by M James
Ordinarily, it’d be really fucking hard to argue with that. But pretending to want to fuck Sonya is getting more and more difficult. My body responds just fine, my cock is traitorous like that, but my mind and heart and soul are less in it than they ever were. At one point, I wasn’t hating this part of my job, but being so close to Rain again has changed all of that.
Seeing her last night was so fucking painful that it took my breath away. I’d never seen her like that, in torn lingerie, scraped and bleeding, looking as if she’d just been through hell. And straight from her mouth, she’d told me that she was living in it, and I believe her. I’ve only seen her cry like that a few times, and every time I wanted to hold her close, wipe away her tears and pick all her broken pieces up, and put them back together.
Last night was no different.
I’d known I shouldn’t have even touched her hand, but I couldn’t help it. We could have been caught—by Sonya, by Vincent, by anyone, but I couldn’t stop myself. And it felt so fucking good to touch her, felt like years of missing her and pretending I didn’t fell away, until I could have tumbled into her eyes and stayed there for the rest of my fucking life.
I almost kissed her. I came so fucking close. The split in her lower lip stopped me because I couldn’t do anything to hurt her, even if she’d wanted me to kiss her, and I know she had. I could feel it, coming off of her in waves, the need and longing that I’ve been bottling up for so fucking long, coiled in her and ready to explode.
This is dangerous, I know. We’re dangerous. And as I go to find April in the library while Vincent and Sonya are gone, and the girls are busy having breakfast, I’m ready to tell her that we need to go in now, take what we have, and bring Vincent in before I make a stupid fucking mistake and bring it all crashing down.
“We have good news, Rostov!” April crows in a low tone as I walk in, but I just glare at her.
She eyes me. “Why the fuck do you look like someone pissed in your Wheaties? Do you know where Vincent is today?”
“No, and I don’t care, as long as it’s nowhere near Rain. Do you know what he did to her last night?”
April frowns. “No, but why don’t you fill me in?”
I give her the quick rundown of the condition Rain was in when I saw her last night and my assessment of what must have happened after she told me it was Dena who did that to her—Vincent decided he was going to start fucking Dena, maybe tried to push the two girls into a threesome, and got a catfight instead.
I leave out touching Rain’s hand and all the fucking emotions. April doesn’t need to know about that shit, and I’m not about to admit it. She’s using me and my feelings for Rain too fucking hard already.
April’s eyes narrow. “Hmm. And Rain confided this in you?”
“Some of it. Some of it I figured out myself.”
“That sounds like an opportunity to get close to her. It sounds like Vincent is pushing her to the edge, and that could be very useful to us, especially if you have her trust.” April frowns. “We might have more on him already, on top of that tape you got of him having sex with Rain’s underage sister.”
“Is that the good news?” I ask sarcastically.
April ignores my tone. “There was a problem at one of his clubs last night. One of his ‘flowers’ showed up and caused a huge scene.” April rolls her eyes. “I guess she figured out she wasn’t the only one. Anyway, Vincent was furious with her, from what we know, he went over to her apartment early this morning and roughed her up a little. We’d nabbed her a few months ago as one of the ones most likely to roll over on him, so we gave her a number and told her to be in touch if she needed anything. She gave that number a call a couple of hours ago.”
“So Vincent beats up another girl, and that’s good news?”
“ It’s a shame,” April says flatly, “but it’s also likely to make her want to talk. We have someone going over there to talk to her now, and hopefully, she’ll be willing to give us some intel on Vincent if she knows anything.”
“How many fucking ‘flowers’ does he have?” I clench my jaw. “Christ. How many women does one man need?” I knew of Rain and now Erin, and obviously Dena after last night, but I hadn’t realized he’d been quite that prolific with planting seeds, so to speak.
April wrinkles her nose. “Vincent has a regular harem of ladies that he keeps for himself. He calls it his ‘garden’ and refers to them all by flower nicknames. You know that from him calling Erin ‘Violet.’ Of course, they think it’s cute and sweet that he gives them nicknames, not knowing about all the other flowers, and he gets to feel like the cock in the henhouse. He’s very good at it, it’s rare that any of them figure it out, but I guess this one did. Maybe she’s smarter than the rest.”
I remember when I just thought that him calling Rain “Poppy” was a pet name, and I feel momentarily sick. I wonder if Rain knows what her nickname means. I wonder if she knows about the other flowers, if she just looks the other way. I feel sorry for her, and I know she’d hate that. She hates pity from anyone, but she’d especially hate it from me.
There are few things I hate more than infidelity. But of course, a man like Vincent would be unfaithful—he thinks the world owes him everything, and that includes as many beautiful women as he wants.
April is watching me still, her gaze intent. “This is your chance, Rostov,” she says sternly. “Rain is starting to break down. You need to be poised to take advantage of that when she comes to you. Whatever that means, you need to do. Talk to her, hug her, fuck her, whatever. Get her to trust you, to want to open up, and then when we’ve got Vincent, you’ll be able to convince her to tell her story and give evidence against him.”
“Sure. Whatever.” I shake my head. “When this is over, though, no more gigolo duty for me. Next mission, I get a real job. No girls involved.”
