Would have to risk the little bit of safety she’d found since her parent’s death.
She'd opted for ignorance instead, but that ignorance didn’t absolve her. Not when it was intentional.
She crossed the room to stand in front of him. “You’re right, Primo. For a long time, I wanted those things. Needed them. I pretended not to know what you were doing for my own benefit. But I’m not pretending now. I want to know.”
A sly smile touched his lips and he narrowed his eyes, as if something new was dawning on him. “How would you know about the fire at the shelter?”
“Did you do it?”
“You’ve been talking to him.” His voice turned icy. “You’ve been talking to Cavallo.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re trying to change the subject.”
He grabbed her arm. “Are you a traitor, Ari? Are you a fucking traitor?”
His grip was like a vise biting into her skin. She forced herself not to wince. “Talking to someone doesn’t make me a traitor.”
She could have told him that Damian had come to see her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Couldn’t bring herself to say something that might compromise Damian’s position even though there was no reason she should have any loyalty to him.
Primo was right. She was a traitor.
“So you have been talking to him,” Primo said. “How dare you?”
“How dare you? How could you do it?” Her voice shook, emotion threatening to close her throat around the words. “How could you?”
“You have no idea what it means to build what I’ve built,” he said, his voice raising. “No idea what it means to protect it.”
She glared at him, the dam crumbling on the emotions she’d been holding in check. On all the things she’d wanted to say.
“I know that you’re a coward. A fucking coward who would sacrifice women and children just to win a pissing contest with a man we both know has more balls than you’ll ever have.”
The strike against her face came so quickly she didn’t register it at first. There was Primo, glaring at her, and then a sting spreading across her lip and cheek as everything else went numb.
He raised his hand again, hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “I already know what you are.”
He lowered his hand and she put her palms against his chest and shoved, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Primo. For any of it.”
She spun around, hurried for the door and grabbed her bag, barely able to see through the tears blurring her vision. She’d almost reached the door when she felt his hand close around her arm again. He spun her around to face him and she lashed out, tried to hit him, all her fury spilling over.
“Get your hands off me!”
“If you leave now you’re dead to me!” he bellowed. “Dead to me, Ari.”
She stopped with her hand on the door, her back to him. “You’ve been dead to me for a long time, Primo. I just didn’t know it until tonight.”
She opened the door and rushed into the hall before he could stop her again.
16
Damian was in the Tribeca apartment, going over the strike strategy for the hundredth time, when his cell phone rang. He picked it up almost without thinking, his attention on the plans in front of him. It wasn’t until he saw the unknown number that the call got his attention.
He hesitated, then answered the call. “Yes?”
He waited through a long moment of silence and was about to hang up when he heard the broken voice on the other end of the phone.
“It’s Aria Fiore.”
“Aria… Are you alright?”
“I’m… I’m fine. I’m sorry to call like this. I just…” A sob broke free. “The truth is I don’t have anyone else.”
“I gave you my number for this reason,” he said. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“I’ll come to you,” she said. “If it’s okay, I mean.”
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “But I can be in a car in less than five minutes.”
“I need the time,” she said. “I need… um, to get my head together.”
“Let me give you the address. Are you ready?”
She sniffled. “Ready.”
He gave her the address. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” she said.
“See you then.”
“Damian?”
“Yes?”
“It was him,” she said. “He set the fire.”
“I know,” Damian said. “It’s okay. Just get here and we’ll figure it out.”
She hung up without saying goodbye, and he stared at his phone, wondering when he’d come to stand in the kitchen, his back against the counter. His mind was racing, running through all the things that might have happened to her if she’d confronted Primo about the fire.
It shouldn’t have mattered beyond how it would affect his strategy in the takedown of the Fiore organization — if at all. Aria was a pawn on the board. She occupied no position of power, probably had limited knowledge of her brother’s operation.
He didn’t give a shit about any of it.
All he wanted was to see her face. To know she was okay.
It didn’t make any fucking sense.
He grabbed his keys and headed out of his apartment and into the elevator. He reached the lobby well before her expected ETA and spent the next twenty minutes pacing in front of the building.
He was looking at his phone, marking the time that had passed since she’d called when he spotted a small figure moving toward him from the corner. He knew it was her even from a distance. It was in the way she held herself, the unique blend of strength and fragility he’d spotted the first time he’d seen her.
He forced himself to wait. He had no idea what had happened, what would come of their meeting, how it would impact his war with Primo or her safety.
But it would affect both of those things, and that meant she had to come to him.
He waited as she approached, her footsteps purposeful right up until the moment she stopped in front of him, as if now that she'd resolved to see him there was no point second-guessing the decision.
The cut on her lip was small but it filled him with fury. He took a pull of the chill night air, forced his voice steady.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She exhaled a long shuddering breath, then nodded.
