Collateral

by Natasha Knight

  Millie smiles. “I know she’ll love that, Stefan.”

  I nod. “Thank you, Millie.” I turn to walk away but stop. “Oh, has she been in the library?” I realized the door was unlocked and guess it was Millie who’d innocently let her in, not thinking about the phone.

  “Yes. She sits there when it’s too hot outside and reads. I hope that was okay. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “It’s not a problem.” I know she’s not reading in there but calling her brother and that’s fine. I think I may even have a solution for the problem Marchese created. But that will take some doing.

  Millie heads upstairs and I make my way to the study, dialing Matt on my way.

  “Stefan, thanks for calling me back.”

  “What do you have?”

  “I finally got my hands on the coroner’s report, which listed accidental drowning as the cause of death.”

  “M-hmm.”

  “I’ve read my share of these and although I’m not an expert, I think I have a pretty good understanding.”

  “Go on.”

  “During Maria Marchese’s autopsy, bruising was noted on the report that, even to a person of limited understanding, should have suggested a different conclusion than accidental drowning.”

  “What kind of bruising?”

  “Marks on her wrists. Rope burns.”

  I’ve seen rope burns. They’re raw and obvious. “How were they explained?”

  “They weren’t. The notation was made by a police officer at the scene. No one followed up. And there’s one other piece of evidence that no one really knew about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She wasn’t the only person who drowned in the lake that day.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Her bodyguard, his body was found on the opposite shore. Accidental drowning. And from what I gather, the two were close.”

  “They were having an affair?”

  “That’d be my guess. They took the kids on a camping trip, just the four of them. Who knows, maybe she was even going to take them and run.”

  “Thank you, Matt. You’ve done well.”

  “You always offer a challenge, Stefan.”

  “I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

  I disconnect the call, pour myself a whiskey and sit down. I think about what I’ve just learned and wonder about what Gabriela said. About the drowning. If I would drown her too.

  Is it possible she witnessed her mother’s murder? Because I have no doubt it was just that. Murder.

  Once I finish my whiskey, I head upstairs to shower, change into a pair of jeans, a black V-neck T-shirt and a jacket. I then knock on Gabriela’s door.

  “Come in, Miss Millie,” she calls out.

  I walk in, surprising her because she gasps upon seeing me and closes her arms over her breasts. Which is odd since she’s dressed but I see a moment later, it’s because the dress isn’t zipped. I wonder if she couldn’t reach it and was waiting for Millie to help her.

  “I said come in Miss Millie,” she says.

  “Aren’t you glad I knocked at all?”

  “I’m not ready. You can wait outside.”

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Turn around,” I say, walking toward her. Apart from the zipper, she looks ready to me.

  “I can do it,” she says.

  “No, you can’t, or you’d have done it by now. Turn.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve already seen you naked, remember?”

  “When you undressed me while I was incapacitated.”

  “Yes. When I undressed you because you couldn’t undress yourself because you were drunk.”

  She gives me a glare, but her face turns a pretty shade of pink.

  “Turn around, Gabriela.”

  She turns.

  I look at her, at the exposed expanse of flawless skin. Flawless but for those marks I know are hidden by the silky material of the dress.

  The straps of the dress are thin, spaghetti straps. The patterned deep blue falls to just above her knees.

  When I look up, I meet her gaze in the mirror. She’s unblinking. On alert.

  I’m not an inexperienced man, but there’s something about this petulant, defiant girl, my unwilling bride-to-be because when I shift my gaze down again, down to the naked skin of her back, to the curve of her spine and swell of her hips, my cock stirs.

  I reach out, touch the silk, push it wider so I see more of her.

  “What—”

  “Don’t move.”

  I run my knuckles softly over her warm skin, feel the goosebumps rise as I trail my hand down, then up again, fingertips light along each vertebra. When I reach her hair, I lift the mass of it, feel the weight as I set it over her shoulder. It’s not long, it was once, but it’s not anymore. Just a little past her shoulders. But still, to see it like this, the dark, sleek mass soft over one shoulder, her back more fully exposed, it awakens something inside me. A thing that wants to claim. To mark as my own.

  I lean down, bring my mouth to the curve of her neck and meet her eyes as I kiss it.

  Her breathing is shallow, and she watches me as I run the scruff of my jaw along the line of her shoulder then back. She shudders and I inhale her scent, kiss the curve again, opening my mouth this time to taste her, to bite, just a little. To hear her breath catch as she gasps and to watch her eyes darken as the pupils dilate.

  I run my fingers down the length of her arms, lightly circle her wrists because she’s going to fight me in a minute.

  “You said something the other night, Gabriela. Something about putting my mark on you.”

  I was right. She tries to pull free but I tighten my hold on her.

  “Let me go, Stefan.”

  “No.”

  “Please, just—”

  “You were right. Your body is mine. But thing is, I want the rest too. Your mind. Your past. Your secrets. Your soul. I’ll take it all. And in exchange you’ll have my protection. I won’t harm you, Gabriela. You’re safe with me. But you do belong to me and you will behave.”

