Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One (19 page)

She hung the towel from a hook on the back of the bathroom door and crossed to the bureau full of clothes Nico had left for her. Lounge clothes and underwear. Not exactly appropriate dinner attire, especially with Luca in residence.

…I think you’ll find plenty to work with in the closet and bureaus.

She looked at the closets flanking the bureaus against one wall. Had he meant there more were clothes there?

She tried the one on the right first, the light revealing a lavish walk-in. Rows of suits ran along one side, slacks and shirts on the others. Shoes were stacked on shelves in the middle, with special drawers labeled for ties and cufflinks, gloves and handkerchiefs.

Turning to the row of suits, she lifted a beautifully cut tuxedo jacket, rubbing the soft fabric against her face. Nico’s scent unfurled from the fabric, that unique combination of leather and wool, the streets of New York and their beach in Maine. Her pulse quickened, and a thrumming started between her legs. But there was something else, too; a kind of reflexive urgency to find him, to be by his side.

Crazy.

She left the closet and made her way to the other one. A flick of the light switch left no doubt that this one was meant for her. For now, at least.

Dresses of every color lined one wall; there was red satin and gray tulle and black silk, pale yellow cotton and white linen. Beading and rhinestones glimmered from some of them. Others stood bare and beautiful in their simplicity.

She turned to the other wall and the rows of skirts and blouses that hung there. As with Nico’s closet, shoes were stacked neatly at the back of the closet, the Jimmy Choo heels and Hermes flats lit up like jewels. A half hour suddenly didn’t seem like nearly enough time to get dressed.

She stifled her panic and went to work, flipping through the hangers, looking for something that was nice, but not too formal. She had no idea how to dress for dinner here, but if the clothes were any indication, lounge pants probably wouldn’t cut it.

After looking through everything twice, she finally settled on a diaphanous Jenny Packham gown. She took the dress off the hanger, then perused the underwear drawer until she found a pair of black lace panties and matching bustier with a french label she’d never heard of. Drawing the gown over her head, she let the midnight silk tulle fall over her head and slide down her body. She adjusted the criss-crossed neckline and ruched sleeves, then zipped up the back. She lingered over a pair of black satin Leboutin’s before opting to keep her feet bare; the floors were warm despite the time of year, and it felt weird to wear heels for dinner at home.

At Nico’s home
, she silently corrected herself.

She touched her lips with her old pale pink gloss, and left her hair loose around her shoulders, then turned to the full length mirror. She sucked in her breath at the sight of the dress. She’d never worn anything like it, and she admired the way the slim black velvet band highlighted her waist, the skirt dripping to the ground in inky blue and black folds. The neckline accentuated her breasts without being tacky, the back dipping just low enough to show off her shoulder blades. It seemed wrong to feel so beautiful under the circumstances, but she was only human. She just hoped she wasn’t overdressed.

It was nearly nine when she stepped out of the room. Nico hadn’t given her directions to the dining room, but she retraced their earlier steps and made her way down the stairs. The banister was a work of intricately carved art, and the chandelier that hung over the grand foyer was somehow both impressive and intimate. There were a few modern touches—the warm floors that hinted at radiant heating, windows that mimicked those from a bygone era without letting in the cold like old windows would—but it was obvious that the house had been carefully and lovingly restored to maintain its historical character.

She paused in the two story entry, then followed muffled voices to the back of the house. She passed what looked like a library on one side and a large, paneled living area on the other. She continued into what must once have been a kind of ballroom, the wood floors polished like glass, the windows running from the floor all the way to the ceiling at least twenty feet overhead. It was empty, but she could imagine people talking as a small orchestra played in the corner, could almost see the formal gowns swishing against the parquet floor.

She heard the murmur of men’s voices beyond the room and continued toward a set of double doors that stood open. The first thing she noticed was the extravagance of the room, but it only held her attention for a second before her eyes were drawn to Nico.

He sat at one end of an enormous table, his eyes hooded in the soft light cast from the fixture above and the candles flickering on the table. He was all dark grace in a smoky gray suit, his shirt partially unbuttoned as he leaned back in the chair. She had another flash of the panther, reclining lazily in the jungle, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

She couldn’t take her eyes of him, and she wasn’t surprised when he turned his gaze on her as if he sensed her presence. It had been like that with them from the beginning. It was way too soon to feel so much synergy with him, but there it was.

“Angel.” His voice was low as he stood. “Come.”

She stepped into the room. She didn’t think it was possible for his eyes to grow darker, but somehow they did when he looked at her, and memories flashed through her mind—Nico, naked, moving over her, his mouth closing over her breast….

“Hi, Angel,” Luca said.

She turned with a start to realize Luca was standing on Nico’s left. Why was it so hard to see anyone but Nico when she was around him? It was like there was no space for anyone else in her head when he was in front of her.

“Hello,” she said.

“You’re stunning,” Nico said.

“Thank you.”

He pulled out the chair to his right. “You must be hungry.”

She sat, thrilling at the brush of his hands when he set them gently on her shoulders, bending to kiss her collarbone before returning to his seat. Her skin burned where his lips had been a moment before, and when she looked up, Luca was looking at her with something like awe. It was obvious the blatant show of affection had thrown him, but Nico seemed unconcerned. He poured some wine in her glass, then smiled slyly.

“Shall we switch?” he asked indicating his own glass.

“I’m good,” she said, remembering their first dinner at his apartment in the city. If he’d wanted to kill her, he wold have done it by now.

He nodded, and a moment later a large man entered through a set of doors at the back of the room. He wore a crisp white jacket, but that was where any resemblance to a professional chef ended. Tattoos snaked up his neck, and his dark hair was long and tied back in a ponytail. He set two silver trays on the table with a wink in Angel’s direction.

