by J. L. Beck
I curl my hands up and drop my head. “And why didn’t you lead with this little tidbit?”
“Probably because it wasn’t relevant until you threw years of careful planning out the window to start over?”
And that’s where my side of things comes in. Soo covers minor details, whereas I can see the bigger picture much better than he can. “It was relevant. It doesn’t matter what the plan is. The families meeting for the first time in over twenty years is a big fucking deal. And it’s the first meeting without the fallen Costa family.”
Soo observes me. I see him studying my every twitch, looking for clues as to his next move based on mine. “What does it mean? Where I come from, meetings of the families happen all the time.”
I lean against the counter and cross my arms to tuck my hands into my armpits. “It means things are about to change. But it also means we need to be in that room. Did your spy have information on when this meeting was happening?”
Soo shakes his head. “I can put her on it. She’s trustworthy. Shove her into the fray with all our targets and see what other information she can get.”
I nod and let out a long sigh, an ache blooming in my temples. “We need to know when. It’ll happen at Ricci’s since he’s the head of the five. Put a watch on his house and his wife. She’ll be preparing a menu. You might get information out of a caterer or staff. That woman does nothing herself.”
“There’s one thing that you need to decide next,” Soo says, his attention back on his keyboard and the workstation.
I watch as he pulls up his dossier on the families, pictures included. My prey all lined up in a digital row. If only life made things so orderly.
“We need to decide if we take them out one by one or pull a mass strike on all the bastards at once,” I say and Soo nods. “The reunion meeting is the perfect chance to do it, but it will also be risky with the amount of security each family will have in place both before and during the event.”
“Not we, though. You need to decide. This vengeance belongs to you and Lucas. Maybe it’s time you bring your brother in and let him make some of these choices with you. The blood of these enemies belongs to him as well.”
It’s always been my job to protect my brother. I’ve been protecting him from himself for so long I don’t know how to stop. But Soo is right.
He belongs at my side when we kill these fuckers, if not pulling the trigger himself.
I shove away from the counter and head for the door. “Thanks for the drink. Set a meeting with your spy. I’ll talk to my brother.”
The time for vengeance is coming, and if anyone deserves to put a bullet in someone’s head, it’s Luca.
17
Celia
I can’t decide which chore I hate most, sheet changing, dusting, or firewood duty. All of them pretty much suck, especially when the staff sit around on their asses while I do their jobs. They must be happy to have the break while I’m here. I wonder how many of them know I’ll be gone soon enough. Furthermore, the details to which I’ll be removed from Nicolo’s home. Doubtful, at least the extent of the details.
Sarah hands me a dusting cloth today and sends me back out into the dust-free house like a child being shooed away from her mother’s legs. I dust everything I can find and skip lunch to duck into my room. It’s not as if anyone is going to drag me out and force me to do anything. They all seem indifferent until I act up. Then Nicolo steps in to take charge, sets me in my place again, and stalks off in a huff.
My cheek still stings when I wash my face, but the tiny pink dot is barely visible now. I still can’t believe he actually cut me. No, I can believe it. I just expected him to fuck me while he did it like the true animal he is.
I throw the dusting rag on my bed, only to watch it snag on the edge of a big black decorative box. Oh. Oh no, not again.
Praying, even though I’m not stupid enough to have genuine hope, I flip back the lid on the box and find a silk dress, which won’t cover anything at all. Underneath is a black thong, a white paper bag of makeup, and a pair of black strappy high heels. The man has a fetish for ridiculous shoes that hurt my feet. Hasn’t he ever heard of sensible flats?
I scowl at the ensemble and shove the box toward the middle of the bed, so I can sit on the edge. A white sheet of paper sits on the bottom of the box, and I fish it out to scan the page.
The bastard has detailed exactly how he wants me to wear my hair and makeup. His handwriting is neat, in thick block lettering made in black ink. I crumple the note up and toss it across the room just to make myself feel better. It doesn’t work, of course. Especially since the last line of the letter specifically instructs me to put my scar on display.
If I were braver, and if my cheek didn’t currently sting from his reaction to my last outburst, I’d defy him. Show up in the shirt he seems to like to keep me confined to wearing. He deserves it for running around dressing me up whenever he feels like it.
He didn’t list what time I have to be ready, and I’m worried if I get ready now, I’ll be sitting here in those painful shoes for hours. But, if I don’t, and he shows up to find me unprepared, he’ll be angry.
I decide to wait until before dinner to get ready. Not to mention, once I slip into that dress, I’ll be uncomfortable as hell.
The day speeds by, and I check the clock several times. His demands and outfit sit behind me on the bed, mocking me for my fear and obedience.
Once the time comes, I go into the bathroom and get ready, per his demands. I carefully apply the makeup he provided. All products I used myself, which leads me to believe he must have someone working inside my home. Home… something that seems so far away now.
After I finish my makeup, I pin my hair away from my face, so it falls straight and long, coming to rest at the top of my ass.
