His thumb had caressed her lips almost absentmindedly, before his gaze had collided with hers again.
"Because, if he decides you're of no use to him, at least that will mean it will be me whom he orders to kill you, cara."
He'd let go of her as abruptly as he'd grabbed her, and had left her standing there with his curt order ringing in her ears.
"Five minutes, front door, or I'll send Alfonso to come and get you."
Jemima had had little choice but to follow him, and he hadn't said two words to her since that astonishing conversation in the garden.
She risked another glance at him as they entered the outskirts of a little village, whose name she didn't catch. Giorgio had to slow down to negotiate the little cobbled streets. His whole manner was once again far too alert and on edge.
"What is it?"
Jemima's own anxiety levels rose at the agitation she sensed in him.
"Get down, now!"
She followed his growled command instinctively, even as one hand pushed her head unrelentingly under the dash board. At the same time Giorgio gunned the engine, and all hell broke loose.
Sudden bullets popped all around them, and Jemima crouched down in the passenger well, Giorgio hastily having released her seat belt, while she held on for dear life. Glass shattered on top of her, as a bullet made contact with the car, slamming into the seat she had occupied moments before. Giorgio kept driving as though the demons of hell were after him, and Jemima curled into a tight ball. She screwed her eyes shut, clamped her hands over her ears, and it seemed like an eternity before the car lurched to a sudden halt, and she was dragged out of it by strong male arms.
Her wildly flailing fists made contact with the wall of muscle in front of her, but they did diddly squat to halt the man's relentless process toward the car screeching toward them at full speed. Before her terrified brain could process the fact that the Mercedes wasn't going to hit them, and she found her voice to scream, the boot popped open. She was thrown inside, the lid came down with a silent thud, and the car took off at breakneck speed again.
Bile rose in her throat, and sheer terror obliterated every conscious thought as adrenaline swamped every pore in her body. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, who has me now? Images of Giorgio, as he kicked the wheels of his ruined sports car, and swore furiously, danced in front of her eyes. A horde of thugs armed with machine guns had been bearing down on him, and her heart lurched to a shuddering stop, seconds before the car screeched around a corner too fast. Her head connected with the side of the boot, and blissful darkness descended.
****
Seeing Jemima bundled off in the boot of the Mercedes did little to lift Giorgio's mood. He gave his once pride and joy another vicious kick. Useless fucking piece of twisted metal. That had been too damned close. A quick look at the glass covered inside showed no obvious traces of blood. Thank God for small mercies. He would never forgive himself if she had been hurt by that bullet. Dio Santo.
"Where are they?" He snarled the question, and the leader of his security team took a step back at the murderous expression on Giorgio's face.
"We've got them cornered, back in the village. It's all good."
Before the man could blink, Giorgio had him up against the side of his wrecked car. One hand squeezed the man's wind pipe, and the other fist connected with his solar plexus.
"All good?" He growled the words. "All good? How is any of this good?"
Another well aimed punch had the head of his security slide to the floor. He spat out blood, hands held up in defeat, and Giorgio's next punch connected with the twisted metal of his car instead. The pain shooting up his arm was a welcome distraction from the worry and fury churning in his gut.
Dannazioni, she has to be all right.
"Scusi, Boss, I didn't mean. They knew the route. Someone must have sung."
Giorgio acknowledged that grain of truth with a grim nod and looked around his little group of men. They were all handpicked, and he trusted them implicitly. He couldn't say the same for the Don's team. And damn it all to hell and back, they had Jemima.
"I need a car, now, and you. Go back to the village, and find out who talked. Use whatever method necessary. I want to know by nightfall, or heads will roll. Is that clear?"
"Crystal, Boss."
The dread in his gut increased, seeing the land rover approach at high speed, and with one last kick at the smoldering, useless piece of metal in front of him, Giorgio turned on his heel, and jumped in the passenger seat. He nodded toward one of the Don's men behind the wheel.
"Status?"
"All secure, she's in the compound."
