’ve ever seen. Still, I was raised with manners if not with love.

  “Thank you,” I say dutifully, slipping it on over my slim knuckles. Thanks for the spiked collar around my neck, and the dead weight inside my stomach.

  I’m tempted to rip it off and throw it at him like I’ve seen all those beautiful women in the movies do. Diamonds are comatose stones. I much prefer bursts of color that dance like flames with the slightest of movements. Some of the most beautiful pieces I own have a value that’s a fraction of this monstrosity.

  The car starts to slow.

  “Welcome to your new home, princess.”

  “So soon?” Outside is an expanse of an ocean so blue it’s almost purple. “But we’re at Port Hercule.”

  He catches my eye and holds it. “Let’s just say I like to keep my horizons within touching distance.”

  “You live on a boat?” I splutter.

  “No, I don't live ‘on a boat’; I live on a fucking superyacht,” he drawls in that caustic tone of his, taking my reaction and warping it into one of his ridiculous rich bitch assumptions again.

  “Wait—”

  “True colors, Ielena?” Stepping out of the car, he leans back in with a twisted smile on his face. “By God, I’m going to make you appreciate what you have in life if it kills me.” Is he for real? “Time to go.”

  My eyes dart to the ocean again and a rash of fear breaks out on my bare skin. My mouth dries up and my heart starts crashing against my rib cage. I haven’t been this close to water since—

  “Is your arse attached to the seat, or is this a defiance thing again? Get. Out. Now. Ielena.”

  He says it in a way that has me scrabbling headfirst into a nightmare.

  Blinking back the tears, I stand shivering on the quayside in my pink and red dress in the lazy, late afternoon heat. He’s gesturing at one of the largest superyachts in the port a couple of berths along, something sleek and graphite and menacing-looking. He’s talking at me, telling me something pertinent about it. His lips are moving, but I don’t hear the words. My chest is a closed citadel. My lungs are like two pieces of lead.

  “Aiden,” I rasp, but it’s lost to the cries of the gulls overhead. My terror fixes on the slim slivers of ocean in between each vessel, like blue lines for an oceanic parking lot.

  “Ielena?”

  Am I swaying, or are the gentle waves crashing into me?

  “Ielena?”

  His voice keeps skimming the surface of my bubble of panic, but it’s never enough to pierce it.

  “Can’t breathe,” I croak, as the world flashes and fades to shades of gray.

  “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” comes another voice.

  “Panic attack.”

  I feel his hands on my shoulders. I try to jerk away, but my body has stopped communicating with my brain. I don't want him to see me like this.

  And then I’m falling, falling and landing in arms that are both hard and gentle and cold and welcoming.

 
I wake to a ring of gold above me. It tugs me back to reality with a firm hand.

  My eyelids flutter, and then settle. The gold circle becomes a band of spotlights. I blink again and a cream-colored ceiling comes in view. I’m lying shoeless, but full clothed, on top of a king-sized bed with a sweeping view of the Riviera coastline above my toes. I watch it rise and fall in time with my chest for a beat or two, like the steady gait of a horse, or a ship bobbing on the waves.

  Tides of panic rush back in. I try up sit up, but my hands slip across the silky comforter and it turns into an undignified scrabble, the material of my dress pulling across my chest and making me whimper in pain.

  “Easy,” murmurs a voice.

  Aiden is leaning against the far wall—a perfect silhouette of sin—with his hands in his pants’ pockets. His white dress shirt is wide open at the collar and the crimson necktie has been yanked loose.

  “I need to—”

  “You need to rest,” he says firmly, striding over to the bed and glaring me into submission. “You’re safe here. All aboard my unsinkable, fifty-million-euro superyacht.”

  “They said the same thing about the Titanic.” I glance toward the window again. “Did I faint? How did I—”

  “I carried you up the gangplank and over the threshold.” The corners of his mouth start on that ever-ready smirk. “Turns out there are some wedding traditions that even I adhere to.”

  “We’ve left port.” The words stick in my throat. “I can feel the vibrations of the engines.”

  “I have urgent business in Cannes, and I was sick of road travel.” He removes his jacket and tosses it across the end of the bed. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in just a dress shirt and pants, and I’m temporarily distracted from the anarchy going on inside me. With his broad shoulders, solid muscularity, and black ink crawling out from underneath the cuff of one wrist, he looks like a fallen angel on a trajectory straight to hell.

  “W-what do you think you’re doing?” I say nervously, as he goes to remove his necktie.

  “Consummating our marriage.” He laughs when he sees my face—a sound so devoid of his usual cynicism it’s almost melodic in its bass. “Ielena, I’ve seen cheap whores more thrilled at that prospect than you. Relax. I said we’d do this at your pace.” He leans down and swipes my lips with a rough finger, eliciting a soft gasp. “Is it the water you’re scared of, or just me? Or maybe, princess, it’s a little both.”

  “It’s too early in our marriage to be sharing secrets.” I wrench my head away and offer him a chaste cheek instead. The way my body reacts around him is trouble. I’m like a wave of iron filings whenever his raw magnetism passes over me.

  His finger hooks under my chin and jerks me back again. “It’s never too early for that,” he says, his smirk slipping into something sinister.

  “I don’t feel like sharing anything with you, Aiden. Not after what you did to Maxim earlier.”

  “Not yet, but you will.” He lets go and straightens up. “In the meantime, I’ll celebrate the minor victories. You’re not addressing me like a French politician anymore. That deserves a double on the rocks, at least.”

  “So you’re not taking advantage of my compromised emotional state?” I almost sound disappointed.

  I watch his gaze land hungrily on my chest. “I’ll be taking advantage of everything if you don’t quit the back chat.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t force me!”

  He laughs again. “A promise is a temporary structure that could crumble at any moment. Didn’t your Bratva Papa ever teach you that?”

