“Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?”
He cocked his head to one side and then stepped under the hot water. It fell on him from above and came at him from three sides. “I have to be honest, amore mio, I don’t know. You’re tempting. The idea of washing you is hard to resist. I thought we might exchange tasks, but I’m willing to do all the work.”
She moved all the way into the room, slipping the shirt from her shoulders. “How very sweet of you, Taviano. I think I can manage on my own, and I’ll let you handle your own washing.”
He refused to be disappointed. She had come a long way as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t expected they would get as far as they had. And she was already pulling out the topknot and stepping into the double shower with him. That was a huge victory. He had hoped she would feel safe and comfortable enough to join him, but he honestly hadn’t thought she would.
He tried to appear as casual as possible, flashing her a little grin before using the gel to soap his body thoroughly. He wanted to be exceptionally clean just in case she decided she wanted to repeat their exploration of each other’s bodies later. He tried not to react in any way to the sight of her washing and conditioning her hair or gliding her hands over her breasts and lower to her belly and then those little ringlets that called to him, guarding the treasure just below.
No matter how disciplined he was, no matter how sated his body had been, the way her hands moved with the gel and then used the handheld water wand, his cock turned treacherous on him. He had to turn his back on her before his vicious erection had him in trouble.
“You’re killing me, woman.” He gave a little groan to prove it.
“I am?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her with open suspicion. She sounded just a little too innocent. There was definitely a little too much laughter in her eyes.
“Keep it up.” It was an empty threat. He couldn’t throw her over his shoulder—yet. There could be no tackling her. No play that involved holding her down. But verbal playing, he could introduce her to that.
“I intend to.”
Now her laughter was open, and the sound teased at his senses, creating an intimacy between them that surprised him. It was more emotional than physical, allowing his body a reprieve. He hadn’t thought that just playing could achieve as great an intimacy as having sex with a woman, but he found everything he did with Nicoletta contributed to their closeness.
* * *
* * *
He brought tea to her on the back patio. She combed out her hair, taming the wild waves into a thick braid while he watched.
“You have a recording studio,” she said.
She made it a statement, leaving it up to him whether or not he wanted to tell her about it. He debated. “I have an office, too.” He did. He helped design racing engines. The Ferraro engines were mainly his designs.
“Yes, I was very nosy this morning when you were making breakfast, and I walked around. Mostly, I was lost, so I peeked into all the rooms. I saw all the engine diagrams on the walls. Or CAD drawings, whatever you call them. Emmanuelle mentioned that you’re quite brilliant when it comes to that sort of thing. I think she was trying to tell me you weren’t a bored playboy.”
He laughed. Of course Emme would try to convince Nicoletta that Taviano was worth something. His sister knew he was in love with her.
“Francesca told me you are an amazing chef. That you’d learned in Europe and would be welcome in any of the best restaurants in the world.”
“They were laying it on thick, weren’t they?” But he was pleased his family would go to bat for him.
“That’s not all,” Nicoletta assured. She picked up the teacup and took a sip. “I love this. There’s nothing quite like a great cup of tea, is there?” Her eyes were on the setting sun.
“What else did they tell you?” His voice darkened with suspicion. What else could they tell her? Everything went downhill from there.
“Sasha said you are so good with knives it’s unbelievable. Throwing knives, but you don’t even need the weighted real thing. She claims you can use a kitchen knife with deadly accuracy. I did see your targets and all the knife holes in them. It looked as if she might have been telling the truth.”
“A by-product of being good in the kitchen.”
She took her gaze from the sunset to glance at him for just a moment, amusement shining at him. “Is that what you’re going with?”
He nodded. She turned her head to look back at nature’s display of color and power.
“Mariko said you have the soul of a poet, the heart of a warrior and your hands were gentle enough to hold Crispino lovingly and yet strong enough to keep him safe.”
His sisters-in-law spoke highly of him. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. And he was touched. They were good people. He admired, respected, and loved all four of them.
“Did they sway you at all toward me?”
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“I think I trapped you into marriage,” he said, without remorse.
“That was my shadow trapping yours,” she argued. “I saw the recording studio,” she added.
They were back to that. She was his wife and she was living in the house with him. Sooner or later she would know. It was silly not to just tell her. She had her eyes on the sky, not on him, and that made it easier to act like it didn’t mean a thing when it was intensely personal.
“I record music. Lyrics. I play a little guitar and sometimes I write songs. Nothing monumental, just mostly garbage, but I get them out of my head.” Even to his own ears he sounded casual and he was proud of that.
She reached out to him and he immediately took her hand and brought her palm to his thigh, pressing it tightly to him. She knew he wasn’t as casual as he sounded. That’s what he loved about Nicoletta. She knew him. They knew each other.
“I’ve never seen you play an instrument.”
“I’m not the best, tesoro. In my family, if you aren’t the best at something, you keep practicing until you are. I play, but I don’t play for others. Only for myself. I practice and I have friends give me lessons, but I don’t let others hear me make my mistakes.”
