Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One

by Michelle St. James

  She turned on the couch, grasping in vain for Nico’s warm body.

  “Morning.” He sat down on the edge of the couch with a steaming cup in his hand. “Thought you could use this.”

  The smell of coffee coaxed her to a sitting position, and she looked down, realizing she was still naked. He handed her the shirt she’d been wearing the night before, and she put it on, leaving it unbuttoned, before taking the cup from his hands.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip of the coffee. Heavenly. Then she noticed that he was wearing black slacks and a dark blue button down. “You’re already dressed.”

  “I wanted to let you sleep, so I took a shower and packed.”

  He was obviously waiting, trying to find the right moment to begin the conversation they both knew they had to have. She took a long drink of the coffee to fortify herself, then held it between her two hands.

  “You said my father killed your parents.”

  “I’d rather not talk about that,” he said. “Let’s talk about us.”

  “I can’t do that. Not until we talk about my father.”

  He nodded. “Okay, yes. Your father killed my parents.”

  “I thought targeting family was against the rules.” She felt vaguely ridiculous saying it. The only thing she knew about the mob was what she’d read in the papers or seen in movies.

  “It was,” he said. “It is.”

  “You took me,” she reminded him.

  “But I didn’t put a gun to your head and kill you. I didn’t kill your brother. I just want justice for my parents.”

  She swallowed hard. “Do you have proof?” she asked softly.

  “I can get it.” His voice turned flinty around the words.

  “But you don’t have it now,” she said.

  “I can get it.”

  She forced herself to meet his eyes. “It’s not enough. It’s hard enough to believe that my father is a member of the mob. Now you want me to accept that he’s a murderer without any proof?”

  “It’s true,” Nico insisted. “I wish it wasn’t. But it is.”

  She put the mug down on the table and stood, the shirt falling open as she stalked to the fireplace. “Says you.”

  “It was him,” he said through gritted teeth. “The thing I want… the thing I wanted when I took you, it will prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  Her stomach twisted at the thought. He was sure. She could hear it in his voice. Nico wasn’t the kind of man to posture, and he wasn’t the kind of man to lie. She felt crazy even thinking it. He was a criminal. Why would she think lying was beneath him?

  And yet, she did. She knew it with a certainty she would have bet her life on.

  Which meant what? That her father was a murderer. A cold blooded murderer. Or that Nico was simply mistaken.

  “Let me go,” she said. “I’ll talk to him, and then I’ll know.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. She wanted to go to him, to pull his face to her stomach, let him wrap his arms around her waist while she stood half naked before him. But this moment wasn’t about that.

  “He’s not going to tell you the truth,” Nico said. “He wouldn’t even come clean to Raneiro. That’s why I need the evidence in your father’s possession.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Who is Raneiro?”

  He sighed, then stood and walked to the windows. “He runs the Syndicate. It’s up to him to mete out punishment when members violate our honor code.” He gazed out over the beach in silence before turning to her, his eyes full of pain. “But I need proof.”

  She heard the apology in his voice. He didn’t like this. The evidence that would avenge his parents would also be the thing to prove her father a murderer. She thought about her brother. What would he say when they found out—if they found out—that it was true?

  She tried to focus on something practical to avoid screaming out loud. “How do you know one of your men was part of it?”

  “Witnesses said there were two gunmen. And my father was careful when he went out with my mother—even more so right before he died. He didn’t advertise their movements, and he kept a bodyguard near them at all times. Only someone in our family could have known where they were going that night, and the guard was conveniently absent when the shooting occurred.”

  His voice had turned clinical, as if he was trying to distance himself from the details of his parent’s death.

  “Okay, but if it’s true, why would my father keep proof of his crime? It sounds stupid, and whatever you may think about him, he isn’t stupid. Wouldn’t he have gotten rid of the evidence by now?”

  “Not if he wanted to hold it over the head of whoever was helping him,” he said.

  “Then let me go,” she said. “I’ll talk to him, find out if it’s true.”

  “He almost killed you!”

  She jumped at the sound of his raised voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “Those men…” He took a deep breath, like he was trying to compose himself. “They almost got you killed.”

  “They were there to rescue me,” she said stubbornly.

  “Rescue you?” His laugh was bitter. “Is that why they used you as human shield? Why the man who was holding you said he didn’t care if you lived or died?”

  “That wasn’t my father’s fault,” she said, fighting to keep Nico’s words from piercing her heart. “His men must have… gone rogue or something. Maybe they were scared.”

  He shook his head. “They would be as good as dead if they purposefully violated an order to get you out alive.”

  “So what are you saying?” she demanded. “That my father told them to have me killed?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m saying he told them to get you out, but made it clear that it was okay if they couldn’t get you out alive.”

  She tried to laugh to show him how ridiculous it was, but it sounded strangled in her throat. “Then why bother sending them in at all? They could have just left me to you, let you do their dirty work.”

  She saw the hurt on his face in the moment before he composed his features into a mask of indifference.

