Killer Curves

by Roxie Wilde

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” He turned away from the road long enough to offer me a slight smile. I remembered the fullness of his mouth beneath his porcelain half mask at the ball, and for a single aching heartbeat I was caught by his brutal beauty.

  “Vegas.” He went on, clarifying. “My home. I needed to get you out of LA. Regroup. Figure out what the hell the Russians want and what they’re doing next—”

  “We,” I cut him off smoothly.

  Giorno stopped talking and I went on, blowing a dark curl off of my face.

  “We need to figure things out. It’s my brother that’s missing. And now that my father is— now that Il Lupo is dead, the Moretti family is mine, Giorno. I need to talk to people. I need to find Cristian. And I need a gun, damn it.”

  He didn’t say a word, only nodded. I was grateful for it, grateful that he wasn’t going to argue, wasn’t going to try and fight or deny me what was mine. There was a reassurance in that, and I didn’t stop to question it. It didn’t matter where the support was coming from, or that Giorno Romero and I had been anything but fast friends. If you’d asked me only a few hours ago, I would have put my money on Giorno and I putting hits out on each other before he ended up as my only real alli.

  Fuck.

  None of it mattered any more. My fake fiancé and I were tangled together in a very real way. Regardless of how either of us felt about it, it was crystal clear that Girono and I needed each other from here on out.

  “We’re still a couple hours out. You can use my office for whatever you need once we get there.”

  I nodded, trying to tamper my frustration at having to sit still and feel useless for that long. I had no idea where Cristian was, and visions of Dios lifeless body laid out in its ornate coffin were coming back to haunt me.

  “In the meantime, there is one thing I can help with right now.”

  The car never wavered or slowed down as Giorono breached the space between us. I sucked in a hard breath, caught off guard as he reached one long arm down between my legs. My pulse quickened— caught between my reaction to snap my thighs shut before he could touch the exposed skin of my thighs beneath the hem of my dress and a fear of jerking the wheel if I did.

  But Giorno didn’t touch me. Only the soft fabric of his Armani brushed my skin as he reached all the way down beneath the seat and withdrew the sleek black Walther. He handed me the pistol carefully, a quick flicker of his eyes the only suggestion that he’d had a single impure thought while reaching between my legs to retrieve it.

  “It’s loaded. I’ll lend you my jacket before we get out, because there’s no way you’re hiding anything in that dress.”

  The corner of my own mouth turned up at that. Dio had never been the jealous type, and I was fine with that. It suited my independence. But there was something darkly thrilling about the possessive streak in Giorno. Maybe it simply came down to my own stubborn streak. I liked stoking the fire just to see how close I could get without getting burned.

  Rules. I just couldn’t seem to follow them.

  Chapter 6

  Giorno

  They say that home is where the heart is. My heart had never been in my home.

  The splendor of the Roman Palace had been wasted on me. I had never been one for standing out, and the golden floors and stark white marble walls did nothing but. It was a beautiful, gaudy hotel and twenty-four hour casino combined into one over the top building.

  The crashing clatter of coins from slots paying out was overlaid with the sound of people laughing and crying in equal amounts. Craps, roulette, blackjack — each one crowded around with people hoping to beat the odds. All throughout the palace, statues of emperors and senators stood guard. Columns of cool marble added to the feeling that this place wasn’t in Vegas, wasn’t even in America. It was built to enchant.

  The magic worked well on the crowds that flocked through the doors by the thousands.

  I only saw the fakery, though. The gold was fools’, the marble faux. All of it was just skin deep; surface layers to give an impression of wealth and opulence that it didn’t really possess. The statues were no one in particular - Hollywood pieces, each and every one.

  Growing up, I had despised this place. The fakeness, the way that it profited from the misfortune of people. It wasn’t until I had gotten away from it all that I appreciated what an education it had been.

  I pulled the car around into the back, into the employee area. Instinctively I opened up the console, digging around without looking for the laminated ID card I knew was in there somewhere. The security officer in the booth looked bored as I rolled my window down.

