Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

by Catherine Wiltcher

  “Rossi got your message.”

  I pause. “How so?” I watch Ielena drop my shirt to the floor and do a long, slow swirl around her cabin—giving me the floorshow to end all floorshows. She’s naked, except for the fading patchwork of bruises across her chest and the white bandage, and if I didn't know any better, I’d say she knew I was watching her.

  Dubov might have stamped his Bratva insignia across her heart, but it’s no more than an inch squared. The bandage doesn’t cover up her small breasts or her slender waist. It sure as hell doesn’t cover up her long, coltish legs and the tempting strip of dark hair between them…

  And just like that, I’m hard as stone again.

  “I’m looking at his offshore banks accounts,” I hear Frankie say. “The ones in the Cayman Islands are looking fruity. He even bought himself a brand-new superyacht to keep up with the Knights. He’s looking like a man ready to run.”

  “What the fuck?” I bang the laptop lid down again. “Regardless of the fact that he’s meant to be under this top secret, untouchable La Società Villefort protection, why would the boss of a prominent New York crime syndicate get spooked by the decapitated head of a long-forgotten soldato? He must have done worse in his sleep. Tell Zaccaria I want to speak to him. Any news on Maxim and the case of his disappearing face?”

  “Still working on it. Any progress with your wife?”

  “Still working it,” I counter grimly. “But the night is young and the wine is expensive.”

  He laughs. “Are you living dangerously with a Saint-Émilion?”

  “I figured a rich, full-bodied Chianti would be more in keeping with what I had in mind. Is Rick Sanders returning to the casino tonight?”

  “No, he had to fly back to the states. He mentioned something about throwing a surprise birthday party for a certain Colombian friend of his.”

  “Tell him he can have my casino for free if Dante Santiago considers us for future business opportunities.”

  “Raven, are you serious?” splutters Frankie, shaken out of his usual cool. “That’s dancing with a whole other devil.”

  “Maybe I’m in the mood for a partner swap. Speaking of which, I want an extra fifty in the building for this thing with Dubov.”

  Hanging up, I opt for black jeans and a thin, black V-neck sweater.

  Stepping into the sky lounge five minutes later, I discover Ielena’s beaten me to it. She’s curled up on a stool at the bar in a short, blue and gold color explosion of a dress, and she’s small chatting with Felix as he fixes her a cocktail. She looks up as I enter with that smile still etched into her delicate features.

  I have a theory about facial expressions as well as handshakes. You can always fake the motion, but you can’t fake it forever. I’m betting my entire fortune that Ielena has worn that smile from her cabin all the way here. That smile, my friends, is the real deal.

  A strange feeling steals across my chest. It’s as if one of those three fists that grabbed a hold of my heart at sixteen is loosening its grip. But at the same time, I can feel my father’s lighter weighing down my back pocket. I gave that smile to her, and I’ll be the bastard who takes it away again.

  “You found yourself to halfway.” I drop a kiss on the top of her head as I direct Felix to the Glenfiddich bottle.

  “It was easier than I thought… The dress is beautiful by the way,” she adds, blushing slightly. Not as much as she usually does, though. Her loss of innocence is leaching away my ability to read her emotions. When I finally fuck her, will it be gone for good? “It’s Eloise’s design, isn’t it?”

  “When I called her to let you know you weren’t working, I requested a few pieces for my driver to collect.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “I prefer women’s dresses on my bedroom floor.”

  She rolls her eyes, forgetting herself for a moment, but I ease up on the chastisement. I want her undone. I want her comfortable around me.

  “How do you know her?” I ask.

  “I spent a summer in Cannes when I was thirteen. One day, I was sat a café just behind La Croisette and she was sat at the next table. She was wearing the most beautiful jade dress and I couldn't take my eyes off it. I told her how much I liked it and she invited me to sit with her. For the next three weeks, we met every day in the same café. She knew I was interested in art and design so she taught me all about different fabrics and colors and textures…”

  I can’t stop staring at her mouth. She’s talking about something that doesn’t interest me in the slightest, but she’s making it sound like the greatest money deal I never heard about.

