Ruthless Vow (Vegas Vicious #2)

24. Nicole

24

Nicole

While Leo’s gone, I distract myself by drinking champagne and enjoying the view of the Bellagio Fountains, focusing only my four senses—the warm night breeze, the scent of the fancy hors d’oeuvres, the pinch of my high heels, and the sound of the band—a popular group whose lead singer is a good friend of Sabina’s—playing loud enough to nearly block out any of my swirling thoughts.

I know many of the people here. At least, I knew them in my capacity as Salvatore’s and then Leo’s assistant. But only two people so far have recognized me. I’ve received several speculative looks, the tipped-head, frowning, confused sort of looks that people wear when they think they recognize someone but can’t quite place them. I kept moving through the crowd so I didn’t get stopped and put on the spot to offer explanations.

I don’t see Sabina, but I see her fiancé. He’s by the bar, gazing out at the crowd. He doesn’t look particularly thrilled to be there. Nor is he making any effort to mingle. I don’t know anything about Roberto. Sabina announced her engagement on the yacht over dinner the night before my aunt’s failed plan went into action. She’d seemed nervous but firm in her decision, but there had been no passion in her eyes when she spoke about Roberto.

If you ask me, she’s been more passionate when talking to Nikolai, someone she rightfully despises, than her own fiancé.

Leo comes to my side. His eyes are cold and black, like shards of obsidian.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“I need you right now.”

“You…need me to—?”

“I need to fuck you,” he says.

My eyes widen. “Here?”

“Yes.”

I think about it for a split second, about his mouth on mine, his hands on my body, his cock inside me. A little thrill courses through me. He wants me so much he isn’t willing to wait until we get back to the house. And that makes me feel beautiful, powerful.

Because I can always say no. Instead, I say, “Okay.”

He laughs, the sound low and dark and incredibly sexy. Then he takes my hand and leads me toward the back of the club, away for the main area, down a hallway.

“Please tell me you’re not going to fuck me in the bathroom,” I say.

“I’m not going to fuck you in the bathroom,” he says, leading me to the end of the hallway.

He opens a door. It’s a large storage closet. There are folded tables and chairs, crates, buckets and mops. He pulls me inside and closes the door behind us.

The corners of his mouth curve in a masculine smile, hungry, knowing, so sexy. The way he looks at me, like he will devour me, sends a twist of lust curling low in my belly.

“You can’t mess me up,” I say. “I need to be able to go back out there looking like a normal person, not someone who’s just been fucked in a storage closet.”

“Of course. But you’ll know that I fucked you in the storage closet. You’ll think about it and it will make you hot and horny every time you do.”

He pulls me against him and lowers his mouth to mine, his lips warm and firm, his body hard and strong. He opens his mouth on mine, his kiss hot and deep. He bites my lower lip, gently, not enough to mark. Just enough to make me gasp and clutch his shoulders.

His palm slides along the naked skin of my shoulder, down the silk of my gown to stroke my nipple. The sensation is lush, the feel of him touching me through the smooth, cool cloth. His lips are on mine. The pad of his thumb strokes back and forth across my aching nipple. I’m so sensitive, every touch feels like it goes straight to my clit.

I close my hand on the hard length of him through his pants. He shifts his hips so he presses against my palm. I love the feel of him, huge and hard.

With a harsh exhalation, he undoes his pants, freeing his cock. He rips open a package and slides a condom on. Then he slides his fingers between my legs. I’m wet. Ready.

He pushes aside my thong, not even bothering to take them off, just baring my pussy to his fingers. He strokes me, spreading my moisture over my clit, teasing, tormenting.

I gasp as he lifts me, the slit of my dress falling open, the material cascading away as I wrap my legs around his waist and he guides his cock to my slick folds.

My head falls back as I hold on to his shoulders, my heart pounding, my pussy aching.

His hands are under my buttocks, supporting me, guiding me.

He pulls me closer as he thrusts into me. I cry out as he fills me, stretches me, pumping into me in a long, slow stroke. I tilt my hips to take him deeper, to take all of him. He’s so big, so thick. He feels so good.

In. Out. He takes me with deep, slow strokes.

I burn for him, thrusting against him, gasping, moaning as I try to increase the speed, the friction.

He shifts me so that each long thrust rubs my clit, pulling me into mindless need.

He holds my buttocks tighter, thrusting harder, pulling us both deeper into the spiral of aching need.

“Touch yourself,” he orders.

I obey. I slide my hand between our bodies, rubbing my clit as he fucks me faster, harder. I’m so close, poised on the precipice.

A low cry tears from my lips as I tip over the edge, my body convulsing around his cock, my orgasm taking me in crashing, surging waves.

And he’s right there with me, his cock buried all the way inside me, his fingers biting into my ass cheeks as he groans his release, his body shuddering against me.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. After a time, he pulls out of me, takes off the condom, cleans me and then himself with a handkerchief he takes from his pocket.

Then he hooks his index finger under my chin and tips my head so I’m looking at him. His expression is intense, his eyes obsidian fire.

“I need you,” he says.

I shake my head, uncomprehending. “You just had me.”

He only stares at me a little longer and then places a gentle kiss on my lips before leading me from the room.

A quick trip to the ladies room reveals that other than smeared lipstick, there’s no obvious evidence that I just had incredible sex in the storage room. I fix my lipstick, fluff my hair, check the back and front of my gown for wrinkles or stains. Good to go.

I head to the bar. As the bartender pushes my drink across the bar top, a white-gloved server approaches me.

“Ms. Milano?”

“Yes.”

“I was asked to deliver this note to you.” He hands me a small white envelope with my name written on the front.

