Reign (The Italian Cartel Book 3)

by Shandi Boyes

  “Good.” I snatch up my denim jacket and clutch purse from a set of drawers next to the door, then bump Rocco with my hip to barge him into the corridor so I can latch the lock into place. “Because that is the exact look I was aiming for.”

  Rocco’s smile has me convinced even if my plan backfires, I will survive it. It won’t be an all-encompassing life full of light-altering moments with wickedly deviate spankings, but I will still be breathing. “We’re not going to the airport, are we?”

  I hit him with a frisky wink. “No. We’re going to a special invitation-only event.”

  “Hold up, Roxie.” He reduces the length of my stride by grabbing my arm. “You need an invitation for an invitation-only event.”

  The fact he assumes I don’t have an invite makes it obvious the one slipped under my door four hours ago wasn’t for me. It doesn’t weaken my objective, though. Tonight is my last opportunity to prove to Dimitri that this war was started with lies, so it can’t end until the truth is revealed.

  “Where the fuck did you get that?” Rocco asks when I slide a gold-gilded slip of cardboard out of my clutch purse.

  “Where I got it from doesn’t matter. It’s how we use it that counts,” I reply before making a beeline for the exit like butterflies aren’t fluttering a million miles an hour in my stomach.

  I hear Rocco say something to Smith before he joins me at the end of the corridor. I grow panicked I misunderstood his wish to stir Dimitri at every opportunity when he snatches up my wrist before I break into the main part of India’s house—the lit section.

  My worry is unfounded. He isn’t foiling my endeavor to show Dimitri I’m still on his side. He’s strengthening it. “Put this away before we head out. Smith isn’t the only one watching.”

  While shoving the invitation he returned to me into my purse with enough force to crease it, I drift my eyes in the direction he nudged his head. Unlike days ago when we entered this residence, a camera sits in the corner of the spotlessly clean space. It is clear it’s new because not only has the pricy wallpaper been peeled away from the wall to accommodate a set of shiny screws, the domes housing them were only invented by Smith two months ago. He showed me his drawings of their designs when Dimitri was drugged. He was hoping Dimitri would integrate them into his security system within the year. I’m glad Dimitri hasn’t shunted all his teams’ ideas.

  “If you want Dimitri to believe you’re following orders, you might want to quit smiling.” Rocco licks his lips before doing another quick sweep of my body. “And you should probably change.”

  With my mood as sassy as the glint in his eyes, I reply, “There’s no time for that.”

  Once I’m certain my face represents a scorned woman, I march across the foyer of India’s home, struggling not to whimper at the pain in both my foot and my stomach. Forever willing to push the boundaries when it comes to Dimitri, Rocco snatches up a random set of suitcases before he shadows my walk, his demeanor as moody as mine. Even with my room being on the lower level of the compound, I still heard the words he exchanged with Dimitri when news of my departure reached his ears. He called Dimitri a heap of names, his tirade only ending when I assured him I was happy to leave.

  Shame filled Rocco’s face. He thought I was giving up without a fight, unaware if you have to fight another woman for your man, you’ve already lost him.

  Tonight isn’t solely about showing Dimitri what he gave up. It’s baring my strengths, displaying that I may have been knocked down, but I still got back up, and that I’m not just a force to be reckoned with. Come hell or high water, I’ll be your judge, jury, and executioner if you do me wrong.

  Killing my unborn baby is as low as it gets. Despite what Dr. Klein says, I was pregnant with Dimitri’s child, and the woman determined to hurt him killed our baby.

  Now, I’m going to kill her.

  I just have to find her first.

  32

  Dimitri

  “Married?” I pull on the collar of my shirt, acting as if I’m a naughty boy for openly flirting with a taken woman, even with me doing exactly that multiple times in my early twenties. “How long ago did that happened?”

  Aria, a once-in-a-blue-moon bed companion from around the time Audrey was kidnapped, fans her flushed cheeks with a napkin. The pigheaded side of my brain wants to say she’s heating up because of my trademark half smirk, but the logical side won’t allow it. She was petrified about how I’d respond to her turning down an unvoiced invitation to my bed. I’m not known for my appreciation of the word ‘no.’

