She was pulled from her thoughts by the streets of Rome, vibrant on the other side of the window. Stylishly dressed people mixed with tourists as scooters weaved in and out of traffic. In the distance, she could make out the dome of Vatican City and the sun-burnished stucco of Rome’s older buildings. She felt suddenly ashamed. Despite her heritage, she’d never even been to this country, didn’t speak a word of Italian. She’d been sucked into the apathy of post-college life, drifting through the days and weeks. She wished she could do it again, go back to the naive Angel who had no way of knowing how drastically things would change. But that Angel was gone forever. Whatever happened, nothing would be the same.
Antonio chatted idly in Italian with Nico, pausing to shout at taxis and mopeds, on the way into the city. Angel’s stomach was rumbling by the time they pulled up next to the entrance of the Waldorf, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.
Antonio retrieved their bags from the trunk and handed something to Nico, then kissed him on both cheeks.
“Stammi bene, amico mio,” he said.
Nico patted his shoulder. “Anche tu.”
He took Angel’s hand and led her into the hotel, seemingly unworried that she might try to escape. The realization annoyed her. He thought because they’d slept together she was his, that she didn’t still want to get away from him. And she’d let him think it.
They passed the front desk and headed straight for a bank of elevators.
“Don’t we have to check in?” Angel asked. She was trying to maintain some kind of control over the situation, even if it was just to ask questions instead of just following along in Nico’s wake.
He flashed the little envelope Antonio had given him; their room key.
“Taken care of,” he said, stepping into the elevator.
They ascended to the top floor and exited into a private entry. Angel had to fight not to gawk at the luxurious room stretched out in front of her; an open living and dining room furnished with eighteenth century antiques, damask draperies, and fine art. Beyond the living room, she could see a bedroom with red walls and plush bed linens.
“What is this?” she asked, dropping her duffel bag on the floor.
He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“This… this room. What is it?”
“It’s the Petronius suite,” he said simply. “I thought about a smaller hotel, but I think this is safer. And Raneiro knows we’re coming. That will offer us some kind of protection in his city.”
She walked to the glass doors at the far side of the room and stepped out onto a balcony that seemed to teeter at the top of the world. A whirlpool bubbled on one side, and a row of lounge chairs lined up to take advantage of a breathtaking view of the city.
“We won’t be here long, but I hope you’ll be comfortable while we’re here,” Nico said.
She turned to find him leaning in the doorway. She almost thanked him, then remembered her earlier resolve to keep things in perspective. Still, it wasn’t easy to keep her distance. He was a beautiful man. The urge to go to him, to link her arms around his neck and press her mouth to his, was almost overwhelming.
“Why don’t you shower and change,” he finally said. “I think you’ll find everything you need in the duffel bag. If there’s anything else, let me know and I’ll see that you have it.”
He turned away.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re safe,” he said. “I’ll be making calls in the study if you need me.”
36
The master bedroom was every bit as plush as the rest of the suite. There were not one but two massive beds in the middle of the large room, both of them surrounded by rich, scarlet wallpaper and flanked with polished mahogany end tables. She didn’t even try to sell herself on the possibility of sleeping in one while Nico slept in another. What would be the point? She knew she would be helpless as soon as he touched her.
Opposite the beds, a chaise and chair were upholstered in red velvet and trimmed in gold leaf. A tray holding two glass bottles of Pellagrino, a small bowl of oranges, and a silver dome sat on a gilded table between the chairs.
She removed the dome to reveal four sandwiches made with thick, crusty bread, each of them oozing mozzarella and red peppers. She ate two of them standing up, guzzling the water between bites, and left the other two for Nico. When she was done, she spread the contents of her bag out on the bed.
There were three sets of underclothes, a pair of pants, three blouses, a T-shirt, and a skirt, all of them things she recognized from the stash of clothes Nico had placed in the Hudson Valley house. There were toiletries, too; shampoo and conditioner and high-end body wash, a hair brush, even face wash and make up that was way out of her price range in her normal life. Whoever had packed for her had done so carefully, and while the clothes would only get her through a couple of days before she’d have to repeat, it was more than she could have hoped for given their hurried escape in New York.
And there was something else in the bag; her passport.
She had no idea how Nico had gotten ahold of it. Presumably, he’d sent someone to her apartment. It should have given her the creeps, but instead she felt a rush of gratitude. The passport was her ticket to freedom. If she could get away from Nico, she could warn David, tell him to go into hiding while she figured out what was going on with their father.
She tried not to think about the other fear uncoiling in her belly; that if Nico were right and her father was willing to use her as a pawn in their war, he might be willing to use David, too. Which meant Nico wasn’t the only thing to fear when it came to David’s safety.
And maybe not even the thing to fear at all.