"But?" Giorgio's sixth sense screamed at him. Every muscle tensed when the man threw a phone at him. "Alfonso wants to tell you himself."
Giorgio slid the phone up, anxiety making his voice hoarse. One hand braced on the dash board, as the land rover flew down the country lanes towards the Don's mansion, he listened.
"How is she?"
"Not good, she's unconscious, and…"
"And what? Dannazioni, tell me, man."
The chill of foreboding increased, and he impatiently wiped the sweat of his forehead. What the fuck was going on?
Alfonso's hesitant reply, the regret apparent in his voice, had Giorgio punching the dash board in front of him. His fist left a dent and increased the dull ache in his already bruised knuckles.
"We've called the dottore. It's not looking good."
His string of Italian swear words had the driver raise an eyebrow.
"I'll get you there as quickly as I can."
Giorgio nodded grimly.
"You better."
So help him, he was going to kill every last one of the fucking bastards. Whoever squealed was going to regret the day the day their mamma gave birth to them!
Chapter Seven
Jemima came to in a darkened room. Her head thumped as though a brass band had taken up residence in there. There was a dull ache in her ribs, and a heavy weight lay across her legs, restricting her movements.
No, I have to move. I have to run. Oh my God. Giorgio.
Her eyes flew open fully as adrenaline kicked in. Her muscles tensed to run, only for all the breath to leave her body in one big whoosh. Giorgio's legs were the weight pinning her down. He had rested them on her bed. His long frame was squashed into a dainty chair, pushed next to the bed. One of his large hands held hers, and his hair was mussed, as though he had repeatedly run his hands through it. A frown on his face, his full mouth had fallen slightly open in his sleep. Relief swamped her, replacing the fear instantly, and she blinked back the sudden tears.
Oh, thank God you're okay.
Had he spend all night in that tiny chair? If so, he would be aching all over when he woke up. Jemima drank in the sight that was Giorgio, relaxed in his sleep, barring the hand which had an iron grip on hers, and it made her smile. She had never been so afraid in all her life, seeing him surrounded by those thugs. Her heart clenched painfully at the thought of losing him, of being the reason for him to get hurt. Damn it, she had to remember. She owed him that much. He had never done her any wrong, not even when she'd betrayed him. Only she hadn't really, had she? She'd tried to put it right, but it had been too late. He hadn't believed her then, and he wouldn't believe her now, so she would have to show him. She would have to show all of them. She was done with running. She'd done nothing but for the last ten years. Enough!
The people she loved deserved so much better. Whatever she had done, whatever she was involved in—and it was bad, very bad, that much was clear—she would sort it, somehow. She would make him see that they could have a future together. She loved him too much not to try.
That knowledge settled in her heart like lead. She did love him. She'd always loved him, and she knew that would never change. Jemima had never been worthy of him, though. Not with her tainted past and her social ineptitude. She'd never fitted in anywhere—that had always been Elise's forte. Elise, with the impeccab
le dress sense and manners, always the responsible one, the one everyone relied on, the one everyone preferred.
So long ago, Jemima had decided that she was going to be different. She would be the outrageous one, the one who tried everything and didn't give a damn. The carefree, devil-may-care one that no one really got to know, and didn't really want to get to know. After all, if you didn't let anyone close enough, then they didn't have the power to hurt you. They wouldn't up and leave like daddy had, like mummy had, when she died of cancer, leaving her girls to fend for themselves.
Growing up in foster care had sucked. That was the only way to look at it, and while Elise had soldiered on, making the most out of the situation, like she always did, Jemima had rebelled.
Sometimes it felt as though she had rebelled all her life. But she was sick and tired of doing so. Deep inside there was a little girl looking to be loved. She reached across and brushed Giorgio's hair off his forehead. She could change for him. She would try really hard to make him love her again. Because he had loved her once, she knew that. Her gaze fell on the ring she was still wearing, his mother's ring. A ring she couldn't bring herself to sell, even though it would have solved all of her problems back then. But she couldn't do that to him, so instead she had hidden it in her art supplies, and she had run, away from him and straight into the arms of ... damn ... who? All this was connected. She had thought she had outwitted them, and she had done what they asked of her—bile rose in her throat, remembering the clubs, the men, the whole sordid mess. She'd run away again, pretending to be Elise, but they had found her. Of course they had. And then, what choice did she have? She had to protect Elise and ... damn ... she couldn't remember.
