Fire with Fire: New York Syndicate Book One

by St. James, Michelle

  Hell, he didn’t know if he believed in love at all.

  But there had been something there. Some kind of kinship in her eyes that told him she understood. That she sometimes felt alone even when she walked the streets of the city, surrounded by thousands. That she lay awake at night wondering if anyone would notice if she simply disappeared. That like him, she sometimes wondered if she’d disappeared long ago. If she’d faded from reality like an old photograph and now only existed in her own mind.

  Maybe he could have brushed it off if the sex had been bad. Or even if it had been mediocre. But sex was too modest a word to describe what had happened between them. It had been a primitive kind of synergy, the way her body had moved with his.

  A long-awaited completion.

  Like the click of a final puzzle piece into place, one that hadn’t seemed important until you found it and realized it changed everything.

  He pulled on his clothes and headed for the hall, stopping in the doorway to look at her. It was something he already knew he would never grow tired of doing. Her face was endlessly fascinating. He saw something new every time he looked at her. She was alternately innocent and seductive, beautiful and fascinating.

  There had never been anything in his adult life but work. He’d approached it with a single-minded passion that had usurped every other desire. Now he found that he wanted to strip off his clothes, slide back into bed, pull her into his arms, let the war be waged without him.

  It wasn’t possible. The wheels were in motion, the men waiting.

  He closed the door behind him and made his way down the stairs. He'd programmed the coffee the night before (had it only been a few hours?) and was pouring it into a commuter mug for the road when he heard her voice behind him.

  “You’re leaving.”

  He turned, still holding the mug. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his T-shirt grazing her upper thighs. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, kneel at her feet, lift the shirt, bury his face between her legs.

  “I have business that won’t wait,” he said.

  She nodded, chewed her lower lip. “It was just sex,” she said suddenly.

  “Excuse me?”

  She drew in a breath. “I just… you don’t owe me anything. I know what happened between us doesn’t change anything with Primo. I don’t want you to think that’s what it was about for me. We’re both adults. It was just sex. It doesn’t have to change anything.”

  He sat the mug down, crossed the room to stand in front of her. He slid a hand into the hair at the back of her neck, tipped her head until she was looking up at him, her dark eyes defiant.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “It changes nothing.” He bent his head to hers, kissed her long and slow, taking his time reclaiming the territory. “And it changes everything.”

  She was breathless when he pulled away. He walked back to the counter, picked up the mug and his keys. He paused next to her on his way to the door, reached up to stroke her cheek.

  “I’ll be back tonight. Don't tell anyone where you are.”

  He forced himself to walk before he changed his mind. He wasn’t sure he was in the clear until he was outside and in the car, leaving behind the beach house and the woman who would either be his salvation or his ruin.

  21

  Sleep was impossible after Damian left so Aria got dressed and poured herself a cup of coffee. She took it out to the beach and sat on the sand, let her mind go blank as she watched the sun rise over the water. She felt like she was at the end of the world, nothing but the house and the beach as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, and she was surprised to realize she hadn’t thought about Primo for some time. How long had it been since she’d gone hours without thinking about him?

  Without worrying about him? Fearing him?

  She couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been on her radar. Even immediately following the death of their parents she’d known to tread lightly around him, their childhood dynamic deeply conditioned in her even then. It had only gotten worse as they’d grown older, as Primo grew more unbalanced, but Malcolm had been the true game changer.

  Now he was so deeply embedded in Primo’s psyche she wondered if removing him would even do any good. Would Primo go back to being manageable without Malcolm’s daily influence? Or had Malcolm’s voice become so inexorably intertwined with Primo’s that his presence was the least of it?

  She wondered what they were doing now, what they were plotting. Their assault on the Franklin Street shelter was obviously the opening salvo to a much larger war.

  The thought of it made her think of Damian. She’d wondered if she’d get the chance to ask him about it, to find out how he’d come to care so much about a shelter for women and children. She was surprised to realize it wasn’t the only thing she wanted to know about him.

  He wasn’t entirely unknown to her. The internet made it easy to uncover the basics: father a wealthy financial broker who died when Damian was ten, mother an equally wealthy socialite who died of cancer when he was twenty, inheritance upwards of a billion dollars, numerous properties, majority shareholder in Cavallo Financial, no other living relatives.

  But she knew instinctively there was more to the story. She saw it in the ghosts that lurked behind his eyes, in the loneliness that seeped from his skin, knowable to her because she was sometimes sure the same loneliness leaked from her own.

  She’d told him it was just sex, but she’d known it was a lie even as she said it. What had happened between them felt sacred, a rare and valuable thing. She didn’t know what she’d intended when she’d gone to him in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d thought they would have sex, get it out of their system, throw a little cold water on the heat that had been building between them since the moment he’d walked into the club.

  What a terrible miscalculation.

