Demand

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Our espressos arrive in tiny cups, and on a shared smile we down them. I choke on how strong they are, and he laughs. “That’s why I have a coffeepot at home.” He looks at his new watch, which has a thick black band with a gold face and stirs absolutely no memories. “I want to show you around the neighborhood both before and after dark, so you can see how it changes.”

  We pull our coats on and start to get up, when I realize I’ve forgotten something important. “Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Where the hell is my head? I can’t believe I forgot this. Donati called me yesterday while you were gone.”

  “How does Donati have your number?” he asks, settling back into his seat.

  “It has to be Gallo—so he’s not working to get Gallo off our backs at all.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He demanded I tell him why you were with Niccolo.”

  “And you said?”

  I relay the entire conversation. “But what was weird was the way he said that no one turns down Niccolo. It was almost offhanded, and I’m not sure he really meant to say it. I think he did something for Niccolo and was worried you were going to find out what.”

  He thrums his fingers on the table. “Donati is a good man. He means well, but he thinks he can play on a field he’s not skilled enough to play on. So somehow he crossed Niccolo, and now he’s indebted to him. He wants out. And as Kevin used to say, a caged man is a stupid man.”

  “He was worried about you being with Niccolo, Kayden. So that stupid you’re talking about involves you.”

  He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Which means we attack directly.”

  “By doing what?”

  “We go to Niccolo.”

  As we walk down a sidewalk, on our way to meet Niccolo, I ask, “Are you sure it’s smart for me to meet this man? You met with him alone for a reason.”

  “We met leader to leader, and established that our boundaries had not been crossed, which ensured that you weren’t caught in the crosshairs. Now, it’s another day and time. As my woman,” he says, “you look him in the eye, and you do not blink.”

  “What if he puts me on the spot about the necklace?” I ask as we enter the square with the Spanish Steps directly to our left.

  “You’ll handle it. If I didn’t think you could, you wouldn’t be my woman.” He stops in front of double wooden doors, one open and revealing a long hallway. “Now we wait.”

  Several horse-drawn carriages sit about three feet away, while cabs line up to our left.

  “Will he just walk up and greet us? I mean, how does the head of the Italian mafia have a casual meeting?” At that moment three black sedans pull up in front of the walkway, where I don’t think other cars are allowed.

  “I guess I just got my answer,” I murmur, my heart racing.

  “He’ll be in the center car,” Kayden tells me, “and the last to exit.”

  Sure enough, doors pop open from the sedans at the front and back, and several men in trench coats exit, eyeing the surroundings. “I think they’ve been watching too much TV,” I murmur.

  “TV is imitating them, sweetheart, not the other way around.”

  One of the men eyes Kayden and inclines his chin.

  “Inside,” Kayden instructs, and we step inside the hallway. Almost immediately two of the trench-coated men enter, one motioning someone, Niccolo I assume, forward.

  Kayden’s hand settles at my back and a tall, gaunt bald man I guess to be fifty enters the hallway, his pin-striped suit fitted and expensive. The other two men go back outside and shut the double wooden doors behind them.

  “Niccolo,” Kayden greets him, and I am shocked at the confirmation that this man is the mafia king who in photos appears younger and more attractive.

  “Hello, Hawk,” Niccolo replies, his lips twisting sardonically before his cold, dark stare lands on me, and he shocks me by taking my hand. “Ella. So good to see you, dear. Any woman who holds a gun to Garner Neuville’s head in front of his staff and disgraces him is damn near blood to me.”

  I blanch, shocked. “I . . . did what?”

  “Ah yes,” he says, folding his arms in front of his chest, flicking his gaze between the two of us. “The amnesia. Such a shame to steal that pleasant memory from you. I was concerned you wouldn’t make it out of his home, let alone his country, alive, but here you are. Without my necklace.”

  “I don’t remember it.”

  “So I hear.” His eyes harden, and he looks at Kayden. “I’d hoped you’d remedied that problem.”