  “In this business, you don’t let your enemies have at your family—at anything that belongs to you. It’s a show of weakness.”

  “So my father sent them after me not because he loves me, but because he didn’t want to appear weak?”

  “I”m not saying that, Angel. Just look at what happened. You were there. They treated you like a disposable commodity. Do you think I’m going to let you go to him? To risk something happening to you?”

  “What do you care?” she hissed.

  He stalked across the room until he was standing in front of her. He grabbed ahold of her shoulders. “Look at me.” She didn’t. Not at first. “Look at me, Angel.”

  She did then, but only because she wanted this to be over. Wanted to get away from him, from his scent and the powerful body that called to her like a siren even now when she thought she might really and truly despise him.

  “You belong to me now,” he said fiercely. “I won’t put you in harm’s way.”

  “So you won’t let me go?” she asked quietly.

  “You stay with me, where I know I can protect you until this is over.” There was no room for argument in his voice.

  She shook him off her, and headed for the stairs.

  29

  She would hate him now. That was inevitable. He glanced over at her as they drove, drinking in the long line of her neck, the slender arms that had only hours ago been wrapped around his naked body as he joined it to hers.

  He’d called Ed after their argument, and the old man had picked them up in the boat a couple of hours later. Nico had stood in the doorway of the house a little longer than usual, wondering if he and Angel would ever be here together again. He would never be able to stand in the living room without picturing her naked in the light of the fire. Would never walk the beaches alone without wanting her with him. It had been a ne
cessary escape, but now it was time to figure out what the fuck was going on.

  She’d said less than ten words to him in the four hours they’d been on the road. It was fine with him. He had business to think about anyway. Namely, how to flush out Carlo Rossi so he could put his parent’s murder to rest once and for all. He just wanted enough evidence to force the Syndicate to act. And then there was the issue of Angel. There was no future with this between them, and now he knew that he wanted one. He didn’t know if they would be able to move past it once he proved her father was the person responsible for his parent’s murder, but they would have to deal with that when the time came.

  Just do the right thing, Nico. Nothing else is your business.

  His father’s words echoed in Nico’s mind. This was the right thing. Justice. Not just for his parents, but for the rest of the Syndicate, too. Until Carlo murdered Nico’s parents, there had been a kind of order to their world. Rules you could count on. Trust. All of that would be gone if this was allowed to stand. They couldn’t go around killing each other, trying to take each other’s territories by force. It would be a return to the gang wars that had seen hundreds of men killed by members of their own families. Worse, the violence had bled onto the streets, hurting innocent people who got in the way.

  He couldn’t afford to let this go. Not even for Angel. It wouldn’t be the right thing in the long run. Angel would just have to understand that.

  He replayed his conversation with Luca on the phone last night. Headquarters had been locked down, and there hadn’t been any more trouble. But both Angel and Nico were wanted for different reasons by Carlo Rossi. They wouldn’t be truly safe until the Syndicate dealt with him. Staying out of sight was the best they could do. Nico would have preferred to stay in Maine, but he needed access to his men. Carmine had put the word out that Nico was in hiding out of country, and only Nico’s most trusted guards had been dispatched to his side as security.

  The sun had sunk below the horizon by the time they reached the New York state line. Nico merged onto the Thruway heading north, away from the city.

  “Where are we going?” Angel asked.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  She returned her gaze to the window without saying anything.

  They continued an hour north of the city, then got off the highway and headed toward the Hudson. The river glimmered beneath the Mid-Hudson Bridge, disappearing into inky darkness beyond the lights. He felt a fresh swell of guilt when he realized they weren’t far from the town where Angel had been living when Luca and Dante had taken her. He pushed it aside. This was for her own good. Obviously she couldn’t trust anybody on her father’s side.

  Nico steered the car into the foothills next to the river and came to a stop at an iron gate. A moment later, it swung smoothly and silently open.

  “What is this place?” Angel asked.

  “My home,” he said.

  “I thought you lived in the city.”

  “I have lots of homes.” Or none, he thought. Not without you. Not anymore.

  She glanced out the window, watching as they wound their way up the drive, sheltered on both sides by thick stands of trees. They emerged into a gravel courtyard outside the stone house that had been in his family since Roman, his great- great-grandfather, had emigrated to the US from Italy in the late 1800s.

  The house rose three stories tall, the facade made of granite that had mellowed to a soft ivory. A portico stood to one side, overlooking the river, and the house was fronted with a small porch under the library’s balcony. Four men lined the gravel driveway, all of them with weapons in their hands.

  Good.

  He parked the car and stepped out onto the courtyard, then walked around to open Angel’s door. When he turned to face the house, he saw Luca coming down the porch’s stairs.

  “You made it,” Luca said.

  Nico reached out to clasp the other man on the shoulder. “We did.”

  “Good.” Luca’s eyes slid to Angel. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she said.

  “How are you? How was… wherever you were?”