She would have to try harder. Something had happened, something she'd seen, something that pulled all of this together, but what?
Giorgio's soft groan pulled her out of her anguished thoughts, and she swiped the tears away. Her heart turned into a jackhammer at the expression in his eyes, when they slowly focused on her.
****
Giorgio woke up with a crick in his neck. Dannazioni, that hurt. He must have fallen asleep in this ridiculous excuse of a chair, but he'd had to stay and make sure she was okay. He'd made a promise, after all. That was the only reason why he'd not left her sight. He'd been ready to commit murder when he'd finally made it to the Don's, and had demanded to see her. She'd been lying in that huge bed, hardly visible under the covers, her mass of hair the only color. She'd been so pale, the bandage on her arm, where the bullet had hit, the same color as her face. It had taken all of his willpower to not crush her to him and to school his features, mindful of the Don watching him for his reaction.
Don Luigi's voice had been thoughtful, when he'd rested one hand on Giorgio's tense shoulder.
"Stay with her, if you want. Alfonso can debrief. I understand they caught the men who did this?"
"Si, but, Don, you have a mole. No one was supposed to know the route."
The Don's eyebrows had risen at that, and his expression had grown grim, the pressure on Giorgio's shoulder getting painful.
"That is one hell of an accusation. You best have evidence to back that up, son."
Giorgio had ground his teeth in frustration. He'd earned himself another look from the Don, before Luigi had moved toward Jemima's still form. The older man had lifted her left hand.
"She means that much to you?"
Giorgio had thought it wisest not to answer.
"You gave your permission."
Those silver eyebrows rose again, the expression in his eyes frost itself.
"That was ten years ago, Giorgio, and I wasn't aware you had married until much later, as you chose to keep her from us. You couldn't trust her then. What makes you think you can do so now? Women like her are two to the dozen."
"That's my wife you're talking about, Don. She's under my protection ... and ... you owe me."
Alfonso's strangled cough behind him had made Giorgio relax the hands, which had balled into fists at his side, but he hadn't backed down under the Don's grim scrutiny.
The elderly man had sighed and had shaken his head.
"I never thought I would see the day a woman would come between you and your honor. For your sake, I hope she's worth it, son."
He'd left the room, still shaking his head, with curt instructions to Alfonso to stand guard at the door. Giorgio had slumped in the chair next to her bed. He'd taken her hand in his, not daring to examine why he'd just risked everything.
Shifting in his seat, a groan escaped, as he adjusted his weight again. What had woken him up, apart from the damned pain in his neck? His gut clenched, as his eyes slowly focused on the tear-stained face in front of him, and he was instantly wide awake.
****
Jemima held her breath, as those beautiful eyes narrowed, and her hands went out of their own accord to brush the hair of his forehead again. Before she could do anything, however, Giorgio jumped up. He pulled her into a tight embrace with an incoherent mumble. Frantic hands ran over her head, her arms, until he reached the bandage on her arm, and she flinched. His vicious curse bounced around the room, and he framed her face in his hands. She leaned into the touch, the rough feel of his slightly calloused fingers heating her skin. His eyes sought hers, and his voice was harsh when the words tumbled out one after the other.
"Are you okay? How is your head? Are you hurt anywhere else? Dio Santo, cara, I thought..."
As abruptly as he grabbed her, he let her go. He prowled around the room like a caged lion. The worried looks he threw at her, in between his mumbled Italian curses, warmed her up from the inside out.
"Sit down, Giorgio. You're making me dizzy."
Jemima smiled and held her hand out. He sat down heavily on the bed next to her. His tense, warm fingers interlinked with hers, and sent tingles of awareness up her arm.