  “Almost a year and a half ago.” She rubs her stomach before pivoting away from the bar, exposing her protruding midsection. “We had to rush things along when we had an unexpected intruder.”

  “You’re pregnant.” I have no clue why that came out sounding as disgusted as it did. I’m just relaying to you what’s happening.

  “This is baby number two,” Aria exposes, giggling about the shock on my face. “Quade turned one last summer.” She must move quickly as her bump looks an easy seven or so months along. “Would you like to see a picture?”

  She misses the shake of my head since she’s rummaging through her overloaded handbag. It should have been the first indication that I could scratch her off my suspect list. She’s so accustomed to packing diapers and baby wipes, even without her kid in tow, she still carries the necessary ‘mommy’ supplies.

  After snagging my whiskey from the glistening bar, I swivel away from Aria. “Why didn’t we cross mothers and wives from the guest list?”

  I hear Smith’s chair creak into place before he replies to my mumbled comment, “Because some of the women you bedded were wives and mothers before you slept with them.”

  I growl, wordlessly warning him to keep his attitude in check. He’s as pissed as Rocco has been the past five days. Not even requesting him to send live footage of Roxanne from India’s residence saw him giving me any leeway. I guess that could have something to do with the fact it was around the time Rocco was set to drive Roxanne to the airport, but that isn’t the fucking point. They’re not the only ones struggling. I feel like I’m drowning. I have been since Roxanne told me what happened to her.

  I want to maim.

  I want to kill.

  But more than anything, I want Roxanne to know I took down the people responsible for her pain. When she looks at me, I want to return her stare knowing justice was served. I feel it when I tuck Fien into bed every night, but it’s only at half its strength since the person responsible for giving me that joy isn’t a part of the picture.

  With Roxanne incapable of leaving my thoughts for even a second, I ask, “Have they arrived at the airport yet?”

  I stop scrubbing the back of my hand over my eyes when Smith says, “They?”

  He isn’t stupid, so why the fuck is he acting as if he is?

  “Roxanne and Rocco?”

  Air whistles between his teeth when he struggles for a reply. “Uh… no. They haven’t arrived yet.”

  Pretending his delay has nothing to do with him being deceitful, I ask, “How far out are they?”

  “Ah…” Another pause adds another tick to my jaw. “Around forty or so minutes.”

  I check my watch, noting that Roxanne’s flight is due to leave within the hour. “What caused the delay? They left over an hour ago…” My words fade to silence when the answer I’m seeking waltzes into my peripheral vision.

  Roxanne isn’t on her way to the airport. She’s mingling with the women she made me forget existed. She isn’t alone. Rocco is holding the purse Alice said was a perfect match for the final outfit I gifted Roxanne before I released her into the wild.

  Because it would look mighty suspicious to host a party with only female invitees. Roxanne’s provocative curves aren’t solely being eyed by the long list of women I’ve fucked, she’s caught the attention of men who’ll take without asking, mark without permission, and fuck without fear of prosecution.

  You don’t fear th
e law when you’re one of them.

  “Smith…”

  He coughs to clear his throat before answering, “Yeah.”

  Nothing but honesty rings in my tone when I mutter, “Rocco’s death is on your hands.”

  I throw back a double shot of whiskey, slam my glass down, then make a beeline for Roxanne, signaling for the valet to bring my car around on the way.

  I barely make it three steps away from the bar when I’m bumped into by a stumbling and somewhat drunk blonde. “Dimi, I thought our get-together was a single-invitee gathering.” Theresa pouts like a child before tiptoeing her fingers up my chest. “I don’t mind. I just wish you would have told me.” Her childish voice shreds my eardrums almost as Roxanne’s narrowed glance across the room cuts me to pieces. She isn’t a fan of Theresa’s. She’s not the only one, but since admitting that would underhand my ruse tonight, I pretend I’m not tempted to cut off Theresa’s fingers when they lower from my pecs to the crotch of my trousers. “I would have packed something more enticing if I knew I had competition. These women may know how to fuck, but that isn’t what you do, is it, Dimi? You completely devour.”

