Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One

by Michelle St. James

  “Why am I here?”

  He met her eyes across the table. “I already told you; because I want you here.”

  “Why do you want me here?”

  He shook his head. “You asked, I answered. It’s my turn.”

  She wanted to protest, but she knew it would only sound childish. “Fine.”

  “What was your childhood like—in three sentences?”

  She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, then set it back down on the plate. “In three sentences?”

  He shrugged. “I’m making good use of my question.”

  He was good. She was going to have to be on her game.

  She took a deep breath, formulating an answer that would tell him as little as possible while still meeting his requirement. “It was quiet. It was safe. It was...”

  He raised his eyebrows, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He’d stumped her, and he knew it. How did she sum up her childhood beyond safe and quiet in short sentences?

  “I’m waiting,” he said. “Don’t make me institute a time limit.”

  “I went to boarding school when I was twelve,” she finally said. “My turn.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t seem overly concerned.

  “Why do you want me here?” she asked, cursing herself for using two questions instead of one to get an answer.

  He wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin and dropped it into his lap. She tried not to look at the patch of bare skin visible in the “V” of his T-shirt.

  “It will be better for my business if I keep you comfortable, and I’m under no delusion that the basement room is comfortable. Plus, I imagine you’re used to better food than you’ve been getting.”

  She tried to hide her surprise. Unlike her, he didn’t seem concerned with giving away too much.

  “What was your mother like?” Nico asked.

  Alarm clanged through her. “How do you know about my mother?”

  He took another drink of his wine. “Do you want me to advance you the next question?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I hope you’ll be as generous in your answer as I’ve been, although I can always revert to my earlier format if it’s the only way to get you to play fair.”

  She thought about that while she finished chewing. He was throwing her off balance. Being generous. Being nice. Looking at her with his jungle cat eyes.

  She started speaking, as much to distract her from his gaze as to move the game along. “She was... warm. Kind. My father was always larger than life, but it was my mother who made me feel safe.”

  His nod was thoughtful. What was she doing? Why would she tell him something so personal? She glanced at the wine. She’d only had two drinks of it, but obviously the hunger strike had lowered her tolerance. She would have to be careful.

  She took a sip from her water glass before asking her next question.

  “What are you trying to accomplish by holding me hostage?”

  He leaned back in his chair, studying her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious, like he could see right through the clothes he’d left for her.

  “There’s something I need,” he finally said. “Something very important, very... personal. Holding you as collateral is the only way I can get it.”

  So it was something from her father. Although was money personal?

  “Money?” she asked.

  “Is that your next question?”

  She sighed. “Okay, yes. That’s my next question. Do you want money from my father?”

  “No.”

  She puzzled over his answer while he took another bite. If not money, then what? What else could Nico Vitale possibly want from a man who developed property in Boston? Her mind paged through the possibilities. Help getting permission to build something? A better price on a piece of available land, or a building under development?

  “I get two questions now,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  She nodded, still trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Tell me about your relationship with your father.”

  “That’s not a question.” She wondered if he’d object to the sharpness of her tone.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Let me rephrase; How would you describe your relationship with your father?”

  Same question. Although making him rephrase it had bought her a little time.

  “Complicated,” she said.

  If he was annoyed by her short response, he didn’t show it. She took another bite of the pasta, ravenous now that she had the feeling of food in her stomach again. She would never admit it, but the pasta was good. Better than good. Amazing.

  “Why is it complicated?” he asked, setting down his fork and wiping his mouth.

  She thought about the question while she chewed. Why was it complicated? She knew her father loved her. David, too. And they loved him back. Still, nothing had been the same since her mother’s death.

  “After my mother died...” She felt Nico’s eyes on her as she stared at her plate, searching for the words she needed. “He just didn’t know what to do with David and me. He sent us to boarding school right after her funeral. Separate boarding schools. We only saw him a couple times a year when he was in the area or when we took vacations, and on the rare occasions we were allowed home to Boston for Christmas or summer break.”

  He seemed surprised. “You weren’t allowed home for holidays?”

  She almost answered, then caught herself. “It’s my turn.”

  He nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”

  Why was he being so nice? Had she misread the danger she’d sensed in him the first time they’d met? But no, that didn’t make sense. He was part of the mob. Danger was an understatement.

  “Will you kill me?” she asked suddenly.

  He toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “That’s not currently the plan.”

  Her stomach tightened. “That’s not what I asked.”

  He nodded, then met her eyes. “As long as your father gives me what I want, you’ll be released unharmed.”

  Some of the tension left her body. If her survival depended on her father coming through, she would be fine.

  “What do you want from him?” she blurted. “He’s...” She shrugged. “He’s just a business man.”