"Sorry, but are you sure you're okay? I mean, for a while there, they didn't think you would wake up. Dottore said something about aggravating the old brain injury and well—"
Jemima leaned closer to him and put her free hand over his mouth to stop the torrent of words. He grimaced under her hand, but he did stop talking.
"I'm okay, Giorgio, truly. You should know by now you can't get rid of me that easily. Bad pennies and all that..."
"Don't!" He growled the denial against her palm, and the grip on her other hand tightened. Jemima gasped at the emotion she glimpsed in his tortured eyes for just a second, before his gaze fell on the bandage on her arm, and his features grew murderous.
"I'm going get the bastards who are behind all this. I promise you, cara, if it's the last thing I do."
She didn't doubt his sincerity for one minute, and she shook her head, curling her hand around his biceps. The muscles flexed under her fingers, and she dropped her gaze to his chest. Impossibly broad, it strained the fine cotton of his polo shirt, and the little evidence of chest hair she glimpsed made her fingers itch to touch him there. But she had to make him see—she couldn't let him risk himself.
"Don't, Giorgio, it's not worth it. Besides, I ... I couldn't live with myself if ... if..." Her voice broke on a sob, and she dropped her chin on her chest, afraid to see the condemnation in his eyes.
"Promise me, you'll keep safe."
Giorgio's deep sigh made her look up.
"I'm afraid it's too late for that, cara."
With a grim smile he cupped her chin with one of his large hands, and his gaze roamed over her face.
"What do you mean? What have you done? Damn it, tell me Giorgio," Jemima asked.
"Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, cara."
"For cripes' sake, Giorgio, don't you dare." Jemima snatched her hand out of his, and tried in vain to give him a shove off the bed. So help her she was going to wipe that infuriating, amused smile of his face.
"You will do yourself an injury, tesoro. I'm not leaving. Chill out and get well. That's all you have to do."
Damn the man. When he smiled
at her like that, with all of his attention fixed on her, she had a hard time doing anything but drool. From the amused twinkle in his eyes, he knew it, too. From somewhere she found her back bone and pushed away from him.
"Don't you tesoro me. Unless ... unless you mean it."
Oh, that worked, girl. Why don't you just shout it from the roof tops? You're so pathetic. And he didn't mean it, did he, so why did he find this so funny?
"Don't you dare laugh at me, you … you, Neanderthal. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and you—"
Giorgio did laugh then. Her fingers itched to wipe that amused chuckle of his face, even as a small part of her simply melted, as his deep laugh wrapped itself around her senses. They used to laugh together. She remembered happier times with a flash of clarity so intense it took her breath away. And she yearned for those happy times. She wanted to get back there, but now was not the time for frivolity. How could he be so calm about all of this? They had almost been killed again, and he was just sitting there, laughing at her, looking far too sexy for her liking.
"Si, you have done such a brilliant job looking after yourself lately." His expression sobered, and he reached out to twirl a strand of her hair around his finger. "I like your hair long. It suits you, cara."
"What? Stop changing the subject, and leave my hair alone. It's a mess like the rest of me."
She slapped his hand away, ignoring the army of butterflies having taken up residence in her tummy at his closeness, and the teasing look in his eyes.
"I will get us out of this, Giorgio, I promise. I will remember. I just have to. Somehow this is all connected, and I'm not going to stand by and let you or Elise or anyone else take the blame for what I did. I've messed up so badly in the past, I know that." She slapped a hand to her mouth and almost choked on her next words as a new possibility dawned on her. "Oh my God, Elise! Giorgio are they going to be after her?"
Her stomach heaved at the thought of her sister in danger. Dammit, why had she not thought of that before now? She hadn't changed at all, had she? Here she was only thinking of the danger to herself and Giorgio, when all this time her sister had been a sitting duck. She was her identical twin, for fuck's sake. They had swapped places all the time. Okay, she had always pretended to be Elise anyway. Had she not successfully fooled everyone before? What if they thought she was hiding as Elise again?
Too Devious to Tame (The Giovanni Clan) Page 5
