Ronin's Return (Hearts & Heroes Book 3)

by Elle James

  At that moment, Isabella was missing her mother as much as the day she’d passed away. The garden was the one place she felt closest to her.

  Once outside, she inhaled deeply. The heavy aroma of roses filled her senses, making her feel as if her mother were there, wrapping her arms around her entire body. Instead of starlight, she was surrounded by twinkle lights her father had installed to light the garden path, creating a fairyland of hopes and wishes. Or so her mother had described it.

  It was a magical place that never ceased to lift her spirits. Even the strident laughter and shouts on the other side of the wall couldn’t dim the beauty of her mother’s garden.

  Isabella sat on the bench beneath the climbing rose arbor at the end of the path and closed her eyes. The only thing that could make the moment better was if Ronin would join her and wrap real, muscular arms around her.

  She looked over her shoulder and sighed with disappointment. He hadn’t followed her. Her father had likely kept him at the table, grilling him for answers to his entire life story.

  Her lips twitched.

  Poor Ronin.

  He hadn’t known what he was getting into by coming back to Venice. Now, he was cornered in a mansion that could be more like a prison, surrounded by people who wanted to boss him around and ask too many questions.

  She shrugged and lifted her face to the heavens, inhaling deeply. Mother, if you’re there, please help me figure out this mess.

  And by mess, she needed to know how to void the price on her head, placed there by an incensed ISIS leader. The only way for that to go away would be for the ISIS leader to die a sudden death. Then, perhaps, his followers would forget she existed and leave her alone.

  But then there was the matter of the attacks on the Pisano family. She needed to ask her father what that was all about. Was he in danger? Did she need to do her own investigation to find the culprit? Had the police done anything?

  Questions spun through her head until she couldn’t sit still another moment. She leaped to her feet and turned toward the house, only to walk into a wall of stone.

  She bounced off and would have fallen backward over the bench if hands hadn’t reached out to grip her arms.

  “Are you all right?” Ronin asked.

  “Yes. Of course.” Heat rose in Isabella’s cheeks, and her knees shook at his nearness. The man had a lethal effect on her ability to focus. “I didn’t see you.”

  Ronin chuckled. “Obviously.” He didn’t let go of her arms. Instead, he gathered her closer and wrapped her in his embrace.

  She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the reassuring thump of his heartbeat. “Did my father run you through the inquisition?”

  His chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. “Some.”

  “And you didn’t run screaming from the house?” She tipped back her head and stared up into his eyes.

  Ronin shook his head. “Everything I want is here. Why would I run from it? From you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You really shouldn’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me sad.”

  “How have I made you sad?”

  “When you say things like that, you make me wish for more than I can have.”

  “Like what?” He pulled her closer, crushing her hips against his. The evidence of his desire nudged her belly.

  She traced the buttons on his shirt up his chest and stopped when she touched his lips. “Like you.”

  “Babe, you don’t even have to ask. I’m all yours.” He sucked her finger between his teeth and bit down gently.

  Isabella jerked back her hand. “Hey, that finger is attached.” Her heart swelled inside her chest. His words made her long for a simpler world, one where she could leave with him and not worry about ISIS or kidnapping threats. But that wasn’t her life. “You know we have to break up soon, don’t you?”

  He bent to nibble her earlobe. “While you were confessing your role in Syria to your father, why didn’t you tell him the truth about us?”

  “I couldn’t admit to lying to him two times in a row. He’d never trust me again. Besides, he already knew about Syria. I’m surprised he waited to say anything until now.”

  “A lie is a lie when you’re talking to someone you profess to love.”

  Isabella’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. But I’m all the family he has. If he can’t trust me, who can he trust?” She looked up at him, her eyes widening, her body tensing. “You didn’t tell him the truth, did you?”

  He shrugged, his lips twisting into a teasing smile. “I couldn’t. If I told him, you’d have no need to keep me around. Your father would have me thrown out on the street faster than you can say mia familia.”

  Isabella relaxed, glad he hadn’t told her secret. And happier still he hadn’t been thrown out of the house. She could have him for the full two weeks of his leave, if she chose to. They didn’t have to stage their breakup until the end of that time.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest, inhaling the distinct scent of Ronin Magnus. His was a cross between the musk of his own skin and the spicy cologne he wore.

  Isabella loved it. She’d kept one of the T-shirts he’d left in the hotel two years ago and slept with it until she’d left for Africa. His scent lingered for months. She’d left it in one of her bottom drawers in her closet for her return. But now, she had something even better.

  Ronin.

  She hugged him tightly.

  He kissed the top of her head and chuckled. “What happened to staging the breakup?”

  “We have time. No need to hurry it up.” She tipped her head up. “You’re not leaving for another week and a few days, right?”

  “Right.”

  “We can plan on breaking up then.”

  His lips twitched. “In the meantime, we’re a happily engaged couple.” He bent and scooped her into his arms. “I don’t know about you, but all this fresh air is making me sleepy. Shouldn’t we go to bed?”

  She laughed. “As long as sleep isn’t what you have in mind.”