  Her scarce friendly demeanor is explained when Smith mumbles down my earpiece, “Just like you did the little concoction Preacher slipped into your drink.” When my eyes stray to a camera in the corner of the room seeking answers for his riddle, he explains, “Loose lips sink big ships, but I figured you’d rather loosen hers with some Molly instead of your cock. Despite the shit you’ve been spurting the past three days, there’s only one set of lips you want wrapped around your cock. They don’t belong to Theresa.”

  Neither the honesty of his statement nor his unusual mix-up will strike his name out of my shit book, but what Theresa says next improves the odds of it happening within the week. While peering at a man I’ll forever hate more than I will emulate, she asks, “Do you think it’s weird your father spared Megan’s life twice, but he wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire?”

  While laughing like her scold has no sting, she stumbles forward at a rate too fast for her hazy head to keep up with. I love carnage, my ego feeds off it, so normally, I’d step back and watch her fall.

  This time, I can’t because not only does her next confession have me dying to keep her awake, it knocks me on my ass even quicker than the drugs Preacher slipped into her drink. “I get she’s a little kooky, and you pissed him off by keeping your daughter a secret, but still, shouldn’t he treat all his kin the same?”

  33

  Roxanne

  “Ouch!” I snap my eyes to Rocco, peeved as fuck he pinched me. I’m already dealing with horrific cramps and a sweaty body that has me dying for a shower. He didn’t need to up the ante. “What was that for?”

  He hits me with a stern glare someone as playful as him shouldn’t be able to pull off before he scrubs a hand across his wiry beard. “Believe me, you’ll rather my torture than the one you’re about to subject yourself to.”

  I act as if I have no clue what he’s talking about. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Fighting the urge not the pinch me again, he spits out through a tight jaw, “The headcount the green-headed monster on your shoulder thinks you’re doing in your head.”

  His reply all but answers my suspicion. It also doubles the painful churns of my stomach. I had wondered if the women in the nightclub were previous ‘associates’ of Dimitri’s. Now I know without a doubt.

  I won’t give you an indication of how many women are in this room, or you’ll think I’m crazy when I update you on the horrifying amount of jealousy brewing in my stomach.

  When I arrived hours ago, my eyes locked with Dimitri’s across the room in less than a nanosecond. The look on his face assured me he was about to have me marched out, or at the very least, do it himself, so you can imagine my shock when neither of those things occurred. He hasn’t glanced my way once, much less scowled at Rocco.

  I tried to use the time to my advantage. I’ve spoken to almost every woman in attendance without the slightest bit of disdain in my voice.

  It was no easy feat.

  Only one lone wolf has slipped my net. Her evasion has more to do with the fact she’s hanging off Dimitri like a leach than anything else. Just watching her rub her breasts against Dimitri’s arm to whisper in his ear has me wanting to heave, and I’ve kept my distance, so I’m not so sure I should test my tolerance up close.

  My ruse to act unaffected by their closeness will end as disastrously as it did when I wretched a hooker from Dimitri’s crotch by the strands of her faultless hair. Guaranteed. I’m already on the cusp of slaughter now, and they’re still fully clothed, although I don’t see that being the case if the blonde has her way. She isn’t just tiptoeing her fingers along Dimitri’s chest anymore, she’s undoing the buttons keeping his tattooed pecs hidden.

  After a couple of minutes trying to talk myself out of it, I give in to the temptation burning me alive. My nanna always said I got my rebellious streak from her. I’d hate to stain her legacy by standing back and watching my man be mauled by another woman directly in front of me.

  Don’t misunderstand. I won’t fight her for Dimitri.

  I’m merely going to make him come to me.

  “You’re really going to do this?” Rocco asks with a laugh before he downs his drink with one big gulp then follows me across the room.

  The nightclub Dimitri hired has a moody, underground sex club feel to it, it is just minus multiple sex pods and a viewing chamber for those who like to watch. High-back booths take up a majority of the space, and a handful of sunken privacy-roped areas give it a risqué, sophisticated edge.

