The Priest: Bratva Blood Five: (A Dark Mafia Romance)

by SR Jones

“Fifty shades.”

  He doesn’t answer, merely gives me a disgusted look, but there’s amusement dancing in his eyes.

  I feel as if, slowly, I’m getting to the man he is underneath.

  Chapter 15

  We have arrived in Italy, and we’re not driving to the mansion this mysterious Mr. Bianchi owns. Oh, no, we’re taking a helicopter, from Naples Airport.

  Now, I hate flying in a plane. I’ve never been in a chopper, but I’m betting it will be a lot worse.

  Priest smiles at me as we approach the beast.

  “Don’t worry. It’s safe,” he says.

  “I’m not worried.” I don’t know why I bother lying.

  “Of course, you’re not,” he deadpans.

  “We get into the tin can of death, and I strap myself into my seat. There’s no glamorous Miss Clements on this thing. Only me, Priest, Matteo, and the pilot.

  “There’s only one pilot,” I whisper to Priest.

  What if he has a heart attack while he’s piloting the thing? I’ve heard of such events happening. “What if something happens to him?”

  “Then I’ll fly it,” he whispers back.

  “You know how?”

  “Not flown this particular machine before, but I could figure it out before we all plummet to our deaths.” He winks at me, and I shake my head.

  I fiddle with my fingers, interlocking them, unlocking them, then picking at my nails.

  A large warm hand descends over my fidgeting ones. “It’s okay, AJ. We’ll be fine.”

  “AJ?” I shoot him a puzzled glance.

  “You don’t like princess. So, AJ. Adrenaline Junkie.”

  “I do have a name, you know?”

  “Yeah, but you’re part of the team now. Need a call sign.” He grins again.

  My chest swells for a moment, but then I deflate. He sees me as one of the guys. One of the team. I know it’s a joke he’s making. Clearly, I am not SEAL material, but it marks me down as not someone he sees as sexy.

  I think he does, though. Or, at least, he did, at times. He doesn’t want to, however.

  Damn him.

  His hand is still covering both of mine, and it’s soothing. Far too soothing, indeed.

  There’s a click, and then a whining whir as the blades start. Oh, crap.

  I take a breath in and blow it slowly out.

  Matteo hands me a headset, meaning I have to move my hands from under Priest’s. “Put this on,” he instructs.

  I do as he says, but I’m nervous and fumble it. Priest helps, and soon I have the headset on.

  Why are we wearing these?

  Then I realize why as the blades pick up gear, and the noise in the cabin becomes almost overwhelming. Oh, God, I’m not liking this.

  The pilot speaks in Italian, asking for permission to take off. And then we simply float. I thought it would be jarring like the way a plane sets off down the runway, but this is different. It’s almost serene as the ground sways beneath us as we climb into the air.

  Once we reach a certain altitude, we bank slightly and then set off at a fair speed through the night sky. I decide I quite like this. I can see so much, unlike on a plane. The lights of Naples, and the wonder of the coastline shimmer below. I’ve never been to this part of Italy before.

  In fact, I’m so engrossed in it all, it seems like no time before we are descending, and we land on a smooth lawn, surrounded by lights with a stone wall all the way around it.

  “Touchdown,” Priest says to me as we hit the ground with a soft bump. “So? How did you find it?”

  “I liked it.” I laugh.

  He smiles back at me. “You hate planes, but you like a chopper? You’re one of a kind, AJ.”

  I hate that nickname. It’s boyish. Unsexy. I get it. He’s putting a barrier up between us. Fine. Two can play at that game.

  Or can they?

  I honestly don’t know if I can do the same. He’s my security blanket, and if I try to distance myself from him, I think I’ll fall apart. The more he pushes me away, the closer I want to be.

  I take off my headset and follow Matteo as he steps out of the helicopter. The blades are still whirring, and Priest shouts in my ear, “Keep your head down.”

  I do as he says, and with my head low I follow Matteo as he fast-walks away from the chopper.