  “Sorry, I’m boring you,” she says shyly, dropping her gaze to her Margarita.

  “What did you warn me about the first day I met you?”

  “That I’d never be boring.”

  And she’s not. Because she’s got me hanging onto her every word, and it’s not to catch the secrets that could come tumbling out at any moment. Suddenly, I want to find out every detail about her.

  “Did I ruin your suit the other day?”

  “Among other things…”

  “Do I have to work to pay it off, as well?”

  “Mrs. Knight, are you flirting with me?”

  I can do mock-scandal as well as the next horny-as-fuck man.

  “Would it be so terrible if I were?”

  “It’s a slippery slope, princess… One minute you’re flirting, the next you’re—”

  “Sir, the captain’s asked me to let you know we’ve arrived,” interrupts Felix, handing me my drink.

  “Thanks. Shall we?” I say, taking her hand and tugging her off her stool.

  I lead her out onto the middle deck and over to the stainless-steel handrails. The moon and stars above us are as bright as the yacht’s underwater LED lights.

  “What were you just about to say in there?” she asks.

  “Something so filthy, poor Felix would be in therapy for a month.”

  She laughs, gazing out at the inky horizon. “Where are we?”

  “Bay of Marseilles.” I move to stand behind her, smirking into her hair when I feel her body tremble. She lifts her hand to calm her billowing hair and I catch sight of her engagement ring. I dropped two hundred thousand on a diamond to suit the woman I thought she was. Now, all I see is an insult. That ring is a disservice to everything sweet, gutsy and true about her.

  “Hey.” She tries to flinch away as I grab her finger and wrench it off. “What are you doing?”

  “Redressing a situation.” With a flick of my wrist I chuck the ring into the ocean. “Some local fisherman will be making the catch of his damn life tomorrow.”

  “Why did you do that?” She looks sideways at me as if I’m insane. Which I probably am... Even I can't explain the rightness of what I just did.

  “Doesn't suit the dress,” I say mildly. “You can’t expect to be a psychedelic sixties clone with a rock like that on your finger. Now hush. I brought you here for a reason. Look over there.”

  She follows my outstretched arm. “Is that an island?”

  “Chateau d’If. Technically, it’s an islet, which means it’s smaller, but we don’t go in for small things around here.” She laughs again, and my dick pays attention. The cherry thing must be contagious because her whole body smells of it tonight. “Can you see the fortress? The battlements are illuminated in orange.”

  “Yes, I see them. What is this place?”

  “The French built it in 1524 to protect Marseilles from invaders. Eventually, they turned it into a state prison.”

  She lets out a soft cry of recognition. “Oh, I’ve read about Chateau d’If. It’s the prison from The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  Well, at least Papa Bratva gave her an education along with the bruises.

  “You know your dumb arse.”

  “It’s Alexandre Dumas,” she says with a groan at my crass attempt at humor. “I had a lack of love, but an expensive education… Fourteen years,” she declares su
ddenly, and I nearly drop my whiskey into the ocean. “I remember the story now. That’s the length of time Edmond Dantès was locked up for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  Or for a crime he planned to.

  “Can you imagine the rage he must have felt?” she muses. “Chained to a place he was never meant to be in for fourteen years. No wonder his vengeance was so cold.”

  “Vengeance is a form of redemption.”

  “But it will never be as powerful as forgiveness.”

  “Jesus. You’re hurting my ears.”

  “Dantès was an antihero—”

  “As all the great men are.”

  “He believed he was some kind of God handing down his judgements.”

  “I bet he didn’t make his wife come as hard as I did, though.”

  She spins around to face me, her softness brushes against my erection and making me grunt at the lightest of touches. “Is that what you and Zaccaria do? Play God and hand down judgements to people who have wronged you?”