April laughs. “Let’s see how well you finish this one, first.”
---
I pass Rain in the living room, as she’s headed back towards the stairs. “Hey!” I hiss, stopping her in her tracks. She turns towards me, and I feel that familiar flip in my stomach. She looks fucking gorgeous, in dark, tight jeans and a red top made of some silky material with long sheer sleeves despite the heat, no doubt to hide the bruises on her arms and her wet hair braided back. It’s almost enough to make me not notice the bruised split in her lip, the swelling around it, the scratches on her chin, and the bruise on her cheekbone.
“What?” She turns and stops to look at me, her face drawn and sad, the shadows under her eyes telling me that she didn’t sleep much last night. I heard the sounds coming from the room next door later on in the night, and I have a feeling Vincent came to pay her a visit. I just can’t think about it for very long because it makes me feel like committing a murder for the second time in my life. And this time, I’d make sure I didn’t miss.
I hesitate. I don’t want to play into April’s scheme, but I also can’t stop myself from checking on Rain when she’s like this. It’s instinctual for me at this point, almost primal in its urgency. “Are you okay? After last night?”
Rain laughs bitterly, a choked sound in the back of her throat. “Do I look okay?”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I just look at her helplessly, the two of us staring across a space of inches, but it might as well be a yawning void.
Rain licks her lips and then winces as the tip of her tongue runs over the split. “Can I ask you a question?” Her gaze holds mine, and I can feel my heart beat with every moment of silence between us, stretching out across the gap that I want to close almost more than I want to breathe.
There hasn’t been one second since the last time I saw Rain where I didn’t want to touch her, kiss her, hold her, be inside of her, comfort her, protect her—and none of that has changed. I feel like a drowning man, like no matter how this all turns out, it’s going to fucking kill me.
“Sure,” I manage. “Anything,” I add, even though I kn
ow that’s a terrible caveat.
Rain takes a deep breath. “If a man loved a woman—really loved her, I mean, could anything make him stop loving her? Anything she did, anything he did, is there any point in all of the time where he wouldn’t care what happened to her if she left, if she were with someone else, where he wouldn’t still love her regardless of the consequences? No matter how much it hurt?”
I stare at her, and I feel the air between us thicken, the room narrowing down to the two of us because I know what she means, who she’s talking about. There’s no doubt in my mind. And I know I shouldn’t answer, I can’t answer, because the truth would cross every boundary I’m supposed to have in place, break every rule I’ve set for myself, throw us over the cliff’s edge into that dangerous territory that I’ve been trying so hard to keep us out of.
I only have so much self-control, and Rain is testing it to the last thread.
But the way she’s looking at me now—fuck. I’ve wanted her to look at me like that again since the moment I walked away. Like I could help her, protect her, fix everything for her.
I promised her once that I wouldn’t ever lie to her, and I’m not about to fucking start now.
“No,” I whisper, the word floating through the air towards her, and I can see her eyes widen when it hits, the sharp intake of breath through her slightly parted lips. “No, he’d never stop loving her. No matter what either of them did. No matter what happened. No—no matter anything.”
“Oh.” Rain looks at me, and I can see tears shimmering in her eyes. “Oh,” she whispers again, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.
“What about the woman?” I ask, the muscle in my jaw tight as I grind out the words, holding myself back from going to her with every ounce of self-control I have. “Would she ever stop?”
“No,” Rain whispers, her voice shaking. “No matter what.”
The silence stretches out between us again, long and aching, and Rain’s hands clench into fists at her sides. “Zach—” she whispers, and this time I can’t tell her to call me Chase because my name sounds so fucking good on her lips, and I don’t want her to stop saying it. I want her to fucking moan it, scream it, whisper it, say it forever.
“Rain—” I swallow hard, gritting my teeth. “I think the answer to this is obvious, but I’m going to ask you anyway. Are you happy?”
There’s another silence for a second. She meets my eyes, and I see something there that I don’t quite understand, a longing for something that goes beyond loneliness, or love, or even lust. “No,” she whispers so quietly that it takes me a moment to realize she’s spoken. “No, I’m not.”
I open my mouth to respond, but then I hear footsteps, and Gianna appears at the top of the stairs, walking down towards us. “Rain! There you are, we have a lot to do. We have decorations to go over before your dress appointment, and then the guest list and bridesmaids’ dresses—”
Rain’s entire face shuts down, and she steps back. It’s as if a door has slammed shut, and I instinctively tense too, my expression going carefully blank. “Oh, I was just making sure that Chase is alright with coming along as part of our security,” she says, a false smile plastered onto her face. Her expression smooths, going from vulnerable to cheerful in the space of a second, and I can’t help but wonder what’s happened to her to make her such a chameleon, so good at hiding her feelings. “But let’s go sit down and go over the details first.”
Fuck. I realize what she’s talking about then, and every part of me revolts against it. Her wedding to Vincent, which must have been moved up because of his father’s tenuous health.
She needs my help. But I don’t know how to give it, not really. April’s plan isn’t helpful. It’s just a way of using her and then cutting her loose to deal with the fallout on her own. I doubt if the FBI will even pay for a therapist for her once she’s helped put Vincent away, if I can convince her to do that.