He looked around. Whatever had happened, it was a bad idea for him to be standing on the street with Primo Fiore’s sister.
“We need to get off the street.” He tipped his head at the building, forcing himself not to take her hand, lead her toward the safety of his apartment. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She only hesitated for a split second. “Okay.”
They crossed the lobby and stepped into the elevator. Damian had never been more relieved that Harvey and Mrs. Weaver were nowhere to be seen. They rode to the top floor in silence. When the door opened he held out his arm, waiting for her to step across the threshold.
He thought she might hesitate, realize this was the point of no return. Instead she stepped off the elevator with assurance. He couldn’t help admiring her. The decision to call him couldn’t have been easy, but now that she’d made it she seemed intent on seeing it through.
He opened the door and followed her into the apartment.
“First things first,” he said, heading for the bar.
She walked to the windows, looked out over the city as he poured whiskey into a glass. He crossed the room slowly, not wanting to startle her. He stopped a couple feet away, not daring himself to get too close. The feel of her velvety face in his hands had haunted him after her visit to his office. He didn’t trust himself to think clearly if he got close. He was already teetering dangerously near the edge, pushed close to rage by the knowledge that someone had put their hands on her again.
“Drink
this.”
She turned around, took the glass, and downed in it one swallow. “Thank you.”
He took the empty glass from her hand and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to get you some ice for that lip.” I will kill the motherfucker who did that to you. I will take him apart piece by piece. “Then you can tell me what happened.”
He returned a minute later with an ice pack wrapped in a clean dishtowel. “Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She lowered herself to the couch, reached for the ice pack in his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
She winced as she touched the ice to her lip. He took a seat on one of the chairs next to the couch, gave her a minute to let the ice rest before speaking.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
She lifted the ice pack from her lip, stared down at it in her hands. “I asked him,” she said. “I asked him about the fire.”
“He admitted doing it?”
“More or less.” She shook her head. “I’m so, so stupid.”
“I haven’t known you long,” he said, “but I can say with certainty that stupid is not a word I would use to describe you.”
Beautiful. Strong. Brave.
She turned the ice pack over in her hands. “It’s not like I haven’t known about the business,” she said softly.
“How much?” He didn’t believe she was cut from the same cloth as her brother, but he needed to hear her say it. “How much did you know?”
“I knew it was illegal.” She met his gaze. “I knew they pushed drugs and beat people up and ran a bookmaking operation.”
“That’s it?”
She drew in a breath. “I think I knew there was more, especially after Malcolm joined, but I made a point to stay out of it. To stay blind,” she finished bitterly.
“We all do what we must to survive,” he said.
She nodded, a spark of kinship in her eyes, like she knew they were one and the same.
Survivors who’d done what they had to do.
“Tell me about Malcolm,” Damian said.
She seemed to think about the question. “He made the business better in some ways. More organized. That’s one of the reasons Primo is so loyal to him. But it wasn’t worth the price.”
“What price is that?” Damian asked.
“Primo isn’t well,” she said. “He used to listen to me. Now he only listens to Malcolm, and Malcolm will do anything for money. For control.”
Damian looked at her lip. “Is he the one who did that?”
“Not this time.”
A tear tracked down one cheek, and an invisible hand seemed to close around his heart. Physical pain was one thing, but nothing hurt more than being hurt by someone you loved. He wanted to pull her into his arms then and there. To wipe the tear from her cheek and promise no one would ever hurt her again.
But of course, he could promise her no such thing. She wasn’t his to protect.
“You know I have to end this,” he said. “I can’t show Primo mercy. Especially now.”
“I know.”
“So why did you come?” he asked.
“I have no family but Primo, no real friends.” She said it matter-of-factly, and he knew his pity wouldn’t be welcome. “I just… I guess I needed a place to catch my breath.”
He thought carefully about what he would say next. Later he would wonder if it had been rash, but in the moment, he’d known exactly what he was doing.
Had known exactly what would happen if he did.
“This isn’t a good place to catch your breath.”
He couldn’t tell her about his plans for the following day. Couldn’t tell her that the city would soon be in chaos. The lives of too many men were at stake, and the fact that she’d come to him for sanctuary didn’t mean she was on his side.
“Of course.” She rose to her feet. “Thank you for the drink.”
“You didn’t let me finish; it isn’t safe for you here.” He only hesitated a moment. “But I know a place that is.”
17
Three hours after she’d arrived on Damian Cavallo’s doorstep, she still didn’t know what she was doing. She’d had an excuse for making the call. She’d been shaken up, both furious and devastated by Primo’s assault. She hardly remembered leaving the apartment, taking the elevator to the lobby, stumbling past the doorman — trained to ignore domestic squabbles by averting his eyes — and out onto the street.