  It was the only time he’d seemed off balance, and she thought she caught confusion in his eyes before his expression turned placid. She wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “That’s between your father and me,” he said. “Would you like some more food?”

  She looked down at her plate. Somehow during their conversation, she’d eaten every bite. “No, thank you.”

  “I hope you enjoyed it,” he said.

  “It was very good.” The compliment wasn’t really for him, which was the only reason she could offer it. She had no doubt he was hiding a housekeeper, and probably someone else responsible for the cooking.

  He nodded, holding her gaze, and for a minute she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Felt like she didn’t need to breathe. Like the light in Nico Vitale’s eyes was the only thing necessary to her survival.

  Which was ridiculous and stupid. Not to mention dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

  She stood, anxious to break eye contact with him, and took her plate to the kitchen. She rinsed it off and left it in the sink, forcing herself not to look at Nico as he came into the kitchen. If she just avoided his eyes, she would be okay. She would be back in the basement room that was her prison, a place that felt oddly safe compared to being alone with this man.

  She jumped a little as his arms snaked around her, and she felt the press of his body as he rinsed off his plate and set it in the sink. His back was as sturdy as a giant oak, his thighs strong on the back of hers.

  She froze, afraid to move, afraid to do anything that would allow her to feel his body more fully. Not because she was afraid of him, although there was a part of her that was afraid— a secret part she wanted to den
y after four years surrounded by feminists at her liberal arts college. Because there was no way being scared of someone should be a turn on. No way she should desire the man responsible for her abduction and imprisonment.

  But she did. And that was why she was really afraid. Because if Nico got any closer, she might not move to get away. She might turn in his arms instead. Might press against him and maybe even strip off his shirt so she could see the muscle she already knew lurked underneath it. She was willing herself to move, to get away from him while she still could, when she felt his hands on her hair.

  He lifted it away from her neck, draping it over one shoulder so it tumbled down her chest. She struggled to keep her breathing calm, not wanting him to know the effect he was having on her.

  His breath was a whisper as he lowered his head to the sensitive skin of her neck. When he pressed his mouth to the edge of her collarbone, her head fell back against his shoulder. A sigh escaped her lips, but she didn’t have the strength to care. Not while his mouth was on her, as soft as satin, the flick of his tongue hot against her bare skin.

  She was hardly aware of the water running in the sink as he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her back against his erection. She moved without thinking, rotating against the hard length of him. There was a voice somewhere in the depths of her mind calling for her to stop. But it was so small, so faint, compared to the roar building inside her body as waves of desire crashed over her.

  A moment later she felt the heat of his hands on the flat plane of her stomach as he moved them under her shirt. When they reached the lace of her bra, he groaned and spun her to face him. She didn’t have time to think before his mouth covered hers. There was nothing gentle in the kiss. It was angry and demanding, his hands tangling in her hair, tipping her head so he could devour her, his tongue sweeping her mouth.

  She didn’t even try to resist when he lifted her onto the edge of the granite counter. He spread her legs, pressing his hard on against the hot softness at her center. She braced herself on the counter with her arms, closing her eyes as he lifted her shirt.

  He peeled back the lace of her bra. The cold air hit her already erect nipples, and a moment later she felt the hot stroke of his tongue on one sensitive bud while he lightly pinched the other one.

  She was coming apart, the feel of his cock between her legs and his mouth on her breasts spinning her into a universe where there was no rhyme, no reason. He left a trail of hot kisses from her breasts to her stomach. His tongue dipped below the waist band of her trousers, and she thought she might die from the crystalline torture of it.

  “Angelica...” He breathed her name, and in it she heard something else.

  Angelica, her father.

  Ange, her brother.

  What was she doing? What was she thinking?

  “Wait,” she gasped, struggling against the passion that threatened to pull her back under the surface of her reason. “Nico... stop.”

  He went still. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he straightened, his eyes on fire. With desire? Anger? She couldn’t tell.

  She swallowed hard, forcing herself to say the words she didn’t quite believe she wanted to say. “I’d like to go now.”

  She thought he might be mad, but his lips turned up into a faint smile instead. He traced a line down her cheek.

  “Angelica,” he whispered, his eyes still on hers. And then, “Angel.”

  She wanted to push him away from her, but she was rendered immobile by the power of his gaze. And then he was fixing her bra, pulling up the lacy fabric to cover her, gently lowering her shirt.

  He stepped away, nodding like they had just concluded some kind of business meeting. “I’ll call Luca.”

  12

  She was still shaking when she stepped into the elevator. Not because of what had happened, but because of what she’d wanted to happen. Because even as the elevator doors closed, she wanted to step back into the apartment. To feel Nico’s hands on her body.

  Instead, she’d averted her gaze, refusing to look at him as the doors closed between them.

