But as unbearable as the memories sometimes were, the other times were worse; the times when she seemed so far away he had to remind himself that she was in New York, just a couple of hours from the city. Then it seemed like she had had been a figment of his imagination, a fever dream he would spend the rest of his life trying to recapture.
He noticed with surprise that night had fallen, and the beach had disappeared below the deck. He could hear the waves rushing toward the house, but he could no longer see them. He finally went inside to pour himself another drink.
He left the massive glass doors open, the sheer curtains billowing in the almost-summer breeze rolling in off the water. He couldn’t afford to think about Angel now. He had bigger problems.
He poured some vodka into his glass and walked back outside, leaning on the railing of the deck. He still couldn’t believe Carmine was dead. The older man had been an honorary uncle since Nico’s birth, had been a fixture at every birthday party, every graduation. He’d helped Nico through the murder of his parents, had urged Nico to plan his moves carefully when Nico had wanted to indiscriminately unleash his fury. Nico hadn’t always taken the older man’s advice, but knowing it was there had been a comfort. And while Luca was as loyal as they came, it was Carmine who had the years of experience with the Syndicate—most of them working under Nico’s father. In a business that bred suspicion, Carmine was one of very few people Nico trusted with his life.
And he’d been gunned down like a dog, just like Nico’s parents.
Nico didn’t understand it. His business had obviously been under attack for the past few months, but the disturbances had been minor—hijacked shipments, missing soldiers, suspicious activity on the servers that were locked down tighter than Fort Knox, guarded by hackers so skilled that Nico had recruited them from the FBI as part of his plans to modernize the centuries old business of organized crime.
Carmine’s death was an execution. A message.
But Carlo Rossi was dead, and as far as Nico knew, there wasn’t anyone loyal enough to him to seek revenge. Frank Morra had been Carmine’s Consigliere, but Frank was even older than Carmine. More importantly, Frank was soft, apathetic. It was hard to imagine him even running the business in Carlo’s absence, let alone planning a takedown of Nico, whose family had been the envy of the Syndicate until the mess with Angel and her father.
So who then? Who had both the motivation and ambition to come after the Vitale family so aggressively?
He thought about Dante. His former soldier had never worried him. He was a psychopath for sure; someone who’d had several run-ins with the law and more than one charge of violence against a woman. It was something Nico didn’t tolerate in his organization, although he’d tried to be patient right up until Dante had put his hands on Angel. Then it had been over. He’d ordered a beating severe enough to send a message and banished Dante from the family for good.
He hadn’t been surprised when Dante turned up working for Carlo, but was Dante smart enough and ambitious enough to attempt a takedown of the Vitale family? Could he rally the resources to follow him into this kind of battle? And if not Dante, then who? This kind of move took manpower. It took airtight loyalty. Who in the Syndicate could pull together all of those pieces in the few months since Carlo’s death?
Frustrated all over again, he ran a hand through his hair and finished his drink, relishing the warmth of it on its way down his throat. He hated being exiled to the island on Maine, especially with Angel’s ghost everywhere he looked. He had left only to give Luca and Vincent time to calm things down in New York, but he would be back soon enough. He would find out who had done this, and he would kill them.
He was contemplating the merit of another drink when he heard the hum of a boat. He held still, trying to get a read on its direction. Sound moved strangely across water, bouncing and bending in ways that made it difficult to pinpoint. The odds of anyone being out this far after dark were slim. Still, he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He went inside to get his gun.
6
Ed left her on the beach where she’d arrived with Nico back in October. They’d been on the run from her father’s men, and Angel had been torn between the part of her mind that told her to get away from the man who had kidnapped her, and the part that wanted nothing more than to be alone with Nico on his private island.
Now she couldn’t deny the anticipation as she made her way through the woods with the flashlight Ed had given her. She told herself she just wanted to make sure Nico was okay. It didn’t mean she’d forgiven him, didn’t mean they could go anywhere from here.
But she would see him, at least.
The wind was gentle this time, different from the way it had been all those months ago when a storm had been brewing out over the Atlantic. It had stranded her and Nico here, giving them two precious days to be nothing but a man and a woman. It had been heaven and hell. A taste of what might have been if they were different people. A taste of what they could never be because they weren’t.
She trudged forward through the forest, hoping she was heading in the right direction. She’d only ever made her way to the house with Nico, but she had a general sense of the island, and it wasn’t that big. There were no other houses here, no other people. Worse case, she’d backtrack until she found it.
But backtracking wasn’t necessary. Just when she was starting to think she was lost, she spilled out of the forest into a clearing. The house—all cedar shingles and glass and wraparound decks—seemed to hover at the top of a small hill.
The windows were dark, and she wondered if she was wrong, if Nico was somewhere else. But that didn’t make sense. Ed wouldn’t have brought her to the island if Nico wasn’t here.
