by Shanna Bell
What he read made him sick. It made him want to murder someone. It was going to end with bloody murder, probably preceded with a good torture session. Sadly, that had to wait. Marco Rossi hadn’t visited the States in over a decade. Only when his father ended up in a hospital, he had gained the courage to do so.
According to his sources, the fucker had flown into San Francisco this evening, only to take a flight back to Europe a few hours later. The only pit-stop he apparently made was at his father’s. Gio could only imagine what the old man had threatened him with.
“I’m going after him.”
After Marco. Hector didn’t have to say the name.
Gio looked up to his friend. “He’s already trailed back to Europe, and probably gone underground. It’s easier to just send some men after him. It could take you weeks, even months, to track him down.”
“Don’t care. I’ll find the fucker.”
Gio had no doubt he would. No one escaped a former Marine. There was a reason his team had dubbed him the Wolf.
After Hector left, Gio went to pay a visit to Antonio Rossi. It was time to confront the man who should have put an end to Marco in the first place.
The old man sat in his library, looking like he’d aged ten years since the last time he’d seen him. Gio knew of his health problems. The old man played it down to the girls, but Gio knew his days were numbered. Antonio must have seen something in his face, because he asked for the room to clear.
There was no need for pleasantries. He didn’t come here for chitchat. “I’m going to kill your son.”
He had to give it to Antonio, the man didn’t even flinch. He also didn’t try to pretend like he didn’t know what Gio was talking about.
“How did you find out? Jazzy would have never told you.”
And wasn’t that what Antonio had been counting on for all these years? The silence of his granddaughters. In hindsight, it explained a lot. Why Jazzy was raised the way she was. Why she had so much more freedom than the other girls. And why Antonio didn’t put down the law for her, as was usual in their world. He felt too damn guilty—as he should.
“She didn’t. I found out from Mary’s records.”
His lips thinned. “I’ve banished Marco from the States.”
“Yet he came back.”
“He will not come back again. Not even after I’m gone. I told him who Jazzy married. He knows she is protected.”
“Not good enough. When you find a snake, you chop off its head.”
Antonio’s mouth tightened. “A man cannot enter heaven with the blood of his son on his hands. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. I have committed numerous crimes, but a child killer, I am not.”
“What about your granddaughters, who were also children back then? The ones that got bitten by the snake. You don’t let a snake slither away for it to come back and bite you one day. If you do that, sooner or later, someone else has to clean up your mess. Which, in this case, would be me.”
“It seems like you’ve already made up your mind. Why are you here, Detta?”
“I’m here to give you a heads-up that you will attend a funeral soon. Don’t get in my way. Also, if you start a war over this, know I’m ready. If you care about Jazzy at all, don’t make her attend your funeral before your time.”
Antonio narrowed his eyes but didn’t react.
Good. The time for talking was over anyway.
***
Later that night, as he once again stared at his wife’s back in bed, he contemplated his next move. Jazzy hadn’t broken down yet—though she had looked particularly anxious today. And even though a part of him was furious with her, another part of him was damn proud of her. Still, the discord in his marriage left him unsettled, making him feel unbalanced. But this wasn’t just about her safety, although that was his primary concern. It was also about trust.
Like you’ve trusted her?
Perhaps her refusing to trust him with her secret, he had no one to blame but himself. Why would she trust him if he hadn’t entrusted anything to her?
“The first week in the group home, I almost got raped,” he spoke, to her back. “I was ten years old and a scrawny kid back then. Two of the older boys held me down while the third one came up to me. Had it not been for Hector, I would have ended up with much worse than just a split lip and a scar on my eyebrow.” He was still for a moment. “What I’m trying to tell you is that I know what it feels like to be powerless. That day, that very moment after Hector kicked the crap out of those kids, I vowed that I would never be that vulnerable again. Not me, and not my brothers, nor anyone else I considered to be family. I will protect you from harm, even if protecting you means locking you up and you hating me. Because I can live with you hating me. I can’t live with the thought that I have failed to protect you, which is my most important job, as your husband.”
To protect and provide.
“That’s not the most important one,” she whispered. Before he could ask her what she meant by that, she finally started talking.
“I found him in Mary’s room.”
***
Jazzy
She could tell him now, because Marco had broken the deal. He came back to the States. From the moment Tess had delivered the news, she’d felt like a ten-year-old again, feeling Marco’s hot breath on her neck, sick to her stomach when she climbed on top of him. Beyond terrified, but determined to get him off of a crying Mary.
“Gio… he’s… he’s here.” She didn’t know how to start her story, not while all she could think of was that Marco was somewhere in San Francisco. Her grandfather had been right in his prediction. Marco had returned from his exile the second something happened to him—though she was pretty sure her nonno had expected that something to be his death, instead of him getting hospitalized.
“I know.”
Her head snapped around. “You know? How can you know? I haven’t told you anything yet.”
“You’re the most stubborn woman I know, Jaz. I couldn’t wait for you to come to your senses and tell me who the threat was. I found out for myself today.”
