Hold You Against Me (12 page)

The quirk of his lips offends me, that mocking expression on a face I used to love.

I raise my hand, my intentions clear. I’m going to slap him.

Except he catches my wrist, his expression unforgiving. My breath stutters. His fingers press marks into my skin, just like they did in my dream.

His other hand brushes down my cheek. “I didn’t get where I am by being weak.”

“No, you got here by killing. By hurting people.” My voice breaks because his hand is hurting me. And because maybe I did want to test him, to see if he really is the hard man he claims to be.

He twists my arm behind my back, bending me over the trunk of the car. My breath comes faster. This position.
No.
Black spots dance in front of my eyes. My muscles lock up. “Please. Stop.” I barely get the words out.

“Don’t push me, bella. You won’t like what happens.”

His fingers open, releasing me. I stumble away from the car over the smooth slate tiles on the drive. If that was a test, then he passed with flying colors. He really is a ruthless bastard.

He turns his face up, the hot Vegas sun drenching his features in startling light. Then he looks back at me, his eyes flat once again.

“Come inside, bella,” he says mildly. “We don’t want you to burn.”

*     *     *

He gives me
a tour of the mansion where I grew up, as if to drive home the point.

The point is that he is in charge here, and I am at his mercy.

Maybe he thinks that will shock me. When I was the daughter of the capo and he was the son of a foot soldier, he had to show me deference. I lived in this mansion, while he lived in a small complex set behind the property.

What he doesn’t realize is that I never had any power between these walls. On this antique sofa or in the glass-domed greenhouse. I definitely never had any power in the office.

Most of the rooms look the same. The office too.

Leather armchairs gather around a heavy stone fireplace. It always seemed silly for a place as hot as Vegas. Then again, nights get cold in the desert. My father’s desk is ornately carved with naked men and women, arms raised to support the thick slab of wood on top.

The only difference is the leather armchair with wide wings. It’s empty.

Every other time I’ve come here, I was summoned. Escorted here by one of the armed men, usually while my sister was at ballet practice. My father would be waiting in that seat, framed by the tall window at his back. My heart beats faster, muscle memory feeding the same fight-or-flight response I had back then.

The touch of Giovanni’s hand snaps me back to reality.

With two fingers, he turns my face to look at him. “You’re upset.”

“I never expected to see this room again.”

“Are you sad that your father is dead?”

His words are blunt, without sympathy. He might as well be made of rock for all he seems to understand grief or pain. “He deserved what happened to him.”

“Because he tried to force your sister to marry.”

And because he hurt me. That information is too private. It hurts too much to share with stone.

“There’s only one way out of the mafia,” I say, repeating words I’ve heard a hundred times. When my father whispered them to me, they were a threat. They still feel like a threat, now that I’m here again.

“Did you think you had escaped?” Giovanni’s tone disturbs me, detached and curious. His expression disturbs me too. He looks as if he’s inquiring about the timetable of some business takeover, something with a foregone conclusion. Something he will no doubt win.

In the face of his cold regard, tears prick my eyes. “I should have escaped. God, you
helped
me escape. You risked your life to help me, and now you’re the one to bring me back? Why, Gio?”

He studies me, his eyes dark and tumultuous. “That newspaper article. I couldn’t let anyone else take you.”

I won’t let him off the hook that easily. “Then why not warn me? I could have run.”

His head shakes slowly, almost regretful. “I let you go once because it was the only choice. The only thing I could do to keep you safe.”

“And I’ll be safe now?”

Violence flashes across his face. “Anyone who touches you will die. I’ll kill them myself.”

A shiver racks my body. “Then who will keep me safe from you?”

T
he tour ends
upstairs, in my old bedroom.

Everything is exactly where I left it, down to the pink ruffles on the bed and haphazard makeup on the cream wood vanity. I wasn’t allowed to actually paint the walls, but I had four large canvases hanging that must have twenty coats of paint each.

Giovanni hasn’t spoken to me since we left the office. Now he turns to face me in the center of my room. “You’ll stay here until I can trust you. The door locks from the outside.”

