Stealing Iris: A Dark Mafia Romance (Blood Ties Book 1)

by Sahara Roberts

  Staring at the far wall, I grit my teeth. Pretty fucking sure Dante doesn’t have to deal with any of this kind of shit, but I ain’t there yet. “Whatev. Get back to me when everything is set.”

  I jab my thumb on the screen, ending the call. Sitting back, I glare at Iris, who’s got a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe. “You’re gonna get shit done tomorrow.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” She leans into the frame, her eyes wide and worried.

  “Hair, nails, makeup—the works.” I stretch out a hand, waving from her head down to the ratty tennis shoes she’s wearing.

  She jerks back. “I am?” she asks in an uncertain tone.

  “Yeah.” I tap both hands on the desk, doing a drumroll. “Need you to look good tomorrow night if I’m taking you to Dante’s party.” I do another run-through, trying to imagine what she’s gonna look like. “That’s gonna take a lot of work.” That comment’s guaranteed to make her tighten her ass cheeks where she’s standing.

  “And the store? Saturdays are usually busy.”

  Seriously. Selfish bitch is worried about this piece-of-shit business when my future’s on the line.

  “Sometimes we’re crazy busy,” she rattles on. “And with us barely scraping by, I don’t know how we’ll make it through being short two people.”

  “Close it up.” I push up, coming around the desk as her jaw falls open.

  “We’ve never closed the store.” Her eyes are about to pop out of her head. “Not in my whole life can I remember a time where Dad closed. Even when Mom passed away, he left someone in charge.”

  “Some things are more important than your papa’s precious store,” I sneer. “Just because you fell all over yourself to make him proud doesn’t mean I will.” I barrel past her without a backward glance.

  *****

  IRIS

  We’ve been in the air for about two hours when anxiety starts digging into me. “Are you sure this is okay?” I ask, pulling at the plunging neckline of my blouse.

  “Yes,” Tino assures me from the plush, leather seat across from mine. “There’s no dress code for these events.”

  “Okay.” Despite his reassurance, I still want to disappear into the cushion. The outfit Olga chose for me makes me doubt her warning about me not acting like a ho. The white, nearly transparent wraparound blouse comes together about mid-chest to show off half my breasts and outlines my nipples. Vibrant-red shorts and skyscraper heels, with what can only be described as a chrome finish, complete the look. I swear Tino’s eyebrow twitched when he saw me. In that second, I wanted to run back inside and change. But for the first time ever, Conny was early, and he dragged me to the car while I tried my best to keep from spilling out.

  “You’ll see all manner of dress tonight,” Tino assures me. “Some from around the world.” Of course he thinks everything will be fine, he’s in a dark suit that fits every angle of his body as if made for him.

  Movie scenes of high-class parties flash through my mind, most ending with people staring at me.

  “One of the more famous clients prefers silk pajamas instead of evening wear when he attends.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” Conny laughs much too loudly. His leg has been bouncing continuously since we came onboard.

  Tino turns his attention to him, sliding his gaze around, inch by inch. His ability to throw shade and look threatening at the same time is impressive. It’s probably a good thing Conny is either too dense or too high to recognize any of it. “I’ll remind you again you’re attending as a guest, and a guest of a guest,” he adds pointedly.

  “Yeah, man.” Conny nods, putting his neck into it. “You got it.”

  “No business, whatsoever, will be conducted this evening,” he continues, adding a hard edge to his words. “Doing so will bring unwanted consequences.”

  “Okay.” Conny gives two thumbs-up. “We’re cool.”

  I bite my lip, smudging the Scarlet Frost lipstick the makeup artist used. If that isn’t bad enough, the false lashes she put on my right eye are coming loose. At certain points, most of what I can see from that side is in shadow.

  “Prepare to land.” The pilot’s voice comes over the speakers. I dig my fingers into the seat until my new nail tips start pulling back painfully. Normally I like to fly, but I’m anxious to see Dante again, and I don’t know what Conny might be up to. I have half a mind to tell Tino to keep an eye on him, but if Conny finds out, I’ll have my own set of consequences to deal with.