She used the flashlight to make her way up the gravel road toward the house. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage, although she didn’t know if it was because she might be close to seeing Nico or because she was scared. What if the men who were after him had already found him? What if they were here, watching her from the house?
She walked a little slower, wondering for the first time if this was a good idea. Maybe she should have called Nico first, even if he told her not to come. But it didn’t matter now; she was here, and there was no way back to the mainland without Ed. She picked up her pace, the reality of the situation solidifying her plans.
She was almost to the porch when she heard a voice from the shadows.
“How did you get here?”
She stopped, peering into the darkness in the direction of the voice. It took her a minute to see the shadow on the deck at the corner of the house. It took her another minute to find her own voice.
“Ed brought me. I waited for him on the dock.”
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Nico said. She didn’t know if it was anger or pain she heard in his voice. Maybe both.
“He’s worried about you,” she said. “So am I.”
He sighed. “What are you doing here, Angel?”
“I heard about Carmine. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only with the sound of the waves rolling onto the beach below the house.
“I am.”
She took a deep breath. She didn’t know what she expected. That Nico would be happy to see her? That he would welcome her with open arms after she kicked him out of her life?
“Can I come inside so we can talk?” she asked.
For a minute she thought he might actually turn her away. Then he spoke again, his voice filled with a heavy kind of tiredness.
“Nowhere else to go tonight,” he said. “Come in.”
She stepped onto the porch and made her way toward the shadow. He came into view a little at a time, and she had to resist the urge to sigh when she finally saw his face. The chiseled line of his jaw, the sharp planes of his cheekbones under a shock of dark hair so lush, she had a sudden memory of it, silky and thick, in her fingers. But all of these were nothing compared to his e
yes. In an instant, they pierced the armor she’d built over the past six months, and she was again prey to Nico’s predator.
Except now she was under no delusion that she wanted to escape. She almost forgot to breathe while she was held captive by his gaze. His body was mere inches from hers, and she caught his scent—raw masculinity, wool, and soap—on the ocean breeze.
He headed for the back of the house, then turned to look at her. “You coming?”
They entered through the glass doors off the living room. A fire burned in the hearth, and she had a flash of Nico, his naked body entwined with hers on the sofa while rain pelted the windows.
She forced her eyes away from the fireplace, taking in the sweep of wood floor, the stone walls, the glass that made the ocean feel like it was part of the house. She’d forgotten how much she loved this place, how at home she’d felt here.
Nico reached for her bag, and a shock of desire winged through her body as his hand brushed against her cold fingers. He set the bag on the ground and crossed the room to pull a blanket off the back of the sofa. She watched as he made his way toward her, his eyes locked on hers while he leaned in to wrap the blanket around her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she was shivering until the warmth settled over her skin. He let his hands rest on her arms for a moment before turning away, and she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
She had forgotten how hard it was to breathe around him, as if he was a force so powerful, he consumed every ounce of oxygen in the air.
“Drink?” he asked, already heading for the bar.
“Please.”
He poured something into a glass and returned to hand it to her.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, and gestured at the couch. “Sit.”
She took a seat on the sofa and felt the sting of rejection when he sat at the other end. Complicated was an understatement for everything that was between them, but she couldn’t deny that all the old feelings were still there. Was it simpler for him? Had his feelings for her changed?
“How are you?” he finally asked.
She took a drink, then looked down at the whiskey in her glass. “I’m… okay. Still getting used to everything the way it is now.”
“And David?”
She looked up, surprised that he would mention her brother. “He’s okay, too,” she said softly. “Dealing with all the unfinished business between him and our father.”
“I’m sure that’s very difficult,” Nico said, his voice full of regret.
She nodded, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about Carmine.”
“Thank you.”
She looked into his eyes. “What’s going on, Nico?”
“I thought you might know,” he said.
“Me?” She shook her head. “I’m not involved in the Boston operation, but I doubt Frank has the ambition to come after you.”
“I thought the same thing,” he said.
“Besides,” she said, “why would someone kill Carmine? Wasn’t he just a Consigliere?”
She was still learning the terminology of her father’s illegal businesses, but she knew that Carmine had been a kind of advisor to Nico, the same way Frank had advised her father. Consigliere’s weren’t supposed to be part of the battlefield.
“I’m not sure I would use the word “just” to describe Carmine—or anyone in that role.”
“You know what I mean.” It came out sharper than she intended. She didn’t know much about the business, but she wasn’t stupid.
She thought she saw a flash of appreciation in his eyes. Figures. Nico wasn’t the kind of man to be turned on by complacency, however much he might have railed against her stubbornness.
“I do,” he said. “And you’re right. Someone in Carmine’s position isn’t usually a target for this kind of message.”
The whiskey and blanket conspired to make her more comfortable than she should have been, and she let the blanket slip off her shoulders. “What kind of message is it?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was designed to remind me that my allies are rapidly decreasing in number.”