  He carried her all the way through the garden, into the house, where they ran into her father in the massive foyer at the base of the stairs.

  “Father,” Isabella bleated, immediately embarrassed.

  His eyebrows rose sharply. “Isabella!”

  Ronin lowered Isabella’s legs to the ground. “Pardon us, sir. We were just…”

  Isabella smoothed her dress and straightened her shoulders. “We were just turning in for the night. Is there anything I can get you before we go upstairs?”

  Her father glared at Ronin, but then his face softened as he turned his attention to Isabella. “You can give your father a kiss.”

  Isabella grinned and leaned upward on her toes to kiss the old man’s cheek. “Ti amo, Papa.”

  “Ti amo, mia bambina.” He engulfed her in a bear hug and kissed the top of her hair. “Sleep well.” His glance narrowed on Ronin. “And I mean sleep.”

  “Yes, Father,” she said, her gaze lowering.

  “Remember, we have the parade tomorrow and the ball tomorrow night.”

  Isabella frowned. “You shouldn’t be involved in the parade or the ball. Not with all that’s going on.”

  “What do you know about what’s going on?” Pisano glared over her head at Ronin.

  Ronin shrugged. “I haven’t said anything.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Isabella said. “But ‘little birds’ told me about the incidents. You shouldn’t go out in that crowd. You don’t know what might happen.”

  “I refuse to be held captive in my own home. If someone wants at me, let them.”

  Isabella snorted. “Now, you know how I feel.”

  Her father straightened to his full height, which was level with Ronin’s. “I have Lorenzo, Matteo—and Andre, if we need him. They will keep me safe.”

  She shook her head. “If you go out, I’m going out.”

  “And count me in,�
� Ronin added. “Hopefully, there will be safety in numbers.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you going out in the Carnival crowd.” Her father stared down at her, perhaps trying to intimidate her with his heavy frown.

  “And I don’t like the idea of you going out there.” Isabella crossed her arms over her chest and frowned back at her father.

  Ronin fought the urge to laugh at them, knowing it would not be received well. The two Pisanos were as stubborn as they came.

  Finally, her father nodded. “Very well. You’ll both need costumes. I’ll have Andre provide something appropriate.”

  “No horse heads or dog masks.”

  “I won’t wear a mask,” Ronin insisted.

  “It’s part of the Carnival experience,” Mr. Pisano said.

  “Not part of mine. If anything, I’ll wear a cloth mask like a bandit or Zorro,” Ronin offered. I don’t want anything to impair my vision.”

  Pisano nodded. “I’ll inform Andre.”

  “Buona notte, Papa.” Isabella gave her father another kiss on the cheek and started up the stairs.

  Ronin took a step after her but was stopped by the older Pisano’s hand on his arm. “You will treat my daughter with respect.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ronin replied. A chuckle from above made him want to smile, but he held it in until Isabella’s father released his arm and walked away.

  Ronin took the steps two at a time to catch up with Isabella.

  “Does my father frighten you?” she asked, giving him a sideways glance.

  “Not in the least. He’s only doing what any father would do for a daughter as beautiful as you.” Ronin kissed the tip of her nose and once again swung her up into his arms. “Now, where were we?”

  He ran up the remainder of the steps without breaking a sweat or breathing hard. Isabella was light for being as tall as she was.

  When they entered her room, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. “That’s for not making me feel less capable or in the least diminished by carrying me up the stairs.”

  He suppressed a smile. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. That’s why I l-like you so much. I like that you make me feel feminine without taking away my independence or lording it over me with your strength.”

  “After your time in Syria, I can imagine you could take me down and slit my throat before I could cry uncle.” He winked. “Don’t feel obligated to demonstrate. I’m a believer.”

  She laughed and flung her arms around him. Then she pushed him backward onto the bed.

  He loved it when she took the lead and loved it even more when he made her come.

  They made love throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning.

  When Ronin finally fell asleep, he rested deeply, at home with Isabella curled up against his body.

  It seemed as though he’d just closed his eyes when the pounding began. He opened them and stared up at the ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “What the hell?” he said into the gray light of early morning. He sat up and stared at lilac walls, filmy-white curtains and gilt-framed paintings adorning the bedroom. A window overlooked the canal below, busy with the morning traffic of small motor boats, carrying goods and people into and out of the water-bound city.

  Isabella was already up and pulling on her clothes. “Buongiorno.” She smiled broadly.

  He stifled a groan and lay back down. “Is it morning already?”

  “We have a lot to do today. Starting with a quick breakfast and then dressing for the parade. Get up.”

  “Nag.” Ronin rolled away from her. “You should have thought of that before you kept me up all night.”

  She threw a pillow at him. “You can sleep tomorrow. Today is a big day for the Carnival and the Pisano house. My father is a prominent figure in the riverboat parade. We have to hurry to get there.”

  Ronin rolled out of the bed and stretched, standing naked with the sunlight just edging through the open window.

  Isabella stopped in her efforts to dress and stared. “Are you just trying to delay our appearance at the breakfast table?” She licked her lips.

  He winked and stretched again, flexing the muscles across his chest and abdomen. “Is it working?”