  The plane glides in with more grace than expected. As the pilot hits the brakes, Conny’s leg starts bouncing even faster, setting my nerves on edge. The smell of his cologne is stuck in my nose, overwhelming the scent of leather. It’s so cloying I swear I can taste it. Tino, as usual, looks unaffected. But then he probably does this on a regular basis.

  “Deploying stairs,” the pilot advises. We pull out of the seat belts, and Conny hurries to the door like an overeager child.

  “Damn, bro. We’re in a rancho.” Then he disappears through the doorway.

  Here goes nothing. I get up a little too fast, pushing my heel down on the stilettos and catapulting myself forward. Tino’s arms come around me, keeping me from hitting the floor. He steadies me, making sure I’m upright before releasing me. My face is burning. I must be redder than my lip color at this point.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been in running shoes for too long.” Being a gentleman, he holds out an arm, walking me to the door as Conny goes pounding down the steps. He’s right, though, we’re out in the middle of nowhere. It’s dark, but brush is growing a few feet past the SUV waiting close by. Mesquites surround us so I figure we’re still in Texas, somewhere.

  “Let me go out ahead so I can help you down,” he offers.

  I look over his shoulder at the steep stairs. Oh, I can easily see myself stumbling down. I’m not sure if I should hope to keep my balance or break a leg so we’re forced to go back to civilization.

  Wetting my lips, I ask, “Think I can hold onto your shoulder as you step down?”

  “Of course, if that’s easier.” I place my hand on a solid shoulder. If I miss a step, I doubt I’ll get past him. Still, he takes the steps one at a time, letting me get my footing before moving on.

  “Is this another way you’d get somebody home safe?” I chuckle nervously.

  “It’s definitely a first.” While I can’t see him, this time the smile is in his voice.

  Once we’re safely on the ground, he offers his arm again. His attention is on Conny, like a pit bull knowing which person is sure to cause a problem.

  Leading me around to the driver’s side, he opens the back door and helps me settle in. “Thank you.” I hope he understands it isn’t just for helping me into the vehicle.

  “Buckle in.” The order is unmistakable. He pulls the belt from the side and hands it to me. Closing the door, he slips in behind the wheel and speaks into his phone. “On the way.”

  The drive is an ordeal. Not the actual road—it’s about what you’d expect from a city street, only narrower. My stomach is flip-flopping with every mile and every turn that gets us closer to Dante. Up ahead there’s bright spots popping through the branches. Then the top of a house comes into view, stretching to show the length of the building as we come around the bend. The place is huge, much bigger than I imagined even with all the cars and the plane. We stop in front of the stairs, and the pit in my stomach widens. Conny jumps out while Tino steps out and opens my door in one smooth move.

  “We’re here,” he says into his phone then tucks it into his pocket to offer his arm.

  “Will you be in there…at the party?” I stumble across the question as we go around the SUV.

  “Yes.” He searches my face.

  I glance around the back of the vehicle, slowing down so Conny can’t hear. Meanwhile, Tino follows my line of sight. “Can…can you keep an eye on him?” I plead in a whisper.

  His gaze shifts to me, watching out of the corner of
his eyes, while he still faces forward. He barely nudges his head in acknowledgement. In fact, if I hadn’t been so focused on him, I would have thought he’d just been walking.

  With some of the concern off my mind, I can finally take a step without praying I won’t fall on my face.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DANTE

  I glance at the door—again. What is this, the millionth time? I know the exact moment they landed. Add to that the twenty minutes to reach the circular drive and they should be here. Yet the giant, hand-carved, wooden door, hasn’t opened.

  “Dante.” Eric D’Santo comes up to me, scotch in hand. With his expensive haircut and tailored suit, he’s every bit the well-groomed businessman I summarized in his profile. “Glad you were able to work me in.” He made a last-minute deposit, and we chartered another plane so we could get him here on time. Considering the size of the D’Santo empire, even what’s known to the public, it’s well worth the trouble. Our people can clear up half a dozen issues to begin with, and that’s just the low-hanging fruit.