“Why would someone want to do that?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “There could be a hundred reasons.”
She thought about it. “If why isn’t the place to start, how about who?”
“If I knew that,” he said, “I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
There was something ferocious in his voice, and she knew it was true; if Nico knew who had done this to him, to Carmine, that person would be dead.
“What about Dante?” she asked. “Could he be involved?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Is there anyone else you can think of who would want to hurt you?”
A smile touched the corners of his lips. “There are a lot of people who want to hurt me.”
She took a drink of the whiskey, savoring the way it worked its way into her system. Already everything seemed a little less intense. Nico was so close. It would be nothing to cross the space between them, to take his face in her hands and touch her lips to his.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
He stood, then walked to her end of the couch. “I’m going to go to bed.”
He held out his hand.
7
He pulled her to her feet, their bodies so close she could feel the raw power of him, like a planet with a gravitational pull she was powerless to resist. He took her glass and set it on the coffee table before leading her out of the living room.
They ascended the stairs to the second floor where Angel followed him into the master bedroom. The doors were open to the second floor balcony, and the curtains billowed in the breeze, the salty scent of the sea filling the room. A fire had started between her legs, and she was finding it difficult to get the air in and out of her lungs.
She thought he would lead her to the bed, but he headed for the bathroom instead. When they got there, he released her hand and turned on the shower. He looked down at her as the room filled with steam, then snaked his big hands around her neck until he was cupping her face. He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip in a familiar gesture that sent a lick of heat to her center. She opened her mouth, capturing his finger and sucking until his eyes turned dark with desire.
The room was invisible around them, the steam swirling like fog off the water. He bent his head to hers.
“Angel…” He breathed her name just before he covered her lips with his own.
She melted into the familiar contours of his muscled body, molding her softness to every sculpted plane as he fit his mouth to hers, sweeping and exploring like it was the first time he’d tasted her. She opened to him like no time had passed, like there was nothing in the world but the soft, urgent stroke of his tongue stoking the fires of her desire.
He was already hard for her, his cock straining against the fabric of his jeans. There was an answering wetness at her core, and she ran her hands across his chest, down the flat plane of his stomach, over the bulge between his legs. She cupped him through his jeans and felt him grow harder, bigger.
He groaned and stepped away, pulling off her shirt, unhooking her bra, sliding her pants down until she was standing bare before him. He looked at her for a long moment, his breath hitching before he took off his own clothes, revealing his chiseled body in all its perfection.
When they were both naked, he led her into the shower. For a moment, he held her against him, letting the water rush over their bodies. It was a kind of cleansing, a washing away of the outside world and everything that was between them. Then his hands were everywhere, cupping the fullness of her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist as it flared into her hips, lifting her ass until she was pressed against every inch of his rigid manhood.
Their bodies were wet and slippery, the sensation erotic and sensual as his tongue invaded her mouth, his slick hardness a tortuous contrast to the softness of her own body. She ach
ed for him, and the beating between her legs grew to a fever pitch as his satin tip pressed against her belly. She knew exactly how he would feel driving into her, knew that it was the only answer to the question pulsing in her wet heat.
She moved her hands over his chest, pinching his nipples until he gasped, then continued down to his chiseled abs. He was breathing fast, his cock pushing against her stomach by the time she wrapped her fingers around him.
He took her face in his hands. “Why did you have to come back?”
She wasn’t insulted. There was so much pain in the words. She understood him perfectly; they’d gotten used to the torture of being apart. How would they do it now that they had been forced to remember? How could they deny everything they felt, chalk it up to the heat of the moment, to extraordinary circumstances, when the proof was the inferno building between them?
“I don’t know how I stayed away,” she murmured.
He lowered his head, groaning into her mouth while she stroked him. He got bigger and harder, and her own arousal grew as her body begged for him to fill her. Finally he moved her hand away and guided her to the wall of the shower. He took their kiss deeper, his tongue pillaging her mouth in a way that was too reminiscent of the way he took command of her body when he was fucking her. An explosion was building deep inside the folds of her sex, the orgasm teasing her with its promise. He turned her around, placing her hands on the shower wall.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice gruff.
He disappeared, then moved behind her, his tip brushing against her ass.
She pressed back into him, out of her mind with need. There was nothing but him, his hands on her hips, his muscled thighs behind hers as he positioned the head of his shaft at her entrance, his cock poised to push inside her.
“Nico, please… Now…”
She was deep in the abyss of her desire for him, the place where nothing else existed and nothing else matters but feeling him complete her. He leaned over her back, his mouth at her ear.
“Now?”
She rotated her hips against him. “Yes… I can’t… I can’t stand it. I need you.”
Fearless: Mob Boss Book Two (Volume 2) Page 3