  “If only I could command her to orgasm or to return from amnesia,” Kayden replies dryly, “but I’m not guaranteed either.” He changes the subject. “What do you have on Donati?”

  Niccolo’s lips quirk. “Good man. Morals. Conscience. All that good stuff that makes men do stupid things. I have ammunition on him and he knows it, but I do on most people. Why?”

  “He seems rattled about you and me spending yesterday together.”

  Niccolo presses two fingers to his jaw. “Rattled, you say. Isn’t that intriguing?” He eyes me and then Kayden. “Us together. You with her. Could be a deal with Neuville, which means we have a problem.”

  “You have a problem,” Kayden says. “Because whatever Donati is doing, it’s in response to this leverage you have over him. And it’s a situation we don’t need while I’m locating the necklace.”

  “Hmm,” he says. “Yes.” He holds out his hands on either side. “Handle two assholes, or get the insanely expensive necklace delivered to me by The Hawk himself.” He drops his hands. “I’ll handle the assholes. Whatever the case, go back to your romantic frolicking and consider it handled. And somewhere in the middle of the kiss kiss, bang bang you two are enjoying, find me my damn necklace.” He knocks on the door and it opens, but before he exits he gives Kayden a pointed stare. “It occurs to me that I am the reason your woman made it out of France alive, and now I have graciously forgiven her costly amnesia. That is two favors you owe me.”

  The comment sounds almost like a joke, but it isn’t. He’s deadly serious. As he turns away, Kayden snaps, “Mafia king,” the way Niccolo had called him Hawk, and I now know that means business.

  Niccolo freezes, but does not turn. “Yes, Hawk?”

  “We both know you owe me times two,” he says, and it’s clear he means Elizabeth and Kevin.

  He pauses. “He who laughs last is dead,” he says, and then disappears.

  Understanding comes over me in a quick jab. “He means he’s dying.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kayden asks. “Is this something Neuville told you?”

  “No. But it’s in his eyes. They’re my mother’s eyes.”

  “And a dying man is worse than a caged man.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Right now we need him and he needs us. But after that, I’ll be making the long kiss good night I’ve planned for him a little shorter.”

  We take a car service back to our neighborhood, and begin to explore Trastevere on foot. Kayden seems determined to introduce me to the locals, all of whom know him well, and they look at him with respect that swells me with pride.

  Come five o’clock we make our way to the tattoo parlor and I start to get nervous, asking Kayden a million questions about the pain before we arrive.

  “This place is a hole-in-the-wall,” he says, as we arrive at the location, “but Drago is the best in the business.”

  He holds the door for me, and we enter, greeted by dangling plastic jewels from the ceiling, seventies-style purple and orange splatters all over the walls, and loud Italian rock music. A woman who doesn’t speak English takes our coats and leads us to a private room where Drago, a fifty-something man with a toothpick in his mouth and tattoos on pretty much every part of his body, greets us.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m in a chair with him working on my wrist while Kayden holds my other hand, and we’ve decided my Hawk gets pink wings. A prospect I’d be excited about i
f not for the pain of Drago carving out my skin. I don’t like that thought. “He’s carving my skin,” I tell Kayden. “Literally carving it.”

  “Let’s talk about dinner.”

  “Carving my skin.”

  Kayden smiles and kisses me. “Pasta. Wine.”

  “Lots of wine.” Pain sizzles down into my fingers and I grimace. “Lots and lots of wine.”

  He laughs and begins teaching me Italian curse words, and he and Drago commend my quick grasp of the language.

  Finally, I’m done, and my wrist is bandaged. Kayden helps me to my feet and pulls his T-shirt off. “My turn.” He straddles a chair that allows him to lean forward, his back exposed. “Two more, Drago.”

  I grab a chair and sit in front of him. “Two more skulls?”

  “That’s right. Annie and Charlie.”

  “My parents?”

  “Yes. Your parents.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I don’t do anything because I have to.”

