Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

by Catherine Wiltcher

  When the Riviera deal was first mooted four weeks ago, we knew we had to get Karina out of Paris as soon as possible. Her illness was a secret we couldn’t hide any longer, and there was no guarantee Luca Zaccaria would have provided her with the treatment she needed. I knew he was a bastard with a bad reputation even before Aiden confirmed my suspicions. He would have let her die in agony.

  In the end, Maxim cut a deal against his nature, in exchange for information that only someone close to the La Famiglia could get.

  “They called an hour ago.” His words are gruff, distracted... He’s still struggling to get a handle on his anger. “They’ve confirmed that the donor at the hospital is a match.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Have they given her a date for the operation?”

  “Tomorrow, all being well. They still need to run some final tests.” There’s a pause. “She’s going to get through this, Issa. She’s strong, like you. As soon as she’s well enough…”

  “I know.” I say it calmly and slowly in an attempt to reassure us both.

  “How are things there? Is he treating you well?”

  “Why is my cabin bugged?” I interrupt suddenly, a bitter chill washing over me. “You don’t think—?”

  “Knight is a naturally suspicious man, zvezda moya. He doesn't let anyone in. He’s watching your every move to ascertain if he can trust you. Earn that trust, Issa. It’ll lead us back to Karina.”

  But at what price?

  “Have you heard him mention someone called Mattia Rossi?”

  “Not Rossi...” I drag my mind back to last night. “I was introduced to a man called Rick Sanders…”

  “No, not the senator. He’s affiliated with the Santiago Cartel in Colombia. Mattia Rossi is the head of a New York mafia outfit. They think he’s a key player in La Società Villefort.”

  “What do they need me to do? Ask Aiden about him?”

  “No. They want you in on this deal meeting with Zaccaria, Knight and your father at the end of the week. They need you to wear a wire. It’s the only opportunity we’ll have to slip a tracking device on Zaccaria, as well. They can’t touch him in Sicily. His protection is too great. It’s one of the reasons he rarely leaves Italy.”

  My heart sinks as the impossible drops a couple of levels. “How, Maxim?” I say helplessly.

  “They’ll inform us nearer the time. Meanwhile, your father has a drink planned with Knight tomorrow.”

  “I know. Aiden told me.”

  “We may need an ‘in’ on that, as well. I’m awaiting confirmation.”

  The thought of seeing my father again brings tears to my eyes. The narrow closet starts to feel like a tomb. “I can’t,” I whisper.

  “You must. Think of Karina. Think of our new life.” He sighs heavily, as if the Judgement of Paris is bearing down upon him, too. “How do I stop myself from ripping your father apart after what he did to you?”

  “Fake it,” I urge. “Fake it like I’m faking it. For my sake... For Karina’s…”

  But even as I say it, I know I’m a liar. Whatever this thing is with Aiden, it transformed into something dangerously real last night. I push that thought from my mind.

  “How did you get the burner cells into my cabin?”

  “There’s an undercover agent working in Knight’s crew. He’s keeping an eye on you, Issa. He won’t let Knight get too rough.”

  “Aiden won’t get rough,” I clarify quickly.

  “You don’t know him like I do. If things go south, he'll take you down with him. There’s more blood on his hands than your father’s.” He stops and sighs again. “As much as it hurts me to say this, I need you to continue what you’re doing. It’s working. You’ve caught his attention. You’re the best chance we have.”

  I can feel the weight of expectation crushing my shoulders. Please don't hang all of our hopes on me.

  “I’m meeting with our handler again today. Do you have a message for Karina?”

  “Tell her that I love her.” My voice cracks. “Tell her to be strong. Tell her that one day I’ll be sitting with her on that veranda, painting her portrait instead of a silly fantasy in my head.”

  It’s only after I hang up that I allow myself to disintegrate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Issa

  I can't relax in my cabin after learning about Aiden’s surveillance. Is it audio? Visual? I keep seeing imaginary camera live red dots in dark corners. In the end I rip out all the pages of quaint English cottages from my sketchbook and stuff them into the wastepaper basket before taking my paranoia outside.