I know very well that the door locks. My father had the key.

There’s one way I can leave, though.

Gio’s dark eyes flicker with amusement. “The window’s bolted shut.”

Of course he knows about that. It was the only way I could meet him in the pool house. My eyes narrow. “And what happens when we get married? Am I still going to sleep here?”

His expression is impassive. “I won’t force you to sleep with me.”

Anger rises up in me at how casually he discusses our marriage. It should be something sacred, something beautiful. Now it’s depraved. “So we’ll be husband and wife in name only.”

He takes a step toward me, then another. I’m backing up before I can stop myself, shoved flat against the door. Somehow it’s closed. We’re trapped in here together, and my breath is coming too fast.

His broad shoulders block the light, casting his face in shadows. “We’ll consummate this marriage. After that it will be your decision.”

My throat tightens. “It should always be my decision.”

He runs his hand up my arm, sending shivers over my skin. Inexplicably my nipples tighten beneath the cups of my bra. “You’re right, bella. But that isn’t the world you grew up in. You were bred for this.”

As if I’m a horse. An animal. “You don’t own me.”

“Ah, but I do.” He sounds almost sad. “No one is coming for you. Not your sister. Not your sister’s husband. Not even the owner of that club you were at would dare to touch you now.”

I shove at him, but he doesn’t move an inch. Instead my palms encounter hard-packed muscle covered in thin white fabric. “You can hold me captive, but you’ll have to use that lock forever. I’ll
never
stay.”

“Good,” he breathes, his lips inches from my temple. “You shouldn’t trust me. You shouldn’t let me in.”

“I won’t,” I say, but the moment has shifted, altered. It’s intimate when he’s this close to me, when my hands are on his body. It feels like I’ve already let him in. Like I already trust him, even though that’s impossible when he’s keeping me against my will.

For a breathless, tense moment I think he’s going to kiss me. His gaze is on my lips, head bent close. Somehow my chin turns up as if to meet him. This is crazy. This is dangerous…

A sharp bark echoes through the room, and I jump.

Slowly Gio lifts his head and steps back. His eyes are hazy with lust, and as I watch, his focus returns. It should be a relief. I don’t want his lust. I don’t want his attention in any way.

But I can’t shake the feeling of loss when he’s back to his stoic self.

“What was that?” I manage, my voice uneven.

He inclines his head toward the door to the bathroom, which is closed. “See for yourself.”

My stomach fluttering, I push away from the wall and edge around him, careful not to touch. He’s like a flame, hot enough to burn. I open the bathroom door in time to see an orange and brown blur streak by me.

Then he’s under the bed. “Lupo!”

Elation lifts my voice and my spirits. Two eyes glare at me from beneath the pink frills. I fall to my knees by the bed and reach out my hand. Lupo sniffs my fingers before backing deeper under the bed. He doesn’t trust me any more here than he did on the fire escape. Gio must have had him sent ahead of us. That’s why I didn’t see him last night before I fell asleep.

At least now I won’t have to worry about where he gets his next meal.

My gaze lifts to Gio, a mixture of fear and gratitude in my heart. He must have watched me for a while to see me put food out on the fire escape.

And he’s watching me now, a strange expression on his face. “You always wanted a dog.”

A clench inside my chest. “Thank you for bringing him.”

His eyes flicker with something painful and sweet. It looks like he’s going to open up to me. My breath hitches.
Please, please.
Then he pulls back, the walls slamming down again.

“The engagement party is tomorrow night,” he says.

Before I can respond, he turns and leaves the room. The lock clicks into place.

Lupo growls at the door from beneath the bed. Apparently he trusts Gio even less than he trusts me.

Gio didn’t trust me when I first talked to him either. He was a surly teenage boy, convinced that I would be stuck up. Or that I was toying with him, that I would tell my father that we had talked and get him in trouble. It took time for him to open up to me, for him to trust me.

I claimed he’s just like my father, and in some ways that’s true.

My father would never have brought this dog along.

