Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 8

8

MAD BEAN

Ivory

It’s well past midnight by the time I make it home. I’m exhausted, dead on my feet and ready to pass the hell out. My head feels like it’s going to explode thanks to Rio’s little power play, and don’t even get me started on his proposed meeting. Do I wan t to go? No. Am I going to?

Unfortunately, yes.

I have to. That shipment wasn’t just for shits and giggles. It was a favor for the Fraiser clan out in Chitown. A long, overdue favor at that, and my father is a man of his word. I won’t be the reason why he loses credibility, so as much as I don’t want to be within two feet of Rio Guerra again, I’ll do it to salvage my father’s honor.

With a soft hand, I slip inside the house and immediately deflate when I’m greeted by darkness. I’ll have to tell Santo and my dad eventually, but I would much prefer it be tomorrow, after I figure out what plausible excuse I can conjure.

Closing the frosted glass door as quietly as possible, I slip out of my Jimmy Choos and tip toe across the travertine floors of the vast foyer toward the curved staircase. Not silently enough, apparently, because the sound of nails clicking down the hallway upstairs suddenly meet my ears.

“Damn it,” I whisper-hiss, knowing that if I don’t get my ass up there in the next fifteen seconds, Draco, Katana, and Xena are more than likely about to give away my late entrance.

“Principessa,” my dad’s tone calls evenly, halting me in place.

My shoulders shoot up to my ears as if he shouted it, eyes squeezing shut. I should’ve known he’d still be up. Fate sealed, I turn back the way I came and head toward his office, praying to whatever deity will hear that he doesn’t ask a slew of questions. It’s not until I push open the cracked door that I realize my senses were way off, though. The dogs were in here the whole time.

Guess I hit my head harder than I thought…

Draco’s already sitting just beside it, tail wagging at my presence. Katana makes a beeline for me next with Xena and her growing puppy paws stumbling on her tail. I can just make out my dad behind his desk, illuminated only by the small green banker’s light, as he watches silently. Scooping Xena up, I offer quick pets to the Belgians and head his way. The fact he’s still in his suit, albeit without the jacket or bowtie, speaks for itself. Not only was he waiting for me, he was too worried to make himself comfortable.

Shit.

“A little late to just be getting in, don’t you think?” he chides.

My eyes flick up the oversized clock hung above the fireplace behind him. It’s a quarter past three. Had everything gone according to plan, I should’ve been back at least two hours ago. “Sorry, Pa. I went out for a few drinks with Dascha after.”

He regards me speculatively, scrubbing at his graying scruff. “I see. And did everything go smoothly at the port?”

“Yep, all taken care of.” I kiss the top of Xena’s head, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. The less I say, the better.

“Are you sure?” he presses.

“Mhmm. Should be ready to move out by the end of the week.”

My father chuckles softly, though the sound rumbles deep within his chest. “You’ve never been a good liar, piccolina.”

“What?” I draw my gaze upon him once more, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Why would you think I’m lying?”

“Because you never could look me in the eye when you lie, that’s why.” When I don’t protest or insist he’s in the wrong, he continues. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened, Dad . I just?— ”

“Ivory,” he warns, giving me that one look I know better than to defy.

Don’t get me wrong, my father has never laid a hand on me. When he calls me Princess, he means it. Mama always says I’ve had him wrapped around my little finger since the day I was born, but even then, I earned a swatting or two as a kid, and I’ve seen him give both my brothers that same look more times than I can count.

It’s best to stop while I’m ahead.

“Fine,” I sigh in resignation, setting Xena down beside me. “The shipment’s gone.”

Those golden eyes so similar to my own regard every facet of my being for several excruciatingly long moments before he lets out a low, “What do you mean gone?”

“Like, there was nothing in the container when we got there, gone. The door was slightly ajar, too.”

Another bout of absolute nothingness follows, just he and I staring at one another while the rest of the house sleeps. The clock ticks almost boisterously, Katana’s light snoring resonating in the background. I can all but see the gears working overtime in his head, attempting to connect the dots and make sense of what I’ve just divulged. My throat bobs the longer the silence stretches, especially when he makes his way around his desk and leans against the edge.

Just like Rio not an hour ago.

“Why am I just finding out about this?” he questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because I told the boys not to speak a word of it.” And although they’re not my men per se, they’ve been instructed to always do as I say.