  Karina’s operation is weighing heavily on my mind. I know how much of a big deal it is—her whole life is hanging in the balance—so I do what I always do when the walls of my life are closing in on me: I sketch memories from the past to create a cocoon of comfort.

  My first picture is of two young teenage sisters racing their ponies bareback in the heat of the Paris sun. Once done, I flip the page over to capture a bid for adventure that same summer, and how it led us to the old lake on the edge of our father’s estate. I draw the flecks of sunshine that pierced the water and dappled the ground beneath the trees. I add the sad branches of a weeping willow hovering just above the surface. My toes start to tingle when I remember how the cold water felt on my skin as we kicked and splashed and laughed while our ponies stood patiently in the shade of an old oak, whisking flies away with their tails. My nose is filled with the phantom scents of damp river earth, ponies and the exotic spice of the nearby meadow.

  I draw pages and pages of happiness as the sun tumbles into the Mediterranean, detonating on impact with rose-gold debris. The sunsets are spectacular on the Riviera and I’m momentarily distracted before I start to draw what I know will be the last thing Karina thinks about when the anesthetic is administered. Running my finger lightly over the finished picture, I whisper promises to the wind to keep her safe from harm. I’m learning to be brave from her, as only the sick and dying can teach.

  When I look down a couple of minutes later, I’m shocked to see that I’m standing on the bow of the yacht, with the sea breeze moulding Aiden’s black shirt to my body, my fingers curled tightly around the stainless-steel handrail, and my loose hair fanning out behind me. The sunset must be weaving her dark spells because the water doesn’t seem to be scaring me right now. I’m having one of those rare ‘anything is possible’ moments, with my lungs so full of salty sea air that I feel like I’m choking on life itself.

  “If you jump, you’re drowning alone,” clips a voice. “I’m not wrecking this Tom Ford for some stupid Di Caprio stunt move.”

  Aiden is standing in the doorway of the saloon in his usual devastating attire of black shirt and black suit, looking like the tall drink of Devil and God that I’m craving more than anything right now. The sunset’s hellfire is lighting up his dark hair. His eyes are the darkest shades of blue.

  He moves toward me, cat-like, as I silently will him closer. I’m frightened. I’m lost. He’s wrong. He’s right. Two days ago, I believed that a dress would make me feel alive. Now, I need something else…something more tangible. Something only he can offer.

  I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be.

  The worst kinds of things…

  The best.

  “Kiss me,” I blurt out, not recognizing the neediness in my voice. Ignoring everything he is and everything I am. Pushing it so far from my mind, it’s lost to the ocean. “Kiss me like you did on our wedding day, Aiden. Without asking questions, or drenching me in scorn.” Make me feel desired, even if it’s the stupidest decision I’ll ever make.

  He stops dead and eyes me suspiciously. “Are you drunk?”

  I bite my lip and shake my head.

  “Good, because I don't kiss, suck or fuck compromised women.”

  A beat later, his palms are gripping the sides of my jaw and his fingers are digging into my hair. I see a flash of hunger, the smirk of a conquering predator, and then his warm lips are crashing
into mine. My arms tangle around his neck as a forceful tongue drives between my lips and lays waste to my mouth in slow, dominant sweeps. “Mine.” He groans it into the kiss, and I swallow down every drop of his possession like it’s my favorite poison.

  Madness… Harmony… I must be drunk on his whiskey breath again. His hands drop to my ass, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist, and then I’m being laid down on the cream couch by the Jacuzzi, the leather chilling the backs of my thighs as the warmth of his body hovers over me, but never close enough to touch my scars.

  This is escalating fast.

  I could tell myself a thousand lies about why I’m under him right now, but the truth is baser:

  I want him.

  I want this beautiful, complicated, vicious bastard of a man.

  I want his corruption and I want his sin, and I want him to grind it all into me, making me forget that I’m just as bad as he is.