  “No, Ielena. We make a shit load of money together, the bad guy way.”

  “When did you meet?”

  “Fourteen years ago,” I say, trying not to smirk.

  She mulls this around her pretty head for a beat or two. “You could almost identify with Edmond Dantès, then.”

  “I doubt it. I’ve never seen the inside of a prison cell...yet. Unless, of course, you’re counting this marriage.”

  Her smile vanishes, like I knew it would. I’m the fucking smile-catcher when I want to be. It’s her fault. She flicked the switch, and now this conversation is too charged for my liking. My truth is a burning pyre. Anyone who dances too close gets burned.

  “What did Zaccaria really promise you for my hand?” she asks curiously. “And don’t give me ‘the world’ or any of your other, asinine non-answers.”

  I lean down to graze her cheek with my next words. “Why do you want to know so badly?” At the same time, I move in closer, grinding my erection against the conclave of her stomach. She presses back even harder, like I knew she would. “Bad girl… Still, sexual intimidation is so much more fun when it’s reciprocated.”

  “I’m not your half-measure anymore, Aiden.” She tips her head back, aligning her perfect rosebud of a mouth with mine.

  “Is your pussy still wet for me?”

  She nods, holding my gaze. “As hard as your cock is for me.”

  “Spoken like a true non-virgin. I don’t think you blinked once. Shall we continue your education here on this deck?”

  I watch her chew gently on her lower lip. “Teach me how to make you come like that.”

  A slow grin creeps across my face. “I don’t come like that, Ielena. Not like the whole sky just crashed down on me. I learned self-discipline a long time ago.”

  “Along with hate fucking, if I remember rightly. Does sex bore you?”

  “I’ve never found anyone to keep me interested in it.”

  And that’s changing right here, right now.

  “Mouth or fingers?” she gasps out. “What are you going to teach me first?”

  I’ve had enough of this. She’s fire dancing again.

  I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and bring her in so close our lips are almost touching. “Are you my lover or my whore?” I ask nonchalantly, fighting my natural urge to force her to her knees and take what I want from her body.

  “I’m your wife,” she rasps, but I see the flash of fear in her eyes.

  “Then fucking act like it.” I let go of her neck and point to the sky lounge. “Get inside, and wait for me there.”

  I listen as the click of her heels grows progressively quicker as her poise starts to slip. I’m a bastard for treating her like this, but for a second there she made me forget I was the predator, not the prey.

  “Wait,” I say irritably, losing a war with my conscience.

  She freezes to the spot, dressed in blue and gold and confusion.

  “Ielena—”

  “Do you have a lover?” Her voice is hesitant… Fearful. I remember her accusing me of this on our wedding night. “Is this marriage a conflict for you?”

  “Not presently,” I lie, striding up to her. “But if my apology gets accepted, I might get lucky by the end of the night.”

  “I thought all mafia men had a million girlfriends,” she says, smiling weakly.

  “I’m not ‘all mafia’, halfway. I’m an associate to anyone who makes me money. I’m a veritable criminal mongrel.”

  “I asked too many questions. That’s why you got angry with me.”

  “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

  “Karina used to say that to me all the time.” She glances back toward the ocean. “She was always stealing my clothes and evading my cross-examinations with clever phrases like that.”

  “And now she’s stolen your life.”

  A gasp catches in her throat. “If Luca Zaccaria is as awful as you say he is, I’m happy with the trade-off.”

  “Go back to your cabin and polish your halo,” I mock, heading over to the bar. “There’s no room for your martyrdom on this deck.”

  “Haven’t you ever loved someone, Aiden?” she asks, following in my footsteps. “I don’t mean a woman,” she adds quickly, seeing my expression.

  “Not for fourteen years, as it happens.” I reach for the scotch. Put the fireguard up, Ielena, or those flames are going to bite you again. “Except for Frankie, but he’s more like a big dog with teeth.” And knives. And guns. And shovels.

  “I like Frankie.”

