Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

by Catherine Wiltcher

  “I travel when needs must, Mr. Knight.”

  “An interesting turn of phrase… Shall we take this somewhere a little more private?”

  Behind us, a square-jawed A-Lister is arriving at the casino, and he’s making a meal of his entrance with his twenty-person strong entourage.

  “No, this won’t take long. My flight back to New York departs in an hour.” He gestures to a car out front. The back door is open and the engine is idling. I know a getaway car when I see it.

  “I take it Rossi got my postcard from Siena?” I say mildly.

  Rocco chuckles and runs his hand across his jaw. “Yes, we received it. Although the writing got smeared in transit.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “We followed a trail. With Gambino’s links to our organization and so much bad blood between my father and Tommaso Zaccaria we assumed it would be one of his.” He sweeps his gaze over my face and I see a begrudging respect in his eyes. “And we were right. One of his former favorites, too.”

  “I’m not ‘one of his’ anything,” I respond coldly. “I work for everybody, and everybody works for me.”

  “No, Mr. Knight,” he responds dryly. “Your entire empire is built on one thing, and one thing only. Black Skies… The Raven… All these nicknames and really, they’re just the color of your vengeance.”

  This guy is starting to irritate me.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my casino and talking this shit to me?”

  “If you don’t finish what you started, Mr. Knight,” he says, not even flinching, “I fear your empire may crumble.”

  “Not me, I’m indestructible. Gambino, on the other hand—”

  “Was last seen on a security camera in London, fourteen years ago, near the same council estate where your parents lived,” he interrupts tersely. “A day later he vanished into thin air.”

  “What footage?” I’m working hard to keep my expression in neutral.

  “Footage that has only very recently come to light. Until a few weeks ago, those police reports were lost in a vault somewhere underneath Brixton police station. A suspicious mind might assume that they’d been buried on purpose… From those, it was simply a matter of figuring out a motive.”

  “Why the fuck are you telling me this?”

  “It’s a peace offering. My father wishes to know what your intentions are toward him.”

  “Oh, I think he’s guessed already, don’t you?” I flash him a chilling smile. “Care to explain this?” I hold up the business card and I watch his tan skin pale.

  “It was placed in the pizzichera window next to Gambino’s head,” he explains quickly. “We have friends in the Siena’s Carabinieri who were anxious to share their findings with us. Did you leave it there?”

  “No. Is your father a full paid-up member of La Società Villefort?”

  He shakes his head. “He was denied membership a long time ago.”

  I glance sideways at Frankie. This is unexpected. Back in Siena, Gambino had confessed that Mattia Rossi was up to his eyes with the secret society shit.

  “Next, you’ll be denying Gambino was one of yours.”

  Rocco exhales slowly. “He was one of ours until he disappeared from New York fourteen years ago.”

  “Straight to Italy via a short stay in London, as ordered by your father.” My trigger finger is starting to itch again.

  Rocco shakes his head again. “He never gave that order to kill your family.”

  “Bullshit,” I scoff, getting right up in his face. To his credit, he doesn’t back away.

  “A man pleading for his life will say anything to divert the bullet, Mr. Knight. Wouldn’t you agree? When Gambino joined the hit crew on your father, he was already on the run after stealing fifty grand from one of our close associates. The only reason we hadn’t located him yet was because he was under protection from La Società. At the risk of repeating myself, that same protection was revoked a few weeks ago for reasons unknown.”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “Whoever ordered the hit on your parents has nothing to do with the Rossi Famiglia, Mr Knight. My father has sent me here in person to reassure you of that fact.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe what some old Capo has word-vomited over his wild boar ragù?”

  His face tightens. “It’s the truth, and I’d ask you refrain from the insults.”

  Enraged, I flick the business card at his chest and it drops to the ground between us like a dead bullet shell. “Seems we have ourselves a mystery, Rocco. If the 'Ndrangheta didn’t leave this, and I didn’t leave this, then who the hell did?”