  “I should be late home more often,” he murmurs as his mouth moves to the hollow of my neck.

  I moan when I feel him next on my jawline, another stab of desire coursing through me and pooling in the place I want him to defile the most. Unhooking my legs from his waist, he kneels on the deck between them and pushes my thighs apart.

  “Wait.” Seeds of embarrassment have my hands shooting down to cover myself.

  “No.” He catches them, and pins them roughly above my head. “You coming to me like this, you wanting this, you consenting to this, is the only fucking decision you get to make around here. If I want you spread, Ielena, you arch your back for me and you show me everything. Do you understand?” He lets go, and a second later there’s a sharp tug across my pelvis as my white lace underwear is ripped away. “Keep your hands where they are or I’ll flip you over and take your ass first.”

  “I don’t… I’ve never…” I trail off breathlessly.

  “Relax,” he croons, switching tack. “I’m warming you up tonight. I’m not giving you my cock until you’re ready for it.” Our gazes catch as he removes his jacket and loosens his top button. Our eyes are still holding as he dips his head between my legs, spreading my lips wide and blowing on my clit.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Like that, do you?”

  He does it again and the sweetest ache has me whimpering out his name.

  “Ielena, I’m going to break you in so easy, you’ll be begging me to fill you up.”

  The lust in his voice has me throbbing and squirming. This is so much more than just being alive. It’s emotions and connections, screaming nerve endings and wild impulsions. My cheeks explode with heat as his drives a hard lick straight through my center, before wrapping those wicked lips around my clit as his finger starts to massage my entrance.

  The end of my innocence is wild and frantic. He circles and nips, his teeth dragging me closer and closer to the edge as his stubble grazes the most sensitive parts of me. I start to thrust, demanding more and more friction from his finger.

  “Did you ever make yourself come late at night, princess?” he croons. “All alone in your empty Parisian palace?”

  “Once.” I shut my eyes as the intensity of the feeling steals my breath away.

  “Was it good?”

  I moan in response.

  “Did you lift your hips to ride the waves over some college boy who wears a tweed hunting jacket on the weekend?”

  “No,” I croak.

  “No?” He lifts his head to glare at me, his mouth glistening with my arousal, his ceruleans cool and demanding.

  “I thought of you,” I gasp out. “That day we first met.”

  Demanding switches to pure satisfaction. “Tell me more.”

  “Naked,” I moan as he fucks me with his tongue, tipping my head back and shutting my eyes again. “On all fours. On my bed.”

  He growls his approval. “Did you come all over your fingers for me, Ileana?

  “Yes!”

  “Did you scream my name into the pillow?

  “Yes!”

  “Was it nice?”

  The best.

  “Spoiler alert,” he snarls suddenly. “The real thing isn’t ‘nice’. I’m about to cause a fucking tsunami in your pussy.” With that, he drives his fingers so deep inside that even the roar of the waves can’t muffle my cries. There’s no pain though, just more of that thrilling, rapacious need. “Shit,” I hear him hiss. “So fucking pure and tight…” He plugs his next words by rearing up and stealing a kiss from my lips, his finger still moving inside me.

  “More,” I beg, lifting my hips so he slides in even deeper.

  In response, he slams his palm across my mouth. “What did I tell you about giving me orders? Now I’m really going to make you scream.”

  With one elbow by my head and a knee wedged between my legs, he leans over me like the severest shadow as he pumps mercilessly in and out of my body. The wet sounds of his finger-fucking is spicing up the early evening stillness. The inside of my thighs… The leather beneath my ass… It’s all dripping with the results of his expert manipulation.

  He forces a second finger in and the world goes white. It’s not a tsunami. It’s an earthquake. It’s me, gasping and clutching at a wrist that doesn’t let up until I’m crashing back down to earth.

  “Fuck,” I hear him mutter, withdrawing his fingers slowly as I race to catch my breath. He trails them up to my lower stomach. There, he spells out that same word he growled into my mouth earlier, but this time with my wetness—with the sea breeze icing it into my skin.

  Mine.

