Aria slowed her footsteps. “Men?”
“Farrell’s men,” Damian said. He laughed a little. “The whole place is locked down tighter than Ft. Knox.”
He took her hand and she peered into the trees, trying to spot them.
“Why are they in the woods?” she asked. “Seems kind of harsh.”
“Not really,” Damian said. “They’re private guards, most of them ex-military of one sort or another, all well compensated, I’m sure. I didn’t ask, but I’m assuming their location in the woods has something to do with Jenna.”
“Jenna wants them in the woods?” Now Aria was really confused.
“Probably not explicitly, but they do have a daughter. I imagine Farrell wouldn’t want to frighten her or her mother by having a bunch of gun-toting guards stomping around the house.”
They turned at the tree line and began to follow it around the property. Aria thought she spotted movement in the shadows of the branches but she couldn’t be sure.
If what Damian said was true, Farrell Black had gone to extraordinary measures to protect Jenna. To make sure she and Lily felt safe.
Then again, Damian had done the same for her.
She thought about her rescue in Athens. She didn't know much about the Greeks, but she knew from her brother that they were dangerous. That they didn’t operate by the same rules as some of the other organizations operating in New York.
And there was no doubt in her mind that’s who had kidnapped her in Capri — with Malcolm’s help. She just hadn’t figured out what they'd hoped to gain.
“I need to know about my brother,” she said.
Damian’s hand stiffened around hers. “What do you want to know?”
“Is he alive? Is he… okay?”
“He’s alive,” Damian said. “I’m not qualified to answer the second question.”
“What do you know about him?” she asked. “About what’s going on with him?”
He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “He’s in New York as far as I know. He and Malcolm are partnering with the Greeks to hold my organization at bay.”
Which didn’t mean Primo had been involved in her kidnapping. He hadn’t. She knew he hadn’t both because he wouldn’t do that to her and because she hadn’t seen or heard a word from him when she’d been in Athens while Malcolm had made his presence known.
“Do you know if he’s been trying to find me?” she asked.
It took him a moment to answer. “I don’t.” He stopped walking and turned to her. Reaching into his pocket, he held out a phone. She wondered if it was her imagination that he was reluctant to give it to her. “It’s new. I had to get rid of your old one. It was being tracked.”
“Tracked?”
Damian nodded. “It’s how they found us in Capri.”
“I had location tracking turned off,” she said.
“It wasn’t that kind of tracking.”
She let that sink in. Malcolm had bugged her phone to find her in Italy. How long had he been doing it? How long had he been following her movements before Capri?
It gave her the creeps. He might have been tracking her when she went to the community garden, when she did errands, when she first met up with Damian right after their meeting at Velvet.
She took the phone. “Can I use this?”
He met her eyes. “I’m not going to tell you not to use it,” he said. “But I am going to ask you not to contact Primo for the time being.”
Anger flared inside her, a fire she’d thought was dead sparking back to life. “He’s my brother.”
“I know,” Damian said. “And I know it’s a lot to ask. We’ve been… focused on getting you out of Athens but soon we’ll have to finish what we started. Contacting Primo will only complicate things.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “He had nothing to do with Greece, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
His expression went blank. She recognized the tactic from their earliest meetings, before their feelings for each other had gotten out of control. He didn’t want her to know what he was thinking.
She just didn’t know why.
“As far as we know, Malcolm is still Primo’s second in command — and Malcolm was in Greece. We don’t know what kind of information Primo will feed back to Malcolm. At the very least, it’s reason enough to steer clear of Primo for the time being.”
She looked away. Primo wasn’t well. His mental illness was being manipulated by Malcolm. Without Aria there to run interference like she had in the past, there was no telling what would happen to him.
What might already have happened to him.
“He’s my brother.”
It was the thing she came back to time and again. One of the few things in her life that had always been true.
Damian reached out, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I know. I’ll see if I can get more information for you, but I need you to stay disconnected. For now, at least.”
War raged inside her. She was with Damian. Had been with him since the first night she’d spent in his arms. She’d chosen his side when she’d left New York with him.
When she’d abandoned Primo.
What was she supposed to do? Leave Damian? Go back to Primo amid the madness of the turf war with the Syndicate and under the auspices of a man like Malcolm who had her kidnapped and held prisoner?
Not exactly an option.
“I’ll leave it alone for now,” she said. “But I need to know if he’s okay, Damian. Can you find that out for me?”
“I can try,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He folded her in his arms. “I’d do anything for you, Aria.” He pulled back to look at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.
She drew in a breath as they continued walking. “So what now?” she asked. “What’s next?”
He looked down at her, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “How do you feel about Paris?”
13
Damian was watchful as he stepped out of the car outside the Ritz and reached a hand back for Aria. There was no reason to believe Primo knew he and Aria were in Paris — they’d flown in on one of the Syndicate’s private jets to avoid leaving an obvious footprint — but now that Aria was back by his side he wasn’t taking any chances.
