Risking Romero (The Adamos Book 9)

by Mia Madison

“Oh, hi, guys,” she says when she spots me and Lando. “I woke up and got the munchies. I think there’s still some ice cream in here.”

  She’s dressed in a nightshirt that ends above her knees, her blonde hair tousled. Behind her, Matteo’s like a statue, staring at her. She roots around in the freezer and pulls out a container, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

  Even when she turns to take a spoon from the silverware drawer, she doesn’t spot him. Only when she’s on her way out of the kitchen does the very large man with the scarred face register on her senses. She stills, and I wait for her to startle, scream, demand explanations.

  Quinn does none of these things. She stays where she is, her head tilted a little to the side, studying him. All I can see from where I am is the back of her head; I’d give anything for a view of her face right now.

  Matteo doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as twitch. His burning eyes are locked on her face. Finally, she moves … and goes right up to him. I tense, as if witnessing a child who’s gotten too close to the tiger’s cage at the zoo.

  “Here,” she says. “You need this more than I do.” She holds out the ice cream. One of his hands comes up, more by reflex than volition, and Quinn puts the container in it.

  Then she walks out without a backward look.

  Matteo’s gaze has turned inward; his muscles are tense. He gives the impression of a man waging a mighty battle with himself. I more than half expect him to fling the ice cream at the wall. But he doesn’t.

  Instead, he moves to the counter and sets it down, carefully, almost reverently. Only then does he focus on me and Lando again.

  “How much time do we have?” I ask. Before Santiago escalates.

  “Hours; days. Not weeks.”

  “Hours or days?” Lando demands.

  Matteo’s silent a moment. It’s the first time he’s paused before giving an answer. “Figure hours. Safer.”

  Moments later, he’s gone. And even in this creaky old farmhouse, there’s no sound of his passage.

  Lando and I look at each other. “Let’s wake the girls up,” he says. “Get them started packing. We’ve got four hours until sunrise.”

  We move toward the stairs, and I try to figure out how to tell Jade she might lose her farm after all.

  Fuck Santiago.

  13

  One Of The Best

  I keep going back and forth between fury and terror. Fury that I’m being forced from my home by a demented outlaw; terror that he might hurt someone I love.

  In the early morning light, the area around the farmhouse is filled with Adamos. Romero and Lando have summoned their cousins to help move us and our animals to safety.

  I’ve already made calls to other families in the area, arranging for them to take the cows, goats, chickens, and sheep. Even though, officially, it’s only temporary, I know there’s a chance they’re leaving for good. That we’ll never live on our farm again.

  The Tanners, who are taking in most of our livestock, will also be housing Zander, our Great Pyrenees. He’s a working dog, a gentle giant, and he needs to be with his charges. It makes me ill to think of anyone hurting him.

  In the parlor, my sisters and I have stacked up our luggage. Two suitcases each; Romero was very explicit. “Only bring what you absolutely can’t get along without, or that’s irreplaceable. As soon as we can, we’ll make arrangements to store the rest of your things.”

  Bree and Quinn also have their instruments with them: a guitar and a clarinet. The only thing I play is the piano, and I find myself staring longingly at the old upright in the corner. It has sentimental value that makes it irreplaceable to me, but moving it is obviously not a priority.

  Romero’s arms circle my waist. “How you holding up?”

  I cover his arms with mine and lean back against him. “I’m doing all right. I’ll feel better when it’s done and all the animals are safe.”

  He kisses my temple. “I know this is rough. We wouldn’t make you do it if there were another way.”

  Quinn told Bree and me about the mystery man in the kitchen last night. She’s certain he’s an Adamo; he feels like one, she said, whatever that means. Whoever he is, he’s the source of the warning that got us all up in the middle of the night.

  Romero and Lando haven’t told us much, just that the man who wants the farm is both a criminal and not entirely mentally stable, and for now it’s better to err on the side of caution. Their careful restraint in explaining the situation only makes it more frightening.