  “Eric, glad you could join us.” We shake hands. The firm, confident grip tells me more about him than anything I pulled up on his background check. He isn’t an overbearing ogre, like some, and he isn’t a whiny little bitch looking for a position of dominance. In fact, he’s very self-assured, as if things roll on around him without his being a part of them, and he likes it that way.

  “I’m sorry for the last minute change,” he apologizes. “But I had to make sure you’re legitimate.” He takes a drink. “I made a couple of discrete inquiries, but information on your group is hard to come by.”

  His words put me on alert because obviously, someone talked. “True, but then if we were easy to find, we wouldn’t be effective for you, now would we.” In my business, as a facilitator, I’m a very well paid go-between. People need discreet services, and we matched them with people who cater to those needs. “So, you must have excellent connections if you’re able to get the information you wanted.” Only people very high up in criminal society even know we exist. When it comes to vetting them, very few make the cut.

  He chuckles, extending a finger away from his drink as he cocks his head. “All I got was a recommendation to accept, if such a person exists,” he adds.

  “Excellent. I’d hate to lose a client over something so trivial.” Because the contract they sign calls for the client to be cut off if it was ever known they did business through us.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. In the distance, past two groups who decided to stand in my line of sight, the door opens. I glance over, completely missing what Eric said. The tightness in my chest is back. She’s here. Conrado comes in first, his red, silk shirt hanging over wide-legged jeans and the boots he’s so fond of. He looks across the room as if he’s found the lost city of gold.

  “Some time with you later or before we leave tomorrow.” Catching myself, I turn back, in time to hear some of his request. “To discuss a certain situation I need dealt with.”

  “Of course, Eric. Of course.” Placing my palm on his arm is meant to convey reassurance. I slip, missing everything my client said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have someone I have to speak to.”

  He glances over his shoulder, catching Iris, or the woman who’s supposed to be Iris, walk in the door. We both pause. For me, there’s some shock along with appreciation. She looks nothing like the woman I’ve come to know. Straight hair, dark brows, eye makeup, and the reddest lipstick I’ve ever seen. She’s always dressed modestly, but today her clothing shows more than what it covers. I’m torn. While I’d enjoy being able to slip my hand into the shadow beneath her breast, I don’t like that anyone else could.

  “Yes, I see why you’re anxious for your conversation.” D’Santo gives a knowing grin. “I’ll leave you to it, man.” He turns on a heel and disappears into the crowd.

  I can’t take my eyes off her, all five foot six of my curvaceous beauty on high, high heels.

  “Danteeeee.” Conrado cuts in front of her, spreading his arms out, as if we’d been best buds and haven’t seen each other in years. I stop, holding my drink in front of me to block off my personal space. “All right. All right.” He nods, like this is all part of the plan. “Iris, come ’ere.” He waves her over, making her walk around since he’s rooted in place. “She’s been wanting to see you.”

  I drink in the sight of her, getting used to the new Iris. “Dante,” she says, keeping her greeting annoyingly reserved.

  “Iris.” I can’t pull my gaze away from her, and she knows it. Her skin flushes to a pretty pink stretching down to her chest. Yes, I look. How can I not when I spent so much time enjoying her body—or thinking about it.

  “She looks good, huh.” Conrado’s shit-eating grin makes me want to punch him. Something I won’t do with everyone here. I make a quick mental note to reserve time down the road for that particular pleasure.

  “Always.”

  “I got her all fixed up for tonight.” That explains the sudden change. Still, there’s no way I’m putting them in the same room tonight. I’ll have to send them back to town if I’m going to get any sleep. “You like her hair like this?” He puts a hand to her shoulder, plucking a few strands. Iris subtly angles her body away from him, eying him warily while I curl my fingers into my palm to keep still.

  “I like the long curls,” I admit.

