by Elle James
“And you’re just one person. With so many around, you might not see the enemy coming until you have a knife buried in your belly.”
Isabella’s lips quirked upward. “Thank you for the bloody detail.”
“If it keeps you on your toes, I’ve done my job.”
She straightened, smiled at the next guest and shook her hand. Once she’d passed, she leaned toward Ronin again. “Really, you don’t have to hover.”
“I made a promise to your father.”
“And you take your promises seriously.” She curtsied for a man dressed as Georgian dandy and allowed him to raise her gloved hand to his lips.
Ronin glared.
Behind the half-mask, the dandy winked and released Isabella’s hand.
Isabella poked Ronin in the gut with her elbow. “Stop glaring. You are scaring people.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t like it when other men kiss you.”
“It was only a hand.”
He shrugged. “First, it’s a hand then it’s an arm,” he muttered. “Who knows where it will lead.”
“To Hotel Eden?” She smiled up at him. “Seems you started with a hand.”
“My point, precisely.” He lifted her hand, turned it over and pressed his lips into her palm. Then he closed her fingers into a fist. “Save that as a promise for later.”
A rush of people entered, bringing their banter to a stop.
Several times, Ronin stepped in front of a man or a woman getting too close to Isabella. He’d rather piss off them and Isabella than risk Isabella’s life.
An hour and a half later, the number of new guests trickled to a stop, relieving Isabella of her duties in the receiving line.
“I need a drink,” she said and moved toward the bar set up in the opposite corner from the musicians.
Ronin stuck to her like a magnet, using his body like a shield to get her through the throng of dancing, gyrating people. The band played a mix of old-fashioned waltzes and modern rock and roll. At that moment, it was rock, and everyone was in the middle of the room, bumping and grinding, flinging their arms in the air to the beat of the drummer.
To Ronin, the evening was a nightmare. To the guests, it was a great party, and they appeared to be settling in for the night, drinking enough alcohol to make them stupid.
Isabella asked for a glass of wine.
Ronin requested a bottle of water.
Isabella stared at him over her glass, her eyebrows rising above her mask.
He frowned. “What?”
“No wine?”
“I don’t drink when I’m working.”
She took a sip of the red liquid, some of it clinging to her lips and making him want to lick it off. “That’s too bad. You must have had a few drinks before you asked me to dance two years ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You have yet to ask me to dance now.”
“Finish your wine, and I’ll dance your socks off.”
The music slowed to a hauntingly beautiful slow song. A song he remembered from the night they’d met. Ronin plucked the goblet out of her hand and set it on a nearby table. Then he pulled her into his arms and swept her out into the middle of the foyer.
Many of the younger people chose to sit out the slow dance, preferring the faster, rock songs.
Not Ronin, and not the other couples who knew it was a good time for a little belly-rubbin’ to music.
Keeping an eye on the others nearby, Ronin held Isabella close, his hands around her narrow waist. The dress kept him from sliding lower to cup her ass. “I liked it better when you dressed as a bandit in pants. This skirt is impossible.”
“The better to tease you with,” she murmured against his neck.
“Oh, it’s teasing me. I’m wondering if the study is empty and how difficult it would be to get beneath all that fabric and make love to you on your father’s desk.”
“Mmm. I’m sure we could manage. But you saw what went under the dress. It’s not just the dress and petticoat. There are pantaloons, as well.”
“You’re right. It’s too much to deal with.”
She leaned back, a frown denting her brow. “Since when is a US Navy SEAL not up to a challenge?”
His hand found hers, and he squeezed it gently. “Since never. Come on.” He led her away from the dancers to the side of the room, aiming for the hallway and the study beyond.
“Signorina Pisano,” a female voice called out.
Isabella stopped, bringing Ronin to a halt in his headlong rush to get inside her.
The servant who’d brought them breakfast and waited on the table stood in a doorway.
“What’s wrong, Amina?” Isabella asked, and then switched into Arabic. The two women spoke in hushed tones for a minute, far too fast for Ronin to keep up. He picked up words like woman and bathroom, but not much more.
Amina turned and hurried away.
Isabella sighed and touched his arm, giving him an apologetic grimace. “I have to go check on a woman who is ill in the bathroom. I might be a few minutes.”
“I’m going with you,” he said.
She laughed. “Only as far as the door. We have two bathrooms on this floor. One designated for women, the other for men.” She smiled. “I’ll be in the women’s bathroom.”
“I’m still going with you,” he insisted.
She shrugged. “As you wish.” She led the way, circling the large entryway and dodging revelers dancing again to rock music. The lighting dimmed, and a disco ball shone down on the party goers. Ronin blinked, and then realized he wasn’t blinking, the disco ball was, making the room even more confusing. How could he keep Isabella safe in an environment as chaotic as a battlefield? Any moment, he expected to hear the popping sound of gunfire and the rip of a burst from a machine gun. He pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out the music. But the lights continued to blink. “Can we turn off that confounded light?” he shouted over the noise.
“After I check on the woman, I’ll see what I can do.”