Aria looked up at the hotel. “So this is Paris.”
“No, this is the Ritz,” Damian said with a smile. “But don’t worry. I’ll show you Paris too.”
I’ll show you everything. Give you everything.
The driver unloaded their small bags onto the cart provided by the bellman while Damian and Aria stepped into the palatial lobby.
It was open and airy, with marble floors, large coral flower arrangements, and chandeliers that dripped crystal teardrops. They bypassed the front desk and continued past halls lined with rich carpets, reproduction Baroque sofas, a grand piano.
“We don't have to check in?” Aria asked as they headed for the elevator.
He squeezed her hand. “No.”
Cole was already there, waiting in the elevator lobby with watchful eyes.
He nodded at Damian. “Boss.” He looked at Aria. “Hello.”
“Hello,” she said.
“Aria, this is Cole,” Damian said. “Cole, Aria.”
She and Cole had never formally met, but Cole had been with him when he’d first met with Primo at Velvet, and Cole had been around off and on during the days before Damian had taken Aria to Capri. He’d tried talking to Damian during the long weeks of Aria’s kidnapping, but Damian had been in no mood to discuss Aria with anyone.
He’d only wanted to get her back.
Cole was likely confused about his role given the fact that Damian had chosen to keep him out of the operation in Athens. Damian would have to smooth things over with him, make sure he knew his place by Damian’s side was secure, apologize for keeping him out
of the loop.
But that would all come when they were alone.
“Anything?” Damian asked him after he and Aria had shaken hands.
Cole shook his head. “Quiet.”
“Keep me posted,” Damian said.
Damian pushed the button for the elevator and held out his hand. Cole put a keycard into his palm as the doors opened. They stepped into it. Cole would be in an adjoining room. Normally Damian would have set him up in one of the bedrooms of the suite occupied by he and Aria, but he didn’t want to subject Aria to a virtual stranger living in such close quarters after what she’d been through in Greece. She still hadn’t spoken about it, but he would be shocked if she wasn’t suffering from some kind of PTSD.
He was going to shelter her until she finally broke open.
They rode to the top of the hotel in silence and exited into a private hall.
“Stay close,” Damian said to Cole. “We’ll need to debrief soon.”
“Will do.”
Damian turned to the door of the suite as Cole continued down the short hall.
“He’s a man of few words,” Aria said as Damian unlocked the door.
“Good men don’t need many words,” Damian said.
Or good women, Damian thought.
It was one of the things he loved about Aria. Like him, she was an observer. She spoke when she had something to say rather than just to fill the silent spaces.
He’d grown to like the silent spaces between them. They were filled with all the important things they shared. All the things that didn’t need words to be true.
“I don’t disagree,” Aria said.
He held the door and let her pass ahead into the suite’s foyer. He set the key on the console by the door and leaned against the wall, watching her take in the warm wood floors, the elegant modern sofa, the touches of gold, luxurious draperies, fresh flowers.
She stopped at the terrace doors, her gaze following the view to the Eiffel Tower in the distance. She turned to face him.
“Well, I was expecting a bit more, to be honest,” she said sarcastically.
He smiled. “You like?”
She crossed the room, ran her hands up his chest and wrapped them around his neck. His skin burned in the wake of her touch.
She pressed against him. “I like.” She kissed the corners of his mouth. “Is there a bedroom?”
He lifted her into his arms and her legs came around his waist, the heat of her core nestling against his already-hard cock.
“There is.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” she asked, touching her lips to his, her tongue dipping into his mouth.
“Shopping,” he said, against her mouth.
“Shopping?” She dropped kisses along his jaw, down his neck, her hips grinding against his shaft through his trousers.
“You need clothes,” he said, although he was beginning to forget why she needed clothes. Wouldn’t it be better to keep her naked? “We have to go shopping.”
She reached between their bodies, unbuttoned his pants, slid her hand down the flat plane of his stomach, took his throbbing cock in her hands.
“First you fuck me,” she said, nibbling on his ear. “Then we go shopping.”
He covered her mouth with his and hurried for the bedroom.
14
Aria walked out onto the balcony and looked over the rooftops of Paris. The Eiffel Tower beckoned in the distance, the city every bit as magical as she’d dreamed. She sighed and leaned against the iron railing, not at all concerned about the fact that she was naked.
She felt invincible.
Invisible even, in the best of ways.
Here in Paris, she and Damian were just like everyone else. For now, at least.
The last two days had been a dream. They’d christened the suite’s plush bedroom the first afternoon by making love — twice. She would have been more than happy to remain there for the duration of their stay, but Damian had insisted on making good on his promise to take her shopping. They’d spent half of the first day at small, specialty boutiques on the Rue du Rivoli, walking arm in arm, going into stores on a whim.
She’d resisted at first. She’d never needed luxury. Primo had insisted on their expensive apartment in New York, and she’d only ever bought what she needed in spite of the credit cards that were freely given to her and paid for by Primo’s business.