  I’m so busy following Matteo that I don’t look up at the house until I’ve taken about thirty steps closer.

  Holy moly.

  The place is awe-inspiring. Even better in person than in pictures.

  It’s an old stone building with a warm terracotta render covering it. There are multiple floors and parts to the building, meaning it almost looks like a small village and not one place. There are terraces, three of which I can see from here, and there’s likely more around the other side where I can’t see. The windows are arched shape, and a few of them have what looks to be stained glass in them.

  There are old-fashioned, tall lights surrounding the house and along the paths that veer between various parts of the sprawling property.

  I glance at Priest and mouth wow.

  We enter a side door into the building, and inside it’s cool and well-lit. The floor is black and white tiling, and there are what look like bona fide antiques all over the damn place.

  Heels clack on the tiling, and I look down the hallway to see a lady approach us. She’s in her fifties, I guess, and wears a dark, well-fitted pant suit.

  “Welcome,” she says in very good English. “So nice to have you here. If you’ll follow me?”

  She turns smartly on those heels of hers and marches back down the long hallway. I follow her, and glance behind me to see Priest is too. Matteo turns in the opposite direction and disappears into the gloom of another hallway.

  I bet this place has some stories to tell. Possibly some ghosts too.

  When we reach the end of the corridor, it opens into a huge entrance hall. The tiling here is different. It’s a more intricate pattern, and I stare at the floor for a moment, entranced by its beauty. Then I lift my gaze and my mouth falls open. There are oil paintings on the walls. A bust of what looks like a Roman head on a large, deep brown wooden table. But it is the celling that has me staring in slack jawed wonder.

  It is vaulted and painted in the most stunning fresco. I can’t believe someone lives in a place like this. It’s like having your own mini-Sistine Chapel.

  “Welcome to my home.” The deep, cultured voice has me turning around. I recognize the man from the photograph Priest showed me.

  Giovanni Bianchi.

  He’s much more handsome in real life. Just as cold, though, I think. He smiles, and it’s brief. His face is all planes and angles. He’s tall, but not as tall as Priest. Must be over six foot, however. He wears a dark suit, which fits his muscular body to perfection. He might not have the muscle mass of Priest; who does? This man is powerfully built, though.

  He approaches Priest and shakes his hand.

  “Thank you for having us here,” Priest says.

  “It is no problem. I have been talking to Konstantin and Andrius about their venture. I would like to invest.” He smiles and dips his head in a self-deprecating manner. “They are, I think, checking me out. I understand this. They need to take their time to ensure I am not partaking in illegal activity. Once they are satisfied of this, I’m sure they’d like me on board.”

  “It seems like you have your own protection.” Priest jerks his chin to indicate behind Bianchi.

  I look beyond our host to see three men, all standing with their legs apart, and their arms crossed in front of them.

  “Yes, indeed. These are my own private personal protection. You won’t believe how many people I know who are downsizing and moving to ordinary areas to try to fit in. Either that, or they’re buying up land in New Zealand. They have a feeling the tide may turn against them at some point.”

  “You’re not,” Priest observes looking around him.

  “No. If it’s fight
or flight, then I will fight,” Bianchi says with a shark-like grin. “However, for many who I know, they are soft. Those who inherited wealth particularly, they’re not fighters, but they don’t want to lose it all. What Konstantin and Andrius are starting to build, it could be big. I would like to fund some of it.”

  “So, there’s an angle to us being here,” Priest says.

  Bianchi’s face tightens but Priest laughs.

  “Hey, it’s all good. I’m kind of relieved. Made no sense to me you inviting us here and being so helpful. Now it makes sense. I prefer things to make sense.”

  “I did offer because I wanted to help in the hope it would … smooth the way to me being an investor, yes, but I also did so because I don’t want Miss Muka here in danger when I can offer her safety.”

  “Fair enough.” Priest gives a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder.

  “Let me show you to your quarters,” Bianchi says smoothly. “You must be hungry and tired. You’re welcome to come eat in the guest dining room, or I can send something up?”