She didn’t really believe Nico would hurt David—not after he’d promised not to—but the distance between them gave her additional comfort. It would take Nico awhile to get to someone in the states who could then get to David. If she acted fast enough, David could be gone by the time anyone reached him.
A dull ache began behind her eyes as she went round and round the possibilities.
What a fucking mess.
She took the passport and her toiletries and retreated to the bathroom where an enormous tub with whirlpool jets called her name. An hour-and-a-half later, she emerged from the bedroom clean and freshly dressed. The remaining sandwiches and water were gone. Nico must have come in while she was in the tub.
She found him sitting on the balcony, gazing out over Rome as the the sun went down, lighting the city on fire in a wash of oranges and golds. She took the chair next to him and stretched out her legs, bare under the swingy black skirt she’d found in the duffel bag, along with an off the shoulder blouse. Nico reached for her hand.
“Feel better?” he asked, rubbing his thumb against her palm.
The sensation was simple but erotic, stoking the fire of her desire for him until she felt the familiar beat between her her legs. “Much.”
He smiled. “Good.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For packing my things, or having someone pack them, or… whatever.”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?” she asked. They’d only been at the Hudson Valley house for a day. Nico had seemed confident of their safety, yet he’d had bags packed and ready for both of them, plans for their escape waiting in the wings.
“I didn’t,” he said. “But I said I’d keep you safe, and that’s what I mean to do. The bags—and everything else—were a precaution.”
“How did they know where to find us?” she asked. “My father’s men, I mean.”
A shadow passed over his face.
“What is it?”
He hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. “The two men in the dining room on our way out?”
She nodded.
“One of them was Dante.”
Her heart seemed to skip a beat. “But… I thought those men were with my father.”
&nb
sp; “That’s what I assumed,” he said, his gaze traveling over the city as it sank into darkness, lights coming on like stars in a vast night sky. “Now I’m not sure.”
“It couldn’t have been my father,” she said. “Not if Dante was there.”
Nico didn’t say anything.
“Wait a minute… What happened to Dante after… after what he did to me?” she asked.
“I took care of it.”
She sat up. “How did you take care of it, Nico?”
“No man hurts what is mine,” he said, his voice hard. “I made sure Dante wouldn’t hurt you again.”
“But he doesn’t work for you anymore.” It wasn’t a question. She hadn’t seen Dante after the day he’d almost forced himself on her in the basement.
“No, he doesn’t work for me anymore.”
She leaned back in the lounge chair, letting her eyes travel over the city below. Dante obviously had an ax to grind. If he was at the Hudson Valley house the night it was invaded, he was either working for her father or he was working for someone else. And the former was a lot more likely than the latter. Was she ready to accept the fact that her father was the kind of man to work with someone like Dante Santoro?
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Nico spoke again.
“Let’s go out.” He opened her hand and kissed her palm. “I want to show you Rome.”
It felt foolish and careless, pretending they were just like everyone else. But she was starting to realize that being foolish and careless was sometimes the only thing left to do when you didn’t know what life was going to throw at you next.
She smiled at him. “Okay.”
They took a taxi to the other side of Rome, and she almost lost her breath when they emerged outside the lit up Colosseum. It rose into the night sky, a broken, oddly eerie monument to the past.
They turned away from the main entrance where a group of tourists were preparing for a nighttime tour and headed instead for a darkened, seemingly deserted gate. She was about to suggest it was locked when a security guard emerged from the shadows. A quick conversation in Italian followed between the him and Nico. Nico handed the man a wad of cash, and the gate opened before them, as so many doors did when she was with him.
Nico reached for her hand as they stepped into a darkened tunnel, leading her into the Colosseum’s interior, through tunnels and passageways etched with the hands of time and weather and history. He spoke softly as they walked, telling her about the history of the Romans and the mighty battles waged by gladiators fighting for their very lives. She’d taken a class in Roman history, but there was something different about hearing the stories fall from Nico’s lips through the hushed darkness of the abandoned Colosseum.
They walked into the arena, sticking to the shadows in case they came upon the tour group. Enclosed and maze-like, it was nothing like she imagined, and she was standing in awe, looking up at the night sky far above their heads when she felt Nico’s finger run across her collarbone.
She turned her attention away from the sky to him. It wasn’t as hard as it should have been. He held her eyes for a minute, his mouth turning up slightly at the corners. His hand traveled around her neck to the back of her head, and then he was backing her against one of the old travertine walls, his body shaping itself to hers as he captured her lips with his mouth.
He kissed her gently at first, his tongue sweeping her mouth, exploring like it was the first time he’d tasted her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss, wanting all of him. He was already hard, and she felt a flush of heat between her legs as he rubbed against her through the thin fabric of the skirt.
He pulled away, breathing hard, his eyes dark and glassy. Cupping her jaw, he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “What have you done to me?”
She shook her head. Whatever she’d done to him, he’d done in equal measure to her.
