Ricardo

by Marita A. Hansen

  “You look considerably different from the last time I saw you,” Brando said, his eyes moving over her slowly. “More fuckable.”

  She willed herself not to slam the door in his face. From the rumors she’d heard about him, he was into taking women when he wanted, demanding rather than asking.

  His eyes flicked up to hers. “Aren’t you going to say I look different?”

  “You look different.”

  “Better or worse?”

  “Better. You’re not skinny anymore.” He’d filled out beautifully, although she wouldn’t taste him no matter how gorgeous he was. He was a hitman, his golden eyes cruel, not warm. Danger exuded from every pore in his body, the man death on two legs.

  His eyes moved past her, in the direction of her bed. “How about I show you exactly how I’ve changed?”

  “Not interested.” She went to close the door, no longer wanting to pretend to be polite.

  He shoved it open and brushed past her, striding into the room as though he owned it. “I don’t really care what you want,” he said, sitting down on her bed. “Only what I want.” He patted the mattress. “So, come here.”

  “No! Get out of my room.”

  He smiled. “You have such a big mouth on you. I wonder how much of my cock I can get in there.”

  She pointed to the door. “Get out!”

  He pushed up and headed for her bathroom.

  She followed him. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to wash my cock for you.”

  “I don’t want it!”

  “Too bad, it would’ve been a nice home coming.” Laughing, he stopped in front of the toilet.

  “Please just leave, Brando.”

  “I need to go to the toilet first.” He dropped his pants, the man going commando.

  She spun around, her face heating rapidly. Brando had been the only one out of the brothers who went out of his way to hit on her, often doing it in front of Ricardo, regardless of whether he got punched for it. He never seemed to care, just did what he wanted.

  The toilet flushed, making her turn back around. To her relief, he had his pants pulled back up. “Did you like the view?” he asked, doing up his zipper.

  “You’re incredibly rude,” she snapped. “That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”

  “I can be a lot ruder, like telling you to bend over.” He grinned. “Actually, I’d prefer a fuck over a blowjob, so drop your panties and show me that peachy culo of yours.”

  “Get out of my room, you misogynist pig.”

  “Contrary to what they say about me, I’m all about women’s rights: their right to take my cock up their culo.”

  Her hand whipped out, slapping him hard.

  He laughed. “Oh, baby, that’s just foreplay to me. Now, if you whip me,” he closed his eyes and moaned, “I’ll be yours forever.”

  “Just leave.”

  He opened his eyes and started to undo his shirt buttons, the man now scaring her. She backed towards the door, wondering if she could make it out before he grabbed her, because he was looking at her as though she was his next meal.

  Following her, he shrugged his shirt off and threw it at her face. She whipped it off, ready to scream and fight him, but instead she froze, what she saw leaving her speechless. He headed past her, his back covered in whip marks, the scars severe. He closed the door behind him, leaving Bianca standing in the same spot, wondering what the hell had happened to him.

  6

  Ricardo woke up with his face planted on the computer keyboard. He sat up, feeling tired from staying up most of the night to read his mother’s files. She had her hand in everything—including prostitution and transporting pleasure slaves, something that had surprised him. They were arms dealers, not pimps or slave traffickers, which meant he had a lot of cleaning up to do, his mother creating a huge workload for him.

  He pushed out of his chair and stretched, his vertebrae cracking in response, although he couldn’t feel a thing, the action purely reflex. He then headed for the door, stopping as a knock came from the other side. He pulled it open, finding his nurse smiling up at him. The curvy blonde was a ray of sunshine, someone who always brought a smile to his face.

  “Your mother mentioned you’d be in here,” she said, her voice almost lyrical.

  Knowing why she’d come, he sat down on the leather couch and rolled back a sleeve. Lisa closed the door behind him and headed to his side. She placed the box she was carrying on her lap and removed a syringe from it. She tapped it a few times, then pierced a vein in the crook of his arm, Ricardo again not feeling a thing.