He knew that was a leftover childhood thing. Ferraros were expected to be perfect at everything they did. They had perfect accents when they spoke other languages. They got perfect grades and learned every subject fast. They were skilled in every form of self-defense and in the use of weapons. Any sign of weakness wasn’t tolerated. No excuse was accepted. That had been drilled into them from the time they were toddlers.
Eloisa thought they had been coddled by Stefano. Taviano wasn’t certain what his mother meant by being coddled. Stefano was a taskmaster, but he made his siblings aware that he loved them. If that was coddling, Taviano was all for it.
“I hope you get to a point that you feel you can share your music with me someday, Taviano,” Nicoletta said. “I’d really love to hear it.”
His heart clenched hard and his stomach did a weird pitching roll. He wasn’t certain whether it was in joy at the thought or in protest. He wanted to share with her, because there were songs he was proud of. He wanted someone to hear them. He’d written them from his heart—maybe even his soul. He’d heard music outside in the woods, with the wind howling the way his mind did some nights when it wouldn’t quiet. When the rain beat at the windows of his home, the way his tears did in his mind. She would understand. If anyone could, Nicoletta could.
He had listened to Kain Diakos’s music because Nicoletta loved it so much. She played it all the time. He’d listened closely to the lyrics and he understood why she identified with his songs. There was always hope there after the initial terrible tragedy.
Taviano hoped that Nicoletta would identify with his lyrics even more. That his songs would give her that same lift, the same faith that there
was more than just ugliness in the world. That there were choices and family was the best choice of all, whether blood or of the heart. Those were his beliefs. His hopes. His gifts. And they were for her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Halfway between St. Louis and Chicago sat Bloomington, Illinois. Mariko and Ricco used the fastest tubes to take them to Bloomington. They stayed in the shadows of the little café where the Demons were reputed to hang out and eat while they refueled their cars when traveling. The owner of the café was friendly with them and the cops stayed away from that part of the city for the most part. Unwary travelers were parted from their wallets. A few bodies turned up but most of them simply disappeared.
Ricco and Mariko had endless patience. Both had grown up in a hard school. They had honed their skills and were excellent at their craft. Their craft just happened to be assassination. It didn’t matter how long they had to wait; they could easily pass the time together anywhere. They took a shadow up the side of the building to the roof.
Ricco liked the fact that the café was a large rectangle. On the two shorter sides, two gaudy neon signs spelled CAFÉ in large red capital letters. On the front of the building, a sprawling, obnoxiously large sign on the bottom took up most of the long front, proclaiming in red neon letters on a gold background that it was “great eating.” Stacked above that sign was another, forever claiming the café as belonging to Harold Peterbuilt and Son. The “son” had been x’d out with black paint. Ricco sarcastically thought that was very classy.
The roof itself was fairly flat. He took Mariko’s hand and helped her across what looked like a tar rooftop. There were two outcroppings that were square, along with several giant fans. They made their way to the squares, where Mariko sat while Ricco scouted the area for cover and the best shadow tubes leading to the alleyway below as well as the parking lot to one side of the building and the landscaped front.
The front was mainly overgrown weeds and white rock that had long since been tossed around the parking spaces for the handicapped. Graffiti decorated the spaces in colorful language and art. The drawings added to the décor, along with sidewalks that were cracked and broken in places. The cement was more like waves than a straight line. Someone had written “fuck you, Harold” in bold black letters over and over right up to the door of the café. Ricco presumed it was the son who had been crossed off the neon sign.
His gaze swept the parking lots on all sides, seeking the cars they had been told the Demons were traveling in. Two SUVs, both with tinted windows, both dark navy blue with silver rims, traveling with a Ram truck with a cab. Fourteen members of the Demons coming in from St. Louis to Chicago, all to help Benito Valdez retrieve Nicoletta Gomez for whatever nefarious purposes he had in mind for her. That wasn’t going to happen. Nicoletta was a Ferraro, and no one was going to take her from their family.
There were several cars in the parking lots, but not the vehicles they were looking for. He wasn’t surprised. They had taken the fastest shadows possible in the hopes of arriving well ahead in order to scout out the premises and prepare a strategy.
Ricco walked back to his wife. She never failed to move him when he came up on her, no matter where she was or what she was doing. She was always very still. Peaceful. She was small. Half Japanese, half American. Surprisingly, she was a blonde. She had curves and pale skin. Her eyes always captured him, almond shaped, hazel, exotic like a cat’s. She looked fragile, like a delicate flower. The fact that a warrior ran deep beneath her flawless skin and delicate image always amazed him.
Her gaze jumped immediately to his face. Focused completely on him. His body reacted immediately. He walked right up to her, towering over her as she sat so demurely, her pinstriped suit emphasizing her curves rather than detracting from them. Every breath she took made him aware of her breasts rising and falling beneath her jacket. He made out the tops of those sweet curves, just a hint beneath the lapels.