He took her hand. “Let’s go. If we stay here I’m going to ravish you in this sacred historical sight.”
“If we stay here, I’m going to let you do it.”
They traced their way back to the gate. For a split second, she thought it might be locked, but when Nico gave it a shove, it opened.
“Let me guess,” Angel said, “Your friend the security guard?”
“I’ll never tell,” he said, holding the gate for her.
They walked around the Colosseum to the Via Ostilia where Nico led her under a tiny stucco archway to a small trattoria called Il Bocconcino. The place was lively with locals, laughing and speaking animatedly in Italian. Nico greeted the maitre’d like an old friend, and the tall, balding man shouted to the back of the restaurant. A moment later a round man with smiling eyes emerged with open arms. He embraced Nico warmly and ushered them to a cozy table out back under a canopy of greenery lit with white Christmas lights.
A series of people proceeded to make pilgrimages to their table, all of them treating Nico like a long-lost son, brother, or uncle, all of them speaking Italian so fast that Angel gave up trying to figure out what they were saying, choosing instead to nod and smile while they exclaimed over her, gesturing to Nico with wide eyes.
Nico took it all in stride, rising to kiss and embrace each visitor until things finally settled down and they were brought two bottles of red wine. They were served several courses of mouth-watering food, including a salad with thin slices of duck, saltimbocca so tender it seemed to melt in her mouth, buttery gnocchi, tiramisu dusted with fresh ground cinnamon, fresh figs, and the deepest, darkest espresso she’d ever tasted.
By the time they were finished, she was stuffed and sleepy, teetering dangerously on the edge of a food- and travel-induced coma. They said a goodbye, a process that took nearly half an hour, and wandered out into the street.
“That was amazing,” Angel said, leaning her head on Nico’s shoulder as he took her hand.
“I’m glad you thought so,” he said.
They walked a bit more, and Angel let everything go as she soaked in the sights and sounds of Rome. Even the air was different here, scented with bay and oranges and a slight undercurrent of motor oil from all the cars and scooters that zipped past on the boulevard.
It was after one in the morning when they got back to the hotel, and they stumbled into the room, drunk on food and each other and Rome.
“Want to soak in the hot tub?” Nico asked, kissing her inside the doorway.
She shook her head. “I just want to go to bed.”
He lifted her into his arms and headed for the bedroom. “Your wish is my command.”
37
They were finishing breakfast on the balcony when the phone rang inside the room. Nico dropped a kiss on Angel’s head on the way in to the suite. A few minutes later, he returned trailing Luca.
Angel was up and and hugging him before she knew what she was doing. “Luca! You’re okay!”
He laughed. “So it seems.”
Angel stepped back, trying to cover her embarrassment. She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to like him. “I’m glad. But what are you doing here?”
“I asked him to come,” Nico said. “We may need him.”
She didn’t know whether to be pleased but his use of the word “we”—it was the first time he’d referenced them as a team—or scared of whatever he expected to come next.
“Why?” Angel asked. “What’s happening?”
“I’m going to see Raneiro. Luca is taking you shopping.”
Annoyance flared inside her. Is that what he thought? That she wanted to go shopping while he tried to figure out where her father was hiding?
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I have as much at stake as anyone. I’m not going to forget about your accusations toward my father just because I have a chance to buy some new shoes.”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “But Raneiro wil
l never allow you in our meeting. If your father isn’t in Italy, we’ll be leaving tonight, and you may need some things for whatever comes next.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and he walked over to her and rubbed her shoulders. “I know this is important to you. I’d bring you with me if I could.”
“He’s right,” Luca said. “Raneiro might as well be the Pope for all the security surrounding him. They won’t let Nico in if you’re with him.”
“I’m Carlo Rossi’s daughter,” she said.
Luca shrugged. “Raneiro doesn’t know you. You have to be vetted to get access to him.”
Nico kissed her cheek. “Go with Luca. Get some things to replace what you left in New York. I’ll have news by tonight.”
She sighed. “Fine. But I want to know what’s going on—assuming I’m more to you than just a kidnap victim.”
His eyes flashed, and he dropped his arms from her shoulders.
“Keep an eye on her,” he said to Luca on his way into the suite.
Luca nodded.
Angel picked up her coffee cup and walked to the edge of the balcony. The Vatican City dome glimmered under a brilliant blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds.
“He’s trying to protect you,” Luca said behind her.
She turned to face him. “That’s bullshit. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him.”
“That’s true,” Luca said. “You might be dead instead.”
“Right.”
Luca took a deep breath, like he was trying to gather his patience. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel. I know you think you do, but you don’t.”
“Maybe that’s because Nico isn’t telling me everything. Have you ever thought of that?”
His biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest, and his blue eyes darkened with anger. “Nico’s still trying to get a handle on what’s happening. When he knows something, he’ll tell you.”
Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One Page 18
