“Strip her,” he commanded. And the two men flanking him did as they were told. He didn’t trust himself to do the task. Taking off her clothes seemed too intimate a gesture.
They made quick work of it, removing her guns, her armor, and the knives one by one from her slim body until only naked flesh remained.
“Her panties too?” one man asked.
“No,” Nico said, perhaps too quickly. That thin swath of cotton was all that was holding his temptation back.
He knew it was in his power to take what he wanted of her. He’d seen the guards in the work camp do it any number of times to the women and the men. Women for pleasure, men for humiliation. Or perhaps pleasure as well. But the sight of the guards’ pale, naked asses thrusting, muscles clenching while their pants sagged about the ankles—the way they carried on without regard for who was watching—it sickened Nico. He wouldn’t have the men see him in such a way.
“Put the jacket on.”
They rolled the woman onto her side. Her beautiful breasts lay on top of one another, her nipples the color of cinnamon. Thankfully the men maneuvered each of her arms into the canvas sleeves and then hid them from his sight.
“Should we bind her legs?”
“There’s no need.” Without her guns and weaponry, without her power to move like a ghost through this world, she was no threat to him. Under her flesh, under the bones, she was only a woman after all.
Nico dismissed them.
He sank onto his knees beside her aware of the risk. One of the men could turn traitorous. Flip the current on and knock him unconscious too.
They didn’t dare.
He watched her chest rise and fall, her black lashes long against her freckled cheeks. Her pale lips were parted, offering the smallest hint of teeth.
He reached forward and brushed the hair back from her face.
Silky smooth.
How long had it been since he’d touched a woman? He couldn’t remember. And it wasn’t something he’d prioritized upon his return to Italy. He’d had only one ambition once he reached this city. He would see his father’s legacy destroyed, his heir ruined. And all of that was going so well.
The world hunted Konstantine. His one advantage, this creature at Nico’s feet, couldn’t save him. And the surprise lying in wait for Konstantine…
It would rid him of his rival and what remained of his father’s house.
Yes, it was all coming together just as he’d planned for all those, long, desperate years.
Despite the terror he’d known in that place, perhaps he should be grateful. For it had allowed him to plan with such painstaking detail, the perfect execution needed to win.
And now…all that remained was to decide what to do with his spoils.
His prisoner of war.
He could keep her in this room always. Visit her. Take from her all that he desired. Put a bullet between her eyes if at last her care became tedious. But that seemed such a waste of her talents.
No. He would win her over.
If such a man as Konstantine had been able to gain her loyalty—why couldn’t he?
He was a thousand times the man Konstantine was. She would see that.
You will serve me. He stared at those soft, parted lips. He reached out and stroked her cold cheek. You will give me the world.
It was only a matter of time.
32
It was only twenty minutes from the jetway to San Augusto al Monte. But this was enough time for Konstantine to consider Louie’s absence with growing dread. He kept remembering her naked, wet body, the way it had looked when she’d stepped from the linen closet into his line of sight, while he cowered in her bath.
She’d been bloody, her scars from every battle shining on her skin.
And when his mind didn’t torture him with that glorious vision, he thought of her on the deck of Ryanson’s boat, bleeding herself unconscious as King and her aunt tried to fend off death.
These weren’t only memories. They were sharp reminders.
She was powerful, yes. The most capable creature he knew, certainly.
But she was not immortal.
His heart hammered at the thought. Mama, he thought. Proteggila.
It was not the first time he’d prayed to his mother. And he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
The armored transport van rolled to a stop outside of the church. From this quiet view of the piazza, all looked well. The pigeons bobbed along the cobblestones, pecking at the stones with curious beaks. Somewhere a dog barked and the distant sound of a Vespa cut through narrow alleys, no doubt traffic from the main road several blocks over.
At least the area was vacated. If it hadn’t been, Konstantine was sure that the sight of twelve armored trucks rolling up outside the church would have been enough to encourage anyone to head home.
But as it was, it was nearly six in the morning. Traffic was minimal.
In his earpiece, the plan was rehearsed again with Konstantine breaking in only to confirm this or that detail. His ears were busy, but his eyes remained focused on the American in the seat across from him.
He watched the large man suit up. The driver was offering him a loaded Benelli and a vest. King was trying to shrug himself out of his black duster and roll up the sleeves of his collared shirt.
“You must stay in the van,” Konstantine said without his thumb on the intercom, so that his voice would remain in this van only.
King didn’t protest. Konstantine suspected that had this been anyone else, he would have faced a negotiation. But this man was here in the country illegally and running with a notorious gang. Perhaps he thought that this once, it was best to follow someone else’s lead.
Yet Konstantine felt the need to reassure him. “The truck is armored. You will be safe inside it. I will come back as soon it’s done.”
“Sure.”
Konstantine gave the order and black doors opened up and down the street. Men of every shape and color exiting the armored vans, guns drawn.
Then it was only the two of them. Konstantine hesitated.
“If she returns before I’m back,” he began, but he wasn’t sure how to finish.
