9
Nicole
I wake up to find a tray of food waiting for me on top of the chest of drawers. I had a million nightmares that I can’t remember. And one dream that I can. I dreamed of Leo, naked, his cock—
No. I will not think about that, about him. Or try to analyze the fact that I dreamed about him at all. There is something seriously dark and twisted about having a sex dream about the man holding me captive.
My stomach is in knots. But I force myself to eat what’s on the tray—an apple, a cheese sandwich on white bread, and a bottle of generic water.
Leo feeds his prisoners, but certainly not the gourmet ten-course meals his family frequently enjoys. Over the last couple of years, I’d watched them have lavish dinners, even taken part in many of them.
When I finish the food, which doesn’t take long at all, I wash up in the bathroom. There’s a bar of soap, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, a couple of thin towels. I check the bathroom door. There’s a lock on the inside, which gives me the confidence to take the fastest shower ever.
I might be a prisoner minutes away from execution, but I refuse to smell like one.
I had to use the soap on my hair because there’s no shampoo or conditioner. No brush, so I finger comb the wet strands, grimacing at how coarse and stiff they feel from the lack of conditioner. I’m actually glad there’s no mirror. Between my home-styled cut and lack of grooming products I suspect I look like a wet hen caught in the rain, feathers bedraggled and askew.
I freeze. What does it matter what I look like? I’ve never much cared before…
An image of Leo stalks through my thoughts. I force it away and focus on what matters: getting out of here.
I glance at the door, then cross the room and press my ear to it. No sounds filter in.
“Hey,” I call. “Anyone out there?”
No answer, and the door remains closed, locked up tight.
I pace the small room, wracking my mind for some plan of action. I finally come to the conclusion that I am literally at the mercy of Leonardo Russo, a man I tried—and failed—to kill.
He denied killing my father. Shrugged it off like it’s not even a possibility.
Could that be true?
I hate to have even a moment of doubt. I know what I know. The Russos don’t want the Morettis to rise again, to compete for any of their power. Of course they’d want my father eliminated.
But I also know a few things about Leo. One of them is that he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t see the point. He is a man who is comfortable in his skin, confident in who he is. So if he did kill my father, why wouldn’t he just admit it?
And if he didn’t, then why does Bianca believe he did?
I have no idea how many hours pass. I pace. I sleep. I pace some more. How long has it been since Leo took me from the cemetery? How long have I been locked in this room?
My imagination begins to go off in all sorts of directions. I wondered how Leo will kill me. If he’ll make me suffer. If he’ll do it here, or take me somewhere else. If he’ll even do it himself or let Vito or one of the others end my life.
Maybe I’ll never see him again.
Why does that possibility bother me?
I leap to my feet and pace the confines of the room. Then I drop to the floor and do push-ups, sit-ups, wall Pilates, desperate for the exertion to help calm my rising anxiety.
I miss my sister.
I miss Charlie. What’s going to happen to him when I don’t pick him up on schedule?
“Charlie,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes.
I don’t want to give in to self-pity or regret, but the longer I’m in this room, the more alone I feel. The more hopeless and helpless I feel.
And that just makes me furious.
No. It’s not going to end like this. There’s more I need to do. More I need to see and experience. I want to live.
The moment I think this, I hear the beeps of the security code being entered on the other side of the door.
The door swings open.
I expect it to be Vito, maybe with another tray of food. But it’s not Vito.
Leo walks in, not even glancing at me. He’s wearing a dark suit, white shirt, open at the throat, no tie. Gleaming loafers that probably cost more than I earn in a week. Maybe more than I earn in a month. And I am paid very well. The suit is tailored to perfection, caressing his broad shoulders and lean waist.
I watch him tensely as he tosses a closed laptop on the bed next to me. Then he freezes, his gaze locked on my hair.
“What the fuck,” he says.
I reach up and touch my head. Strands of what feel like straw stick out in all directions.
I’d never given my appearance much thought because it wasn’t something I could change. In fact, I leaned in to being plain, used it to my advantage, disappearing and avoiding scrutiny. But sitting in front of Leo with my ragged, dry, brittle hair makes me feel embarrassed, and that makes me feel angry.
“I had to make do with soap.” I bite the words out. “There’s no shampoo or conditioner. No mirror. No blow dryer.”
He glares at me, then stomps to the door, whips it open, and tells whoever stands on the other side, “Get some shampoo. Conditioner. Hair products. Clean clothes.”