Ronin followed her, almost dizzy with the cacophony of light and sound.
Focus. He had to focus. Isabella’s life depended on it.
They reached the other side of the big hall. Isabella led him down a short hallway with doors on either side. When she came to one marked with the universal sign of a woman, she paused. “I can handle myself. I spent a year in Syria. Trust me.”
He frowned. “I trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”
“I will leave the door open long enough to make you comfortable, but the women inside will be disconcerted if you march in like you own the place.”
He nodded. “Don’t be too long, or I’m coming in whether or not the women will be comfortable. I don’t give a damn about their comfort.”
Isabella smiled. “But I do.” She touched his cheek and ducked into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar long enough for him to see inside.
As she’d predicted, there were other women standing in front of the mirrors, adjusting their wigs, masks, hair and whatever else women did in front of mirrors.
He couldn’t see into the stalls, but Amina stood near one, wringing her hands.
Obviously, whoever was in the stall wasn’t feeling well, and it worried the woman.
The door closed between them, leaving Ronin to wonder what was going on. If he heard even a peep out of anyone inside, he’d be in like thunder.
God, he hoped he didn’t hear a peep. Then again, he hoped he did. If something bad happened.
Waiting sucked, especially in tights and a velvet waist coat. He’d give anything for his Ka-Bar fighting knife and an M4A1 assault rifle at that moment. He hoped the night didn’t end in violence, but his gut was telling him something was looming.
12
Isabella found the woman in the bathroom, losing everything contained in her stomach. The stench was enough to make her want to heave, but she held her stomach and talked the woman off the floor and to the sink, wher
e she helped her wash the ick off her face and applied a damp paper towel to her forehead.
She’d obviously had too much to drink. Thankfully, she’d purged a good portion of the alcohol from her body. She’d be okay after a good night’s sleep.
Isabella sent Amina out to find the woman’s friends and to order a water taxi to get the woman back to her hotel.
By the time she exited the bathroom, with the drunk leaning on her arm, Ronin was pacing the hallway like a bull in a ring.
Isabella would have laughed if she didn’t smell so much like vomit. So much for making love in her father’s study. She’d be lucky if they made love at all that night, the way things were going.
When she appeared, Ronin stopped pacing and hurried to her side.
She held up her hand to stop him. “I wouldn’t get too close.”
“Why?”
Isabella wasn’t afraid to speak English in front of her guest. The woman only spoke Italian and German. “She has been projectile-vomiting for the past fifteen minutes. I think she has emptied her stomach, but I can’t be sure.”
Ronin shook his head. “Let me help.”
“Are you sure?” She glanced at his outfit. “No use in both of us smelling like this.”
“I’ve smelled worse.” He bent and started to swing the swaying woman up into his arms.
“Go slowly, the motion might make her lose it again,” Isabella warned.
As directed, he lifted her slowly into his arms.
The girl’s head lolled as she passed out.
“At least if she sleeps, she will not be gracing you with the contents of her stomach,” Isabella noted. “Hopefully, she will remain unconscious until you get her safely to a water taxi.”
Her girlfriends gathered around Ronin, exclaiming about how strong he was to carry their friend and how heroic to save her from a “fate worse than death.”
Isabella rolled her eyes and fought to keep from snorting in a very unladylike manner.
She followed the gaggle of females and Ronin toward the front entrance that would lead out to the dock.
“Stay close,” Ronin said.
“I’m with you,” Isabella reassured him.
She wanted to stop at the entrance and have Ronin pass on the duty of carrying the girl to one of the bodyguards pulling bouncer duty at the entrance. But they were busy checking bags and patting down women in big dresses to worry about one woman on her way out.
Besides, Ronin was already halfway to the dock before he stopped and turned back to wait on her.
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“I know you can. You survived a year in a hostile country. I’m sure you’ll be fine in Venice for a few short minutes.” He waited for her to catch up then added. “But just remember, it only took a few short seconds for someone to attack your father in broad daylight.”
Isabella was fully aware of the truth of his words and kept a vigilant watch in all directions, studying the people still arriving by boat or on foot.
Ronin grinned.
She frowned. “What?”
“I keep forgetting you’re a trained combatant. You’d kick ass if someone tried to jump you.”
“Damn right, I would.” She even managed to say it with an American accent.
A chuckle bubbled up Ronin’s chest and exploded in a burst of laughter.
The woman in his arms lifted her head, stared at him through blurry eyes and dropped off again.
A water taxi pulled up to the dock and stopped. The drunk girl’s friends climbed in first and waited while Ronin got in with their friend, laid her out on a seat and climbed back onto the dock.
Meanwhile, Isabella spoke with the driver and slipped him a wad of bills. He grinned and slobbered all over her, thanking her for her generosity and promising to help get the woman inside her hotel when they arrived. Eventually, the taxi driver pulled the boat away from the dock.
Isabella hooked her arm through Ronin’s and walked back to the house, wishing she didn’t have to go back inside with the loud music and crowd of people. She’d rather run away with Ronin to a quiet spot where they could be alone.