  Lisa pulled the needle out of his arm and stuck a small Band-Aid over the injection site. Ricardo placed a hand on her lap, stilling her. It wasn’t sexual; he didn’t feel that way towards Lisa. Instead, he felt grateful for all she’d done for him. After her father had been fired as the in-house doctor, she’d taken over his care, checking on him constantly to make sure he was all right.

  Lisa placed her hand over his. “How are you doing?” she asked, looking at him with sympathy.

  “Fine.”

  “Really?” she said, giving him the impression she didn’t believe him.

  “You know I don’t like sympathy.”

  She pressed her lips together. “But you’ve lost so much, your brother and Ghita.”

  He breathed out. Like with Valentino, he’d raged after he’d found out his lover had been murdered. He’d destroyed his room, breaking everything he could get his hands on, his fury overriding his medication. His brothers and the soldiers had to restrain him, holding him down as Lisa injected him with a sedative. After that, she’d upped his medication, making sure his anger stayed in check. Though the drug was exhausting him, making his body harder to move, but if he told her that, she would insist on cutting back, which he couldn’t afford to do.

  He yawned, wishing he could get a few more hours of sleep, something he didn’t have time for, especially with all the work his mother had created.

  “Have you been working all night?” she asked.

  “No.” He yawned again.

  “Did you go to bed at all?”

  “I slept.” He patted her lap. “And don’t worry, bella, I really am fine.”

  She tucked her blonde hair behind her ear, blushing at being called beautiful. He removed his hand, mentally reprimanding himself for saying it. He knew she had a crush on him, something he didn’t reciprocate.

  “I should get some breakfast,” he said, pushing off the couch. He held out a hand to assist her up. She took a hold of it and got to her feet. He let go of her hand and directed her out of the office, heading for the dining room. A few of his family were still eating, though thankfully his mother had left.

  His eyes moved to Salvatore, who was sitting in the corner of the room, smoking a cigar, making Ricardo crave one. He’d given up cigarettes in his early twenties, but cigars still made his mouth water. Excusing himself from Lisa, he headed over to his brother, who smiled up at him.

  “You know you’re banned from smoking in here,” Ricardo said.

  “The children are outside.” Salvatore pulled another cigar from his pocket and waved it enticingly in front of him.

  Unable to resist, Ricardo snatched it out of Salvatore’s hand. “You’re the Devil.” He leaned over for Salvatore to light it up. The flame took to the cigar, the wisp of smoke twirling before his face.

  Salvatore grinned. “I knew you couldn’t turn one down.”

  “I love the smell and taste,” Ricardo said, two sensory receptors he hadn’t damaged.

  “Which is even more reason why you should enjoy it.”

  “If Dominic catches us, he’ll be stinking up the place with cigarettes in no time,” Ricardo said, his eyes flicking to the back of the house.

  “He’s jamming in the studio with Vinnie.”

  Ricardo relaxed, knowing the twins would be in there for a while.

  Salvatore popped his own cigar back into his mouth and t
ook a puff, blowing it out in a swirl of smoke. “Mamma appears to have taken your new role well,” he said, looking at Ricardo thoughtfully.

  “It’s all a pretense. The woman has too much pride to admit defeat.”

  “As we all do, some more than others.” Salvatore’s eyes followed Brando as he cut through the room, heading for the back door.

  “Very true.” Taking a puff on the cigar, Ricardo sat down next to Salvatore, watching Brando disappear through the doorway. He wondered why the stronzo wasn’t wearing a shirt, especially since Brando’s scars upset their mother. He blew out the smoke, the woody smell and taste ecstasy. “Unfortunately, our dear madre has left quite a mess for me to clean up.”

  Salvatore removed the cigar from his mouth. “What has she done?”

  “She’s been transporting sex slaves for the D’Angelos.”

  Salvatore’s eyes widened, his back going ramrod straight. “That cannot continue.”