  Through a window, I see Romero’s cousin Carlo talking to some of his men. Romero told me that Carlo’s an ex-military guy like my dad, and now he runs his own security firm. Earlier, I shamelessly eavesdropped while the two of them talked.

  “We’ve already run the Russian mob and those fuckin’ outlaw bikers out of town,” Carlo growled. “Either Santiago’s not very smart, or he thinks he’s got big brass ones.”

  “I think it’s more likely he’s clinically insane.”

  “I checked him out after you called. If half the shit he’s suspected of is true, you’re doing the right thing getting the girls out. Eventually, the kind of life he’s living will catch up to him, but you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.”

  Carlo’s the one who decreed that my sisters and I be split up and go to different houses. That scares me most of all. He didn’t say so, but I can only assume that if we were together, this Santiago person might try to take us all out.

  If we had all gone off to college we’d be living apart anyway; but we didn’t, and my heart aches at being separated from them for the first time. It must be even worse for Bree and Quinn, twins who’ve never been apart a day in their lives.

  Carlo comes in. “Let’s load up,” he tells us, and we all follow him outside. The driveway is full of SUVs and pickup trucks, several of them hooked up to trailers for hauling the animals.

  The goats and sheep are bleating. I want to cry. This is the only home most of them have ever known, and they can’t understand what’s going on.

  Then I have to say goodbye to my sisters, and it takes all my willpower not to blubber like a baby. We hug each other tight, as if we’re being sent to the ends of the earth where cell phones don’t work and the internet doesn’t exist.

  Romero takes my bags and loads them into his car, then holds the passenger door for me. The only consolation in this whole mess is getting to stay at his place. Carlo argued for putting me in a house with stronger security, but my man was adamant that I be with him.

  “Carlo,” he said when his cousin tried to talk him out of it. “If it were Gina, would you let her be under anyone else’s roof?”

  Gina is Carlo’s wife, a curvy redhead around my age with a warm smile. I met her last night, and she’s been here this morning helping wherever she can. She told me when this is all over, she’ll share her little adventure with the Russian mob.

  I’m curious about that, but I’m preoccupied by Romero comparing me to Gina. She’s Carlo’s wife, not his girlfriend or some random woman. It gives me a warm little glow inside, even in the midst of all this upheaval.

  I can’t believe it’s been less than twenty-four hours since I first laid eyes on Romero. It feels like I’ve been through several lifetimes since then. What we have together feels older, too, like we’ve known each other months or years, not mere hours.

  We don’t make the drive to Romero’s house alone; two black SUVs escort us. Part of me wants to just hide away and wait for this all to be over, but I can’t. “What happens now?” I ask him. “Will he try to take over the farm since no one’s there?”

  “It’s possible,” he says reluctantly. “As far as we can tell, Santiago isn’t governed by any rules but his own desires. He’s canny enough to put on a good public face, but the reality is he’s quite ruthless about going after what he wants.”

  “If a bunch of heavily armed men told me to back off, I’d listen. But you think he’ll just get mad?”

&
nbsp; “He has his own heavily armed men. And he seems to regard any kind of resistance as provocation.”

  I remember what Romero said to Carlo earlier. “So he’s nuts.”

  “Crazy, or pretending to be. Though that may be a distinction without a difference.”

  “How do you even deal with someone like that?”

  “What I’m hoping is that if we pretend to go along with the idea of selling, and open negotiations, we can use it as a stalling tactic while we try to figure out if he has any weaknesses. Anything we can exploit to distract him, discourage him, turn his attention in a different direction.”

  “So he can screw up somebody else’s life,” I say.

  “He’ll do that anyway. This is not a man who cares about collateral damage.”

  The rest of the drive passes in silence. When we reach the house, Carlo’s men make us wait while they check the house and the yard. The tradeoff for me staying with Romero is that his house is going to get a state-of-the-art security system installed, and security teams from a few of his cousins will take turns patrolling the neighborhood.