  The waves were rushing closer to her feet, their movement mimicking the rhythm of Damian inside her. The thought of it sent a swell of desire to her core, her body alive in a new and unfamiliar way. Everything was clearer and sharper — the tang of the ocean air, the grit of the sand under her bare feet, the bite of the wind against her skin.

  She’d been asleep all this time and didn’t even know it.

  She shook her head as if that would clear it. She wasn’t a child. However she felt about Damian — and she couldn’t begin to define it yet — there would be consequences to what they’d done.

  To whatever would come next.

  She hadn’t even bothered to look at her phone before coming out onto the beach, but she had no doubt when she did she would be met with a flood of increasingly angry voice mails from Primo. He would want to know where she was, would tear the city apart looking for her. And if he found out about her and Damian, it would be even more personal, his ego magnifying the stakes, making him even more foolish.

  Even more dangerous.

  In a battle of wits, of strategy, her money would be on Damian. But her brother didn’t play like everyone else. If he saw defeating Damian as a matter of principle, he would risk everything — his men, his business, his life. That made him unpredictable, and unpredictable might get any one of them — or all of them — killed.

  She thought about going back. It wasn’t too late. She’d only been gone the night. Primo would be angry, but he’d be relieved too. She could say she’d wandered the city all night. Could… what?

  Say she was sorry? Say she understood why he’d burned down a shelter? Why he’d risked the lives of innocent women and children?

  Her stomach turned. She couldn’t do that.

  Something had changed inside her. After years of hiding from the truth she’d finally come face to face with it. Now that she’d seen it up close, where was no stuffing it back into her subconscious. She knew what Primo was.

  What he’d done.

  That meant she had precious few options left.

  She slid her fingers into the cold sand, let it
drift through her fingers like water. She didn’t know what she would do next, but she knew what she wouldn’t do.

  Maybe that was the best place to start.

  22

  Damian paced the floor of the cyber lab, watching the feeds on two of the monitors as several people tapped at keyboards on other computers. He’d turned on the cameras as a precaution before he’d left the apartment with Aria. He hadn’t expected to catch two men trashing the place, spray painting on the weathered brick walls of his living room, cutting open the cushions of his sofa, trashing his art.

  They’d been smart enough to wear ski masks, but he had no doubt that they were Primo’s men. Would have known they were Primo’s men even without the angry red letters on his walls.

  WHERE IS SHE?

  He cursed, turned off the monitors. The destruction of his Tribeca apartment was a risk he’d taken when he’d chosen a building without a doorman. So far the cameras on the Westchester estate showed nothing out of the ordinary. Damian assumed it was further down Fiore’s hit list.

  “I’ve got the latest, boss,” Cole said, stepping into the room. He handed a stack of papers to Damian. “Sent a couple guys over to your place to hold down the fort in case those assholes come back.”

  “They won't be coming back,” Damian said. “They delivered their message.”

  He flipped through the papers in his hands. There had been over twenty hits on Fiore operations since eight o’clock that morning, with more scheduled after dark. They’d taken out Platinum, all of Primo’s bookmaking operations, the strip clubs he used to wash money, two of their safe houses. They’d had four injuries — three gunshots and a knife wound — all of which were being taken care of in the medical ward on-site. The assault on the Fiore operation would continue for the next seventy-two hours, fanning outward from the city, upstate and over to Connecticut, west to New Jersey and Pennsylvania.

  Primo had been late to the party. The attack had obviously taken him by surprise, probably because he’d expected the fire at the shelter to be the impetus that would force Damian to act. He couldn’t know that Damian had been preparing the strategy since he’d left the club after their failed negotiation.

  He handed the papers back to Cole. “I read the reports. I want your assessment.”

  “The city’s under control,” Cole said. “There are still a few hot spots, a few places still under fire, but I think we’ll take them before the night is through.”

  “NYPD?”

  “Adhering to our agreement for the most part,” Cole said.

  “Good. Let’s clean it up before the day is out,” Damian said. “They won’t be able to stay out of it forever.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  “What about our friends?” Damian asked.

  The Syndicate’s team was operating under their jurisdiction but under its own control.

  “Pros all the way,” Cole said. “Hit their targets clean and fast.”

  “Good.”

  Cole shuffled nervously on his feet.

  “What is it?” Damian asked.

  Cole’s gaze touched on the people manning the monitors, most of them following Cavallo vehicles on GPS to route them around police or listening to comms of the men on the ground in case they needed backup. “Can I have a word?” he asked.

  They stepped into the hall. “What is it?”

  “The hit on your place,” Cole said, “is that personal?”

  Damian knew what he was asking, and if it had been anyone but Cole Grant he would have told him to go fuck himself. Personal was personal. Which meant nobody’s business but his.

  But he owed the truth to Cole.

  Damian nodded. “It is now.”

  Cole tried to keep his face impassive. Asking was one thing, passing judgement was something even Cole wouldn’t dare. “I take it she came to you?”

