by Dana Delamar
Nick produced a condom from a pocket and held it up with a grin. “In case it’s not already too late,” he said. She nodded and attempted to swallow, as if this were no big deal, as if she did this every day, at least as if she’d done this once before.
He settled down beside her, his cock pressing against her thigh while she tried to relax beside him. “You can touch it, if you want,” he whispered.
“Would you like me to?”
He chuckled. “What do you think, bellissima?”
She came up on her side and reached for his cock, her trembling fingers passing over the velvety skin, gliding around the head, making him moan low in his throat. The sound made her shiver and flush with heat. She clasped her hand around him loosely, and stroked up and down, enjoying the sounds she elicited from him. “Tighter,” he groaned.
Closing her fingers a bit more, she concentrated on rolling her palm over the head. He’d liked that last time. “Lick your fingers,” he said. “Get them really wet.” She did, tasting a faint hint of him on her skin. The saliva made it easier for her hand to slide up and down, and he moaned again, propping himself up on his elbows to watch what she was doing.
A powerful thrill traveled through her; all his focus was on her hand, on the pleasure she was giving him. She wanted nothing more than to give him the same delicious release that she’d experienced earlier. Did he feel the same way when he was touching her?
When a clear drop wept from the head of his cock, she used the extra lubrication to speed up her strokes. His hips bucked up, and his right hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist to stop her. “Enough,” he said. “Don’t want to disappoint you.” He picked up the condom packet, ripped it open with his teeth, started rolling it on. Dio mio. What now?
She must have tensed up because he stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She didn’t trust herself to speak. “Ah Christ, I did hurt you last time.”
She started to shake her head, then froze. “I’m scared.”
“Listen, love, it won’t hurt this time, I swear. I’ll go slow.”
He rolled over her, and she put a hand on his abdomen, the hard muscles shifting under her fingers. She kept her legs clamped together, every muscle rigid. He gazed into her eyes. “Trust me.”
She tore hers away from him, tears starting. She had to tell him. He took hold of her jaw and forced her to look at him. “Delfi, what’s wrong?”
Dio, she couldn’t tell him. “We never—” she started to say then faltered.
“We never what?”
Her voice cracking, she whispered, “We never got this far.” His face darkened, and he rolled off her in one swift movement.
“Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up. “Fuck, Delfina. You lied to me? I never had sex with you?” She shook her head, unable to say it aloud. “Right. That’s just fucking lovely.” He whipped off the condom and started to dress. “Why did you do it?”
She sat up and grabbed her blouse, using it to cover her body. “I can’t marry him. I can’t.” She let go of the blouse and thrust forward both arms, showing him the bruises from the party, the ones from last night. “Look what he did to me.”
He focused on the marks, his face softening as he buttoned his shirt. “You could have told me.”
“You had to believe we’d slept together. That was the only way my plan would work.”
“Your plan?” His eyes snapped to hers.
“Yes.”
“What plan?”
“Gio’s going to tell Leandro what happened. He’ll want to break the engagement if he thinks I’ve been with someone else. Especially if I might be pregnant.”
“Did you stop to think about what would happen to me? What would happen to my grandparents?”
“Of course. But I told you, my father—”
“Fuck what you told me. What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Nick. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“You’re right. You bloody shouldn’t have. And now you’re going to undo it.”
Sniffing miserably, Delfina nodded as she unzipped her handbag and pulled out her phone. Just as she pressed the power button to turn on the display, the phone buzzed in her hand, and she yelped. When the caller’s name appeared, all the blood drained from her head. “It’s Gio.”
He motioned for her to hurry up. She didn’t even get out a greeting before Gio’s words rushed over hers. “I told Leandro, Delfi. He’s furious. He and Papà are headed your way.”
No! “Now? Right now?”
“Yes. I hope you know what you’re doing,” Gio said.
Nick glowered down at her. She didn’t have a clue. Not a one. “I’ll figure it out.” Delfina ended the call and shoved the phone back in her bag. “It’s too late. Leandro knows. He and his father are headed here now.”