  I cup his face. “I love you so much.” I kiss him and he cups my head, holding me to him for a long, drugging kiss that has Drago yelling at us.

  I laugh as a sense of rightness comes over me. Everything I have ever been has been leading me here, to this man. And I would die for him, but I know him enough to know those aren’t words he wants to hear from me.

  Kayden closes his eyes as Drago goes to work, and unbidden, Neuville’s voice is in my head. I own you. You are mine. I will find you. I don’t even remember when he said those words, but I believe them.

  He will find me. He will come for me. And I fear that he will come for Kayden. And I can’t let that happen.

  twenty

  By the time we finish up at the tattoo parlor the bond between us seems to expand with every look, touch, and word, and I decide to simply enjoy this time with him, and bring up Neuville tomorrow. Arm in arm, we exit the shop into a chilly night, and the streets have transformed from the calm of earlier to walkways filled with tourists, street vendors, and a few performers.

  More and more the neighborhood has become like hands to me, with side streets that are many fingers. We cut down one of them now, cafés and outdoor seating lining our path.

  “I can’t believe there are people eating outside in this weather,” I say, eyeing the busy tables.

  “You should see it during the warmer months,” he says. “Italians like their outdoor dining, and for the most part that’s because there’s no air-conditioning.” He pulls me a little closer. “How’s your wrist feeling?”

  “Just a dull throb,” I say. “It turned out beautifully, so I’m excited about it. How’s your back?”

  “Nothing some wine won’t cure.” He stops us at the door to a place that looks rather busy. “This is one of the more modern restaurants in Trastevere. Very American in its size and atmosphere. Very Italian when it comes to the food.”

  We enter the main dining area with pale wood floors, and modern-looking steel-and-glass steps up the center, and a hostess seats us in a corner booth in the back. Fifteen minutes later we are drinking wine, eating bread, and, at my urging, Kayden has ordered his recommendations for us.

  We laugh and talk, the way we have all day, in spite of Neuville, Niccolo, and even Donati. Once our plates are gone, Kayden laces his hand with mine, leaning in close and turning somber. “Do you know how few people could go from where you were on that bathroom floor last night to where you are right now? You are brave.”

  That memory of my father calling me brave comes back to me and guts me just a little. “Which means I’m scared, but I do it anyway. I am scared, Kayden. I didn’t want to talk about this tonight, but Garner . . .” I cringe. “I just called him by his first name, as if I actually had a relationship with that man.”

  “You did, sweetheart, and he might be a dark spot on your life, but it’s the way we deal with those dark spots that makes us who we are. And they made you special.”

  “I’m not special, but they brought me to you, and I’d live them again to be here now.” I sit back and drink some wine. “I didn’t want to bring this up tonight, but he’s coming for me and the necklace—and that means you.”

  “He hasn’t come for you because he doesn’t know where you are.”

  “He’ll find me.”

  “But we’ve found him first, Ella. That’s what matters. We’ve found him, and we will hurt him in ways he’s never imagined.”

  “Translate that.”

  “Evil Eye will be evoked. You are mine and they are yours. The attacks will come hard, fast, and vicious. His people will doubt him. His world will crumble.”

  “When?”

  “I have key members flying in for a meeting in a week for the vote.”

  “So it’s not guaranteed that they’ll take him down.”

  “The meeting is more about planning than approval. I lead Evil Eye—and if I can confirm that Niccolo is dying, that makes the dynamics of this interesting,” he says. “A shift of power from both mafia leaders has to be handled with care, but if done right, it could weaken both organizations.”

  I study him closely. “Why haven’t you sent them after Niccolo, Kayden?”

  “I set this organization up based on order and honor. Not an easy thing to do, when not every Hawk is about honor. There are rules and a burden of proof. If I step around that, then everyone will expect to do the same, and that can lead to dangerous places.”

  “What proof do you have of what happened to me?”

