by Dana Delamar
What was he talking about? Mystified, she grabbed her bag and followed him into the storeroom. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“You’re going out dancing, Delfi. We need to sex you up a bit.” Jacopo removed the scarf from around her neck and undid her top three buttons. He stepped back to survey his work, then grabbed a seam ripper off the table. Before she realized what he was doing, he’d lengthened the slit in her skirt, raising it to mid-thigh.
“Hey! This skirt cost a fortune.”
“No harm done. A few stitches, and it’ll be good as new. I’ll fix it myself.”
“I feel like a slut.”
“You look like a goddess. You want your he-man worshipping at your feet, yes?”
She did. Looking down at her exposed cleavage, she suppressed the urge to button back up. How would she have the courage to model that dress for Nick if she couldn’t stand to show a little skin? Taking a big breath, she gave Jacopo a smile. “I hope this works.”
“Cara, it’ll work. Trust me. If there’s anything I know, it’s men.”
She swiftly kissed him on the cheek. “See you Monday.”
He shook his head. “We’ve got a ton to do, so I’ll see you tomorrow at ten. Don’t let those two run you ragged.”
She couldn’t wait. Getting a dress in the show was only the first of many small steps, but she was on her way to the top already. She could feel it in her bones.
Now if only she could sort things out with Nick. When it came to him, she felt anything but certain.
Nick looked around Barfly and sighed. The flashing lights and the psychedelic décor—a whirl of purple, magenta, acid yellow, and lime green that looked like something Willy Wonka had chucked up—grated on his nerves, but anything was better than another night cooped up in the guest cottage.
And what was up with that Jacopo guy and Delfina? He was calling her “dear” and taking her to lunch? And she was kissing him on the fucking cheek? And then when she’d come back from the storeroom, her blouse was unbuttoned, her skirt had a slit he hadn’t noticed—had Jacopo done that? Had he touched her?
Not that he had any right to object, but—Don’t go there, Clarkston. Don’t.
This just showed that he’d made the right choice when he’d turned her down. If she could move on from him so easily—
Stuff it. Right now.
He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and scanned the club for Giovanna d’Imperio. He didn’t see her anywhere, but then he heard her voice from above. Turning, he saw her hanging over the second-level railing, her generous breasts threatening to spill out of her skin-tight red dress. She waved at them. “Delfi, Cris, Nico! Come up!” She beckoned them upward with rapid flicks of her hand, as if a fire were licking at their heels.
Nick followed Cris and Delfina up the stairs, unable to stop admiring her bum and legs. Damn her. Why did she have to be so bloody captivating? She’d be the woman of his dreams—if there were such a creature—if she wasn’t a mobster’s daughter. And if she had a sincere bone in her body.
Clarkston, you pillock. She’s a good girl trapped in bad circumstances.
Who would he have been with that upbringing? A spoiled rotten tosser, no doubt. And he’d probably think he was the next best thing to God. He might have even put Leandro d’Imperio to shame.
They reached the top of the stairs and headed toward Giovanna’s table. When they got close, the girls gave each other a hug, and that’s when Nick saw who Giovanna was sitting with. Antonio.
Fuck me. Antonio gave him a nod and Nick returned it. That would be the extent of their communication if he could help it. He didn’t need any more of Antonio banging on about his father.
He took a seat between Cris and Delfina, which put Antonio and Gio on the far side of the table. Cris turned to say something to him, and that apparently was when Gio noticed the bandage on the left side of Cris’s head. “Cris! Dio mio!” She popped out of her seat and hurried around the table, practically sitting in Cris’s lap to inspect his injury. “Delfi told me you were hurt, but not like this.” She stroked a hand over his curls, and Cris blushed and smiled, looking like a puppy about to roll over and show her its belly.
“It’s nothing, really. Just a scratch.”
“It certainly bled a lot,” Antonio said. Then he grinned. “Don’t forget to tell her about your concussion.”
“A concussion! What happened?” This time she did settle onto Cris’s left knee and leaned forward, giving both Nick and Cris an eyeful of her bountiful cleavage.