“Too bad we can’t escape to Hotel Eden,” Ronin said, as if echoing her thoughts.
She sighed. “If only I did not have this party to oversee. But I promised my father.”
Ronin nodded. “And a promise, is a promise.” They entered the house, passing the two bodyguards, Lorenzo and Matteo.
As soon as her eyes adjusted to the blinking disco ball lights, Isabella stopped and stared up at the top of the stairs. “Madonna!”
Her father, dressed in a pirate outfit, swayed unsteadily, holding onto the top rail with one hand and his wounded belly with the other. His face was white without having used any of the face paint preferred by many of the party goers.
“The man is stubborn beyond reason,” Isabella muttered. She lifted her skirts and plowed through the throng, intent on getting to her father before he plunged down the stairs in a headlong fall and broke every bone in his body, not to mention tearing his stitches and possibly bleeding to death.
Amina ducked out of a hallway as she passed by. “Signorina Pisano! Signorina Pisano!”
Isabella slowed but didn’t stop. “What is it, Amina?” she said in Italian.
“Two men slipped into the house, through the kitchen. They have guns. I think they mean to do harm to you and your guests.”
Isabella’s heart flipped. She spun toward her fake fiancé. “Ronin, get help and go with Amina. She says two men got in through the kitchen and are carrying guns.”
His expression turned to stone. “Where are they now?”
“I don’t know. Amina can show you. I have to get my father to his room before he kills himself or someone else does it for him.” She ran toward the stairs, shoving people aside. If men with guns were inside the house, everyone there was in danger. But if they were only after her and her father, the sooner she got her father to safety the better.
Ronin, didn’t like it. He wanted to stay with Isabella and make certain she got to a safe place. But Amina was pulling at his sleeve, urging him to follow her toward the kitchen.
He glanced toward the stairs.
Isabella had made it through the crowd and was almost to the top.
Ronin waited until she and Andre moved her father through his bedroom door, and the door was closed, before he allowed Amina to lead him through the maze of hallways to the back of the house.
She slowed, pressed a finger to her lips and pointed toward a door.
He hadn’t been through that door yet and wished he’d taken more time to explore the palatial mansion earlier that day. But it couldn’t be helped now. If the two men were inside, he’d be outnumbered and outgunned.
“We need to get help,” he said. What were the words he needed in Italian? Every lesson he’d taken escaped him now.
Amina shook her head. “Non capisco.” And she pointed toward the door, making motions with her hands like she held a machine gun, firing rounds.
He gripped her arms and pointed back toward the music and dancers. In a low, insistent voice, he told her, “Go get Lorenzo and Matteo.” With a gentle push, he sent her back toward the party.
She stopped and shook her head. “Non.” Again, she pointed at the door and made the machine gun motion.
Ronin waved her on. “Go. Get Lorenzo and Matteo.”
Amina remained rooted to the floor, her eyes wide, wringing her hands.
“Go!” Ronin stopped short of shouting.
The door beside him burst open.
Amina bolted.
Two dark-skinned, black-haired men dressed dark clothing lunged for him and dragged him back into the room.
Ronin fought hard, putting all his training to work, with the thought in the back of his mind to be on the lookout for chairs. He couldn’t allow the two men to take him down.
One had a knife. The other had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol with an
attached silencer in his hand.
With the music so loud in other parts of the mansion, the silencer wasn’t necessary. No one would hear the shots fired.
Ronin ducked, threw a punch into the belly of the man with the knife and performed a sidekick, knocking the handgun in the other man’s hand across the room.
Before the attackers could regroup, Ronin caught the wrist of the man with the knife as he doubled over and yanked him forward, planting his knee in the guy’s face. The crunch of cartilage and the spray of blood indicated he’d broken the man’s nose.
Ronin wrestled the knife out of his hand and shoved the bleeder into the other man who was fumbling with his rifle.
The two men fell to the floor but scrambled to their feet.
Ronin was halfway to the door when he was jerked backward by the collar of his costume. He loosened his arms and let the coat slide free of his body.
The man who’d pulled it from his body flung it to the side and attacked Ronin, blood still streaming from his broken nose.
His buddy was pulling the rifle strap over his shoulder. If he got the weapon in front of him, it would be all over.
Ronin couldn’t leave the room and let these two men get their shit together. He had to put a stop to their plans. Here. Now.
He flung himself to the ground and swept his legs to the side, catching both men at the ankles and sending them flying to land flat on their backs.
Rolling to his feet, Ronin kicked the man with the rifle full in the face. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the floor, out cold.
His friend lunged at Ronin, catching him in the side and ramming him into the wall.
Ronin hit the paneling so hard the breath shot from his lungs. His attacker reared back to punch him.
Ronin ducked to the side.
The man’s fist crashed into the wall, and he clutched it to his chest cursing in Arabic.
While the man nursed his sore hand, Ronin gave him something else to worry about. He hit him hard with a sidekick to the kidney.
The guy crumpled to the ground.
Again, he kicked him, this time in the face, knocking him backward to land on his back, blood gushing from his broken nose.