  Does he mean it? Does he not? I can never tell with him.

  “Shall we have another round of that conversational tennis, Ielena?”

  “It’s Issa, not Ielena. Not even my mother calls me that.”

  “Not until I say it is. Not until you’ve earned it. Not until all those pretty half-measures have become whole.” He sits down on the edge of bed and the dip in the mattress sends me scooting to the other side. His masculinity is punching holes in my defenses again.

  “So, you’re telling me I’m lacking now?”

  “On the contrary, I’m beginning to see your potential. Take your clothes, for example.” He glances down at my dress. The hem has rucked up to my thighs and I’m all legs and red nail polish. I managed to sneak that one past you, Marie. “In the span of two hours, your taste has improved dramatically.”

  “You like it?” I say in surprise.

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it cracks open a window to your personality.”

  I take a moment to let his words scatter and settle. “Will you allow me to take that job, or was it a just ruse to get me out of Eloise’s shop?”

  “I said I would, didn’t I? I’m a lot of things, baby, but when I give the go ahead, there’s no open return policy.” He trails a lazy gaze over my body again, lingering for a fraction too long on my bare legs. “Do you know the other thing I like about the dress?”

  “No?”

  “It shows off your best assets.” With that, he reaches across the bed and hauls me closer until we’re barely a foot apart and I can see the faint silver trail of a scar running through his left eyebrow. “You, Ielena, formerly Dubova and now very much a Knight,” he clarifies huskily, “are more than the uptight bitch I first mistook you for.”

  “Am I supposed to be grateful for your backhanded compliment?” I say, staring up at his wicked flawlessness. “I read somewhere that men who put women down only do it to compensate for something.”

  His gaze drops to my mouth and all the heat in my body rushes southward. “Nothing to compensate for down there, sweetheart. You’re welcome to find out for yourself.”

  “I don’t like your engagement ring,” I blurt out, wrenching my wrist away.

  “I find that more encouraging than you know.”

  “Why? Because I’m shattering your pre-conceived notions about me?”

  “Shattering?” He gives me that wolfish grin, the one that stiffens my nipples to sensitive peaks. “You’ll have to swing your hammer a hell of a lot harder to make a dent in that.”

  “Why do you live on a yacht? Are you rootless as well as soulless?”

  “Touché. What did I call you yesterday again?”

  “Stupid rich, bored, empty, unemployable and unsalvageable.” It’s a vicious citation I’ve already learned by heart.

  “Well, we can scrap the unemployable thing for starters.”

  “I’m not bored, Aiden.”

  I’m scared. Shit scared. I’m scared of what the last four weeks have done to my heart. I’m scared I’ll never be ‘me’ again, or whatever version I was before Karina left, back in a time when I had horses and friends and sweet oblivion. Most of all, I’m scared of the man I married today and his ability to crush me like a bug if he so desires, of his ability to crush all of us if he ever finds out the truth. “Neither am I unsalvageable.”

  “What about empty?” He’s moving in close again. “If you lie back and think of England, I could fill you up right now.”

  “Do you have to be so crude?” Will I ever stop blushing in his presence? I’m like a walking, talking beetroot around him.

  “That wasn’t crude, sweetheart, it was foreplay.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Oh really? I may be inexperienced, but even I know that’s a crappy line.”

  This is new. This banter between us… This lightness…

  I like it.

  I like it more than I should.

  “Stop trying to make me hate you, Aiden.”

  He freezes for a split-second. It’s a quiver of hesitation, but I catch it right before it tumbles into the ocean like a falling star. “Maybe it’s better for us if you do.”

  “How can it be better? I’ve done nothing to deserve your misery, except to be born into a wealth and privilege I never asked for. I’m not here to cause trouble for you.” I’m shocked at how easily that lie slips out w
ith such certainty. “You say you own casinos? You see people with bad hands all the time. If you can find it in yourself to soften the edges of your attitude—”

  “You’ll what? You’ll ‘fall in love’ with me? We’ll have a Hallmark marriage and a tribe of delinquents?” The moment has passed. He’s killed it, and he’s back to ridiculing me again. “Sorry, Ielena, that’s not part of the deal.” He rises from the bed, severing the fragile truce between us.

  “Just so you know, Aiden Knight,” I say, my temper flaring. “I’d rather jump into the Mediterranean than catch feelings for you.”

  “Hallelujah. We finally agree on something.” He snatches up his jacket with a cold precision and an even colder expression on his face. “You think Luca Zaccaria was a better option than me, sweetheart? Do you like broken bones and hospital waiting rooms? You would have been seeing those on the regular with his diamonds on your finger.”

  His admission hits me like an earthquake.

  I think of the note Maxim sneaked me earlier today, and then I think of gray skies and empty pebble beaches. Of a stark white cottage with blue shutters battened down against the incoming storm.

  “Why did you attack Maxim?” I blurt out.

  “He was moving in on my territory.”

  “I’m not territory. I’m a living, breathing person.” With shattered dreams and a fractured present.

  “Who says I was referring to you?”

  He’s lying. He runs his hand through his hair when he switches from bastard to manipulation mode.

  “Which part of London do you come from?”

  “The shit part,” he says, checking his watch. “Why do you hate water so much?”

  I pause. “I-I can’t say.”

  “You started this, princess. Don’t tease me with the goods if you’re not planning on a same-day delivery.”

  There’s a knock at the door. “Mr. Knight?”

  “What is it?”

  A gray-haired, British gentleman in a crisp white uniform appears in the doorway. “The Captain has asked me to let you know we’re coming in to port, sir.”

  “Thank you, Felix.” The guy disappears and Aiden makes to follow. “Cheer up, buttercup, I’m giving you the perfect wedding night.”