“I think we both know she’ll be jumping right into the fray,” King said with a humorless laugh. “She has no interest in sitting in a van with the old guy.”
Konstantine nodded, but this was not what he had meant to say.
He meant if she appeared, wounded or in need, King should call him. King should come into the firefight and get Konstantine as if the mouth of Hell itself had opened.
Konstantine only nodded and stepped away from the van, his own gun warming between his cupped palms. It was cool in the early Florentine morning. Moisture hung in the air and chilled his face and neck. He took a deep breath, gathering his focus and will.
The objective was to kill only Nico and Nico’s armed guard, sparing as many of the Ravengers as possible.
But the guns were going off even before Konstantine walked up the stone steps and entered the church through its stone archway. In the slender nave, the temperature shift was ten degrees at least, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the early dawn of the piazza to the candlelit walkways inside the church.
Three men moving in formation ahead of Konstantine were doing a good job of sweeping the area. Too good.
In the upper level, masked men stood guard, their guns pointed down at Konstantine and his men as they entered. Their Harlequin masks and black clothing made them vengeful gods.
They shot everything that moved, without assessing who was truly a foe. Konstantine wove through the pews, seeking protection behind the stone pillars from the flying bullets. But something was not right.
The bullets missed him by wide margins. None of the men who had entered with Konstantine had been shot yet, though gunfire was constant and more than one man stood in the eaves above, with pistols aimed down at them.
A man from the upper landing was shot, and stiff armed, tumbled
over the stone bannister and crashed to the floor below. Konstantine went to the man to confirm his suspicion.
“Fuck.” He knelt beside the broken body and saw the situation clearly for the first time.
The man was bound with duct tape only able to move enough to give the impression of being alive and in command of his own body. But the gun that Konstantine freed with a blade was not loaded.
Blood poured from the two bullet holes in the man’s chest. He pulled back the masquerade mask and saw wide, fearful eyes. Fellini, one of his most loyal men. Konstantine used the tip of his blade to very carefully open the tape covering the man’s mouth, the tape that bulged and concaved with each rapid breath.
He’s going to die. He’s going to die before I even get the tape off.
“I’m so sorry,” Konstantine breathed, as he worked to remove the tape as carefully from the man’s lips as possible. “Fellini, forgive me.” He ripped off the tape, tearing the skin surrounding the mouth.
Of course Nico used his own men to distract him. He would have been a fool to sacrifice his loyal few.
He wasn’t the fool Konstantine remembered from his boyhood. He would pay for that mistake now. How high the price was yet to be seen.
Finally the tape was free.
Fellini’s breath came out in panicked puffs. His chest heaved and fell in short, sharp exhalations. He was trying to speak.
“Don’t,” Konstantine begged. “Don’t speak. I’ll send for the medic.”
Into his microphone Konstantine gave the commands. “Stop shooting. It’s only my own men who are here. Don’t kill them. They are bound and gagged. Gather them up and bring them into the piazza. Send me Romero. I’m between the pews on the right of the nave.”
“B-b,” Fellini tried again.
“Shhh." He tried to soothe Fellini. “The medic is coming.”
But Fellini wouldn’t listen, or he perhaps he didn’t know Konstantine had spoken at all.
“Bah, bah.” The words wouldn’t come. Blood bubbled up between his lips, painting them crimson.
Konstantine tried to shush him.
“Bomb,” he said. His wide desperate eyes fixing on Konstantine’s. “Bomb.”
Konstantine’s heart sputtered in his chest. His skin iced as all the blood rushed from the surface, seeking shelter in deeper cells.
A bomb.
“Bomb,” Fellini choked out and then the light left his eyes.
Konstantine stood, running for the entry as he shouted. “Bomb! There’s a bomb! Everybody out—”
The explosion rocked the cathedral and Konstantine was thrown forward by the force of it.
33
The textured surface of the floor came into focus first. For a moment, all Lou could do was look at the fibers, listening to her breath roll in and out of her nostrils. Then the strange black boots. They looked like the boots worn by an electrical crew and she understood why.
She sat up and noted each sore muscle, no doubt from the current which had coursed through her. Her vest and weapons had been removed and this pissed her off more than the fact that her pants, socks and shoes had been taken too. She couldn’t be sure about her shirt, since the stiff canvas of the straitjacket sat close to her skin, but the feel of the harsh fabric against her nipples made her suspect it had been confiscated also.
The old familiar rage bubbled up inside her and she welcomed it. She hadn’t felt something quite so seductive, so warm and inviting since Angelo Martinelli was alive, and the idea of killing him had driven her through every morning and night.
She was going to kill this man too. And she was going to enjoy it.
“Perchè stai sorridendo?” he asked. “Why do you smile?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead she moved her arms slightly inside the jacket, feeling for weaknesses. It would have been easier to escape had she been awake when they’d laced it up. There was a trick to making one’s arms and shoulders bigger in order to allow escape by mere compression of one’s muscles. The same was true of handcuffs. But her arms had been relaxed when they wrapped her up. Unfortunately, this meant the fit was quite tight.