  “It was fine.” Nico clapped Luca on the back and guided him toward the house. His time with Angel in Maine had already taken on the quality of something sacred. He didn’t want to talk about it. “Tell me how things are here.”

  He sensed Angel’s absence and looked back to find her standing by the car.

  “Our bags?” she asked.

  “Someone will bring them in,” Nico said.

  He waited while she caught up, then headed inside with Luca.

  “Security detail is in place, all vetted,” Luca said.

  “How well vetted?” Nico asked.

  Luca held open the door. “Triple-checked. Don’t worry. Word is you’re out of the country. The only people who know you’re here are the ones securing the property, and they’re all under a communications embargo.”

  “Make sure to rotate them out,” Nico said. “We can’t keep them out of touch with their families indefinitely.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m going to get Angel settled. I’ll be down shortly.”

  “Where should we bring her bags?” Luca asked.

  “My suite.” A flicker of surprise passed over Luca’s face. Nico turned to Angel, not wanting to give weight to Luca’s reaction. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation for anything he did. “Ready?”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look happy about it.

  He ran his hand along banister, relishing the smoothness of the mahogany under his palm, as he led her up the stairs. He had memories of his parents here. Good ones. He wondered what they would have thought of Angel. If they could have welcomed her even though she was Carlo Rossi’s daughter. He liked to think they would, that in some alternate universe his mother had gotten to cook with Angel in the big kitchen, that Angel had walked the manicured grounds while his father told her stories about the house when he was a boy.

  They continued up the stairs to the second floor landing. The hall was carpeted with elaborate rugs from all over the world, the walls papered with a rich antique stripe chosen by his mother. She’d never wanted a decorator. Everything in the house was hand-picked by her, and he never felt her presence more strongly than he did here.

  He stopped at a door near the end of the hall and removed a ring of keys from his pocket. He waved Angel in ahead of him. “Please.”

  She stepped inside, her arms crossed in front of her in a gesture he’d come to recognize as defensive. He shut the door while she looked around, her eyes coming to rest on the giant canopied bed in the center of the room.

  “I can’t stay here,” she said.

  He walked past her and dropped his keys on the nightstand. “The hell you can’t.”

  “You can’t just… order me around,” she said. “Just because we slept together doesn’t mean you own me.”

  Possessiveness took hold of him, and he stalked across the room and lowered his mouth to hers. At first, her lips were unyielding, but it only lasted a split second. Then she was opening herself to him, her hands grabbing the hair at the back of his head while her tongue ravished his mouth.

  He waited to pull away until she was moaning in his mouth. He looked down at her, his cock hardening at the sight of her parted lips, her breasts rising in time with her breath. He could take her now and she wouldn’t protest, could lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed, strip off her clothes, run his tongue over every inch of her perfect body before driving into her.

  The only thing he wanted more was to make one thing clear.

  “I do own you, Angel, whether you realize it or not.” He paused. “But you own me, too.” He lowered his mouth to hers again, kissing her tenderly this time, letting his tongue glide gently over hers while he held her face in his hands. When he pulled back, he looked at her a long time before speaking. “Take a bath. Sleep. I’ll see you downstairs at nine for dinner.”

  He had his hand on the door when she
spoke behind him. “My things are still in the car.”

  “I’ll have them sent up,” he said without turning around. “But I think you’ll find plenty to work with in the closet and bureaus.”

  He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him, pausing to catch his breath. He needed to get his head together before this woman quite literally became the death of him.

  30

  Angel stared at the door, her heart thrashing in her chest. She wanted to deny that it was desire. Nico was still keeping her prisoner. She was back in another room, back under lock and key. Well, not technically. She hadn’t heard Nico lock the door behind him, and he had told her to meet him downstairs for dinner. But the armed guards around the property said everything there was to say.

  She wasn’t supposed to leave. And she was staying with Nico in his room.

  I do own you, Angel… but you own me, too.

  This was the twenty-first century, dammit. People didn’t own people anymore. But even as she tried to muster some indignation, she thrilled at the possessiveness she’d heard in his voice, his words hitting a primal nerve deep inside her.

  She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. When her heart was beating less erratically than a wounded bird trapped in a cage, she looked more closely at the room.

  The bed was enormous, right in the middle of the room. Canopied with navy silk draperies, it was a bed you could sink into, a bed you could lose yourself in. An image of Nico, his magnificent body naked over her, flashed in her mind. She shook her head and continued her inventory of the room.

  The room was at the back of the house, and the bed faced a picture window that looked out over a dark expanse that must have been the Hudson. In the distance, she could make out the bridge they’d passed on the way in, and across the darkness, more lights.

  She poked her head into an adjacent room and found an extravagant bathroom, all of it tastefully designed to match the historical details of the home. The tub was deep and wide, with elaborate claw feet and a big bronze faucet.

  She left the bathroom and spotted two large dressers across the room. What had Nico said? That there was plenty to work with in the bureaus?