Leo closes the door and strides back to the bed, standing over me, his features expressionless.
“You have password protected files on there,” he says curtly. He opens the laptop. “Log in. Now.”
His tone doesn’t offer me an option. I log in. He watches. I take my time so he can clearly see my log-in information.
“I need you to open the files for me now.”
I blink. “I’m off the clock.”
“Don’t try what little patience I have left with you, little wolf. Whatever you’ve been hiding from me, it’s time to come clean. I want to know who you’re working for. And I want to know what you’ve been leaking to them.” Leo gestures at the screen. “I’m guessing information about our front businesses, offshore accounts, smuggling operations, locations of safe houses, weapons caches…” He taps a file on the screen with his index finger. “Let’s start with this one, shall we?”
Russo_BD_all.docx
“You’re right about one thing,” I say. “That is information for my boss. Important information that needs to be kept hidden from prying eyes. Thus the password.”
His gaze turns to black ice. “Who’s your fucking boss, Nicole?”
“You are. Or…you were.”
His upper lip curls back from his straight white teeth, a feral snarl. “You’re either brave or stupid to keep playing these games with me.”
“A bit of both, I think.”
“Open the fucking file. Now.”
Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell. That small, indignant part of me that wants to show him that he hasn’t defeated me. That I’m not afraid of him.
But I am. I’m terrified. Only it might not seem like it from the outside. I’ve perfected my stoic exterior over the years, ever since Mom died. I only ever let myself break down when there’s no one around to witness it.
I raise my chin. “Open it yourself. I’ll give you the password.”
Leo takes a moment to remove his jacket, draping it over the back of the armchair. He has a gun tucked into his waistband at the one o’clock position. Appendix carry. Convenient for easy concealment under a suit jacket and fast draw.
He snags the laptop from the bed and places it on the chest of drawers, putting it at a more convenient height for him. My gaze flicks to the gun then back to his face.
“What is the password?” he demands.
“It’s LEOISADICK,” I tell him. “All one word. In caps.”
His lips thin and he studies me for a moment, perhaps wondering if I’m fucking around with him. Then he types this into the password prompt and the file opens.
I’m not fucking around.
Leo studies the document that’s opened up, but I narrate it so he knows what he’s looking at.
“Those are birthdates for all your family, along with their favorite colors, favorite designers, fave destinations. It helps when picking out gifts. I set it up for your father, and I’ve maintained and updated it, including any current girlfriends or boyfriends, and, of course, extended family.
“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Dante’s thirtieth birthday in three weeks,” I continue. “I’ve already put in the order for an engraved limited edition Patek Philippe watch. The same one your dad got for each of you on your thirtieths.”
“How did you get the money to order something like that?” he asks.
“You signed off on it two weeks ago.”
His gaze snaps to mine.
I shrug. “You sign whatever I put in front of you, just like your father did.”
“I’m way too trusting. Used to be, anyway. Never again.”
I swallow hard. For some reason, that bothers me. The fact that the trust Leo gave me is gone. The fact that I betrayed him. Which makes no sense at all.
“Anyway, the rest of the files are as benign as this and the password’s the same across the board. You won’t find anything incriminating on me because when I was here, I did my job. That’s it.”
Not exactly. I fed information to Bianca whenever her people contacted me. But I never kept a file on that.
I was frugal, even miserly, with the information I shared. I pretended it was because I was being careful, not wanting to share information that would clearly lead back to me and get me caught. That’s only a partial truth, though. There were things I chose not to share because it felt like too much of a betrayal. At the time, I justified that any way I needed to. In hindsight, I admit it was because I never wanted to share information that would see any of the Russos get hurt.
Even the date of the weekend yacht trip wasn’t something I handed to my aunt’s people. They found out another way. I suspect by bribing someone at the marina in Dana Point.
“You did your job,” he says. “And then suddenly, on a streak of red-hot vengeance, you hired a half dozen mercs to help you take out me and my family.”
“No. Just you.”
“My family and my men were in the line of fire. Damian. Sabina. Luca.”
“Vito was there too, he tells me. And Joe. Unconscious, but there.”
“And you’re smug about it, too. Fucking ballsy’s what you are.”
“You think this is smug?” I hiss out a sigh of frustration. “Bottom line, Leo, I failed. You win. You’re still alive, even if you got a bullet in your leg. Now I’m at your mercy.” I snort. “Whatever minuscule spec of mercy you might possess.”
“Not even a minuscule spec,” he says. “Not for you.”