“Bloody fucking hell.” He pressed a palm to his forehead and closed his eyes. Without opening them he said, “Will you tell the truth?”
“Of course.” She dressed slowly, mechanically. Porca miseria, she was in the shit. She’d ruined everything. Nick hated her.
And if she thought Leandro was already mad at her, wait until he found out about the lie.
There was no escaping the truth. There never was. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.
Nick followed Delfina toward the house, then stopped her just outside the olive grove to get the leaves out of her hair and the dust off her clothing and his. “I don’t want to give them any reason to believe your lies.”
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “I’m sorry, Nick. I really am. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Cris and I—” He shut his mouth. Cris had sworn him to secrecy.
“What?”
“Nothing. We’ll figure something out.”
“You and I will? Or you and Cris?”
Worst undercover agent ever. That’s what they’d put in his file after this. If he lived. If he were still in Interpol. “We’d better get moving.” He put a hand at the small of her back, then jerked it away. He mustn’t touch her like that, even though every instinct screamed at him to protect her. Despite her lies, she hadn’t meant any harm.
But she’d put his grandparents at risk. Him too. He hoped to God she could fix this.
They entered her father’s study to find Dario and Gianluca seated on either side of the massive desk. Cris was sitting on the sofa, and Leandro was standing by the window, arms crossed, the muscles in his jaw jumping, his lids twitching. High again.
When he saw Delfina, Leandro turned dark red and started toward her, covering the distance in a few long steps. “Puttana!” he roared, and before Nick could react, he backhanded Delfina in the face.
Nick leapt at him, taking Leandro to the floor. Without thinking, he punched him, an uppercut to the jaw that snapped Leandro’s head back so hard it bounced. Cris was on Nick before he could strike again. “You must stop this,” Cris whispered in his ear as he pulled Nick off Leandro. “Per favore.”
Delfina was pressing a hand to her cheek, her mouth open in shock, her eyes moist. “Are you hurt?” Nick asked.
Her expression blank, she turned to face her father and Gianluca as Leandro scrambled off the floor. When Leandro stepped toward her again, Dario jumped out of his seat. “Basta!” he shouted. “Stay away from her, or I’ll beat you myself.” Leandro’s father let out a sigh. “Do you disagree with me, Gianluca?” Dario asked, his voice filled with challenge.
“No. But remember why we’re here.”
Dario turned to Delfina. “You have shamed this family.”
“I didn’t Papà, I swear it. This has all been a mistake.”
“A mistake? Why would Giovanna, your closest friend, tell this… story about you?”
“I asked her to.”
“Why?” Gianluca asked.
She pointed to her cheek and showed him the bruises on her arms. “He has no self-control.”
Leandro let out a choked sound. “If you loved me—if you at
least respected me—I would not do such things.”
“How can I?” she spat, her voice thick with emotion. It sounded like her own self-control was about to snap. Shame rolled through Nick at what he was forcing her to do. He had to stop this. And he had to trust her. He stepped forward.
“Delfina, tell them the truth.” Her brows popped up, and she shook her head. “Tell them about us.”
“I am telling the truth.”
He put an arm around her. “We’ve been together twice,” he said to the room.
“I’m still a virgin,” Delfina insisted.
Dario raised a hand for silence. “What is going on here?”
“She’s trying to protect me,” Nick said.
“No,” she said, clutching at his shirt front. “Stop this, Nick. Stop it.”
He closed his hand around hers and gave it a light squeeze. “Trust me.”
Dario’s eyes darted between the two of them, then they settled on Gianluca, who leaned forward and said, “A doctor can settle this.” He focused on his son. “I suggest you be forgiving.”
Leandro slapped his right palm over his left bicep and shoved his middle finger high in the air. “Forgiving? She’s given me the horns!”
The horns? Nick gave Delfina a questioning look. “He means you’ve made him a cuckold,” she whispered.