  “I suggest you ask Zaccaria.” He eases up the distance between us and glances at his car, acting all edgy suddenly at the mention of his name. “I’m assuming he’s the one who told you about Gambino in the first place?”

  I shrug, my hand straying to the loaded weapon tucked into my back waistband. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because Zaccaria will always be the man holding the smoking gun at the end, but I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve worked for him for nearly half your life.”

  “Tell me about the war between him and Rossi,” I demand, ignoring his veiled provocation. “Who cried first over their spilt Aperol?”

  Rocco grimaces and slides his hands back into his pockets. “That’s another question for your Capo Dei Capi.” He switches his gaze to Frankie. “I hope you’re taking notes.”

  Frankie’s resultant growl has me slapping my hand across his chest. “Careful Rocco,” I murmur. “I have a trained Rottweiler and I’m not afraid to use him.”

  “Then I apologize,” he says swiftly. “I am not here to make waves. I am here to smooth oceans.”

  “Oceans calm enough to sail into the sunset? I know your father’s about to run, Rocco.” I watch him recoil in surprise. “Don’t try and deny it. We’ve seen the offshore bank accounts.”

  “My family’s intentions have no bearing on you and your vengeance,” he bites back, his composure slipping.

  “Is he scared of Zaccaria?”

  “Everyone is scared of Zaccaria. And you should be, too.” He tidies his expression with difficulty and re-extends his hand. “I have a plane to catch, Mr. Knight. I wish you every fortune in finding your parents’ killers.”

  “I want those London police files,” I say, gripping his hand so tight he winces.

  “You’ll have them in the next hour. However, I should warn you there’s nothing in them to identify who Gambino’s co-conspirator was that night. The man is still under the protection of La Società Villefort.”

  No pre-empting Zaccaria, then… Karina Dubova is still a caveat in our agreement, albeit a dying one. We need to find her, and fast.

  I follow him to the doors to see him out.

  “Don’t trust him,” he says, stopping suddenly.

  “Who?”

  “Zaccaria.”

  “Why?”

  “This Riviera deal with the Russians he has going on out here. Ask yourself why a man like that would want to share the wealth.”

  “When I want an opinion, Rossi, I’ll pay a whore to keep the silence.”

  “Then it’s your funeral,” he mutters, resuming his walk to the car, but once he reaches it, he’s turning and frowning in my direction again, looking like a man on the cusp of enlightenment.

  He opens his mouth to say something, then the scream of an engine fills the night. I see the glint of the gun through the open window before Rocco does.

  “Get down!” I roar, reaching for my own gun, but it’s too late. The black sedan is already level with us and five well-placed bullets are ripping the Italian’s body apart.

  He hits the ground as I fire my first into the fleeing car, taking out the back windshield. It’s not enough to break the pace. My second and third just put scratches in the paintwork. Frankie takes over, but by then the sedan is nearly at the end of the driveway.

  “Wh
y the fuck aren’t the gates shut?” I bellow at him, but he’s already sprinting after it.

  By the time I reach Rocco Rossi’s side he’s dead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Issa

  I’m busy ransacking Aiden’s desk drawer when the first shots ring out.

  Slamming it shut again, I kick off my heels and rush to the window. The gaming floor below is a spectacle of well-heeled hysteria. White-shirted casino employees are frantically waving their arms around and urging everyone toward the back exit and away from the front lobby.

  Aiden.

  Where the hell is Aiden?

  Yanking the door open, I go careering into a tall wall of unfriendly muscle.

  “Let me past!” I gasp at the security guard.

  “Sorry, can’t do that.” Strong arms wrap around me and usher me backward into the office. “I have my orders, Madame Knight.” He delivers his words with a grim smile, a shaky French accent and an extra firm push.

  “Please, I need to…” I trail off when I see Aiden vaulting up the stairs behind him with a gun in his hand and a dark expression on his face.

  The relief I feel is overwhelming. The more he slithers into my heart like this, the sharper the parting glass will be.

  I glance down at his hands. They’re covered in crimson paint.

  Not paint.

  “Let me through,” he orders, and his man steps sideways.