  “There you go again. Saying you like men that you really shouldn't.” I down my double and pour another. “So tell me something. If this deal never existed, if you’d never been forced to marry me, if your sister wasn’t on the run from the Italians, would you guys have left Paris together?”

  “That was the plan. Maybe after working for a year or two first... Before all this, I had a job placement at The Louvre lined up.”

  “What would you have done? Bum around Europe on the Interrail with the rest of the Z generation? Or move to a quiet little island and be all self-sufficient and worthy?”

  Caught up in the unexpected amiability of the conversation, she opens her mouth to answer me, she fucking opens her mouth, and then she shuts it again.

  I watch her turn away quickly to compose herself, and in that moment I know that my pretty little Russian Doll knows exactly where her sister is.

  Pain won’t break her, so it’s time to dial up the pleasure.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Issa

  We eat dinner on the top deck with the flickering lights of the Riviera serving as our background entertainment. Aiden’s instructed that his yacht return to berth at Port Hercule in Monte Carlo, but the travel motion isn't distracting me from my appetite. It’s been days since I last had a proper meal, and I’m falling on the salmon mousseline like a starved animal.

  “The doctor will be back tomorrow morning to change the dressing.” I glance up to find him watching me with an irritated expression on his face. “Christ. Didn’t Felix feed you while I was gone?”

  “I wasn’t hungry before.”

  “Then today is a day for new appetites.”

  I swing the knife and fork together with a contented sigh. “That was delicious. My compliments to the chef.”

  “No dessert. We’re going out.” He seems impatient. He’s up on his feet already.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, placing my napkin down on the table.

  “I’m combining business and pleasure for the rest of the evening.” His eyes gleam with untold sin and my stomach dips in nervous apprehension. “And you, princess, are very much the latter.”

  His black Maserati is waiting for us at the quayside. He sees me into the passenger seat, and then we’re weaving our way through the back streets of the town in the direction of his casino.

  “Did you take your meds tonight?”

  “I did.”

/>   “How does the wound feel?”

  “Better, thank you.”

  He seems pleased with the answer, in much the same way a hunter would be if his prized prey had shaken off an injury. He doesn’t have to treat me like glass anymore. I’m fair game.

  When he places a warm palm on my leg, the fire between us flickers back to life. He pushes the pedal to the floor as his fingers start to trail upward, the snarl of the powerful engine disguising the thundering of my heart. By the time his fingers have reached their destination, the car is pushing fifty kilometers per hour.

  “Aiden, stop,” I tell him with a groan, but at the same time I’m parting my legs to give him access.

  “Never.” With his trademark smirk, he hits sixty as he starts to massage my clit through my damp panties. A delicious burning sensation is spreading out across my pelvis. I throw my arm up around the headrest, as his touch grows even more insistent. The vibrations of the car are making it hard to get any kind of traction on my self-control.

  “Are you going to come for me, Ielena?” he purrs.

  “Yes,” I rasp.

  “Maybe later if you behave yourself.” His fingers disappear. The car slows. “Pull your dress down. We’re arriving at my casino, and I’d prefer not to have to beat the shit out of any more of your admirers. It’s not good for business.”

  It’s agony to be that close to the edge and be denied. He wants me desperate. Helpless. And I’m playing into his hands like a dream.

  “Ielena?” he says with an edge. “Dress.”

  “Sorry.” I scramble to comply, even though my mind is in the gutter and my panties are soaked through.

  He takes one look at the state of me, and he’s still chuckling as he exits the car and hands the keys to the valet. When he opens my door, he pulls me into his arms and plants a rough kiss on my lips before I’ve had a chance to fix my hair. I’m wearing it loose again tonight, and writhing against a car seat as my sadistic new husband toys with my body has left it in a revealingly untidy state.

  “What sweet, exotic torture I’m inflicting on you,” he croons, skimming the outside curve of my left breast with the backs of his fingers “And this is only the beginning… Hold tight, your education is about to take an unpredictable turn.”