“As long as she’s not pregnant, there’s no real harm done,” Gianluca said to Leandro. “Besides, it’s not like the other families are knocking down our door, eager to give their daughters to you.”
“Fine.” Leandro glared at Delfina. “You may sleep in my bed and bear my children, but I will never call you wife.” He stalked out of the room, and seconds later the front door slammed.
Dario stepped around the desk. “I expected no less from you, Lucchesi,” he said. “But you, Delfina, you disappoint me.” He watched her for several seconds, then his face tightened and his upper body tensed, his hands balling into fists. Was he going to hit her? Nick lunged forward to shield her, and Dario’s face changed. “You thought I would strike her?” he asked.
When Nick nodded, Dario’s right hand shot out, his fist connecting squarely with Nick’s left eye. Pain shot through his face, and it took all he had not to return the punch. “Do not interfere,” Dario spat.
He couldn’t hit the man back, but he could say his piece. “If I ever hear that you’ve hit her, I will take you down.”
Dario’s stare frosted over. “You are alive now only through my grace. Unless you want that to change.”
Stepping between them, Delfina put both hands on her father’s chest. “Please stop, Papà. I beg your forgiveness. I didn’t know how else to break the engagement.” Her voice broke, and Nick wanted to pull her close and comfort her.
“I thought Teo was lesson enough,” Dario said.
Delfina stiffened and stepped back, her voice turning to steel. “I’m a slow learner when it comes to my captivity.”
“Who’s Teo?” Nick asked.
“A boy who dared touch me when I was sixteen. He was branded a thief. Literally.”
Jesus. Would like to have known that earlier. Nick looked at Dario. Time to lighten things up. “Well then, I got off easily. You may knock me about whenever you get the urge.”
Dario’s face darkened. “If she is not telling the truth, bruises will be the least of your concerns.” His gaze dropped to the vicinity of Nick’s crotch.
Fuck. The Andrettis took “an eye for an eye” a little too seriously. “So does this mean the engagement is still on?” Nick asked, rubbing his eye socket.
Gianluca answered. “Unless the doctor proves her a liar, then yes.”
Cris stepped forward. “If there’s a… problem, I could marry Giovanna.”
With a weary shake of his head, Gianluca said, “You know the old saying, ‘Don’t add insult to injury’?”
Cris apologized. If Gianluca’s comment infuriated him, it didn’t show. Cris glanced at Nick and gave an almost imperceptible nod. The plan was still on. Nick hoped to God that it worked. Something had to.
She may have left some bloody important things out, but he still couldn’t bear Delfina’s suffering. Even if alleviating it put him and all he held dear in jeopardy.
CHAPTER 10
Cris eased the silver BMW between the rows of cars parked outside the marina in the heart of Bellagio. Nick popped his knuckles, his heart revving up, his senses heightening with the first tingles of adrenaline. What the hell was he doing? The Russian Mafiya made the Italians look like gentlemen farmers. Tangling with them, especially with the Vilanovich family, was beyond stupid. It was suicidal.
The Vilanovichs were well-known for their ruthlessness, which was legendary, even among the Russian Mafiya. One of Nick’s first assignments had been updating the dossier on the family. He hoped never to meet their patriarch, Ilya Vilanovich. The man had committed atrocities that made war crimes look like jokes. Hopefully Nick would have some useful intel after this evening. Provided he survived, he might even earn the opportunity to do legitimate field work.
“Everything set?” he asked Cris again.
Cris flashed him a grin as he backed the car up to the dock. “You asked me before. The answer hasn’t changed.”
Once he had the BMW where he wanted it, Cris shut off the car, pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket, and handed it and a spare magazine over to Nick. “In case. You are familiar with the Beretta Storm?” Nick took it and shook his head. “No? Well, it’s easy. Seventeen rounds. No safeties. Just point and shoot.”
“Double-action only?” Nick asked.