She’d spent her free time at the community garden, had been more than happy to stop at the market on the way home and cook for her and Primo in the apartment’s kitchen.
But Damian wouldn’t take no for an answer, and after the first few stores she slowly relented. It was obvious he was enjoying himself, his customarily dark expression traded for an occasional smile or lascivious grin when she emerged wearing something see-through or skimpy — or better yet, when she pulled him into the dressing room with her to make sure the item in question could be easily worked around should the mood to make love strike them.
It always did.
They’d had dinner on the lower level of a tiny bistro hidden away from the world just like them. Candles flickered on the table, and the wait staff had been hushed and reverent as they’d served creamy foie gras with triangles of toast, lobster bisque, an array of fresh cheeses, moist duck with crispy skin.
They’d walked back to the hotel arm in arm and made love in the claw foot tub. By the time Aria had nestled into Damian’s arms her body had been loose and tired. She’d slept like the dead and woken to crispy waffles and fresh strawberries in the suite.
Damian had upped the ante, leading her away from the small but expensive boutiques of the day before in favor of the designers on Rue St. Honore. He’d passed his credit card to the staff again and again in stores like Chanel and Prada, Hermes and Collette. Eventually she’d forgotten to be embarrassed. It was overwhelming, but there was a kind of freedom in giving herself over to it, to letting Damian lead the way. After her long weeks of solitude and squalor in Greece, she had to admit it was comforting to be surrounded by silk and satin, by clean, crisp cotton and smooth cashmere.
She’d thought they were done for the day when Damian led her to a salon called David Mallett. She knew it was expensive the moment they stepped into the space, a luxe, minimalistic space that looked more like a high fashion designer showroom than a salon.
Damian had settled happily into one of the antique chairs with a glass of champagne while Aria was led away for a deep wash and condition, a cut and color. She’d considered changing it — going blond, or even platinum.
Something different.
But she’d already lost two months of her life. She wanted to recognize herself when she looked in the mirror, and she’d opted for the same burgundy rinse she had before she’d been kidnapped in Capri.
They’d completed her treatment with a wax and she’d left the salon feeling a bit like her old self.
Damian had wanted to take her out again, but she’d been too tired, and they’d spent the night eating room service in the suite’s giant bed, pausing old movies to explore each other’s bodies, relearning every angle and curve with a zeal that bordered on religious.
She was still trying to forget, still trying to banish the nightmares that haunted her when she let go of consciousness each night. But there was no place her kidnapping seemed further away than when she was in Damian’s arms, lost to the sensation he provoked in her body.
She walked back into the suite, slipped on a robe, and poured a cup of coffee, then picked up the note Damian had left on the tray when he’d gone to Christophe’s cyber lab that morning.
Already counting the minutes until we’re together again…
She smiled to herself and lifted the piece of paper to her nose, hoping to catch his scent, but it only smelled of thick hotel paper, and she set it down on the tray and walked back into the bedroom to choose something from her new wardrobe. She didn’t know how long Damian would be gone, but he’d promised her a boat ride on the Seine, pl
us a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
She was flipping through the silky underthings when she saw the phone on top of the bureau. It was the same one Damian had given her before they’d left Tuscany.
The one she wasn’t supposed to use to contact Primo.
No one had the number but Damian. Who else did she have in her life?
She picked it up, sat on the bed and turned it over in her hand. She’d agreed when Damian asked her not to contact Primo, but it hadn’t been easy. Primo was her brother. They’d been looking out for each other since the death of their parents. She’d never gone more than a few hours without being in contact with him.
Without making sure he was okay.
She thought about Malcolm’s visits in Greece. What if they pointed to more than the fact that Malcolm had been behind her kidnapping? Damian had said her brother was underground. What if he was worse than underground — what if he was being controlled by Malcolm?
Or worse — what if Malcolm had done something to hurt him?
She wouldn’t put it past Malcolm to hurt Primo, or even to kill him. She’d always known Malcolm would only keep Primo around long enough to build the Fiore organization on his back.
She opened the phone and hesitated over the numbers. She knew Primo’s number by heart. She wouldn’t stay on the line long, just long enough to make sure he was okay.
And she would tell Damian. She would tell him she’d had to know Primo was okay.
Damian would understand.
She dialed the number and held it to her ear before she could change her mind. Primo answered on the second ring.
“Bella?”
She froze. “Primo… How did you know it was me?”
He exhaled on the other end of the phone. “I’ve been waiting. My god, I’ve been worried sick. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said, catching her breath. “Malcolm took me, Primo.” She was surprised to find tears sting her eyes. She hadn’t cried once since she’d been rescued in Greece. Not once. “He took me from Italy and kept me in Athens.”
“What are you talking about, bella? What do you mean?”
Into the Fire (New York Syndicate Book 2) Page 7