  “It won’t. I will contact the D’Angelo Don, telling him he needs to find another transporter.”

  “Who was transporting them?”

  “Brando and a few soldiers.”

  Salvatore let out a disgruntled sound, his disgust clear. “Brando has no moral code. You may not feel physically, but he cannot feel mentally. He’s a heartless bastardo.”

  “I agree.” Ricardo lowered his voice, not wanting anyone but Salvatore to hear. “I will deal with both him and our madre, so don’t let on you know about it. Brando’s too self-serving. Don’t give him any information that he can work with, because he’ll go behind my back if he thinks I’m cutting him out. I will clear things up, then discuss it with him. I have information to keep him in check, as I do with Mamma.”

  “What information?”

  Ricardo tapped his nose. “That’s only for a Don to know,” he said, smiling at Salvatore’s annoyed grunt.

  “Okay, leave me out in the cold,” Salvatore grumbled.

  “You know more than anyone else. I trust you completely, but it’s best you don’t know everything, especially since you’re a moralistic prick.”

  “Having morals is a good thing.”

  “You’re also self-righteous,” Ricardo grinned, not intending it as an insult.

  Salvatore smiled back. “I can’t help always being right.”

  Ricardo laughed. “You’re also extremely modest. Anyway, trust me; you don’t want to know everything Mamma’s done. She still needs to hold your respect.”

  “As she does.”

  “Even though she tries everyone’s patience.”

  “As you do too.”

  Ricardo shook his head, although he was still smiling. “You’re trying mine right now, so I better take my leave.”

  He got up and headed for the staircase. Salvatore called out for him to stop. Ricardo turned back to his brother.

  “I forgot to tell you, your maid’s still missing,” Salvatore said, “so I’ve got another interview set up to replace her.”

  “Grazie,” Ricardo replied, worried for the old woman. He’d sent out soldiers to search for her, but they’d come up with nothing, his maid vanishing into thin air.

  Rosa walked over and sat down on Salvatore’s lap, pulling his attention away from Ricardo. A large smile lit up Salvatore’s face, the love in his eyes clear. He worshiped the ground his wife walked on, the two inseparable. They’d met at the age of ten, gotten married at twenty, and were now living a happy-ever-after Ricardo knew he would never have.

  Leaving them in peace, Ricardo headed out of the room and ascended the staircase, intent on seeing his nieces, so he could tell them about their father. But instead of going to their room, he veered left down the passage, Bianca now filling his mind.

  ***

  Bianca stared at the phone, pondering whether she should call her ex, the run-in with Brando reminding her of Jagger. No. Although she still loved him, he’d rejected her. She needed to make a clean break, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. The life with the D’Angelos was over, the one with the Santini just beginning.

  She pushed up from the bed and went to the antique cabinet, wanting to change out of the jeans and into a skirt, the temperature in the room having risen with the sun.

  She chose a wraparound skirt, then ducked into the bathroom, splashing water on her face, needing to cool down some more. The sound of her door opening pulled her attention back to her room, the thought that Brando had returned putting her on edge. She headed out of the bathroom, ready to tell him to get out, but stopped at the sight of Ricardo, the man stealing her breath away. He was tall, muscular, and had striking violet eyes, which always drew her in, the color so unusual. And his lips ... she’d never seen lips so cruel yet sexy. Even when he smiled, he looked like he was plotting someone’s death. Maybe she liked cruel bastards who treated her badly, or maybe she chose them because she was looking for someone to replace Ricardo. No, the other men she’d had relationships with were nothing like the strong man before her. Her dead husband was an ugly degenerate, while her last lover didn’t have Ricardo’s power, Jagger’s beauty his greatest weakness.

  A surge of lust rushed through her. She knew she should tell him to leave, like she did with Brando, and that he didn’t have a right to come into her room without an invitation, but all she could do was stare, drinking in his power.