  “You sure?” He snickers. “Maybe you need to see her from the same angle as last time.” He snickers again, elbowing me as if I’m missing the joke. “You know, kinda riding low.” He sets his hand out in front of his crotch. Iris loses her modest smile at the crude reminder of the night the three of us were together. My annoyance sparks a slow-burning anger as I watch her turn away, focusing on some point on the floor.

  “How are we doing over here?” Montoya asks, coming to stand between me and Conrado. He’s a much-needed buffer right now.

  Conrado shifts away, still laughing at his own joke while the muscles in my neck are trying to pull away like cables snapping on a wire. Patience. Yet my palms itch to ball into a fist. I’m not doing this here, in front of everyone.

  “Dante, are you going to introduce our guests?” Montoya eyes both of them as if he hasn’t managed to figure out who they are. In his Armani suit, he’s the picture of authority, so I play off the scene for Conrado’s benefit.

  “This is Conrado Villa.” I send him a glare along with the introduction. Conrado reaches out a hand to Montoya, pumping it eagerly. While I would have normally dismissed his importance, Iris needs a few seconds to compose herself. She raises her head, pasting on a smile while still blinking rapidly. I admire the way she’s powering through an embarrassing situation. She has a quiet strength I wouldn’t have credited her with at our first meeting. “And this is Iris.”

  Montoya’s face lights up. He’s one of those people whose age you have trouble pinpointing, yet he suddenly looks younger.

  “A pleasure to meet you.” This time the smile is genuine. No less than what I should expect, with his harping on about a mate. He turns back to Conrado, putting a hand on his shoulder. “How about we get you a drink?”

  “Yeah, man, that sounds good.”

  Montoya directs him away from the rest of the house, giving us a chance to escape.

  Cupping her elbow, I slowly take a step back. “How about I show you around?” She perks up, readily agreeing with me for once then following without hesitation.

  *****

  IRIS

  We tour the first floor of the enormous home together. Dante stops periodically, sharing interesting bits about the art on display or introducing me to other guests. We never touch. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this bit of togetherness while keeping a distance between us. Even in the middle of everyone, I feel so isolated.

  “You’re not enjoying yourself,” Dante points out, tilting his head with a concerned frown.

  “I… Um.” Crossing my arms inadvertently pushes open the sides of
my blouse. With a quick catch in my breath, I uncross them. My face and neck flame as I smooth out the material.

  “Treacherous situation,” Dante teases.

  “Yes, I suppose so.” My attempt at a casual smile is a miserable failure. God, I shouldn’t have come.

  “What’s wrong?”

  How can I tell him I don’t belong here? That looking across the crowd I know I should be on the other side of the glass, looking in? Taking a breath, I answer as honestly as I can. “This is all a little overwhelming.” Strong fingers fold into mine, and I finally catch my footing.

  “Come with me.” He pulls me around the edge of the room.

  “Not so fast.” His gaze rolls down to my hooker shoes then back up before he slows down. While Tino was right, I’m not the skimpiest dressed person here, the heat of embarrassment is still spreading across my face and chest. He opens a door and leads me outside. A gasp escapes me as my shoes click along the outdoor tile. The scenery is beautiful. Trees stretch out into the distance, the moon shines down on us, and the blanket of stars spreads out as far as the eye can see. I’m too busy looking up and miss his sudden stop. He’s quick to catch me, pulling me into his arms. Bracing myself on his chest, I glance down to a red smudge on what has to be a very expensive dress shirt.

  “Oh no.” I look up at him, in wide-eyed concern. “I got lipstick on you.”

  “Don’t care,” he mutters, his arms coming around me.

  The moment turns serious, and you’d think the rest of the world disappeared. “I missed you,” I admit from a few inches away.

  “You told me to stay away.”

  “Sure. You find a way around everything else b—”

  Apparently the best way to shut me up is by kissing me because his move works beautifully. We’re no more than a step away from each other, but I let my arms circle his neck. Yes, I’m going to be one of those people who goes from zero to horny every time he holds me close.