“So why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“Giving me ideas, are you? Got some suggestions on how I should deal with you? You’re still breathing, little wolf, because I need answers. I don’t care how fucking driven you were for vengeance after what happened to your father. You didn’t do this on your own.”
Leo stares at me, his features expressionless, his dark eyes fathomless and cold. “My father gave you a chance. He cared about you. Enough so that he wanted me to look out for you. You were special to him.” I wince at his words. “More than just the daughter of a childhood friend. I never really thought about it and I’m kicking my own ass for that. What’s so fucking special about you, Nicole?”
“Nothing,” I tell him with absolute honesty. “There’s nothing special about me.”
“I fucking wish that was the truth,” he mutters. Then he turns and paces toward the door, rubbing the back of his neck. “You are a serious pain in my ass at this point. Don’t even know what I’m thinking, keeping you so close.”
When he turns back to face me, his brows shoot up. I’m close enough to breathe in the faint scent of his cologne, something spicy and sexy. To see every dark, curled eyelash. To close my fingers on his gun and pull it free of his waistband as I quickly step back out of his reach.
“Sloppy,” I tell him. “Leaving your gun out in the open for anyone to grab? Surprisingly sloppy, Leo.”
His eyes move up to lock with mine. Something dark gleams in their depths. Something primitive. “And what are you planning to do with that?”
For a disorienting second, I think he sounds amused, even approving.
“I’m planning on using it to get out of here and you’re going to let me leave,” I say.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to finish what I started on the boat.”
His lips curve in that terrifying, mirthless smile. Then he nods slowly.
“You’re going to shoot me in the face because you still think I killed your father,” he says, his voice low and silky.
“No. I’m going to shoot you in the face because you are holding me prisoner and threatening to kill me. And because I have places I need to be and people I need to find. And right now, you’re standing in my way.”
“Here’s the thing, Nicole.” Leo spreads his hands. “I don’t think you’ll do it. You chickened out on the boat. You had the perfect opportunity. And you didn’t pull the trigger. What was going on in your head?”
He takes a step toward me.
I take a step back.
“That need to avenge your father…the fact that you believed I set a bomb that blew him to pieces. That deserves death. And if I’d been the one to do it, I would have accepted my fate. But I didn’t do it. You were fed incorrect information and I’m curious as fuck who told you it was me. Me, specifically.” He shakes his head. “You know me. We’ve worked together for months. I knew you for two years before that. Is a bomb my style?”
No. A bomb isn’t his style.
“I don’t know you, Leo,” I say. “And you don’t know me.”
“I know enough. Now that the mask is gone, it helps me see the real you. My little wolf.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He takes another step forward. I force myself not to take a step back.
I raise the gun to his perfect face.
“I will shoot you,” I tell him.
“Then do it. Shoot me. Finish what you started. Avenge your father.”
My hand starts to shake, and my heart is pounding out of my chest. What is this? Reverse psychology? He doesn’t think I’ll pull the trigger?
“Do it,” he growls again, a repeat of his words from the yacht.
So I do it.
I lower the gun and I shoot him in his already injured leg.
Only…there’s no sharp retort, no echo, no recoil, no shell ejection.
Just a click.
The gun is empty.
The next instant, the weapon is out of my hand and in Leo’s, who tosses it atop the chest of drawers as his other hand wraps around my throat.
He pushes me down onto the bed, straddling me, his knees on either side of my hips as my fingers close around his wrist, trying to break his iron hold.
“You think I’d leave a loaded gun where you could easily grab it?” he says, his voice like whiskey and velvet, his face close to mine. “It was a test, little wolf. Just to see how ruthless you are. And you are ruthless as fuck. You’re just not a killer.”
Before I can say anything or fully process what just happened, he grabs a handful of my hair, tugging it painfully tight as he crushes his mouth against mine, his kiss rough and deep. I gasp with surprise against his lips.
His tongue twines with mine. His teeth graze me. His fingers twist through my hair.
And I kiss him back, opening to his invasion, meeting the thrust of his tongue.
He shifts his weight so he has me pinned beneath him, trapped.
The feel of him, the taste of him… Everything about Leo Russo now consumes me—his dark and spicy scent, the weight of his body on top of me. The hard ridge of his cock against my thigh.
He’s hard. He’s hard for me. After I held a gun on him and pulled the trigger.
He’s absolutely fucking crazy.
And I’m crazy too because I’m kissing him back and moaning his name even though I don’t know why. Clearly, I’ve completely lost my mind.