  “I’ve got it in here somewhere, I promise.”

  I heard a disgusted noise from the seat beside me.

  “I can’t believe the guards don’t recognize you at your own casino.”

  I could hear the eye roll in her tone. I forced an apologetic smile to my face as the guard glanced between us.

  “We’ve had a rough night. Here you are.”

  The guard took it, surly frown already creasing his chubby features.

  “This expired two years ago.”

  Yes, I’ve been away from home on business in LA. As you can see from the name though, I’m a member of the family—”

  “No valid ID, no access. Sorry, them’s the rules.”

  I had wanted to avoid a scene, but Frankie took matters into her own hands. She leaned across the seat, one hand planted on my thigh, the other, I noted, holding the gun down by her side.

  “Look at us. This is Giorno Romano. I’m Frankie Moretti. Let us in, please?”

  I glanced down. The angle of her body meant that the tight ballgown was giving a scandalous view of her generous cleavage. Gritting my teeth, I pushed her back into her seat.

  The guard was suitably impressed, or distracted enough by the view to not care.

  “Alright then, but I’m calling security to let them know you’re here, so you better be who you say you are.”

  I saw Frankie’s knuckles whiten on the grip of the pistol. The guard was just doing his job, but he was really taking his life into his own hands tonight.

  I gave him another big smile.

  “Thank you. I would have asked you to anyway — we need all hands on deck tonight.”

  He looked a little unsettled at that. Good.

  Frankie huffed beside me as we pulled into the underground parking area.

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tear him a new asshole. You’re his boss now, right?”

  Her arms were crossed under her breasts, her lips pursed in a perfect pout. The sullen attitude combined with the bratty body language made her look ten years younger. A girl instead of a woman. It was oddly endearing, a crack in the perfect facade.

  “He was just doing his job. What kind of boss would I be if I yelled at my people for doing their jobs, for following orders? That’s how you get chaos. That’s…”

  She glanced over at me, eyes sparkling with fire.

  “...that’s how we end up like this. Dio mismanaged this situation, and now we’ve all paid the price.”

  “You don’t know that.” Her voice was small.

  “I know… I knew my brother. This has all the hallmarks of his handiwork. He was a constant fuck-up.”

  She sniffed derisively.

  “This place seems fine.”

  I sighed. “Mama and Papa got it up and running twenty years ago. She stayed here to manage it, while Papa moved into LA. When we started, people needed our money. We financed things, made problems disappear. Dio had been bleeding us dry, though. Without the outside jobs I’ve been doing, we would have run out of money five years ago.”

  She scowled, but held her tongue.

  “I loved my brother, but he had flaws.”

  “And you don't?” The words flew off her tongue, her tone pure battery acid, caustic and biting.

  I pulled into the reserved parking spot, shifted the car into park.
I turned in my seat, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder. She was gazing out the window, avoiding so much as looking at me now, her face as stony as the mask she had worn at the ball. I knew she was hurting, knew the reason she was lashing out.

  “I do. I indulged my brother far too much. I let things get out of control. This is my responsibility now, and I promise you Frankie, I will make things right.”

  She turned, forcing a smile to her face. I had seen her genuinely happy earlier in the evening, the unrestrained glee on her face as we danced. Well, on her lips and eyes, at any rate. This was the practiced smile of someone who had learned pleasantry as a matter of survival.

  “I’m sure you will, Giorno.”

  The lack of faith in my promise was evident in the tone of her voice, the small, sad smile on her lips. It galled me, stung every bit as much as the loss of my brother.

  I knew right then that I never wanted to see that disappointed look on her face ever again.

  Unable to bear it, I opened up the car, stepping out into the cool desert air. I popped the trunk, walking around and shucking my jacket off as I opened the passenger door, holding it out to her.

  “Here. It’s cold at night in the desert,” I said.