That thunderous chuckle returns, only this time there’s the added little shake of his head. “There go my own orders backfiring on me.”

“No, Pa, no, I just didn’t want you worrying or getting upset.” I rush over to him and swallow him in a hug. “I’m gonna take care of it, okay?”

He hugs me back, a strong hand cradling my head. “Does your brother know?”

“No.”

“Do you know who’s responsible?”

Burying my face into his chest, I nod. “Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me?” he hedges, and this time, I rock my head side to side.

“No.”

“Ivory.” Another warning comes through grit teeth, his embrace tightening along with it.

“I’ve got this, papino. Let me take care of it, please. I’ll recover everything and ensure the Fraisers receive it. Just tell Kieran the shipment was delayed, and you’ll get it to him as soon as possible. You’ve been friends my entire life; he’ll believe you.” Call me stubborn or stupid…but I’m intent on doing this myself. This is personal, between me and Rio, far outside the lines of our families’ rivalry, and I’m not taking the easy way out.

Expelling a breath, he holds me at arms length, unease scripted all over his face. “I don’t like this, Principessa. I don’t like it one bit. First the fire, now this. Your life is too valuable to me. You are too valuable to me. As your father, I cannot in good conscience allow you to?—”

“Do you trust me?” I query, giving his wrists a squeeze.

“I do, but?—”

“But nothing. I can do this. Santo is gonna be a dad any day now, and you have more than enough on your plate. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been glued to your side since I was a kid, always watching and learning. If there were ever a time for me to be at the forefront, this is it.”

He considers this for a beat, likely reliving my entire childhood in a matter of seconds before he agrees. “Domenico, Andrea, and Federico are not to leave your side when you venture out to take care of it, do you understand me?” he asserts. “And if one thing appears to be going sideways…”

“I’ll call you, I promise.”

He’s still not convinced. I can see it so clearly, feel it in the way he pulls me back in and holds me like his life depends on it. A fond smile tugs at my lips, the warmth and security of a father’s love enveloping me from head to toe. I love him in equal measure, more if possible, which is why I have to handle this on my own.

I am in absolutely no mood when I walk into Mad Bean the following morning. Tired doesn’t cover it after not only going to bed at the ass crack of dawn but then having to wake up twice to let Xena out .

To top it off, my uterus decided to rip down the fancy wallpaper it put up over the last twenty-eight days, and I just started my cycle, ‘cause you know, the exhaustion settled deep in my bones and bags under my eyes wasn’t bad enough. Let’s tack on bloating and cramps, too.

Yay , said no woman ever.

Thankfully, I’ve got a full day of baking, which means it’s a graphic tee, sweatpants, and my favorite Nike dunks kind of day. It’s also a don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t even breathe in my direction unless completely necessary kind of day, hence why I don’t bother removing my sunglasses as I head to the back of the line.

For one, there’s not enough concealer in the Universe to cover up sleep deprivation, and two, the sunnies keep people from trying to engage with me. I don’t make it far, though, before a low whistle rents the air, and I crank my head toward the sound. There sits Rio in the far left corner of the darkly decorated cafe, signaling me with a crook of two fingers.

Not that he can see it, but I roll my eyes en route to his table and drop my ass into the chair in front of him, hanging my oversized Chanel bag on the back of it. “I’m here. Talk. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

The smug bastard chortles and scoots a large to-go cup along with a small paper bag my way. “Why don’t you save the attitude and take a few sips first, Princess?”

My stare narrows into tiny, glowering slits. “For one, don’t fucking call me that.” Only my dad can call me that. “And two, why? Did you poison it? ”

“Why the hell would I poison you if I need your help?” he carps back.

I open my mouth to speak, expecting some witty remark to burst free of its own accord, but much to my dismay, nothing happens.

Rio flashes me a lazy grin, nodding in satisfaction as he slings a tattooed arm over the back of his chair. “Exactly. Now be a good girl and drink.”

My eyes go for another undetected spin as I take the supplied breakfast goods and rip open the bag, trying not to read into how that phrase—good girl—whirls my stomach about. There’s a chocolate croissant nestled inside, shooting my brows up to my hairline. The label on the cup throws up another red flag, too. “How the hell do you know my order?”

It’s exact, down to the two extra shots of espresso and all.

“I have my ways.” He shrugs, taking a sip from his own cup. “Gotta admit, you have good taste. Might be my new go-to.”

“Oh, I know I have good taste. That’s why I stay far the fuck away from you.”