She looked into Nico’s eyes. They were brown, muddy water, no doubt hiding vipers beneath. She saw where her bullet had grazed his face before, but otherwise he looked well. Damn.
“You must know that I’m Nico. But I don’t know your name.”
And she wasn’t going to give it to him.
“I bet Konstantine knows your name.”
A muscle in her face twitch involuntarily. He smiled.
“Cosa ti paga? If you protect him because he pays you, I can pay you more. Whatever the price, I will triple it.”
Her tongue rolled over cracked lips. “He doesn’t pay me.”
He grinned with obvious surprise. “You have a beautiful voice.”
She kept measuring the weaknesses in the canvas. If she weren’t pinned in this room by the relentless light beating down from above, it would be easy. How many vertical, whirling blades there were in the world. She only needed one small cut in the fabric and she’d be on her way. She knew of a butcher shop in Austin, which hung its meat on hooks. One good snag. That was it.
But there were no shadows. The lights must have been placed just so. And no wonder all of her items were removed. She could have tried to hide beneath a pile of clothing under a body.
But no shadows were cast on the wall. And she realized it was because light came from the walls too. Perhaps from every angle, now that she thought about it.
This room had been designed to contain her. This was what she got for not confirming her kill.
“If it isn’t for the money,” Nico said, bending down to her level. Here a small shadow did form between his squat legs and the floor, but it must’ve been no larger than a book, and the palest gray.
Until the lights went off, she was stuck here.
“Do you love him?” Nico asked. “Are you bound to him by…?” He seemed to search for a word. “Affection? Feelings?”
She said nothing.
“He’s not even your friend,” he said. “It was only a matter of time before he betrayed you. He built this room. Why would he build this room if he didn’t plan to keep you in it? Cage you like some animal?”
She knew her face gave him nothing and she was glad for it. Because inside, her heart pounded. The blood throbbing in her temples seemed to be leaking into her vision.
Konstantine held her wrists in the dark, forcing her to have mercy on her abused knuckles. His hot breath in her hair, sliding along her ear. Did you get to say goodbye?
Konstantine in her bed, pinned beneath her. How still he’d lain while her desire and grief rolled her like an ocean wave. The feel of his hard chest pressed against her back.
But it was Nico speaking now. “But I don’t want to cage you. Think of what we could do together. Don’t look at me like that! You don’t think Konstantine had the same plans for you? You were only a means to an end.”
Her anger crystalized in her chest.
Nico’s smile turned wicked, lecherous as he let his eyes rove over her legs. “And what would happen to you when you grew bored of him? When he couldn’t satisfy you?”
He inched closer to her.
“You need someone who understands thirst. Hunger. Who knows you can’t lay in your own bed at night peacefully because of the hunger inside you.”
He placed a calloused hand on her leg.
“Konstantine has had everything given to him, every moment of his life. My father let him want for nothing. He could never appreciate you.”
Lou met his eyes and saw the wildness in them. He’s a little crazy. More than a little crazy.
“I would,” he said, lowering his voice and looking at her through dark lashes. He placed a sweaty hand on her bare thigh. “I would be a man worthy…”
She brought her leg up swiftly. Her knee connected with his chin. He rocked back on his heels, arms going out to break his fall.
T
he moment his back hit the padded floor, she was already standing over him. She brought her foot down on his face, splitting the nose like fruit dashed on the floor. Blood erupted from the crushed features, running over the cheekbones like water from a faucet. His rolled onto his side, spitting blood onto the floor in desperate gasping. She kicked him onto his back and collapsed onto him.
She had her legs on either side of his head, squeezing. His face, what part of the skin that wasn’t covered in blood, turning purple as he suffocated.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asked him, squeezing harder, aware of his hot breath through her panties. Blood from his busted nose spread slick across her thighs. “Is this how you’ll satisfy me?”
A door squeaked open only a second before half a dozen hands seized her, hauling her up and away from Nico. But she wouldn’t let go. She squeezed harder and it took two men, then two men more, wedging their fingers between her blood-slicked thighs and his throat before they could pry her legs apart.
No doubt she’d find finger-shaped bruises along her inner thigh later.
She didn’t care. She got in one more kick, this one clipping Nico’s ear, before they’d safely pulled him from her reach.
She was dropped without ceremony onto the padded floor and Nico was ushered from the room before she could get off the flat of her back.
The moment her back slammed into the padded floor, her compass whirled to life.
Go, go, go.
Konstantine. King. Something had happened.
Go.
“I can’t!” she screamed in frustration, knowing that these words meant nothing to the men around her. She wanted to punch someone, scream out her fury. But she was alone in the room, her arms bound and too much light to find relief. She turned and saw Nico’s face framed in the door’s small window. His face was a bloody mess and his eyes were murderous.
She would have flipped him the bird had her hands been free. She settled with an implied curtsy cut short when fresh electricity surged through the floor.
34
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