  If the women dotted throughout the space were scantily dressed like the ones who entertain Dimitri’s Arabian ‘guests,’ I’d suspect this establishment was a high-end brothel. Since they aren’t, I’ll settle on calling it a dance club for well-to-do patrons.

  It’s the fight of my life to keep a rational head when it dawns on me that Dimitri’s buttons aren’t the only things the blonde’s hands are caressing. She’s touching him everywhere—his pecs, his arms, the buckle of his belt. If it’s a part of him, she’s caressing it in some way.

  The fact she can touch him so freely without fear of persecution has me switching tactics in an instant, and I throw more than just my morals under the bus in the process.

  “Whoa, hold up, Princess P,” Rocco pushes out, half amused, half panicked when I shove him into a bean-bag type seat across from Dimitri and the unnamed blonde before nuzzling into his side. “Aren’t I supposed to get a final meal before I’m sent to slaughter?”

  “I’m sure I can find you something interesting to nibble on if you’ll follow my lead.” While mimicking the tiptoe finger walk the blonde is doing to Dimitri’s chest on Rocco’s, I force my gaze away from Dimitri’s slit eyes to the humorous pair peering down at me. “Unless you’re scared about how Dimitri will react?”

  With a smile that’s as evil as it is sweet, Rocco sinks deeper into the flexible material cushioning his backside before he adjusts the span of his thighs. His stance is almost an exact replica of Dimitri’s. However, his eyes are nowhere near as narrowed. “I’m not scared of Dimi, Princess P. I’m just worried you don’t understand what you’re signing up for.”

  I hook my leg loosely around his waist before pressing my lips to the shell of his ear, shuddering when the scent of his cologne filters into my nostrils. “I’m well aware. I knew in the alleyway when he watched me come, in the woods when he spared my life, and I know right now even with him ripping my heart to shreds, Dimitri Petretti doesn’t play games with anyone… except me.”

  Dimitri has an eye on every person in the room, but there’s only one person he is paying attention to—me.

  Good.

  All is fair in love and war, and this is about as treacherous as it gets.

  Pretending he doesn’t want me is one thing, reminding me he’s married is another, but this, allowing a woman to slobber over
him directly in front of me is an entirely new kettle of fish, and I am done pretending I’m okay with it.

  Even with my heart screaming at me to pull back on the reins, I match the blonde’s seductive moves, tease for tease. When she presses her lips to Dimitri’s ear, mine get super friendly with Rocco’s. When she drags her nails across Dimitri’s pecs, I scour Rocco’s with mine. And when she finally succeeds in undoing the buckle on Dimitri’s belt, I tug on Rocco’s just as aggressively.

  “Dammit, Roxie, you’ve got me all types of conflicted. I don’t want Dimitri to slice my dick off if it gets hard at the thought of you stroking it, but if you’re going to touch the hammer, I can’t have you doing it while he’s half-mast. That’s an injustice I cannot allow.”

  I don’t pay Rocco’s witty-filled comment any attention. I can’t. I’m too busy staring at Dimitri, shocked as hell I am seconds from sliding my hand into his number two’s pants, and he’s not going to do a damn thing about it.

  The cropped hairs splayed across Rocco’s pelvis are tickling my fingertips. I can hear the unease in the beats of Rocco’s heart that we’re stepping over the line, yet, Dimitri just stares.

  He doesn’t blink.

  He doesn’t move.

  He. Just. Stares.

  “Fuck you!” I shout at Dimitri while yanking my hand out of Rocco’s pants like his ‘hammer’ scorched my fingers. “Someone in this room killed our baby! Maestro might have punched me in the stomach and kicked me over and over again, but he was acting on the orders of a woman. She told him what to do. She told him to do whatever it took to get rid of our child when the finger he forced inside of me came out free of carnage.” I stand to my feet like I’m not sick to my stomach with disgust. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it? Because the death of our baby means there’s one less person for you to pretend you give a shit about.”