I groan as I look in the mirror. The dress hugs every inch of my body like a glove. I look fucking naked and cheap in this dress. My hair is too heavy to wear up, so he has to be satisfied with this. I’ll have a headache by the end of whatever it is he wants to do with me. Something I haven’t allowed myself to consider until now. Why does he want me dressed up like this?
I quickly cross to the bed and dig out the fountain pen I stuffed under my mattress. Damn, there’s nowhere in this outfit I can hide it. With an exasperated sigh, I shove it back in its hiding place.
As I’m slipping on the shoes, the door opens, and Nicolo steps inside. He’s dressed in his usual black slacks, white shirt, shiny shoes, and an expensive watch. But tonight, he’s styled his hair and put on a jacket. The effect is disturbing as he’s gone from ruffian to businessman with the addition of a fucking blazer.
With the last strap of my shoe in place, he extends his hand to pull me to my feet. When I wobble, he steadies me, slipping his arm around my waist while pulling me tight to his chest.
“Where are we going?” I ask, focusing on something that isn’t his wide chest against mine. Especially when his proximity inspires both arousal and fear.
He doesn’t answer but leads me out the door and into the hallway. The guards are gone now, no one wanders the hall, and I don’t see a soul until I spot the dark head of the driver in the town car he stuffs me into.
After he settles into place beside me, I shift in the seat to face him. “Really, where are we going? Is the auction tonight? Is this it?” Fear rakes its claws down my insides, igniting a wave of adrenaline.
He levels me with a look. But I can’t just sit here and not try to get out of this. “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Don’t sell me off. You could keep me instead. It would be equally vengeful for my father just knowing I’m gone.”
This time he stares out the window, slumped into the seat, all arrogance and male ego. “No, we are not going to the auction. We’re going to dinner.”
My mouth falls open, and I snap it shut again, trying to sort through any hint in his words, any tricks. “You’re taking me out to dinner?”
My statement ea
rns another snort from him. “We are going to dinner. I never said I was taking you out to dinner. There’s a difference.”
I settle back into the seat, a little less worried now. Whatever he wants, I’ll do. If being well behaved tonight might keep me off the auction block a little longer, I’ll be a fish with wings, if that’s what he wants me to be.
We drive for about ten minutes. When the car stops, the driver comes around and opens the car door for us. I scan the nondescript alley and realize we’re in a populated area. The casino district maybe, by the lights and sounds.
It’s only confirmed once we get inside, and I hear the faint clank of slot machines and the chatter of people off in the distance. Nicolo leads me into an intimately lit room with a round table in the center. On the white tablecloth, four plates are laid out, and two people sit in the surrounding chairs.
The man I recognize as Nicolo’s friend, or second-in-command. I can’t remember his name at the moment, not with my heart lodged in my throat while trying to figure out Nicolo’s mood, his plan, and exactly what he wants from me in this situation.
Nicolo pulls out an empty chair next to the man. “Sit.”
I take the seat, and he gently pushes me toward the table, unbuttons his jacket again, and throws himself into the last empty chair. I’m scared to look at the other two occupants of the table and keep my gaze on the plate in front of me.
The woman across from me is wearing expensive perfume and from the tickle in my nostrils, way too much of it. I catch glimpses of curly blonde hair and sleek, smooth bare shoulders from my periphery.
“Pet,” Nicolo says.
I glance up and realize he’s talking to me. “Serve the food. Start with the beef, end with the sauce.”
He can’t be serious? I answer the question in my head as soon as it arises. Of course, he’s serious. Why am I still surprised at anything he does?
Taking exception at the word ‘pet’ right now won’t help, so I swallow the little pride I have left and do as I’m told, serving food from a sideboard. “Do you—?”
He cuts me off with his hand and motions for me to fill my own plate as they all watch me move back and forth, without saying a word. That’s the disconcerting part. I’d prefer them ignoring me than monitoring my every twitch.
When I finish serving, I resume my seat. The woman leans over and whispers, “Thank you.” Her voice is deep for a woman.
I look up at her over the plates and blink a few times. She’s stunning. Tall, tan, and thin. She wears a red dress that emphasizes her body. Her hair is curly, natural curls, piled on top of her head in a cloud of platinum blonde. I swallow and nod, unable to speak.
Why are we here? I ask myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Nicolo study the woman. Something clenches tight in my chest at the way he’s regarding her.
“Do you enjoy your work?” Nicolo asks her.
I assume she’s met them both before since she doesn’t ask their names.
She takes a sip of wine and smiles. “Of course, or else I wouldn’t do it. I like the challenge of it. What about you, Mr. Diavolo? Do you enjoy your work?”
The sultry look in his eyes is layered with meaning, but I can’t read it. I glance at the other man. He’s also watching the pair of them. But he seems more focused on the woman. His brow furrows as he continues watching.
“I imagine you are challenged in multiple ways,” Nicolo says. “And please, call me Nic.”
I blink and turn to look at him again. Call me Nic. Call me Nic? He stuck his dick in my mouth, and he never once asked me to call him Nic. I can’t describe the anger I’m feeling right now, just that I want to stab the man in the side of his head with my fork.