  “Plus I need to hide this dress, right?”

  Her voice was a bit weak, the humor not quite hitting the mark. She was making an effort, even though neither of us was really in a mood to joke. I appreciated the peace offering for what it was.

  “You bet your ass. No fiancee of mine is going to get caught wearing that outside of the bedroom, fake or not.”

  That got me a smile, and what a smile it was. I could have gotten lost in the sparkle of her dark eyes, the way they caught the lights and reflected them like twin polished onyx mirrors. It was hard to tear my gaze away from her.

  I walked around to the trunk, opening it up. Frankie joined me as I rolled my sleeves up past my elbows. I noticed the way her eyes darted down to the cords of muscle in my forearms, caught the lingering look she gave them. Normally I wouldn’t have cared, but this girl — this woman — had ensnared me. I wanted her to want me, ached with that need.

  I hadn’t had a crush since Marissa in ninth grade. Like any other young and hopelessly in lust boy, I’d built up an elaborate idea of her. An idealized image. I’d put her on a pedestal, standing tall.

  Finding her on her knees with my brother had brought them both crashing down into the mud, as far as I was concerned.

  It had been a stupid thing. Puppy love. But I knew he’d done it just because it was something that I had wanted.

  Was I only interested in Frankie because she was something of his? Was this some repressed schoolyard scuffle manifesting itself as deep seated issues years later?

  No.

  One glance at her was all I needed to dash that idea. The smile was gone, her eyes tracking my movements, watching my hands work as I pulled my gear out. A complicated harness that I strapped on, twin holsters at home on either side of my chest. Another smaller one rested in the small of my back.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

  I shook my head. “I just want to be prepared. Considering our luck so far…”

  She laughed, and like her smiles, there wasn’t a lot of joy in it. Not tonight, anyway. “That’s fair. I like it. You’re a regular Boy Scout, huh Giorno?”

  I shook my head, one corner of my mouth tugging up in a sardonic smirk. “There’s no merit badge for assassination.”

  My long overcoat was enough to hide the hardware. I dry washed my face with one hand, pushing the trunk shut with a low click with the other.

  She surprised me, moving closer, looping an arm through mine. When I turned to look at her, that practiced happy smile was pasted on her face again. Controlled, measured. If you didn’t know her better, you would never think she had seen her father murdered right in front of her, seen another killed inches away.

  Maybe it was just being close to her. First the dancing, now this. She was enchanting. I felt drawn to her, pulled by some sort of magnetism. She drew closer, her hip pressing against me, and I draped an arm around her shoulders, snugging her tighter against me.

  Every point of contact made my nerves stand up on end, dancing at the stimulation. I was keenly aware of the warmth of her thick curves pressing against me.

  “No one’s ever taken me home to meet their mother before.” She murmured, real humor dripping off her tongue.

  I chuckled.

  “Dio knew Mama didn’t approve of his plan. She wanted him to marry for love.”

  “You don’t fear her wrath?” She pulled away a bit, tilting her head up to look at me, big eyes sparkling with mischief.

  I shuddered.

  “Are you kidding me? What do you think the guns are for?”

  Her laughter this time was genuine, a deep belly laugh that put a smile on my face. Heads turned to follow us as we made our way into the family portion of the hotel.

  Chapter 7

  Francesca

  Some people lose their appetite in times of stress.

  I’ve never been one of those people.

  Somehow, even after the party, the drive, and a soul-wrenching cry in the bathroom, I still managed to put away an entire bowl of Mrs. Romano’s rigatoni.

  The lingering scent of garlic, onions, and tomatoes was comforting in its familiarity. Giorno and I were holed up in the spare bedroom he’d converted into a temporary command center. An assortment of burner phones sat lined up on the desk in front of me. For all his warnings and exaggerated shuddering, Maria Romano had been nothing less than warm and doting. She’d brushed aside Giorno’s attempts at explanation and insisted on enveloping me in the kind of Italian rib-crushing hugs that normally aren’t my thing. Tonight it was welcome.