  “Aiden? What’s happened?”

  “Fun time’s over. We’re leaving.” He grabs my hand and drags me out into the hallway with him. He’s clearly not in a reassuring state of mind. “Get the hell out of here too, Louis,” he adds over his shoulder. “The cops will be crawling all over this place in less than five minutes.”

  “My shoes,” I cry, realizing I’m still barefoot.

  “Leave them.” He picks up the pace, and I break into a jog to keep up.

  “Aiden, you’re scaring me.”

  At this, he stops dead—dragging me into his arms and slamming a furious kiss down on my lips. “Thank God you stayed in my office and didn’t defy me,” he mutters. “I want you in my way, not harm’s way. You got that, halfway?”

  Halfway?

  With that bombshell of a declaration, he’s ushering me down the stairs.

  “I need to get you out of here.”

  “Whose blood is that? Is that Frankie’s?”

  “No. It was a warning, a pretty effective one at that. We’re getting too close to the truth.”

  It’s like he’s speaking the words to himself, not me.

  “What truth?”

  “My truth.”

  Panic floods my body. What secrets are you hiding, Aiden? Are they even worse than mine?

  We’ve reached the lobby and it’s swarming with his men. There’s an arc of bullet holes sullying the casino’s glass facade, and the usual shoot-out debris of broken glass and discarded belongings are scattered all over the white marble floor. Outside, there’s a car with blown-out windows and a man’s body lying, facedown, in a pool of blood. Frankie’s on his cell nearby, pacing up and down, not looking his usual stoic, laid-back self.

  “Is he dead?” I say quietly.

  “Permanently sleeping.” He throws a heavy arm around my shoulders and leads me out of the front entrance, tucking me to his side to shield my view from the corpse. My head only comes up to his shoulders, making me feel like a whisper of an afterthought, but the darkest of plans lurk in the smallest of places. “Can you drive a stick shift?” he demands suddenly.

  “Yes.” I bury my face into his powerful scent. Musk. Sweat. Him.

  “More’s the pity.” He leads me over to his Maserati. “Frankie,” he hollers out. “Keys.” A flash of silver comes sailing through the air at us and he catches them easily. Opening the driver’s door, he presses them into my hand, and then tugs me into his arms again. “Keep to the speed limits,” he orders, imprinting more warmth and scent onto me. “Don’t crash it. I’ll meet you back at The Cristo.”

  “The Cristo?” I say, frowning up at him.

  “It’s the name of my yacht. The route is already programmed into the GPS. Now go.” In the distance I can hear the wailing of police cars. He guides me into the driver’s seat, before leaning over to switch the ignition on. “Clutch down, baby.”

  “Did you kill that man?” I say, grabbing hold of the front of his sweater.

  “No,” he says calmly, prising off my fingers, one by one. “But I’ll consider killing you if you’re not pressing that accelerator pedal in the next five seconds.”

  “If you stay, will you be arrested?”

  He chucks my chin, his eyes glinting with amusement. “The cops can’t touch me, but I need to stick around and clean up the mess. I want you gone in case the shooter comes back for round two.” With that, he rears back and slams the door. “Go!”

  Men like him don’t pay for their sins. They use them as currency. I jam my foot down and fly down the driveway. I’ve barely traveled a hundred meters on the main road when a cavalry of red and blue comes screaming past me in the opposite direction.

  Unsure of the route to Port Hercule, I pull over into an empty gas station and bring up the GSP like he told me to. My fingers are shaking so badly I can’t press the ‘home’ button. A couple of attempts later, I’m tapping into ‘saved destinations’ and I’m ready to go.

  Dropping my hand to the hand break, I notice a bright light flashing up in the coin pocket underneath the screen. Intrigued, I lean in closer. It’s Aiden’s cell. He must have left it here earlier. Neither of us was in a fit state to remember our senses, let alone our personal effects. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him.

  Still want him.

  Still feel him.

  Still smell him.

  The screen keeps lighting up as new messages appear. I glance at the top one before the screen starts to fade. It’s written in part English part Italian, but I’m fluent in both.