“Do you have something for me?” he asks her.
She giggles and drops her chin, a pink flush climbing her neck. She sets her glass on the table, stands, and plants herself on his lap like she belongs there. Her legs hang off one side, and her dress is so short I’m sure he can see her panties if he looks down… if she’s even wearing any.
I freeze in my chair, unable to look at my food, let alone consider eating it. Oh, god. I’m fucking jealous. Of some random bimbo climbing onto the lap of my kidnapper.
Damn it. I shouldn’t care. I should be happy he’s focusing his attention on someone else.
No. He can’t see this reaction. It would be yet another win, another way to torture me in his twisted games.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She drapes her arm over his shoulder as she leans in seductively to whisper into his ear. His hand curls around her waist to hold her steady on his lap. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, and I stand abruptly. I can’t sit here and watch this for another second.
“Excuse me, is there a restroom I can use?” I ask the other man.
He points to the doorway across the room. “You can go in there. There’s no exit, so don’t try to escape. You don’t want me to be the one who has to come after you.” I meet his dark eyes and nod.
Nicolo doesn’t even glance up as I wobble my way into the bathroom. I’m just glad I couldn’t hear what she was saying to him. I imagine he’ll take her back to the mansion and fuck her while I lie in bed next door, listening to the entire thing.
I hunch over the sink and focus on breathing. Obviously, I’d been under the assumption I meant more to him. Something he keeps disillusioning me of, and yet, my brain goes right back there. Maybe I am a spoiled princess if I can’t get it through my head that he doesn’t want me.
Matter of fact, I shouldn’t fucking want him, not when he’s planning my demise as we speak. The door opens, and I expect Nicolo to stalk in, demanding my presence. Maybe he needs dessert served over their naked bodies. It’s not Nicolo who comes walking in though, it’s the woman.
She’s even taller up close and comes around to splash some water on her face over the second sink. “Are you okay, honey?”
I nod, staring at her through the mirror. “I’m fine.”
When she faces me, she’s not the same woman who’d draped herself over Nic’s lap. “Are you sure?” she whispers.
I blink. “Are you offering to help me?”
She nods and waves her hand like duh. “Obviously.”
I know I’m gaping at her, but I can’t help it. She has to be joking. Either that or they sent her in here to test me.
“No, really. I’m fine. It’s…” I trail off because I can’t think of a convincing lie. “I’m fine. I don’t need your help,” I finish.
She gives me a nod and dries her hands. “Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know.”
She sounds so sincere. Can she actually be serious, or is she simply a superb actress? Of course, even if she is being honest, what could she possibly do? If she did help me, Nic would probably kill her for it, and he would never stop looking for me if I disappeared now.
We head back out of the bathroom together.
Nic turns to me at the table. “What were you two ladies talking about?”
I shrug and give him a little smile. “The usual. Lipstick, hair products, destroying the patriarchy.”
“Classics,” the other man says from behind his wine glass.
Soo, that’s his name. I study him closer. He’s Korean as far as I can tell, and he looks good in the navy suit he is wearing.
Nic turns his attention back to the other woman. “As I was saying, Reya,” he cups her hand and brings it to his lips, “please let me know if you can help me with my other problem.”
She giggles one of those fluffy sounds men seem to think are all for them. He runs his lips across the top of her knuckles and then down her fingers. “Of course, I’ll make it my special mission to attend to your request. For a solid tip, obviously.”
I can’t do anything but watch and burn inside. When I can tear my eyes away, I look at Soo, who’s also watching the woman. There’s an edge to his gaze. A bite. Not jealousy, but something else. Using my fork, I shuffle the food around my plate and
try not to listen to the wet sounds his lips make, nor her breathy sighs in response.
“Celia, go to the door on the right and get us some more wine,” Nic orders.
My feelings are wrapped into a tight ball, stuck tight in my belly, churning and twisting into a painful knot. I shove back from the table to do as he says.
The kitchen is empty as I enter. A few bottles of wine sit on the stainless-steel commercial countertops. All of them open and ready for pouring. I scoop one up and stare at it for a moment. Then take a long drag directly from the mouth of the bottle.
I can’t stay here. Nor can I go back out there and watch him flirt with that woman. I turned down her offer to help me escape. There is still the strong possibility Nic planted her to test me. That this is all one of his sick and twisted games to break me.
Will he be fucking her when I walk back out there?
I shake the image out of my head and walk to the other kitchen door. It’s propped open with a can of vegetables. A nagging at the back of my mind tells me that someone left it open on purpose.
This has to be a test… but what if it’s not?
What if this is my only chance to get away? To finally be free? I wouldn’t have to worry about endangering anyone but myself. If I make a run for it, it’s all on me. Still, I know that if I walk out this door, and he catches me, he’s going to hurt me—badly. That’s one thing he’s made very clear through this entire ordeal. If I don’t follow his orders, he’ll make me regret it. The longer I stand here, the more I gravitate toward walking out that door. My body makes the decision for me, and I know I’ll deal with the punishment, whatever it might be. That’s if he catches me.