Ricco practiced the art of Shibari and was very thankful that Mariko enjoyed and allowed him to use her body as his canvas. The practice between them required a great deal of trust. He was very careful when he laid the ropes on her body and tied the knots, not wanting to hurt her in any way. What had started for him as purely art had taken a very erotic turn when Mariko had become his partner and then his wife.
“This is a perfect place to practice, Mariko.” He gestured to the neon signs. They were huge, standing so tall and grotesque behind them, flashing their message for miles to anyone who cared to look. “I would have you naked and bound between the letters on this side of them. Wrapped in silks of gold and red so you would blend in. Only I would see you. Only the camera would capture you.”
She didn’t take her gaze from his, maintaining eye contact. “We don’t know when they’ll be here, Ricco.”
He sighed. “No, we don’t.”
“Did you bring rope?”
“I always carry rope. You know that.” He did. Silk. Silk could go through the shadows. He didn’t go anywhere without rope. In the past, sometimes rope had been his only sanity. Now, he always enjoyed the thought of binding her and taking her whenever he wanted. Coming off a job, coming out of the shadows, always brought on a savage need for release. Combining that with Shibari and his beautiful, erotic woman, the sex was always crazy, but he’d never considered actually staying close and using the actual location.
The rooftop was so perfect. The insanity of the grotesque neon signs hiding them from the world. The coolness of the night air. The shadows they could escape into should they need to. He could bind her close to the mouth of one and release her with one yank of the knots, catch her up and dive for the shadow if need be. Once the idea took hold, he began to consider how he wanted to bind her.
“You’re really thinking of using this rooftop? Not after?”
“After. And then after again when we get home. Once won’t be enough.” He could tell that already. He was going to be wild with need for her. Just the thought of sex with her on the rooftop, surrounded by the neon flashing signs and his own artwork in stark contrast, was making him hard already. He had never bound her completely off the floor, she’d always been a little intimidated by the idea, but tonight, when they got home, he thought perhaps he could talk her into it.
“It could be dangerous, Ricco. If someone discovers the bodies and calls the cops too soon, we could be in trouble. I don’t think we should take chances.”
He could see the color sliding under her skin. Her breathing had changed, and her eyes had taken on a glow. He leaned down and took her mouth. Claiming her. Forcing her head back. Telling her he was in charge right then. Knowing she was already on board with his ideas.
“I hear cars, farfallina mia, I’ll be right back.” He always called her his little butterfly. She was so much more. She was everything to him. He kissed her again and then moved soundlessly across the flat rooftop toward the side parking lot where he could easily hear the noisy group of men getting out of their vehicles.
Two SUVs had parked under the tall lamps, the only two that weren’t shattered. Clearly, they didn’t want anyone messing with their cars. Five men descended from each of them. They wore their colors, shoving one another, laughing, each talking louder than the others. All ten bragging about what they were going to do to Valdez’s enemies. The truck pulled up next to the SUVs and four more of the Demons leapt out. They swaggered after the others.
Ricco watched them go into the café before returning to Mariko. “The information is correct. We have fourteen opponents. Three vehicles. We’ll take care of those first, just to ensure that no one escapes us and we have to give chase. It’s easier to contain them here.” And he had plans after.
Mariko stood up and stretched, easing her muscles into working order before she followed Ricco to the shadow that would take them both over the side of the building to the lot where the Demons had parked their vehicles, thinking them safe from any tampering. Ri
cco had chosen one of the slower tubes. It was wider and went over the side of the building and almost all the way across the parking lot. Thrown by the lamppost, the shadow touched the tube that reached out from the building itself.
The riders moved from one shadow to the next without hesitation. Ricco went under the hood of the first SUV and disconnected the ignition relay and then followed up with removing several of the other wires. He did the same in the other SUV and truck. Satisfied that it would take quite some time for the gang members to figure out what had gone wrong with their rides, Ricco and Mariko rode the shadows right up to the café.
The fourteen Demon members were swaggering around the café, taunting the waitress, who looked a little intimidated. She was older, her face drawn and tired. The cook could be seen throwing annoyed glances at the men, who were tossing napkins into the air and throwing spoons and forks at one another.
Two customers walked out. When they tried to pay, one of the men who had ridden in the truck grabbed the invoice from the waitress and tore it up, indicating for the couple to leave. He even opened the door for them. The couple hurried out, obviously afraid to stay and fight it out to pay the bill.
The same man who had let the couple go without paying sauntered over to sit on the table of another group of customers. Four men who looked like construction workers, big burly men with obvious muscles and tattoos that looked as if they might have gotten them in prison. The Demon member reached over and flipped a plate of food into the nearest construction worker’s lap. Immediately, the other Demons howled with glee and gathered around the booth.
The moment he’d sat down, there had been a mass exodus from the café. Everyone else who had been eating there jumped up and, without paying, rushed for the door, ignoring the taunting laughter of the gang members as they ran to their cars. Ricco watched them drive out fast. Not a single one was on their cell phone reporting a disturbance at the Harold and x’d-out Son Café. And no one would. The café was known to be a safe haven for the various gangs.
Shadow Flight Page 24