  O: Has The Raven consumed his little bird yet?

  The passing traffic fades to white noise as I scramble to make meanings from the words. The Raven is Aiden, but that would mean—

  O: Two days, and counting.

  What happens in two days? Is the little bird me? Who is ‘O’?

  “We’re getting closer to the truth.”

  “My truth.”

  This night is an emotional gauntlet, and it’s not even nine p.m. yet.

  Pointing the car at the gas station’s exit, I make my way through the pretty streets of Monte Carlo toward the Port Hercule. Strips of orange streetlight keep flashing across my face like the bars of a prison cell, trapping me inside my head with my thoughts. I’m going over and over the messages in my mind—picking apart, fretting, interpreting...

  Felix and another of Aiden’s deck crew are waiting for me on the quayside. He steps forward to open my door. “Mrs. Knight,” he says silkily, looking as composed as always. “Follow me. Philipe will take care of the car.”

  A blue pashmina is tucked around my shoulders as I’m led up onto the yacht. I glance up at the portside bow as I cross the gangplank.

  That name.

  So black. So bold.

  How did I not notice it before?

  It’s a sixty-foot Easter Egg for the man I married three days ago. I know Aiden was trying to share something with me earlier. It’s something drowning in his lake of melancholy that he wants to dive down and rescue. I rack my brains to remember the ebb and flow of our conversation, but there’s nothing except the feel of his arms and the taste of his lips…

  “This way, madame,” I hear Felix say as we enter my cabin. “You’re shivering. Let’s pick you out something warmer to wear.”

  He ushers me toward the walk-on closet and stands aside to let me enter. I don’t register his overfamiliarity until he’s slamming the closet door and advancing on me with his cool expression curled up into a vicious snarl.

  “What the fuck happened in the casino tonight?”

&
nbsp; “W-what?” I stagger backward in shock, my shoulder colliding with a rail of dresses.

  “Don’t lie to me, Ielena.” Why is he using my first name? He grabs my arm and twists it, the pain registering as sharp and threatening. “I’ve been working this case for two years… Two fucking years as an undercover agent for Interpol, nailing Knight for money laundering, and then you appear on the scene like some wrecking-ball ninja. You’re about to side-kick everything we’ve worked for out of this yacht’s port holes.”

  Interpol? The International Criminal Police Organization?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I wrench my arm away with a wince.

  “Don’t play dumb with me.” His usual meek and compliant act has gone. He looks like a man on the edge. “You know exactly what the deal is between Zaccaria and Dubov. You were sold like meat off the back of it. Now, tell me about tonight!”

  “Some guy was shot dead outside the casino,” I gasp out. “I don’t know any details. I think it was a drive-by.”

  “Did Knight order the hit?”

  “He swore he didn’t.” The fog of shock starts to clear. “You’re the guy Maxim told me about. You planted the cell phones in my room. You soundproofed this closet.” I glance around the small space and realize he’s blocking the only exit.

  “Maxim Lebedev should learn to keep his big mouth shut.” He grabs my arm again and gives me a brutal shake, my exhausted body reacting with a silent scream like an Edvard Munch painting. “I was doing MI6 a favor planting those cells, but I’m not liking what I’m getting in return. I’ve risked everything to bring Knight down. My life, my job, my family… That Riviera deal between the Semion and the Cosa Nostra needs to be signed off in two days’ time, and you’re going to make sure it happens.”

  “Get the hell off me!” I wrench my arm away from him for a second time. “I have no intention of sabotaging that deal. If you know who I am, then you’ll know why I’m here. You know what I have to do, and my reasons for doing it.”

  “You’re wrecking it anyway, whether you realize it or not. Daddy left his Bratva claw marks behind on your precious skin and Knight doesn't like it when people play rough with his toys.” His upper lip curls in disgust. “You should have seen him when the doctor was here the other day. Mouthing off like he actually gave a shit about you. He’s more likely to put a bullet in your father’s head than let him sit down with Zaccaria now.”