  “Send something up, please,” Priest states before I can answer.

  “Of course. This way.” He leads us out of the awe-inspiring foyer and to a grand staircase. Twenty or so wide marble steps lead to a separate landing where the staircase splits, one set sweeping around to the right, and the other curving to the left.

  We follow him as he climbs the steps and takes the set to the right. They lead to a hallway with deep red carpets and more portraits hanging on the walls. Bianchi takes a door to his left, and we find ourselves in a long hall with stained glass windows either side and lights in front of every window, guiding our way with a soft, golden glow.

  “I gave you a suite,” he says, his accent undeniably sexy. “There is a living space, a small kitchenette so you can make a warm drink if you wish, and help yourself to things from the fridge. You each have a bedroom with an attached bathroom.”

  I relax at his words. I’ll be in the same space as Priest. I dreaded us being down some long corridor from one another. I mean, this place is awesome and all, but I bet it’s haunted. Has to be.

  “How old is the building?” I ask Bianchi.

  “No one knows for sure. There was a building here from the eleventh century, but it was torn down sometime during the thirteenth century, and that’s when records show the bare bones for the villa were first built. It has been added to over the years.”

  “It’s a truly stunning home,” I tell him truthfully.

  “Thank you. I’m a lucky man. It used to be a hotel, and some of the things they did, such as putting in heavy, modern fire doors were akin to vandalism. I’m in the process of renovating it all back to its former glory.”

  “Must be a fascinating undertaking.”

  He turns and gives me the full heat of his dark gaze. God, if I weren’t ga-ga over Priest, I’d probably find myself a nervous mess around this man. “Oh, it is. I enjoy finding out the history. I have a library that needs a lot of work. There are many rare books within its walls, and it all needs cataloguing.”

  “You need a librarian,” I say, stupidly.

  His face splits into a grin, but it’s predatory. Like a shark’s grin. “Oh, I already have one. I just need to bring her here.” With those words, he stops by a grand double door. “Your suite.” He pushes the doors open and gestures for us to go inside.

  Priest heads in first, and I follow him. Okay, I’m not going to ooh and aah again, but holy crap. It’s gorgeous. Filled to the brim with luxury and antiques, it makes my mouth water.

  “I have men all around the property,” Bianchi tells Priest. “There will also be two men stationed at the end of this corridor, on the other side of the door. Of course, you are free to come and go, but other than myself, Matteo, or Sylvia, who is your maid, no one else can come down here. There are security cameras all over the inside and outside of the property. Guard dogs. And frankly, the biggest deterrent of all, my reputation.” He laughs.

  “Yes, I’ve heard it goes a long way, your reputation,” Priest says.

  “It does. Mostly trading on my father’s name to be honest, which is an invention of sorts. Still, use every weapon in the arsenal, no?”

  “We won’t stay long,” Priest says. “As soon as the threat is neutralized, I’ll be returning Roze to her father, but I thank you for giving us somewhere to stay.”

  “Well, as I say, you can thank me by telling that bastard Konstantin to let me invest.”

  He slaps Priest on the shoulder, as if they’re friends, and there’s something condescending about it. I see Priest’s jaw work, but he doesn’t react.

  “What would you like to eat?” Bianchi asks.

  “Steak,” Priest says without any please or thank yous. These two are clearly in some sort of pissing contest, which is frankly ridiculous because they’re so different they can’t be compared.

  Priest could never rival Bianchi’s wealth and status, and Bianchi could never attain Priest’s raw power.

  “I’d love an Italian salad with some mozzarella cheese, please, Mr. Bianchi,” I say.

  “Of course, and please, call me Giovanni.”

  He smiles and then takes my hand and kisses the back of it. Priest makes this odd sound deep in his throat. A sigh crossed with a low growl.

  I don’t quite understand what is going on between these two men, but I don’t like it. I need to feel safe, not as if I’ve stumbled into the middle of some alpha-male power play.

  The moment Bianchi … Giovanni goes and closes the door behind him, I turn on Priest. “What the hell is that all about?”