  “Niccolo is providing me proof.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Do you really want to hear this?”

  “Yes. It’s my life. I don’t want to be sheltered, and I’m not going to have a meltdown here.”

  “The woman at the club helped you reach out to Niccolo, and she owes him a favor. She says she took a picture of you after the beating and I have to use it, Ella.”

  I have a fleeting memory of her stroking my hair the night I’d bitten that bastard’s tongue. Anger overrides shame, and I drink the rest of my wine. “Have you seen the photo?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Won’t it make me look weak to The Underground?”

  “You survived and escaped a mafia king. You do not look weak.”

  “I’m not weak,” I repeat, maybe trying to convince myself, which really sucks. “I don’t want to see the photo.” I down his wine, too. “Do they have tequila? I have some noise in my head right now I’d like to mute, and since we can’t have sex, it seems like a good option.”

  He lifts his hand and a waiter appears, and after a short conversation, Kayden stands up. “Come on.”

  “We’re leaving?” I ask, letting him pull me to my feet.

  “I want to show you a taste of Italian nightlife next door. They’ll hold our coats here.”

  “Okay,” I say, feeling slightly dizzy. “But I’d better skip that tequila. Apparently the wine did the job.” He wraps my waist to steady me and leads me to the back of the restaurant and down a hallway. We reach a door he opens and suddenly there is loud Italian pop music, dim lights, and a narrow stairway.

  Kayden puts me in front of him, his hands on my hips, and we walk up the stairs. I’m greeted at the top level by a blue-hued darkness and a dance floor filled with people. Scanning, I find an oval bar to the left, and some sort of sky bridge up above. Kayden steps to my side and drapes his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the bar, where he orders drinks.

  “This doesn’t seem like your kind of place,” I say, leaning on the bar.

  “Bars are gutters of information,” he says, leaning on the bar next to me, his arm pressed to mine. “And as a bonus, there are drunk people divulging it left and right.”

  “Now it seems like your kind of place,” I say, and not for the first time, I think of his skill as a chameleon.

  Two shots appear in front of us and Kayden stuffs euros into the ticket tray before lifting both of the glasses and facing me. “Bottoms up
, sweetheart,” he says, offering me mine.

  I accept it but don’t drink. “I’m pretty tipsy.”

  His hand slides around my hip to my backside, easing me closer. “I’ll protect you.” But the way he says it is more like, I’ll give you ten orgasms. Motivated, I down the drink, grimacing at the taste.

  He laughs and downs his shot, then sets our glasses on the bar. “Come on,” he says, leading me past the dance floor and through the crowd, our destination a set of stairs leading to the sky bridge. Again, he places me in front of him and holds on to my hips, and it’s a good thing he does. The steps are narrow and I really, really feel a buzz now. Once we’re at the bridge level, Kayden leads me down a hallway away from the bridge, and then to another set of stairs with a chain across them.

  “Doesn’t the chain mean this area is closed?” I ask.

  “I know the owner.” He lifts me over the chain, joins me, and we climb yet more stairs until we reach a closed area of the bar. “Our private party,” he says, snagging my fingers and leading me to the railing that wraps around the center room below.

  “This is the best place to be in a bar,” Kayden says as we gaze down at the crowd. “Above the world.”

  I face him. “You can’t get those drunken secrets up here.”

  “From up here, you target those who have them and are drunk enough to talk about them.”

  “You always have an angle,” I say, and suddenly my head spins and I sway. Kayden catches my waist and walks me backward several feet until I’m leaning against a big beam, his powerful legs holding me steady.

  Then an American song starts playing. I can’t feel my face when I’m with you. But I love it. But I love it. I start laughing. “I really can’t feel my face, Kayden. But I like it. If I didn’t trust you, I couldn’t let myself be like this right now.”

  “Because you know—”

  “I know that you are all kinds of tattooed hotness, Kayden Wilkens. Hawk.”

  His lips curve. “Is that you talking or the wine?”