  Just in case.

  When they let us in at last, we go straight upstairs to Romero’s bedroom, set my bags in the corner, undress, and crawl into bed. We’re so tired that sleep pulls us under within seconds.

  I wake to find myself spooning with Romero, my back to his front. He’s got an arm around my waist, his hand curled around one breast, and his erection is nestled in the cleft of my ass.

  A sleepy smile drifts across my face. Despite everything, it’s a little bit of heaven to be skin to skin with my man. I let out a contented sigh, and his lips graze my shoulder.

  “Did you sleep okay?”

  I turn to him. “Yeah, I feel better. How about you?” His eyes go amber. “Oh, I see. You’re feeling a lot better.”

  “Uh-huh.” He nudges me onto my back; his hand slips between my legs to find me wet. “You must have been having some interesting dreams.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just being near you that does it.”

  “I know what effect being near you has on me, so that’s entirely possible.” He pushes inside me, and when I’m full he kisses me until I arch against him. Then he moves, but he keeps the pace slow, almost gentle.

  When my eyes close, he says, “Look at me, Jade.” So I watch him as we circle up, higher and higher, until ecstasy seizes us both in velvet claws and we shudder together through our climax.

  I stroke his hair, my throat swollen with unshed tears. He nuzzles my ear, then nips my earlobe. “That was the appetizer.”

  “Is that right?”

  The skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles. “You hungry?”

  “Mmm. I could … eat.”

  “Can’t say no to that,” he says, his smile turning wicked, and he scoops me up and carries me to the shower.

  Downstairs, I take over the kitchen. We’re cleaning up after eating a frittata when the doorbell rings. “Are you expecting someone?” I ask Romero. I hate that something as innocuous as visitors makes me tense up now.

  “I’ll go see.” He gives my hand a squeeze and goes down the hall toward the front of the house. I hesitate, then curse myself for my cowardice and follow him.

  There’s a new panel by the front door with a screen. Carlo’s guys must have come in while we were asleep and done part of the installation. Romero checks to see who it is, then opens the door and stands back.

  “Where do you want it?” says one of the six burly men rolling my piano inside. I stare, wordless, unable to believe it’s here.

  “Follow me,” Romero says, and leads them to the back. The family room wraps around the corner along the side of the house, and he’s rearranged some of the furniture to make space along an interior wall. The piano fits perfectly, and in no time the men are gone again.

  “You brought my piano,” I whisper.

  His arms come around my waist and he nuzzles my ear. “I saw you looking at it this morning. I didn’t want you to be without it.”

  I turn and throw my arms around him. “You brought my piano,” I tell his chest in a broken voice.

  “Well,” he says. “It’s a hell of a piano.”

  I’m laughing and crying at the same time. Looking up at him, I say, “We need to go back upstairs so I can jump you.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Did you know it’s possible to have sex without being in a bed?”

  I give his chest a playful smack. “Didn’t they install cameras down here, though?”

  “Oh yeah. Not that they would watch; Carlo told me they turn the cameras off if anything of a personal nature transpires.”

  “So what happens if someone breaks in while we’re having sex? We’re on our own?”

  “They’re also installing panic buttons,” he reminds me.

  “Panicking during sex. Just the ticket.”

  His eyes gleam. “I won’t make you panic, but I will make you scream.”

  “You’ll have to catch me first,” I say as I jump back and dash through the kitchen. I’m sure he’s right about the cameras, but I lead him back upstairs anyway.

  This has been one of the saddest days of my life.

  And one of the best.

  14

  Into The Void

  That night, we go back to the farmhouse to prepare some things for storage. The twins and Lando are here, along with several of the cousins who’ve come to help. The girls decide what items to prioritize, and the rest of us help pack them up.

  “What about your dad’s photographs?” I ask Jade. They’re scattered through the house, beautiful shots of birds in flight and other wild creatures in their natural habitats.