  She threw another pillow at him. “Yes. Now, be serious. We have a lot to do today.”

  He grabbed her around the middle and pulled her against his hard body and even harder erection. “Can we fit in one more thing?”

  She stilled, her face flushing pink. “Well…”

  He smacked her bottom and twirled her away. “Too late. We have to get to breakfast before your father comes looking for us and finds us still in bed, making mad, passionate love.”

  “Oooo,” she growled. “You’re irritating.”

  “Like an itch you can’t scratch?”

  “Exactly.” She retrieved a pillow from the floor and hit him in the gut with one end. “Next time you tease me, be prepared to follow through.”

  “Bella, I’m always prepared to follow through with you.” He waggled his eyebrows and laughed. He might not have gotten much sleep, but the fact he’d get to spend the day with Isabella made up for that.

  His happy mood persisted until he got a load of the costume Andre had left outside the bedroom door.

  9

  Isabella could barely breathe. The corset fit so tightly around her middle her lungs worked at only half their capacity. All in the name of Carnival, the annual festival held in Venice. Thousands of tourists would be crowding the waterways and streets, dressed in elaborate costumes, singing and dancing.

  All she had to do was make it through the parade of boats and the march through Piazza San Marco. Her father would make a short speech, and then they could all go back home, get out of their costumes and relax for a few hours before the ball.

  If she survived the heavy layers of russet fabric in the one of the most elaborate Renaissance dresses she’d ever worn. Her headpiece alone must have weighed fifteen pounds with yards of ribbon trimmed in gold glitter. She had chosen not to wear the full porcelain face mask, opting for one that covered only the top half of her face.

  The gown was stunning, the mask was even more elaborate, but she would rather be wearing her blue jeans and a comfortable T-shirt. Even a roomy burka would be preferable to the corset and heavy clothing.

  She sat in the boat beside her father as they floated slowly along the Grand Canal in a procession of hundreds of boats, their destination the square at San Marco where the opening ceremonies would herald the official beginning of Carnival and its week of festivities.

  Her father sat beside her wearing a long purple velvet coat. Beneath it, he wore a white shirt with full sleeves and lace at the cuffs. On his head was a long wig of white curls and a tri-corner hat. He looked so handsome and distinguished, like the American George Washington on his way to a fancy gathering.

  Isabella glanced behind her at Ronin, wearing a black cape, black tights and a long red tunic. His face was partially covered by a strip of black fabric Andre had fashioned into a mask.

  Isabella’s heart fluttered. He was just as handsome in this more elaborate costume, as he had been in his hastily thrown-together costume of two years ago. The clothes weren’t what made him so attractive. It was the way he held himself, straight and proud.

  If only she were just another tourist, perhaps a French woman there only for the festivities before she returned to her home in rural France, where no one would chase after her to claim the price on her head. If only she could lead a simple life, work as a baker or an accountant.

  What would it be like to be married to a US Navy SEAL and live in the U.S.? That fantasy seemed so far from Italy and her life here. They could live in an apartment or maybe a cottage in Virginia. That’s where Ronin had said his unit was based.

  She could get a job as a waitress or volunteer at soup kitchen. Wasn’t that what Navy wives did? Or she could go to college in the U.S. and get a certifi
cate to teach children.

  She sat up straighter. Would the school directors allow the Angel of Mercy, who’d fought against ISIS, to teach small children to read and write? Would they learn of her involvement in Syria and ban her from being anywhere near a school?

  Isabella sighed, her gaze constantly sweeping over the occupants of the other crafts and the people lined up on the docks and landings along the Grand Canal, witnessing the procession.

  Were there ISIS operatives hiding among the Carnival-goers, waiting for their moment to strike her down, or capture her to return her to al-Jahashi? Wearing this dress, she couldn’t begin to outrun anyone, and she doubted she had the flexibility to effectively defend herself. She’d be an easy target, waiting for someone to take her out. Her only saving grace was the width of the cloak and the skirt. Sure, they could hit the costume, it was large enough. The shooter would have to be completely incompetent to miss. But whether the bullets would hit her person was another question.

  Lorenzo sat on the other side of her father and two bodyguards, whose names she couldn’t recall, sat in the front of the boat.

  Andre steered the craft while Ronin and Matteo sat on the rear bench, covering Isabella and her father’s backs.

  The water parade went off without a hitch. One by one, the passengers in the boats pulled up to the dock, the passengers disembarked and the boat drivers poled the boats away to tie them up alongside the rows of buildings. Andre pulled their boat up to the landing and waited as Lorenzo and Ronin assisted Isabella and her father from the craft.

  Once steady on her feet, Isabella hooked her father’s arm and led the way into Piazza San Marco. A huge crowd had gathered. With the upcoming costume contest looming, people filled the square wearing some of the most flamboyant costumes in every color under the rainbow. Most wore fine, white porcelain masks and elaborate headdresses.

  The music was as loud and boisterous as the people playing and dancing to it.

  Carnival was Isabella’s favorite time of the Venetian year. The outfits were outlandish and many times garish. But she didn’t care. The people were there to have fun.