The soldier or the boy. The monster or the lover. Which one is he? I think he might be a little of both, but the two can’t exist side by side. They’re fighting each other, battling within him. It remains to be seen which side will win.

*     *     *

I don’t see
Giovanni the rest of the night, which is a relief. I need time to think about what he’s become—and what he wants to turn me into. A mafia princess. No, that’s what I was. He wants to make me his queen. A dubious honor when I don’t have a choice.

The shower holds the same kind of soap I use now. The closet has all my old clothes. This place is a curious mixture of old and new, a rabbit hole I’ve fallen into—everything too large or too small, upside down and color-bright.

My sheets are the same pale-pink paisley that I slept in as a child. The same sheets I slept between when I dreamed of Giovanni. The same sheets where I first touched myself, tentative and curious.

When I pull back the knit white blanket, only the faint smell of flowers rises up. No dust.

He prepared for this.

Of course I know he did. The way he had Lupo transported here ahead of us proves that much. As do the toiletries in the bathroom. He was watching me,
stalking
me.

He protected me too.

I rest my head on the pillow, gaze trained on the locked door. Waiting for his return, dreading it—wanting it. Lupo stays under the bed, in much the same position, I’m guessing.

How is it possible I can sleep this way? In a place I thought I’d never come back to, held captive by a man I thought was dead? Maybe the drugs are still in my system, because the room narrows and then goes black.

When I open my eyes my stomach growls with hunger.

Or maybe that’s the sound of Lupo growling.

I sit up in bed just as a lock turns in the door. I’m wearing a nightgown with a scoop neck and cap sleeves—modest enough, but I still hold the pink sheet up to my chest as the door swings open.

It’s not Giovanni.

That knowledge sets off a firestorm inside me, relief an inky fuel, anger a lit match. I don’t really want to see him or his cold eyes. I don’t want to find out all the horrible ways he’s changed. But I don’t really want him to ignore me either.

And I’m cold. So incredibly cold in these old clothes and old blankets. I still remember the heat of his gaze, the hot brand of his fingers around my wrist.

If he’s going to hold me captive, the least he can do is hold me.

The man who enters the room has dirty blonde hair and a sharp suit. The effect is ruined by a blue dog leash in his hand. “Where’s the mutt?” he says, clearly annoyed to be assigned this task.

Romero. I think that’s his name. I was never really invited to the parties where I might have learned their ranks, the way my sister, Honor, was. Supposedly it was because I was younger, but everyone knew the real reason. Because I wasn’t really blood.

I hold my hand out. “I can walk him.”

His eyes are pale and almost dead. “Put the dog on the leash if you want him to go outside. Either that or he can piss in your room.”

I’m not willing to test that theory, so I hop out of bed and grab the leash. Lupo rumbles as I reach for him under the bed. I’ve never forced myself that near to him, so I’m half expecting him to bite me. Instead he freezes as soon as my hand touches his wiry fur.

“That’s right,” I croon softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I snap the blue leash to a matching blue collar nestled in his fur. That means someone else has gotten close to him. They must have in order to get him here. I hope they didn’t hurt him. For that matter, I hope he didn’t hurt anyone else. Even if they might have deserved it. I don’t know how far Giovanni’s leniency will go.

“Be a good dog,” I whisper as I tug him out from under the bed.

He yanks his head against the collar as if testing how far he can go. His eyes are suspicious when I hand the lead over to Romero.

“He’s nervous,” I say, hoping he won’t push the dog too far and too fast.

Romero gives me a hard look and turns, yanking on the leash. I hold my breath because the last thing I need is a made man losing his temper on a stray dog. Giovanni may have me under his protection right now, but I doubt that extends to my dog.

Lupo follows the man outside, body sunk low, tail between his legs.

Only then can I breathe out a sigh of relief. And inhale the scent of bacon.

A young woman enters the room and closes the door with her hip. She’s carrying a tray laden with plates of eggs and toast and fruit. There’s a small silver pot that must have coffee.

She sets the tray down on the small round table. There are two antique white chairs around it, but I doubt she’s planning on staying. I’ve never seen her before, but I can’t waste this opportunity.