  I release her wrists but remain close. Taking hold of the dress, I zip her, all the while keeping my eyes locked on hers.

  When I’m finished, I step back.

  She spins to face me. And she looks livid.

  “I’ve never been one to do as I’m told, Stefan. Just ask my father.”

  “I love a challenge, sweetheart.” I step backward, check my watch. “Where are your shoes?”

  She points to the high-heeled sandals on the floor beside the bed.

  “Case in point, you’re already obedient.” I’m referring to the flip-flop situation of the first night.

  “You’re a dick.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Shocker.”

  I can’t help my smile.

  She sits on the bed and slides on her shoes. It’s when she’s bent and her bangs shift that I notice the bruise there.

  “What happened to your forehead?”

  As soon as I say it, she stiffens. She’s quick to fix her hair to cover the spot.

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing.” I go to her, brush the hair to one side to find a cut about an inch long. The skin around it is bluish and there’s a small bump.

  “Leave it alone,” she says, trying to pull away. “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re a bad liar. That’s a good thing, actually.”

  “I bet you’re a great liar,” she counters.

  I smile wide and press on the bruise harder than I need to. She sucks in a breath, wincing.

  “What happened, little liar? How did you get this?”

  “I tripped coming out of the tub.”

  I watch her.

  “That’s all,” she continues.

  “When?”

  “Last night.” She doesn’t quite look at me.

  I don’t know why she’d lie about something like this.

 

“Well, be more careful. That’s two accidents in the same number of days.”

  “Maybe it’s this house. Or you. Maybe being around you is dangerous for me.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  I don’t think she expects that response from me because she’s quiet for a long moment.

  “How’s your hand?” she finally asks.

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t mean to… I never intended on what happened to happen.”

  “I know that.” I hold out my good hand, palm up. “Ready?”

  She looks at it distrustfully. “Why are you taking me out?”

  “Date night,” I say with a wink.

  “Who’s the liar now?” she asks, placing her hand inside mine and letting me help her to her feet.

  25

  Gabriela

  Stefan drives but we’re followed by two SUVs with two soldiers in each. His is a sleek black Bugatti, the only vehicle that’s not an SUV.

  “Do you always have to have body guards?” I ask.

  He shifts gears smoothly, maneuvering the car expertly if not a little too fast out of the gated property and onto the street. He glances at me before shifting his gaze to check the mirror as we merge into traffic.

  “I have enemies who wouldn’t mind seeing me dead.”

  “Besides my father?”

  He looks at me, smiles and I can see the dimple on his cheek when he does. “Yes. We were once a very powerful family, then came our decline when Antonio betrayed my father and my father was ultimately killed because of that. Actually, they were both killed because of that. But over the last few years, I’ve managed to rebuild the Sabbioni family almost to what it once was and it’s only the beginning. But I’ve made enemies.”

  “Why did your brother turn against your father?”

  His jaw sets and he keeps his gaze out the front windshield. “That’s a very ugly story that involves your father.” He finally looks at me. “I won’t stain what affection you have for him with that one.”

  “I’m not sure you can tell me anything that would surprise me.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “And I have no affection that you could stain.”

  “No matter what, he’s your father.”

  “He’s a monster.”

  We pull into the city and one of the SUVs in our entourage pulls up to pass Stefan. I watch as we follow him, and the other SUV follows us.

  They’re experienced at this. It’s a smooth ride as we drive up to a house on a dark street outside the center and a garage door is opened. Stefan pulls in, parks the Bugatti. He kills the engine and steps out.

  I step out on my side and watch as he talks to the driver of one of the other cars who meets him at the edge of the garage. They discuss something too quietly for me to hear before Stefan turns to me.

  “Come.”

  He gestures to the SUV where the man he was just talking to opens the back door. The driver is still inside with the engine running and the second SUV is idling at the end of the street.

  I get in and slide over to the other side as Stefan climbs in beside me. It feels strangely intimate, this small act. Almost more so than what happened in the bedroom. I don’t know why I think this, but I watch him as the door closes and he takes in the surroundings, the dark night.

  When his eyes find mine, he gives me an almost reassuring nod.

  I turn away, unsure why I’m looking at him like this. I hate him. He’s my enemy.

  The ring on my finger weighs heavy and I twist it in a circle as we pull out, a new SUV drives out ahead of us, blinking its lights once as we turn the corner.

  “This is a production,” I say, realizing they’re part of Stefan’s security team.

  “A necessary one,” he answers.

  Palermo is a busy city with a lot of tourists and mostly a walking town. It’s old, and beautiful.

  “I’ve never been south of Rome,” I say. Even though we’ve spent summers here for as long as I can remember, my father isn’t a fan of anything farther south than Rome. In fact, he detests it. Especially Sicily.

  “You’ve missed out,” Stefan says.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as the driver veers to the right and toward an obviously less traveled road.