“How did you—?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” It should have been something to lead with, the moment he stepped inside their house.
His eyes softened as he stroked her hair. “I wanted to hear it from you, bella. I needed to know that you trusted me with this.”
And she did. And it wasn’t just because she was terrified, which she was, or she didn’t have any other options, which she did. Deep down, she’d known that Giovanni Detta wouldn’t let his wife get hurt, no matter how they fought like cats and dogs sometimes.
“I found him in Mary’s room,” she repeated. Jazzy bit the inside of her cheek before she turned away from him and forced herself to tell the truth to the wall. “By him, I mean, Uncle Marco. Later, I found out it was the first time he took it this far, actually trying to get into her bed instead of staring at her from her bedroom door. I didn’t immediately understand why Mary was crying, but I knew something was wrong. So, I went up to the bed and when he saw me, he told me to leave. Mary’s eyes were closed. She sat on the bed, her fingers white from clutching the bedsheets. There was no one at home that night, other than Mary’s nanny in the adjoining room. I went up to the bed, and”—she swallowed—“I leaned against him, and touched his arm to distract him from Mary. It worked. He was a bit drunk and sluggish. His hands were clumsy as he pulled my shirt from over my head, all the while, telling me how I would do for now. Mumbling to himself that I wanted this. I let him kiss and grope me, while trying not to throw up. As he ducked and fumbled with my pants, I saw a pair of scissors on Mary’s bedside table. She used to redesign the clothes of her dolls all the time. I grabbed the scissors and struck him. It wasn’t even intentional, but I hit him straight in the eye. He started bleeding like a stuck pig. His scream woke up Mary’s nanny. I fell off the bed and somehow ended up cutting my wr
ist, almost making me lose my arm. I don’t remember much about what happened next. I do remember the nanny bursting into the room, looking stark white when she saw the scene that met her.” And she remembered Marco’s words that he was going to make her bleed.
Silence echoed through the bedroom until Jazzy couldn’t stand it anymore. She turned to face Gio’s judgment, only to discover that there was none. All she saw in his deep blue eyes was compassion and anger on her behalf. His fingers lazily played with her hair.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“You know what I’m going to do.”
Yes, she did. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She certainly didn’t feel sorry for Marco. Given the chance, she would have cut off his balls herself, but she knew Gio would never let her get anywhere near that monster. “Would you consider not—”
“Don’t ask me to spare him,” Gio cut her off. “That’s not going to happen. He needs to be put down. He should’ve been years ago. Men who prey on children shouldn’t be allowed to walk the earth. Every day that fucker lives, he’s a danger to other kids.”
“I agree. I was just going to ask you to make it… quick. I don’t want him to be unrecognizable. That would kill my nonno. Think about his heart.”
“I don’t give a damn about Antonio’s heart.” He put his hand on her chest. “But I do care about my wife’s.”
Unsure about how to react to that statement, and her eyes getting suspiciously misty, she kissed him.
Of course, one kiss led to another, and before she knew it, they were groping each other, rekindling the flame that had been on a slow burn for so many days.
“Missed this,” he said with a hiss, as he slammed into her and started a hard and punishing rhythm.
As her toes curled, and the familiar heat zinged through her body, she realized that she’d missed this as well. The past few days had been torture. She was afraid of what that meant. She feared that in the end, it was going to leave her behind, heartbroken.
CHAPTER 27
JAZZY
Jazzy shifted to the left and right, viewing her dress from all angles in front of the mirror. Gio was taking her to a fundraiser tonight and she couldn’t wait. It was the first time they were going to a social gathering together, where she had to get all dressed up.
The same woman as on her wedding day had shown up, with a wide selection of dresses, and heaps and heaps of shoes, to choose from. In the end, she went for a silver sleeveless dress with a side split that hugged her curves and accented her ass. Gio loved her ass, bubbly or not. The entire ensemble was topped off by pumps, of course. The only jewelry she wore was the necklace he gave her.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off him when he emerged from his dressing room, wearing a tuxedo, looking smoking hot.
“I don’t think I want to go anymore,” she confessed. She just wanted to peel his clothes off and see him naked.
He came up to her and cupped her cheek. “That would deprive me of the chance to show off my wife.” When she cocked a brow, he added, “And sex in the backseat of the car.”
She couldn’t help but smile as he led her downstairs and into the limo. They were making out in the backseat when Gio suddenly pulled away.
“Give me your panties,” he ordered.
Drunk with desire, she did as he asked. Because, why not? She giggled when he opened the window and simply threw out her silk panties.
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
His hand went to her thigh high split, creeping up higher and higher, drawing circles. “Better believe it. I want you available for me all night. It will be the only thing getting me through this boring event.”
She nipped at his bottom lip. “Why are we going if it’s so boring?”
“Detta Enterprises is sponsoring one of the charities, so I have to show my face. It will be filled with people who pay a thousand-dollar entrance fee, and another thousand per platter. All so they don’t feel guilty living the good life, and can pretend to do something good out of the kindness of their hearts.”