Cris didn’t answer straight away; instead his gaze seemed locked on the view in front of him. Nick elbowed him and spoke. “He hit his head hard when he fell. Got knocked out. Gave me quite the scare.”
Cris clapped Nick on the shoulder. “But my friend saved me.”
“You did?” Giovanna gave Nick a slow bat of her false lashes. “Tell me all about it.”
Nick smothered a chuckle with a cough. The girl was an incorrigible flirt. “Nothing to tell. I’m sure Cris would have done the same for me.”
Gio slipped a hand around the back of Cris’s neck and turned her attention to him. “Of course you would have.”
Cris held her gaze and said, “You know me so well.” Nick wanted to pat him on the back and say Well done, mate. Didn’t think you had it in you.
She tucked her chin down and smiled. Nick suppressed another laugh. He really did like the girl. He hoped there was something genuine in the attention she was showering on Cris, because he recognized that look on his friend’s face: Cris fancied her. Badly.
Nick glanced away from the show beside him and caught Delfina staring at him, but she seemed far away. “Still on top of the world?” he asked her, trying not to let his eyes stray to her breasts. But it was impossible. Fortunately, she wasn’t looking at him that closely. God, she was amazing.
She shook her head. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” He leaned in close, trying not to shout in her ear, but also wanting her to hear him. It was a tricky balance. He inhaled her fragrance, so sexy, so enticing.
“The night Cris was shot.” She threaded her fingers together and he couldn’t resist putting a hand over them.
“Let it go, Delfi. He’s fine.”
“But he might not have been.”
He squeezed her hands, her bones feeling delicate, easily crushed. “Your brother is one lucky bloke.”
She flashed her large dark eyes on him. Eyes he could get lost in. “He’s lucky to have you.”
He opened his mouth to say something self-deprecating and witty, when three dark-haired young men stopped beside the table. “Well, it is true,” the tallest and oldest one said, glowering at Nick.
“Who are you?” Nick asked, putting an edge in his voice. Delfina clutched his forearm.
The guy smiled, but it wasn’t the least bit affable. “Your cousin. Fedele Lucchesi.” He motioned to the other two blokes with him. “And these are my brothers, Sandro and Matteo.”
Matteo appeared to be around Cris’s age, but Sandro appeared to be in his early to mid twenties like Fedele, both of them broad in the shoulders and heavy with muscle.
The looks the Lucchesis gave him, Antonio, and Cris were anything but kind. In fact, they were downright murderous.
“Nick Clarkston,” he found himself saying. “Should I be pleased to meet you?”
Fedele smirked, then let out a chuckle. “You remind me of your grandfather. Big balls.” He cupped his crotch to illustrate. “But you don’t want the Lucchesi name?”
“It’s not mine, mate. Never was, never will be.”
“You are certain of that?” Fedele motioned to Antonio with his thumb. “This one is all too eager to be a Lucchesi. But he never will be.”
Antonio was on his feet in an instant, his chair hitting the floor with a crash, his hands balled into fists.
“Basta!” Delfina yelled, rising herself and leaning across the table.
Fedele’s eyes flicked t
o her. “I don’t take orders from Andretti trash.”
Nick’s blood pressure surged, rocketing him to his feet. “You heard her. That’s enough.”
“I decide when it’s enough,” Fedele said. “I also don’t take orders from bastards”—his gaze darted to Antonio—“or motherless orphans with no names.”
“I am your capo di società,” Antonio hissed. “You will not disrespect me.”
Fedele laughed and took a step toward him. “Aside from the bastard, I’m the closest thing Enrico Lucchesi has to a son. Remember your place.”
Antonio’s face flooded red and a vein pulsed at his temple. “Get out of my sight. Now.”
“Gladly,” Fedele said. “I don’t want any of the Andretti stench to rub off on me.”
Cris set Gio on her feet and rose. “Would you care to repeat that?”
Fedele’s face hardened. “Your grandfather killed my father. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, figlio di puttana.”