She hadn’t even thought about calling Damian. Reaching for the card he’d given her had been reflexive.
Intuitive.
As if she’d known he was the one person who could make this right when reason told her no one in the world could do that.
And yet, he’d done all she needed and more. Had welcomed her into his home, had been kind and tender in spite of their last meeting. In spite of what Primo had done. Now he was in the driver’s seat next to her, his denim-clad thighs separated from hers only by the car’s console, his scent overwhelmingly male, the pulse in her body back to beating for him.
She looked out the window, watched as the highway’s street lamps passed by in a blur, everything beyond them dark. The only hint that they were near the beach was the briny air winding its way in through the car’s partially open sunroof.
She hadn’t hesitated when he’d said he had a place she could regroup. Not as long as she should have anyway. It had taken her less than ten seconds to calculate her options — go home to Primo and live with what he was doing or take Damian Cavallo up on his offer.
Something had changed inside her with the knowledge that Primo had set fire to the shelter. Something irrevocable. Part of her hoped it would change back, because if it didn’t she was screwed. If it didn’t, she had no life to speak of.
No home. No family.
Damian had offered her refuge when she had none. Taking him up on it didn’t make her any more of a traitor than talking to him. She didn’t know anything about Primo’s operation that would be helpful to Damian. Even if she did, he hadn’t asked her for anything, had insisted his offer had no strings attached. It was an offer too good to refuse. One that would give her time to figure out her next move.
She was surprised to feel the car slow beneath her. She’d been too distracted by her thoughts to notice when they’d gotten off the highway. Now they were on a narrow street lined with trees so tall on either side they nearly blocked out the moonlight.
“Almost there,” Damian said.
He pulled up to a gate and keyed in a code, waited for it to swing open, then continued up a straight driveway leading to a house lit up at the end of it. She could already hear the rush of water in the distance, the salt in the air stronger here than it had been as they made their way to the tip of Long Island.
He parked to the side of a circular driveway and turned off the car. He sat for a moment, looking at the house, something complex moving behind his eyes. Then he opened the door and stepped out of the car.
She followed suit, suddenly realizing she didn’t have any of her stuff. No change of clothes. No clean underwear. Not even a toothbrush.
She followed him up the steps of a surprisingly modest house. She didn’t know what she expected. The apartment in Tribeca had been large and obviously expensive, but the decor had been exposed brick and overstuffed sofas and rich carpets on the hardwood. In other words, the opposite of the apartment she shared with Primo.
It should have prepared her for something like this — expensive but lacking the overt display of wealth that was a hallmark of everything Primo bought.
She waited on the porch next to Damian as he unlocked the door. It was too dark to see much beyond the lawn, but the ocean sounded very near, the waves crashing in a rhythm that was already working to soothe her frazzled nerves.
Damian opened the door and stood back for her to enter. She was careful not to brush up against him as she passed, all too aware of the attraction arcing between them li
ke a live wire. She was already on dangerous ground, far from home, alone with her brother’s enemy.
She entered a wide foyer, a staircase rising to a second floor above. Damian closed the door behind them and led the way down a hall, past darkened rooms to an expansive great room at the back of the house. It was dark but she didn’t need lights to see the view highlighted by the wall of windows at the back of the house.
The ocean was stretched out before them as far as the eye could see, a nearly full moon shining a column of light on its waters.
Damian stepped up to the glass and she saw that the windows were actually floor-to-ceiling doors with hinges designed to be invisible to the eye. He folded one of them back and a gust of sea air blew into the room.
“There’s no one on either side for at least half a mile,” he said, walking out onto the deck. “I’ve had the property manager stock the fridge. You should have everything you need to be comfortable.”
“You’re not staying?” she asked.
“I’ll stay tonight because it’s so late,” he said. “But I’ll be out of your way first thing in the morning.”
It seemed like there was more to the sentence, something he wasn’t saying, but it was none of her business. He’d already done too much in bringing her here.
“You’re sure it’s alright that I stay?”
He smiled. “It’s fine. I haven’t been here in ages. Someone should enjoy it.”
She scanned the empty beach, a desolate strip of sand that extended in either direction. “It’s a beautiful place. Why don’t you come more often?”
He looked out over the water. “Too busy most of the time.”
She had the feeling it wasn’t an entirely truthful answer. “That’s a shame.”
His nod was curt. “Come inside. I’ll show you your room.”
She followed him through the sprawling great room to the foyer where they ascended the stairs to the second floor.
“This is where I’ll be if you need anything before I leave,” he said as they passed the first open door and continued down the hall.
She tried not to think about that — about Damian asleep, moonlight falling across his naked body, muscled limbs splayed across white sheets.
Fire with Fire (New York Syndicate Book 1) Page 10