But I keep hearing her whispered “no,” when she said she wasn’t happy, but more so when she said that she hadn’t stopped loving me, because I know that’s what she meant, I know she was talking about us.
I shouldn’t be talking to her about this. I shouldn’t be doing anything other than the bare minimum that I have to in order to keep April happy. I have a mission that has nothing to do with Rain’s relationship, or even her happiness. I could compromise what we’re doing here, and where would I be then? Not able to help Rain, that’s for certain. I need to focus on what I’m here for—and that’s not to be her friend or her confidant. No matter how I feel, I need to stick to my guns. That’s what I’m trained to do, what I’m meant to do.
But it’s not what I’m being told to do.
And it’s not what I want to do, either.
19
Rain
It’s all I can do to keep my composure as I walk into the living room with Gianna, my heart in my throat. If she’d come down a few minutes earlier, she would have heard part of a conversation that would have gotten both Zach and me into horrifying trouble. As it is, I’m lucky that she didn’t get a glimpse of or read into the expressions on either Zach or my faces.
I can hear Zach and April walking into the room, taking up spots discreetly far enough away from us to not be able to listen to our conversation, and Gianna pats the seat next to her. She looks nothing like an older woman who’s been caring for her ailing husband. Her face is perfectly made up as always, her yellow sheath dress fitting her immaculately, diamond jewelry and heels on, hair up in a twist. She’s always the picture of poise and elegance, and I know Vincent wants me to be more like his mother—polished, perfect, and most importantly, quiet and out of the way until she’s needed.
Except—I have a feeling that Gianna was never like that with Ezio. I think she was more a part of their relationship than maybe even Vincent knows, or perhaps just more than he wants to admit because that’s not the kind of marriage he wants to have.
Gianna takes a long look at my face, and then without a word, she reaches for my hand, unbuttoning the cuff of my sleeve before I can stop her and pushing it up to my shoulder.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, dropping my hand.
“What?” I ask defensively, pushing my sleeve down.
“Erin and Dena will be in here in a minute to help with wedding planning, but I wanted to talk to you first, dear.” She touches my hand gently, and I look at her, startled to see the real concern in her eyes. “I had a feeling that my son was being rough with you. And now it’s quite obvious.”
“Vincent didn’t do this,” I say softly, and Gianna gives me a sad smile, as if she thinks I’m covering for him. I’m not, but it doesn’t really matter because even though he didn’t do it with his own hands, it’s still his fault. And he’s hurt me before, in every possible way, and I have no doubt it will get worse. One day the bruises will be from him. Just not yet, not today.
“My son is difficult,” Gianna says slowly. “I’m sorry that he did this to you. I didn’t raise him to lay his hands on women, and neither did his father. Ezio would have some stern words for him about this if he were able to right now.”
I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry. Stern words? Those aren’t going to fucking help me now.
“I’m trying to be a good fiancée,” I say quietly. “But I don’t think we’re very well matched.”
Gianna snorts. “I could have told you that. In fact, I did. But it’s too late for all that now.” She waves her hand. “What my son wants, he gets, and no one tells him any differently. I think you’ve found that out the hard way. So now it’s my job, as your future mother-in-law, to teach you the things you need to know to survive.”
I stare at her. “Like what?” I whisper, my throat suddenly closing over with fear. I realize as my blood turns to ice at the look on her face that there are layers to this I never saw, things I never picked up on before but maybe should have.
“Vincent doesn’t want you to know all of this, but I think it’
s time you know, and I’ve told him so. You can’t go into this marriage completely blind.” Gianna takes a deep breath. “You know that Vincent is a businessman and a powerful one. And you know that he is the heir to my husband’s empire. The family business.”
“Yes, of course.” I look at her, still uncomprehending. “What does any of that have to do with me?”
“Rain—” Gianna pauses as if thinking of how to explain. “We are Italian, yes? And our family business is—not strictly legal, but very powerful. Are you putting the pieces together yet?”
It hits me then, like a bolt of lightning. I feel fucking stupid for not figuring it out earlier, for not putting together Vincent’s many businesses and his late nights and shady deals and secret meetings, his family home in Italy and the huge estate and important guests at my party, a family business that he and Sonya are fighting over. So many pieces I’d never seen as a whole picture, and now it all makes sense.
I feel like an idiot.
“Vincent is in the mafia?” I whisper, the blood draining from my face. It sounds so ridiculous saying it out loud, but Gianna doesn’t laugh or ridicule me.
“You’d be better off not saying that out loud,” she says calmly. “But yes. Ezio is a powerful underboss in Italy. And Vincent stands to inherit that. The boy that your ignorant sister brought onto our property is the eldest son of a rival family, one whose parents were killed in a standoff between his family’s soldiers and ours. He’s had it out for us since, and he used your sister to help coordinate his attack. We’re very lucky that more weren’t killed. But with Ezio in such poor health now, he may never be able to do what he used to. Vincent will need to step up, if not fully, then in more ways than before. It’s because of that, not just because of his father’s health that we’re moving up the wedding. And so now it’s time for you to learn how a mafia wife needs to behave.”