Even the croissant is warmed up…

For a split-second, I’m transported back to when he would do little things like this for me all the time, when he was everything to me, both of us too young and implicitly naive to believe our relationship ever stood a chance.

I observe him and the hard lines of his stupidly handsome face, remembering how they were softer back then. Not by much because he’s never had a baby face, but they were definitely not the acute, formidable features—sporting faint claw marks from my nails last night—and wall of tattoos currently staring back at me.

He didn’t have any ink when we were together, and I hate admitting, even to myself, they suit him. The skull adorning his right hand is the most striking. Mouth open, a snake pokes its way through, the body coiled around his veiny forearm.

“So what’s with the sunglasses?” His query pulls me out of my silent inspection. “Earn yourself a black eye after your tantrum on your way out last night?”

Popping off the black lid, I blow the steaming latte before taking a generous, welcome sip, completely ignoring his question. Warmth spreads through every limb and awakens my soul to the point that I actually have to stop myself from sighing and doing a little happy dance, relishing the surge of caffeine.

After a few more sips, I tap the screen of my Apple watch and take note of the time. “I’d worry more about the fact you only have twenty-seven minutes left to state your case and less about what’s going on over here. Tick, tock, dipshit. Spill the tea.”

“So classy,” he coos exaggeratedly. “Does daddy know his little princess has such a potty mouth now?”

“He taught me everything I know.” I take a bite of the decadent, flaky pastry, flashing him the most condescending look in my arsenal. “And so help me God if you don’t stop calling me that, I’m gonna whip out the knife in my bag and castrate you right here. Don’t play with me. ”

“Not necessary, Princess. I’ll castrate myself before I let you touch my dick again.”

“Who said anything about touching it with my hands? My knife is sharp, Guerra.”

“Jesus, you just have to have the last word, don’t you?” A laugh follows as he scrubs an inked hand down his face. I’m two seconds away from tossing back a pretty much when he presses on. “Anyway… are you caffeinated enough to listen now?”

I glance at the face of my watch again for the sake of being a petty bitch and tap at it with the sharpened tip of my nail. “Twenty-six minutes.”

“I’m well aware, Belucci. Doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“Oh my God, yes, I’m listening. Just get on with it already.” Please, so I can enjoy my coffee in peace and get the hell out of here.

“Benedikt Koshka,” he says simply.

I nod and take another bite of the warm pastry. “Aka another problem for you to deal with.”

Rio hums in accordance. “I may not be able to get my product back, but I can get my hands on his.”

“Doesn’t feel so great to have your shit burned to a crisp, huh?” Dick. “ What’s he dabble in?”

“Mostly alcohol. Top shelf. Distilled in-house, labeled, and shipped. Also moonshine, and from what I’ve heard—weapon trafficking, too.”

I’m sure Tommaso Guerra isn’t thrilled about the last bit.

“How do you plan to get your hands on it?” I press.

“You,” he deadpans .

“Me?” My head rears. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I just need you to distract him while my guys swoop in undetected.”

Okaaay? “And how the hell do you expect me to do that?”

Rio sends his eyes for a spin as if my question were absurd. “You’re a smart girl, Ivory. You went to law school, for fuck’s sake. Lure him in with your feminine wiles.”

Dropping the pastry onto the bag, I observe him from across the table. Why do I get the feeling he’s about to say something that’s definitely going to piss me off? “Yeah, and then what? You want me to sleep with him, too?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna come out and say it like that, but…if it works, it works, right? I know a pretty girl like yourself has to have plenty of experience in the seduction depart?—”

There is absolutely no thought process behind what transpires in the next ten seconds. The chair scrapes against the dark tiles as I shoot onto my feet and toss my still piping hot coffee in his face, slamming the emptied cup onto the table above his agonized roar. I’m out the door before anyone can stop me, walking the short distance to my car in a newly enraged state.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he imply my looks equate to being a whore for hire? If I didn’t despise him already, this would certainly call for it. I should’ve taken the knife I warned him about and shoved it into his carotid .

Not that I actually could.

Murder is frowned upon—obviously—but there’s also that pesky rule…

Unlocking my little Mercedes, I slide into the driver’s seat with a huff and slam shut the door. Not sure how I’m going to recover my dad’s shipment now, but there has to be another way—one that doesn’t require me signing my name in blood and selling my soul to Rio Guerra.