  Afterward, he sinks back down to his knees, his blue eyes glittering with triumph as he pulls down the tails of my borrowed shirt to cover up my immodesty. “I need a cold shower.” He drops another kiss on my lips. “Better still, I need a swim.”

  I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he stands to strip, kicking off his shoes and socks and tearing at the buttons of his own shirt to reveal a scene-stealing torso that dips and grooves with muscle in all the right places. Sometime in the last half an hour, soft circular lights around the edges of the deck and the Jacuzzi have sparked to life. The glow is deepening his golden skin to a dark amber hue.

  Tossing his shirt at his feet, I catch a glimpse of a jagged trail of dark chest hair as he turns toward the ocean, his fingers reaching for his belt buckle. Striding over to a gap in the handrail, he drops his black pants and black boxers, and then dives headfirst into the water in a perfect arc of machismo.

  “Aiden!” I cry, rushing over to see his body disappearing into the water. These are the last moments of the sunset, and the choppy waves are like the dying licks of flames.

  Seconds drag and I start to panic. I’m looking around for a life preserver or ring when a dark head bursts through the surface again. Slicing through the waves in great, powerful strokes, he reaches the swim platform at the back of his yacht in seconds where a member of his deck crew is already waiting for him with a white towel. Wrapping it around his lower body, he climbs the steps to the main deck to rejoin me, slaking water droplets from his dark hair as he goes.

  I can’t tear my eyes away. There are no two, three, or even a dozen colors I could mix together to replicate the golden lines of his skin, or the same savage blue in his gaze. He’s his very own masterpiece, and he knows it, too.

  “Enjoying the show?” He shoots me a crooked grin as he makes his way toward the saloon, smelling of salty water and thigh-clenching musk. “Dinner’s in half an hour. I picked up a few things for you in town earlier.” His voice follows him inside, sounding like a threat and a caress, and a lo-fi beacon flashing in the darkness. “I left them in your cabin.

  “Aiden.”

  “Get dressed.”

  “Where should I go? I don’t really know this yacht yet. I haven’t come across a dining room…”

  “The same place you always go, Ielena,” he says, re-appearing in the doorway with a whiskey and a grin. “Middle deck. Sky lounge. Between your cabin and mine.” He takes a long swig a
nd undresses me with his gaze. “In other words, you’ll meet me halfway, as usual.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aiden

  I don’t believe in karma.

  If I did, there’d be some serious recompense on my part. Point me in the direction of a confessional and I wouldn’t be out of that wooden box for a week. Maybe that’s why I hated living in Italy for all those years. The Catholics are so full of guilt they built a church on every block. It’s tougher to dodge salvation when it’s offered up like a whore’s mouth.

  I started doubting my views when my wife came so damn hard I felt her muscles clenching. I figured I must have been paying some kind of due for not allowing myself to climb inside her virgin pussy when it was offered up so sweetly.

  The ocean swim isn’t enough. My cock is still a misguided missile. Stepping into the shower in my en suite, I’m barely under the punishing jets of water before I’m taking the matter into my own hand. I pump hard and fast, tasting black cherries, imagining her soft body trembling beneath me, remembering the way her lips parted as she lost control of that good girl poise. Before long, I’m groaning in relief as pleasure shoots up and down my spine and thick ropes of cum are hitting the white and gray marble tiles in front of me.

  “Shit,” I breathe, slamming my palms down on either side of it, feeling a rush like no other, needing to go again because I’m not even partway satisfied yet. This woman is going to be the death of me.

  My cell phone is ringing when I step back into the cabin.

  “What is it, Frankie?” Moving over to the desk, I flick up the lid of my laptop and check the security feed on Ielena’s room. It’s a ritual I seem to be doing a million times a day. I watch her fall upon the three dresses I left for her on the bed, and I can tell by the wide smile on her face that she recognizes the designs. She won’t take my money, but she’ll take a loan on Eloise Dubois’ threads. She’ll have to work another couple of weeks to pay them off, but something tells me she’ll be okay with that.