  “What?” He shoots me a puzzled look, brows raised.

  “Oh, don’t act all Mr. Innocent with me. The whole weird power contest you two have going on?”

  “It’s not a power contest, he’s just an insufferable dick,” Priest huffs.

  Takes one to know one.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I jump. Priest motions for me to get back, so I do.

  He goes to the door, one hand reaching out to open it, the other pushing his shirt up at his hip and resting on his gun.

  Damn, that shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.

  He opens the door to a stunning young woman.

  “Hello, I’m your maid,” she says, in excellent English.

  I wonder if I’ll get to practice my Italian again much at all. It seems a bit show-off of me to tell her I speak Italian when she’s managing perfectly well in English.

  “I have drinks for you.” She wheels in a tray with ice, glasses, wine, vodka, brandy, and a variety of soft drinks on it, as well as what looks like a jug of fresh orange juice.

  “I’ll leave it here so you can help yourselves.” She shoots me a smile, and then she looks at Priest and her eyes widen.

  I bet they don’t get many people looking like him staying here. His size alone marks him out from most folk.

  “Miss, if you don’t mind, can I show you your closet?”

  “My what?”

  “Closet. Mr. Bianchi ordered clothes for you.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  I glance at Priest as I follow her through the massive living room, and into the bedroom she takes me to.

  The bed is huge and has what looks like about ten pillows on it. It’s not four poster, though, and I’m relieved. I want to be able to see what’s around me in the room, not be hemmed in by billowing sheets. Although it’s stunning, there’s something almost gothic about this place, and it gives me the creeps a little.

  “Here are your clothes,” the young woman says.

  “Are you Sylvia?” I ask her.

  “Yes, Miss,” she says.

  “Oh, please, call me Roze.”

  “These are the clothes the master purchased for you.”

  Master? Oh God, what an ass.

  “I’ll be sure to be careful with them,” I say.

  She frowns. “They’re yours. You can do with them as you wish.”

  “Well, mine to bor
row, while I’m here.” I stare at the designer items hanging one after the other.

  “No, miss. Yours to keep. The master won’t want them back, will he?” She giggles as if the thought is hilarious.

  “Erm, to keep?”

  “Yes. I presume what you don’t take, he’ll give to charity. He gives a lot of things to charity.”

  This is all a bit over the top. Then she opens a drawer and there’s new underwear in there. All in the right size. How does he know my bra size? My father most certainly doesn’t know that.

  “How did he know the underwear size?” I ask.

  She frowns. “Master got the information from a Mr. Silvanov. He gave your size, and our housekeeper ordered the underwear from your general clothes size. She guessed. Is there a problem? Won’t it fit?”

  I rummage through the underwear, oddly perturbed, and then I see that there are a few bras in other sizes too. Okay, so she guessed and got some of each. I feel less creeped out now.

  “Your boss is a thorough man.”

  “Yes, he is,” she says seriously. “Very much so.”

  “Is he good? To the staff?”

  Her face tightens, and I know I’ve overstepped, big time. I can’t resist asking, though. He seems so … cold. Uptight too.

  “He’s the best. He’s strict, and he expects a lot but he’s fair, and kind when people need help. He does so much for the community but not in a showy way. Most of the time, people don’t even know it is Signor Bianchi who has fixed the roof of the church or paid for the children at the school to have Christmas hampers to take home.”

  None of that jives with how he’s come across to me, but I don’t know him, and she does. “You call him Master?” I state.

  Maybe I’ve read too many books, but I’m picturing a BDSM kind of thing going on.

  “Yes. It’s what we all call him, on account of Signor Ricci. He is the … how do I say, erm butler. Yes, like the British butler. He is that to Master, and he has always called him that from him being a young boy. Signor Ricci grew up in London, and he was trained at a top British school for butlers.”

  They have schools for butlers? Who knew?

  “I will leave you now. In the bathroom there is everything I think you will need, but if you do require anything at all, please let me know.”