  “Oh, yes, definitely. We should each pick our favorites, if we can,” she says to her sisters. “And then they can be boxed separately, and we won’t have to go through them later trying to divvy them up.”

  “What if we all have the same favorites?” Brianna wants to know.

  “Then we’ll have to flip a coin. Or arm wrestle or something.”

  “Mud wrestling would work too,” Lando notes, and gets three nearly identical looks of amused scorn.

  There’s a knock at the door. I go to see who it is, but one of Carlo’s men beats me there. He gets on his walkie-talkie, evidently checking with someone who has a view of the front porch, and then opens it.

  I don’t recognize the man standing there, but Jade does. “Mr. Tanner. Is everything all right? Is there a problem with the animals?”

  The man shifts uneasily. “It’s Zander.”

  “Oh no! Is he sick?”

  “No, no, but he keeps trying to escape our property. I think he’s trying to get back here, even though he’s got the animals with him. He goes to the corner of the spread that’s closest to here, and barks like he’s warning off an intruder, and tries to climb our fence. I figured I’d better come over and see if anything was wrong.”

  “Poor Zander. Everything that’s going on here must have him all worked up. Once there aren’t people coming and going all the time, I’m sure he’ll settle down.”

  Behind her, I look at Carlo’s guy, who nods. Time for a perimeter check.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” Jade says. “You have my number, so please do call if you have any questions or concerns about any of the animals.”

  Tanner nods. “Good luck to you, Miss Callahan. It was a real shame about your father.”

  “Thank you,” she says softly, and closes the door. “I’m going to run upstairs and make sure there’s nothing there that we missed this morning.”

  Our hands brush as she passes me, our fingers tangling briefly in a fleeting caress. It’s something I’ve seen with a lot of Adamo couples over the years, the instinctive urge to connect whenever possible, however briefly. I’ve never done it myself before.

  I watch her go, then start helping Quinn and Brianna collect their father’s photos and stack them in the parlor for sorting. I’ve just added another one to t
he group when, from the back of the house, the crash of breaking glass sounds, followed by a soft whump.

  I hear Carlo’s guy barking into his radio unit, and then he appears in the doorway. “The house is on fire. I need everyone to go out the front, quickly and quietly.”

  My skin goes clammy. “Jade’s upstairs.”

  “Jade!” Brianna yells, and makes a break for the door. Lando grabs her and she fights him like a madwoman, kicking and thrashing. I take advantage of the diversion to run out and down the hall, heading for the stairs.

  I’m brought up short by a solid wall of flame. The old house is mostly wood, and it’s going up like dry tinder. I can’t even see the stairs, let alone get up them.

  I turn back, ready to scale the damn house with my bare hands, and find Quinn there. “Back stairs,” she tells me. “Hurry.” She grabs my hand and we race through the house, back up the hallway, through an unused den, and out the other side to another room I haven’t seen before. It looks like a stone cellar, only above ground, and it’s damp, musty, and blessedly cool.

  Quinn opens a door in the outside wall to reveal a narrow, ancient-looking stone staircase climbing the side of the house. “Be safe,” she says. “She needs you.”

  “Can you get back okay?”

  “Yes. Go.”

  There’s no time to waste, so I take her at her word and go. The stairs are crumbling and slippery, and I lose my balance more than once on the way up. At the top is a landing with a weathered wooden door.

  It’s locked. Or stuck, which is just as bad. “Fuck!” I yell, and wrench at the old metal doorknob.

  It comes off in my hand. On the other side of the door, I hear its partner hit the floor with a thud.

  Cursing like the hounds of hell are after me, I force my hand through the opening, wincing as my skin comes off in strips, and try to feel for a lock. Nothing, nothing … there. My fingers can just barely brush it, set into the door above where the knobs should be.

  I force my arm deeper, twisting my wrist to get a better angle, and fumble to turn the lock. The air is filling with smoke. I’m sure the fire department is on the way, but they won’t get here in time.