Cris nodded. “I should have given you a shoulder holster earlier. Too late now.”
Nick’s heart sped up again. What else had Cris forgotten? “Don’t worry,” Cris said and clapped him on the arm. “This isn’t my first time.”
“You’ve dealt with the Russians before?”
“Nyet,” Cris said in a convincing Russian accent. “But how hard can it be? It’s an exchange, that’s all.”
Nick thought about the twenty kilos of uncut cocaine stacked neatly in the boot. This wasn’t a trivial deal—that much unadulterated cocaine was worth nine hundred thousand euros, easy. His underarms and back went damp. Christ. “So now what?”
Cris checked his watch and adjusted the mirror on his side of the vehicle. “We wait. They should be here any minute.”
As if he’d summoned them up, four men in black leather strode up to the BMW from behind, two of them tall muscular blonds, the other two dark-haired, one stocky, the other small and wiry. All four wore sunglasses, though one of the blonds removed his as they approached the car.
“This is it,” Cris murmured and got out of the car. Nick followed suit, but was careful to keep the car between him and the approaching men. Cris, fearless, walked forward, his hand outstretched. The blond without the glasses took the offered hand. “Yuri?” Cris asked.
“Da. Cris?” When Cris confirmed, Yuri rubbed his hands together, as if they were cold. Even though he wore leather gloves.
A look passed between Yuri and the other men. Something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just that look. But what was it? Nick slid the Beretta from his pocket and palmed it, keeping the gun hidden behind the car. He wished Cris would look at him so he could convey his concern, but Cris kept his eyes on Yuri instead. “We have the product,” Cris said. “You have the payment?”
Yuri giggled like a schoolgirl and covered his mouth with a large hand. Odd. What did the man find so funny?
“Da,” Yuri finally said, motioning the stocky man forward. The man carried a silver metallic case.
Cris hit a button on his key fob and the BMW’s boot unlatched with a pop. Nick was supposed to come forward and open the boot. But he didn’t want to turn his back to these men.
When Cris cast him a sharp glance, Nick shook his head the barest bit. Cris probably thought him an utter wanker, but it was safest if only one of them were vulnerable.
Yuri stepped
forward, gesturing toward the boot. “We sample first, da?”
With a nod, Cris turned away from Yuri to open the boot. Nick tensed, not liking how close all the men were, but Cris seemed cool, in his element. The perfect Mafioso. No fear, no hesitation. As if he did this kind of thing every day. Maybe Nick’s father had done him a favor by staying away from him and trying to keep him out of this life. Suddenly Nick’s nice quiet desk job, analyzing data amassed by the people on the front lines, seemed a lot more appealing.
When Cris opened the boot, Nick had to step away from the side of the car to keep the other men in sight. He kept the gun flat against his thigh, concealed from their view.
Yuri flicked open a switchblade and stabbed one of the kilos. From his pocket, he produced a glass ampoule that contained a liquid. Yuri snapped the top off the ampoule, used the blade to tip some powder into it, then shook the mixture.
Within seconds, the liquid turned bright blue, and Yuri smiled in approval. He pulled off a glove, dipped a pinky in the powder, and dabbed it on his tongue, running the finger along his teeth and gums. Then he rubbed some powder between his fingers, testing for the silky, soapy, texture of high-grade cocaine. He smiled. “Good quality. Pure.”
Yuri put the glove back on and motioned the man with the briefcase forward. The man popped the case open, and Cris riffled one of the thick stacks of euros. He looked at Yuri. “Where’s the rest?”
Yuri’s gaze narrowed to a squint. “This is all. As agreed.”
Cris shook his head. “You think I’m a fool? That can’t be more than three hundred thousand euros.”
Yuri slammed the case shut, muttering in Russian. In English he said, “Fucking Italians.”
“What did you say?” Cris asked.
Nick raised his gun simultaneously with the three Russians behind Yuri. “You try to change deal,” Yuri said.
“You’re trying to cheat us.”