  “She did.” Damian kept his voice flat, not wanting to betray the feeling of protectiveness, of possessiveness, that swept his body at the thought of Aria still in his bed.

  “What does this mean for our operation?” Cole asked.

  “Nothing changes,” Damian said. “The plan should be executed like we discussed, except now you can hit his apartment too.”

  “Word is they’re in hiding,” Cole said.

  “Flush them out, bring them in.” He hesitated. If he had it his way, he’d kill Primo himself for what he’d done to Aria, but Primo was her brother. It wasn’t his call. Not right now. “Keep Primo alive. I don’t give a fuck what you do with Gatti.”

  Cole nodded. “You should be laying low too, you know.”

  He was right. It was standard operating procedure for the head of any family to go underground during a war. A serious adversary would seek to cut the head off the snake as a way to neutralize the organization.

  And Damian was that head.

  “Not my style to lay low,” he said.

  “I know, but it’s the best thing, especially with the girl in the mix,” Cole said. “You’re more valuable to us alive. We’ll secure the city tonight, fan out in the coming days. Anything we need you for you can do via phone or computer.”

  Damian didn’t like the idea of leaving the city, but it was the best thing for the organization. It would fall quickly without a leader, and his men deserved better than that.

  He nodded reluctantly. “Stay in touch. I’ll keep you posted on my whereabouts.”

  “Will do,” Cole said.

  He asked a few more questions as he walked with Damian to the elevator. The doors were about to close when Damian thought of something else.

  “Cole?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Put a few men on the Westchester property,” Damian said.

  The apartment in Tribeca was replaceable. The house in Westchester wasn’t.

  “You got it.”

  The doors closed, and Damian rode to the lobby thinking about the big, empty house. He had the sudden urge to take Aria there. To show her the two-story library, the terrace that overlooked the woods, the greenhouse where his mother had tended to her orchids and roses. He could picture Aria there, surrounded by greenery, planting, creating life even when there was snow on the ground beyond the greenhouse’s glass walls.

  He wondered if he’d ever be able to show it to her, then felt stupid for thinking it. They’d only met a few days before, so why did it feel natural to imagine her in his life? Why was it so easy to picture her at the house that had been in his family for generations? And why was he so anxious to get back to her when normally he’d be orchestrating his exit?

  It didn’t make sense, and he turned his thoughts to more practical matters as he got in the car and headed toward Long Island. The city was a mess. Aria couldn’t go back there, and the island wasn’t far enough away. He was sure Primo wouldn’t find the house there — it was well hidden behind several shell companies — but he was less sure Aria wouldn’t try to reason with her brother. Now that the war was under way, her interference could be deadly for her and others. The best chance they had was for her to stay clear of it all until the dust settled, and that meant getting her far away from chaos that was unfolding.

  He waited until he was clear of the city to dial his phone. Farrell Black picked up on the second ring.

  “Problems?”

  “No,” Damian said. He wouldn’t qualify anything that had happened in his war with Primo as a problem he couldn’t handle. Aria concerned him more, but she was none of Black’s business. “Tell Vitale I’m coming to Rome.”

  “If you’re not having problems, why do you want to see Nico?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “And here I thought we were friends.”

  The lazy brand of humor in Farrell’s voice caused Damian’s annoyance to flare.

  “You said I’d be a partner if I joined you,” Damian said. “I want to talk to one of your other partners.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation on the line. “I’ll clear it with him and get back
to you.”

  Damian hung up and increased his speed on the highway. Aria was waiting — and the clock was already ticking on their time together.

  23

  Aria was sitting on the terrace next to the kitchen when Damian finally returned.

  “Hello,” she said, feeling oddly shy. The last time she’d seen him his face had still been in shadow.

  She’d spent the day wandering the beach, perusing the books on the shelves in the house, and napping on the big sofa. She’d picked up her phone twice, her fingers hovering over the voice mail button to check the messages from Primo, before she’d finally thrown it in the water. She didn’t know what she would do next, but she wasn’t ready to talk to him and she didn’t want to risk giving him a way to find her.

  Damian walked to the fridge, removed two beers and made his way to the terrace. Stopping next to her, he leaned down, swept her mouth up in a kiss that surprised her with its tenderness. He handed her one of the beers.

  “Hello.”

  She took a drink of the beer, her mouth suddenly dry, words escaping her. What had she expected? That everything that had passed between them the night before would dissipate with the morning light?

  It hadn’t. That much was clear both from the way her body responded to his kiss and the way he looked at her. The way he held out his hand when he sat in the chair next to her, closed it around hers when she met him halfway.

  She looked over at him. “How bad is it?”

  “Under control,” he said. “No casualties on our side yet. Primo and Malcolm are in hiding.”

  She was surprised by the directness of his answer. She’d grown used to Primo’s hedging, the way he avoided telling her things in the name of protecting her when she was beginning to suspect it had more to do with protecting his own interests. It was unexpectedly refreshing to ask questions and get answers. She realized she had a lot of them.