Before Nick could stop him, Cris threw a punch, his fist smashing into Fedele’s jaw, knocking him back a few steps. The youngest, Matteo, had the common sense to grab hold of Fedele’s arms as Nick did the same to Cris.
It was like trying to restrain a bull. Nick had eight years and a few inches on Cris, but Cris was built like a wrestler, solid muscle with a low center of gravity. “Come on, mate. He’s not worth it,” Nick said in Cris’s ear.
Abruptly Cris stopped struggling. “You’re right. He’s not.”
Fedele rubbed his jaw and shook his head, murderous eyes locked on Cris. “Next time we meet, I won’t be so nice, Andretti.” He spat at Cris’s feet and turned, his brothers following him.
“Christ,” Nick muttered. “What a fucked-up mess.”
Cris clapped him on the back. “Imagine what it was like having your father married to our aunt. Would you care to guess what Natale—Christmas—was like every year while we were growing up?”
“Insufferable?”
They took their seats and the waitress came by and asked if they were okay and wanted drinks. They each ordered, then Cris said, “Usually my Aunt Toni came by herself, and no one would mention Zio Enrico in her presence. The times he did come, he and my grandfather circled each other like lions.” He played with a napkin the waitress had left in front of him, then he leaned forward, catching Delfina’s attention. “Remember how many stomachaches I had?”
She stared at the table. “I miss her.”
After the waitress brought their drinks, Cris raised his glass in a toast. “To Aunt Toni. Salute.”
Nick felt strange toasting the woman his father had married instead of his mother, but it was obvious from the looks on Cris’s, Delfina’s, and Antonio’s faces that she was well-loved. He raised his glass, though when he took a drink, it was hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. His mum would never have fit in here. She would have hated Italy, would have cried for her parents, would have refused to learn Italian. If his father had married her, she never would have been happy.
But at least she would have been alive.
He took a deep breath to tamp down his emotions. Their fun night out had certainly been anything but.
Giovanna let out a theatrical sigh and searched their faces. Then she threw up her hands. “Seriously, ragazzi. Are we going to let the entire evening be ruined?” She batted her eyelashes at the lot of them, then gestured to her clothes. “I did not put two hours into hair, makeup, and clothes to just sit here.” She looked at Antonio, then Cris. “Which one of you is man enough to dance with my fabulousness?”
Nick couldn’t help it. He cracked up at the stricken expression on Antonio’s face, which Antonio tried to hide by taking another sip of his drink. Cris stood and extended a hand to her. “I’m your man.”
She took his hand and sashayed around the table, ruffling Antonio’s blond hair as she passed him. “You disappoint me, Adonis,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Antonio slumped back in his seat. “Grazie a Dio,” he muttered.
Delfina laughed. “She loves to take the starch out of you.”
Antonio straightened and leaned forward. “I’d love to give her what she’s asking for, but her father would have my head on a platter.”
“She knows. You’re just fun to tease.”
Antonio turned to watch the dancers below and Nick followed his gaze to Gio and Cris. Cris surprised Nick again. His mate had moves.
“Well, I wish him luck,” Antonio said. “He’s going to need it.” He addressed himself to Nick. “And so are you.”
Nick pretended he hadn’t heard, but when Delfina left the table to go to the loo, Antonio leaned forward and raised his voice, and Nick had to stop pretending. “I don’t understand you. Let your father help. You don’t know how worried he’s been.”
“I’m fine. I’ve worked things out with Dario.”
Antonio raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s none of your affair. Not now, not ever. You understand me, mate?”
Antonio shook his head, but said nothing further. Nick took another sip of his drink, his guts churning. If he had it all under control, why he did still feel sick?
Delfina surprised Nick when she came back to the table. She didn’t sit; instead she whispered in his ear, her voice a low purr. “Dance with me.”
Tingles raced down his spine at the sound. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I don’t care.” She tugged on his hand, urging him out of the chair.
Cor, she was determined. He rose and followed her down to the floor. Some crazy house number was playing, the beat too frenetic to follow. But Delfina seemed oblivious to both the song and the other couples; she wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled in close to him, as if they were about to slow dance. “What are you doing?” he said in her ear.