“Thank you, Gideon,” Nico said. “It smells wonderful.”

“It’s that duck with the cherry sauce you like.” The man’s voice was incongruously deep for someone talking about fancy food. “I’ll get everything else.”

Angel’s stomach rumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten since the tense lunch she and Nico had shared on the road. A moment later, the man named Gideon returned with two more platters.

“Sit with us,” Nico said as Gideon set everything down.

“Can’t do it this time,” Gideon said. “I’m working on dessert. But thank you. Want me to serve?”

Nico waved him off. “Not necessary.”

“You got it, boss.” He retreated beyond the doors to the room Angel could only assume was the kitchen.

Nico removed the silver dome from one of the trays and served Angel slices of duck before serving himself. She was torn between pleasure at his solicitousness and annoyance that he was treating her like some kind of Victorian heroine who might have a fainting spell if she had to dish her own food.

Feminism meet chivalry
, she thought.

“I can serve myself,” she said, just to test him.

He nodded. “As you wish.”

They passed the dishes, and Angel spooned wild rice and tender asparagus onto her plate while she looked around the room. It was as lavish as the rest of the house, with fabric covered walls the color of wine and lush velvet draperies tied back with tasseled cords. The fireplace was large enough to stand in, the flames burning soft and low, casting flickering light over the table. She glanced at Nico, as at ease in the old world surroundings as he had been in the sleek New York City apartment and the storm tossed beach in Maine.

“How is Vincent doing?” Nico asked Luca.

Luca finished chewing before wiping the corners of his mouth on the napkin in his lap. Who were these men? This was definitely not the mob immortalized in books and film.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” he said with a British accent.

Nico chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it. Any trouble with the department?”

“We were able to keep it pretty quiet,” Luca said. “Morelli’s uncle in the department squashed it.”

“Good.”

Hoping for some kind of information on her father, Angel tried to concentrate on the conversation, but after awhile the food and warmth started to lull her into a pleasant state of apathy. They were talking about logistics—shipments of computer processors made by the same factories that made them for Apple, a security breach that was allowed to happen because someone hadn’t payed for their protection, a hacking job they’d done for an international company that wanted dirt on a competitor without having it traced back to them.

She realized idly that it was information that would probably interest the FBI, but none of it seemed deadly or violent, and she didn’t have enough details to make sense of it. Plus, she had problems of her own. She needed to find a way to get to her father, find out the truth about everything Nico had said.

When they finished with dinner, Gideon brought out tiramisu and espresso, and they sat awhile longer over dessert. Conversation turned to safer territory, and Nico and Luca talked about a book Nico had read recently, and two new movies. They tried to engage Angel, but she was fighting to keep her eyes open and could only manage perfunctory responses. By the time Nico suggested they move to the library, she was ready to face plant in her empty dessert plate.

She thought about going to bed, but she was still hoping for some kind of slip on their part—something that would invalidate the things Nico had said about her father, or at least give her a hint about whether they were close to finding him.

“Can I get you something?” Nico asked, pouring drinks from a tray of decanters on top of a mahogany cabinet in the library.

She shook her head, sinking into one of the leather sofas and tucking her feet under her body. The dress billowed around her legs, and she fought the urge to sigh in contentment. This is not the way she was supposed to be feeling as Nico’s prisoner. Like she was safe. Like she didn’t want to leave.

She gazed into the fire and let her mind drift. Did Nico have someone whose job it was to light fires in every room of the house? Did he spend time in this room, choosing from the shelves lined with books? Had he ever brought a woman here? The idea made her throat tighten. She hoped not. He belonged to her, just like he said. The minuscule part of her mind that was still coherent and rational tried to fight against it, but it was no use. She let herself fall into the abyss of sleep.

It seemed like only moments later that she felt herself lifted into the air. She opened her eyes and realized Nico was carrying her out of the library, the fire burning low. Her head rested against the lapel of his jacket, and she inhaled, sinking into the smell and feel of him.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Shhhh,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

The dress swished around her bare feet in a delicious swirl of silk as they headed for the stairs. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t help the way she felt. And it was okay to feel safe for a minute, wasn’t it?

They reached the second floor and continued to Nico’s suite where flames crackled in the grate. He set her gently on the bed, and she wondered if they would make love. If he would make use of her exhaustion, her apathy, the passion that always rose in her body when they were together even when her mind tried to rebel.

But he only pulled the covers up around her and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered.

She did.

31

It was light out when she awoke, sun streaming in through the big windows. She looked at the other side of the bed to find that it was still made. Either Nico had slept somewhere else or he’d somehow managed to make the other side of the bed with her in it.

Doubtful.

She sat up and looked out over the Hudson, shimmering beyond trees just barely holding onto their red, gold, and orange leaves. Soon everything would look brown and white and grey, like an old photograph.

Looking down, she realized she was still in the dress she’d worn to dinner. There was no sign of Nico, so she showered and changed into a pair of silk lounge pants and a soft long sleeve T-shirt, then headed downstairs.

The house was quiet, and she stopped in a formal living room off the main hall to look out the big window. Luca stood talking to one of the guards that still lined the drive out front. They were evenly spaced, their posture alert behind seemingly bored expressions. She had no doubt they would be as responsive as Nico’s men in the city during her father’s failed rescue. She felt comforted by the fact even as she acknowledged that it was insane. She didn’t need protection from her father.

She headed for the dining room where a pot of coffee sat on the sideboard along with fruit, croissants so golden she could almost feel them melt on her tongue, and three pots of jam. She filled a cup with coffee and grabbed one of the croissants, then made her way into the kitchen.

Gideon was there, whisking something in a large mixing bowl. He looked up as she stepped into the room. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” she said.

“Find everything you need in the dining room?”