  Her eyes fell to his chest. A few of his buttons were undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned muscle. Although he was impeccably dressed, dark stubble grazed his jawline and chin while his hair was messy, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. The memory of running her fingers through it came to mind. She used to love messing it up, the man looking even more delicious with it out of place. It made him look like a wild man wrapped up in a civilized package, his savage nature barely contained. The memories of their wild nights of sex returned. She hadn’t anticipated this reaction to him—nor did she want it. But how could she not feel this way with him looking like that?

  Dio mio, he was sex and violence rolled into one mouthwatering package.

  He removed the cigar from his mouth, blowing out a puff of smoke, making her shiver. It was lust—pure and simple.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Bianca,” he said, his voice a deep rumble.

  “Likewise,” she replied, forcing her voice not to waver. It was more than a pleasure, it was an adrenalin shot to her libido.

  He tapped the cigar against a tray sitting on the cabinet, then walked around the bed to her. Bianca remained still, willing herself not to show any emotion. He stopped in front of her, peering down at her face with an intensity that made her shiver again. Without warning, he ran a finger over her nose. Sudden shock crossed his face. He whipped his hand back, as though she’d electrocuted him, then focused on his finger.

  “What’s wrong, Ricardo?” she asked.

  He raised his gaze and went to touch her again.

  Bianca stepped out of his reach. “Why are you touching me?” she asked, shaken by what he was doing.

  “Your nose is red, and...” He looked down at his finger again, rubbing it together with another one. “I must be imagining things.”

  “Imagining what?”

  “Nothing.” Looking troubled, he placed the cigar back into his mouth and drew on it. He turned his head to blow the smoke out, its rich woody tones smelling better than expected. She hated smokers, but for some reason Ricardo’s cigar didn’t repulse her. Instead, everything about him turned her on.

  “So, why’s your nose red?” he asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “I kept a Band-Aid on for too long.”

  He nodded. “How are you feeling today?”

  “A little sore.”

  Concern furrowed his brow, his eyes lowering to her breasts. “I saw finger marks on your chest last night.” He raised his gaze, those violet eyes of his now filled with venom. “Who attacked you?”

  “Donatelli goons.”

  “What did they do?”

  �
��I’d rather not speak of it.”

  “I don’t beg, but in this case I need to know. So, please, Bianca, tell me what they did so I can avenge you.”

  She breathed out, feeling uncomfortable with telling him. “One of them tried to force me to perform oral sex, but instead, he and his friend got their balls handed to them.”

  Ricardo’s face went still, then he burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” she snapped.

  He stopped laughing, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You truly are a wonder. Two men against one small woman and you come out the victor. You are tremendous, Bianca, a true fighter.”

  She stared at him, taken aback by his compliment.

  His smile died down, a serious look once again taking over. “Can you describe your attackers for me, so I can finish what you started.” His lips quirked up, their nasty curve telling her it would result in murder.

  “It was Tito Donatelli and his friend Malik. Malik was the one who sexually assaulted me.”

  Anger flashed across Ricardo’s eyes. “Be assured, they’ll be taken care of.” He placed a hand on her arm but whipped it back fast, again acting as though she’d electrocuted him. “That was definitely not my imagination this time.”

  She stepped back. “You’re freaking me out, Ricardo.”

  He looked down at his hand, then back at her. “I’m sorry, I just...” He paused, his expression dumbstruck. “How can I feel you so strongly?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I have minimal feeling in my hands.” He held the cigar up. “I can barely feel this, yet when I touched your arm I felt everything.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Eight years ago I took an experimental drug to control my condition. It damaged my nervous system, leaving me unable to feel in most parts of my body.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. She’d heard people call him unfeeling; she just didn’t realize they’d meant it literally. “If you can’t feel, then how can you walk without falling over? You have to feel the ground, don’t you? Otherwise wouldn’t it feel like you’re floating?”

  “Like my hands, I still have some sense of feeling in my feet. It might be dull, but it’s enough to walk. Plus, physiotherapy helped considerably.” Without warning, he reached out, touching her face again.