  Despite my teasing, I was grateful to be out of the dress and comfortably ensconced in one of Giorno’s oversized dress shirts. There’d been an inexplicable stab of guilt over how familiar and comfortable it felt. Dio had always favored fitted, tailored shirts, even in his casualwear. His style had suited him, but it meant I’d never been able to wear his shirts. Everything about Giorno felt big and safe. It made me want to bury my head in his chest and let him hold me until this nightmare was over, and I was irrationally angry at him for it.

  My head throbbed like a bad tooth. Every phone call I made, every text message I read. A thousand injuries, over and over again. I lost count of how many times I told the story. I gave orders and organized people and calmed scared soldados until my voice was hoarse.

  None of it brought my father back to life.

  Stefano Moretti. The Wolf. Executed in cold blood. Cristian was still missing.

  My family had been torn apart.

  “Frankie, you gotta try and get some rest.”

  Giorno’s smooth voice cut through my turbulent thoughts. He was right, and that irritated me all over again.

  “I’m fine.” I rubbed the heel of my hand across tired, gritty eyes. There was eyeliner and mascara smudged across my skin when I pulled away.

  “Frankie.” This time there was more finality in it. Apparently, I’d begun to test Giorno Romano’s seemingly limitless patience. He came over to where I sat, steering me up out of the chair and over to where he’d already turned the comforter down on the big queen bed. I had no idea what time it was anymore, but it looked like sunlight was peeking around the curtains he’d taken the time to pull shut.

  I didn't fight him this time. I was too exhausted, too worn down. Crawling in between the covers, I kept a cell phone under the pillow, checking to ensure the ringer was turned up.

  “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

  I reached out for Giorno’s hand as he turned, capturing him just before he left the bedside.

  “Stay?”

  Neither of us moved for a heartbeat.

  “Just until I fall asleep?”

  He lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress gently. He was graceful in a wa
y that belied his size, almost delicate. I'd noticed it on the dance floor. The way he moved—led us. Even the way he’d swung a punch. It was the same self awareness he carried himself with even now as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “Sleep, Francesca. You’re safe.”

  The music was a frenetic, wild. The club was packed. It was a dream. I knew it was a dream, because I was dancing with Dio, and Dio was dead.

  None of it mattered. The music blared, louder and louder until there was no telling whether it was in my head or outside of it. But Dio was smiling at me, his hands on my hips, his head thrown back in a carefree laugh as we spun and danced. It felt good. I felt good, and I gave myself in to it.

  He spun me out, dark hair flying around my face in slow motion as I moved in the swirl of pink and blue club lights. He pulled me back, hard and fast. Only it wasn’t Dio’s brown gaze looking down at me. It was Giorno’s piercing blue eyes. Their faces blended, blurred, until only Giorno’s strong jaw remained.

  I tried to ask him what he was doing in my dream. But the music only rang louder around us, drowning me out. Giorno’s eyes widened as he gripped the front of his shirt. I watched in horror as the pink lights splashed across his white button down deepened, turned into a dripping pool of crimson blood. I opened my mouth to scream—

  And the music shrieked.

  I sat up, sweat sticking long strands of dark hair to my forehead and the back of my neck. My heart was still pounding, my stomach turning somersaults. It took a couple of seconds to slow my ragged breathing and realize the music wasn’t music at all.

  It was a ringtone.

  “Moretti.” My fingers still weren’t completely steady as I snatched the phone out from under the pillow.

  The crackle of static on the other end went on for almost long enough to make me hang up.

  “Frankie.”

  For one heart-stopping second I was sure I was still dreaming. It hurt, hearing Cristian’s voice and thinking I would lose it again the way I’d just lost Dio’s face. The way I’d almost lost Giorno, too.

  “Cris? Are you ok? Where are you—”

  “The Russians are holding me ransom. Can’t talk. I’ll text you the address.”