  She took a deep breath when the elevator started to descend, the fog lifting from her desire-addled brain. She watched the numbers on the display in their countdown from the fortieth floor and realized something; she was completely alone.

  She started pushing buttons on the control panel. Twenty-first floor, sixteenth floor, fourth floor; anything but the basement signified by the lit “B” that had somehow already been pressed when she stepped into the elevator.

  But none of the other buttons seemed to work, and she was forced to acknowledge that Nico’s all-consuming power extended even to the elevator. It must be exclusive to the penthouse and controlled from the apartment.

  She leaned back against the mirrored interior and pushed away the memory of Nico’s lips on her neck, her breasts. She needed to get away from him for good. She was losing it.

  She was almost looking forward to seeing Luca—calm, reliable Luca—when the elevator doors finally opened. But it wasn’t Luca who stood waiting for her.

  It was Dante, a mixture of pleasure and hatred in his eyes.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “I guess the boss is all done with you.”

  She froze, pinned to the floor of the elevator like a dead butterfly on display.

  “Are you stupid?” he said. “Let’s go.”

  He reached into the elevator and grabbed her arm, twisting as he pulled her into the basement. She cried out against her will.

  He pulled her down the hall so fast she had to trot to keep up, her arm bent at an unnatural angle, feeling like it was on the verge of snapping.

  The black SUV was waiting when they crashed out of the basement doors. Fear turned her blood to ice when she saw that it was was empty. Dante opened the door and shoved her into the back seat.

  “Where’s Luca?” she asked, rubbing her aching arm.

  “Don’t you worry about Luca,” Dante said. He leaned into the backseat and grabbed her breast, squeezing so hard it brought tears to her eyes. “I’m not usually into sloppy seconds, but I’m going to take real good care of you now that the boss is finished.”

  She was weighing her chances of gouging out his eyes and making a run for it when something came down over her head. She was plunged into darkness, and she fought against the return of her panic as the door closed with a resolute thud.

  Think, Angelica. Don’t panic. Think.

  She frantically felt along the door, looking for the unlock button or the door handle, anything that would get her away from Dante. A second later, she heard him slide into the front seat and start the car. She sensed him watching her in the silence.

  “There are no handles back there,” he finally said. “No locks either.”

  She wondered if she was imagining the satisfaction in his voice, but she didn’t have a chance to analyze it further. The car started, and then they were in motion.

  “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.” He laughed like it was some kind of joke.

  She tried to think of another way to escape, but it didn’t take long to admit to herself that it was futile. She would have to stay alert, look for an opportunity when they got back to the building where they were keeping her. Maybe Luca would be there. She hung onto the possibility like a life boat in a stormy sea.

  They twisted and turned through the streets of New York City. The pasta she’d eaten at Nico’s had turned sour in her stomach, and she was fighting motion sickness when the car finally slowed down, then stopped altogether.

  “Home, sweet home,” Dante said.

  She heard him get out of the car and braced herself for another assault. He grabbed her already-sore arm, then dragged her from the car.

  She thought he would remove the pillowcase, but it remained on her head even after she heard a lock turn, felt the warm rush of air as he shoved her inside. He moved her roughly down a set of stairs, and then she was being pushed forward, too grateful for the distance o
pening up between them to care that she stumbled and fell to the ground.

  Her hands went instinctively to the pillowcase. She pulled it from her head, hoping Dante would be gone. But he wasn’t. He was in the room with her, the door closed.

  He advanced on her, and she scrambled to her feet, determined to maintain as much control over the situation as possible. She might not be able to stop whatever was coming, but she wouldn’t be cowering from him when it came.

  He stopped in front of her, his eyes dropping to her breasts. She was still wondering what was coming when he reached up and ripped open her blouse, as easy as if it were made of paper.

  Her hands went up, instinctively trying to cover her body by holding together the two pieces of green silk. But it was no use. He was fast, and he grabbed her wrists and held them together, crushing them in one of his hands and backing her up against the wall.

  He lifted her arms over her head and pressed his body into hers. His excitement was obvious through his jeans, and she turned her head, wanting to deny this was happening. She tried to get away, but his hands might have been made of steel for all the progress she made.

  “You were with the boss awhile,” he said, grinding his hips into hers. “Must be good.”

  Her stomach turned as his words echoed in her head.

  The boss...

  The boss...

  Nico was Dante’s boss. Didn’t that means something—something important—in the mafia?

  “Nico won’t like this,” she gasped as he lowered his head to her breasts.

  He looked up. “What did you say?”

  “I said...” Would mentioning Nico make her situation worse? It didn’t matter. It was all she had. “Nico won’t like this.”

  He hesitated. “What? You think your father makes you special?”

  “I don’t know, but Nico said it would hurt his business if something happened to me.”

  Dante straightened, dragging his eyes from her chest to her face. “He said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he had you.”