  He leans toward his window. “See the lights up there?” he asks.

  I lean toward him to look up. “Yes.”

  “There’s a little-known restaurant, well, little known to tourists. They don’t venture up this far and certainly not on foot. It’s local food at its best. Simple and delicious. And one of the few places I can relax.”

  That last part strikes me and when I shift my gaze to his, I realize how close I’m leaning.

  I clear my throat and inch farther.

  “And you get a beautiful view of the city from up there.”

  It takes another ten minutes of driving on a single lane, unpaved road that snakes in tight curves. I think I could get carsick here but before that happens, we arrive and I’m climbing out into the fresh night air which is cooler than I expect up here.

  “I should have brought a sweater,” I say absently, hugging my arms to myself.

  Stefan takes off his jacket. “Here.” He puts it around my shoulders before I can protest and it’s warm and I smell him on it, and I find I don’t want to protest.

  “Thank you.”

  He nods as we step up onto a platform where colored lights are strung. I can see more of them around the back. The steady sound of quiet conversation flows from the back and I guess seating is outside if I look at the size of the building.

  The glass door opens from the inside and an older man comes out with a big smile on his face, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “Stefan!” he exclaims, hugging Stefan who hugs him back.

  They exchange greetings in Italian, and I get the feeling they know each other well.

  Stefan turns to me and introduces me as his fiancée.

  The man gives me an approving nod but doesn’t shake my offered hand.

  When I glance at Stefan, I find him watching.

  I drop my hand to my side.

  We’re led through the small building and I’m right. All the seating is outside because the inside is a kitchen and the food smells amazing. Our table is at the very back corner and I take the seat the man pulls out for me as Stefan takes the one across from mine.

  The man leaves, telling us he’ll bring some drinks and an appetizer.

  “Why didn’t he shake my hand?” I ask.

  “He showed respect.”

  “Respect? I think that was a lack of respect. Is it because I’m a woman?”

  “Relax, Gabriela. This is Sicily and Lorenzo is in his eighties.”

  Lorenzo returns with a bottle of wine and sets a plate of appetizers on the table between us.

  Stefan smiles wide, thanks the man and nods his permission for Lorenzo to pour me some wine.

  “Panelle,” Stefan says. “It rivals Millie’s but don’t tell her I said that.”

  “Did you just give him permission to pour me a glass of wine?” I ask.

  Stefan’s smile fades. “We do things differently here, Gabriela. Don’t get hung up on it. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. He doesn’t shake my hand. He doesn’t ask me if I even want wine. Maybe I wanted something else.”

  “He’s being respectful. Enough of this.”

  “Respectful to you but disrespectful to me.”

  Stefan sips from his glass, leaning back in his seat and studying me.

  “No, not that,” he says simply, casually but finally. “You belong to me, Gabriela. He knows that. You need to wrap your brain around it. This is your new life, like it or not, and if you ask me, there isn’t much to dislike. You’ll have everything.”

  “Everything I don’t want.”

  “Don’t be a child.”

  I exhale, shrug off his jacket and push my chair back to stand.

  He puts his hand on mine to stop me.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I lie. “If you don’t want me to act like a child then don’t treat me like one. Now I need to use the bathroom and I’m not asking your permission.”

  His eyes narrow and one side of his mouth quirks upward. He moves his hand and I stand, but he gestures for one of his men who walks to the door and opens it, waiting for me.

  “He’ll show you the way,” Stefan says.

  I’m pretty sure I can find the ladies’ room but fine. I drop it and go inside. In the bathroom, I stand at the sink and look at my reflection. I brush my hair away to look at the bruise, remember what happened. Remember what Rafa said about Stefan not letting me out again and I understand that even better now.

  I belong to him.

  I am a thing that belongs to that man.

  It’s not so different from before, is it? Then, I belonged to my father. Now, I belong to Stefan Sabbioni.

  “Suck it up, Buttercup,” I say out loud.

  Gabe used to say that. He still does sometimes, but now it’s because it rhymes, and he finds it funny. Then it was his way of telling me something wasn’t important enough to fight for. To save my strength for the battles that matter.

  I wash my hands, dry them and return to our table.

  Stefan stands, pulls my chair out.

  I sit and that’s when I notice the box wrapped in pretty paper with a bow on it on my still empty plate.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “Open it.”

  A breeze chills me and I shudder.

  Stefan drapes his jacket, which is on the back of my chair, over my shoulders again.

  I pull the ribbon from the box and watch the bow unravel. It’s a pretty blue-green ribbon. Sea foam, I think. I pick up the box and rip off the paper and am surprised—shocked, actually—to find a brand-new iPhone inside.

  I look up at Stefan.

  “If you don’t like the color, we can swap it out,” he says.

  I look back at it. It’s rose gold. It could be poop brown and I wouldn’t care.

  When I shift my gaze back to his, he’s still watching me.

  “Why?” I ask, any more words catching in my throat. I feel strange. Caught off guard. I don’t know what to make of it. How to react.

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