“Sounds like you don’t like these people much.”
“I don’t. Most of them have never known hunger a day in their life. Never struggled with anything. Just born and raised with a silver spoon in their mouth. They wouldn’t survive a day on the streets.”
She pondered that for a second. “I’m like them. I mean, I’ve never known hunger in my life. Can’t say I would have survived on the streets either.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are a survivor, bella. Don’t ever think otherwise. You protect the ones you love. Mary and Carmen are a testament of that.”
I love you.
She froze, only able to relax when she found that she hadn’t spoken the words aloud.
Ever since their confessions, two days ago, something had fundamentally shifted between them. She couldn’t put a name to it, but Gio seemed different; even more protective than he already was. They hadn’t talked about Marco again and somehow, she knew he would never mention him again. As for Marco, after a pit stop at her grandfather’s, he’d apparently made it straight back to Europe. She had a feeling this was because he’d found out who she was married to.
It hadn’t escaped her notice though, that Hector wasn’t her bodyguard anymore, leaving another hulking figure to trail her. From Tess, she had learned that her former bodyguard had left for Europe. Yeah, Gio wasn’t the only one keeping tabs on people.
They were greeted by a hostess who was dressed in some elaborate green dress. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Detta,” she crooned, shaking their hands. “It’s so wonderful that you two could make it.”
After the exchange of some more pleasantries, a waiter led them to their round table, which they shared with two more couples.
Though Jazzy wasn’t much for haute cuisine—really, those tiny bits couldn’t fill the stomachs of a mouse family—she still appreciated the five-course meal that was served. The plates looked like pieces of art. She wanted to check her makeup before the bidding started, so she excused herself.
In the ladies’ room, she was met by an unpleasant surprise. Lisa; as in, “I give fellatio to married men at a wedding” Lisa. Jazzy had totally forgotten of her existence, or the fact that she orbited anywhere near Gio’s world. After reapplying her lipstick and ignoring the heavy silence between her and the other woman, she left the restroom.
The minute she left the ladies’ room, Jazzy was cornered by a man in a trench coat, who stunk of cigarettes. He looked like a washed-up detective from an eighties movie. Who even dressed like that anymore?
“Mrs. Detta?”
Why was he holding out a phone to her?
“I’m James Harvey with the SF Parole. Would you like to comment on the rumors of your husband’s entanglement with the Russian Bratva?”
Ah, not holding out a phone then, but recording their conversation. Not that she planned on giving him anything to report about.
She tried to pass him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
“Do you have any comments on your husband’s real estate war with Kristoff Romanov in Pacific Heights?”
“Could you please step aside?” Or I’m going to kick you. Not very ladylike, but surely effective.
Then Harvey turned mean. “Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”
An unexpected pair of clicking heels came to her rescue. It was their hostess, looking absolutely horrified as she rushed up to her, with security guards in tow.
“I am terribly sorry, Mrs. Detta. I don’t know how he got in.” She snapped her fingers at the guards, who dragged a protesting Harvey away. “I can assure you it will never happen again.”
As she continued to apologize profusely, Gio joined them. Her hand reached out to him, as if on its own accord, needing him close.
The hostess continued apologizing, basically repeating the same words to Gio. His eyes turned hard and, ignoring the hostess, he
pulled her away into an abandoned corridor.
Tired from the night, she leaned against the wall.
“I’m beginning to understand why my grandfather never allowed us to go to these kind of events. Gina always berated him for it. I suppose he was just trying to protect us.”
“That. And to possibly protect you from men like me. Had I seen you at a fundraiser before, I would have snatched you up."
She was never sure if he meant it, saying things like this. They didn’t marry out of love. Yet sometimes she felt like it could actually work out between them. Other times, she feared he would put her on the street as soon as the two years had passed. Every day, it became more and more difficult to keep her distance, to maintain an invisible wedge between their passionate nights and her heart. She feared that, one day, her brain was going to malfunction and blurt out that she loved him. And that would be the day he’d look at her with pity because he wouldn’t return her feelings. Because, if nothing else, Giovanni Detta was no liar.
“How do you deal with this? People judging you? Even if they don’t say it to your face, knowing what they think of you?”
He grabbed a nearby chair and sat on it, pulling her onto his lap. “I’m used to it. No matter what I do, some people will always see me as the son of a gangster. In their eyes, I’m guilty by association.”
She looked at him speculatively. “And are you?”
He bent his head to her. “Are you asking me if I have blood on my hands, or if I deal with the mafia?”
“Both.” She knew there was a challenge in her voice, but if he thought she was going to back down now, he had another think coming.
“I am not squeaky clean. I can’t be, even if I wanted to. I’ve done certain things to get to where I am today. Do I have ties to the Bratva as some claim? Yes. Though, not of the kind you might think. I don’t do illegal business with them that could get back to me or my family.”