“Dancing.” She pressed her breasts and thighs into him as she moved in a slow, languid flow, tugging and pushing at him so that he moved with her.
He slid his hands around her waist, resting them on her hips, enjoying the feel of her so close. God she was gorgeous, smiling up at him, her lips red as rubies, her eyes dark as night, her jasmine scent teasing his nose. Her high breasts rubbed against his chest, and he remembered how good they felt, how sweet they tasted. How many times had he wanted to have them in his hands again, in his mouth? He understood now why so many poets had waxed on and on about the women they’d adored. She was intoxicating.
If only she weren’t the daughter of a mobster. If only…
But those were silly thoughts. Useless thoughts.
Except that his cock disagreed. His mind disagreed. He’d been thinking about her too much lately, almost obsessing, when he wasn’t worried about getting shot. Did she think about him the same way? He almost laughed. They were going to be married, and he knew so little about her. They were going to be married, and he couldn’t even ask her such a simple question. Because the possibilities were too frightening. How was he ever going to keep his distance from her?
Closing her eyes, she drew his head down to hers. At first he thought she was going to kiss him, but she didn’t. Instead she said in his ear, “It’s a shame you’re not interested in me.”
“Not interested?” He slid his hands down to her bum and crushed her against his aching cock. “Does that feel not interested to you?”
“Then why did you turn me away the night Cris was shot?”
“Delfi, it’s complicated.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head. “It’s me.”
She opened her eyes; they glistened with tears. “I don’t understand.”
How could she? He’d been lying to her about so many things. How he really felt about Interpol. His deal with Benedetto. How he felt about her. He had to try to be at least a little honest. “I can’t let myself get carried away. It would be very easy to forget everything but you.”
“Maybe you should.” She held his eyes, the promise in them magnetic
.
Maybe he should, just once. He bent down, bringing his lips to hers in a kiss that sent fire racing along his limbs. When she let out a moan, he deepened the kiss, invading her with his tongue. Damn it, he wanted her. He wanted her to be his. Always.
But they were not meant to be, not in any lasting sense. As long as he remained true to Interpol, he could never be true to her.
It had been murder to leave Delfina’s arms, but Nick had been forced to do it; he’d had to put some distance between them before he did something foolish. Breaking off their kiss, he’d insisted they return to the table, ostensibly to keep Antonio company.
Delfina had been hurt, and now she’d spent nearly an hour dancing with Antonio. Probably trying to make Nick jealous. Well it worked, but he couldn’t let her know that. He had to keep his cool. He’d come dangerously close to telling her too much.
Just after one in the morning, they finally stumbled out of Barfly, Cris and Gio hand in hand, the rest of them following. Thank God that was over. How was he going to survive being married to Delfina when he could barely resist her for one lousy evening?
Gio beckoned Antonio to her. “I’m going back with them. It was sweet of you to bring me.” She kissed his cheek. “Ciao ciao!” She waved at Antonio as he turned away.
The screech of tires attracted Nick’s attention to the street, where a black SUV hurtled up the road toward them, gun barrels sticking out the driver’s side windows. Adrenaline hit his system like a body blow, his heart slamming against his ribs, his breathing turning frantic. “Get down!” Nick yelled, just before the men in the SUV opened fire.
Fortunately the club had a smoking area outside with tables, chairs, and a low hedge that marked off the space. Nick grabbed Delfina and shoved her under a table.
Bullets slammed into the windows behind them, adding the crash of broken glass and the blare of the music inside to the roar of the guns and the SUV’s engine.
Nick wasn’t armed, of course, but Cris and Antonio had both pulled handguns and fired at the SUV’s back end as it sped away. Poking his head out from under the table, Nick tried to get the license number, but he could make out only the first two numbers before it rounded the corner. He wasn’t even sure of the vehicle’s make. Some cop he was. He turned to Delfina, who was lying on her side under the table, arms over her head, eyes squeezed shut. She wasn’t moving. Oh God. Had she been hit? He shook her hard. “Delfi!”