“By whom?” I ask.

“One of the other servers,” he says.

“Okay, thank you.”

I turn from the bar and take a sip of my drink, searching the area for Leo, but I can’t locate him.

I slip the note out of the envelope and casually scan the message.

But there’s nothing casual written on the ivory card.

Meet me at your father’s grave. Come alone. Tell no one or your sister will pay the ultimate price for your betrayal.

No signature. None needed.

The tone, the message, the handwriting.

Bianca.

Heart racing, I shove the note into my clutch, and scan the party again for Leo.

My aunt sent me into the desert with Danila to die. To be murdered and buried in the sand. I have every certainty that she will show no hesitation, that she will kill Sofia if I don’t obey her.

My pulse races. Anxiety gnaws at me.

There’s no time to think it through, to make a plan, to play it safe.

My safety doesn’t matter.

Tonight, one way or the other, this ends. I will not cower, I will not hide—not behind my oversized dresses and slumped shoulders, not in Leo’s gated compound, not protected by a flank of bodyguards. If Bianca is threatening Sofia, that means my sister is still alive.

And where there’s life, there’s still hope.

I arrive at the cemetery a half an hour later. It’s dark, but the air is warm and dry. There are a few lights along the pathways to help lead my way. The ground is soft, and my high heels sink in with every step I take. I won’t lie—I’m frightened, but I press on.

I pause about fifty feet from my father’s grave, scanning my surroundings. I don’t see anyone. Not Bianca. Not her bodyguards.

No one is at my father’s grave. I don’t see anyone in the entire cemetery. Just me and my pounding heart.

I wait for five minutes, my shoulders tense. Ten minutes, my body rigid.

Then, finally…

“Well, look at you,” Bianca says as she approaches, her voice smooth and calm. A violent shiver skitters down my spine. “You look all fancy. Do you think you’re something now? Some one now? You’re still ugly, weak, useless Nicole. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

My hatred for this woman is difficult for me to wrangle, like a thousand wild horses ready to trample anything that stands in their path.

“It was you,” I say, turning to fully face her. She’s alone. I see no one else, but that doesn’t mean they’re not waiting in the shadows. “You killed my father. You planted that bomb.”

She regards me for a moment. “Is that what you think?”

“Enough fucking games, Bianca.”

“This is the town for games, though, isn’t it? All kinds of games. Your father was not supposed to be at his restaurant that night. He was always whining about money, and I knew he had a hefty insurance plan for that worthless business of his. I attempted to lend a hand, but unfortunately it backfired.”

Bullshit , I think. There’s no remorse in Bianca’s eyes. No grief for the loss of her older brother, not for a moment—either then or now.

“And you blamed Leo Russo.”

“Leo’s family has murdered countless Morettis over the years. What’s one more?”

“But why blame Leo specifically?”

Her lips curl at the edges. “The people I’m working with saw him as a rising threat—the heir, the future king. They chose him as a test. Asked me to remove him from the bloodline in order to advance my position within the ranks.”

“And you decided to put his death on me.” To make me kill a man for no reason. Not vengeance. Not justice. Murder.

She laughs. “You were convenient and disposable. I figured you wouldn’t make it off that yacht alive, and that was fine.”

In the past, her words would have shredded me. Now, they slide off me like water. I no longer care what she thinks of me. I only care that I get the information I need out of her: Sofia’s location.

“You set the bomb at the motel, hoping to erase me from existence.”

She walks a slow circle around me. “You think I’d do something like that to my precious niece?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we should ask Danila.”

Her smile grows cold. “You’ve developed a smart mouth on you.”

“My whole life, I’ve done nothing but follow your orders. Even tonight, here I am, following your orders. But everything you’ve ever told me has been lies. You’ve used me, again and again. And then you try to kill me. Twice.”

“You failed me,” she bites out. “I needed one hundred percent obedience and compliance from you, or you quickly became another liability. It’s just business, Nicole.”

“Just business,” I hiss. “I’m your niece. I’m your family.”

“I’m able to separate that from my goals. I will claim power for the Moretti name again, even if it means continuing to work with the Vasilievs. Weakening the Russos to the point that they begin to collapse like a house of cards is only the beginning.”

She’s insane. I see it now, clearer than ever before. This lust for a power that dances just out of her grasp has driven my aunt batshit crazy.

“Where is my sister?” I grit out. “You’ve been dangling her safety in front of me all this time, barely ever even letting me speak to her. Where the fuck is Sofia? Tell me!”

“Your sister is dead,” Bianca says flatly.

I stare at her, certain I heard her wrong. It’s like I’ve taken a blow to my gut with a wrecking ball. I can’t breathe. My knees weaken and I drop to ground next to my father’s grave marker.

Bianca looms over me. “Your sister is dead, Nicole,” she says again.

Hot tears streak down my cheeks as I stare up at her.

And as I do, I realize that I cannot trust a single thing she says. She twists the truth to suit her purposes. She twisted my loyalty, my love, to suit her purposes. Telling me Sofia is dead turn my own emotions against me.

But Leo’s intel says Sofia is alive.

I push to my feet, glaring at her. “I don’t believe you,” I say.

She looks startled for an instant, then her gaze shifts to my left as Leo chooses that moment to emerge from the shadows of a large gravestone.

Bianca looks shocked. Appalled. Even confused. “You told him.”

She didn’t expect that. She still thought that even after everything she’s done, I was nothing other than her pawn.

“Of course I told him, you fucking bitch,” I say.

“So,” Leo says. “You’re Bianca Moretti.”

With that dark tone, that dark look, I swear, anyone else would be shaking in their boots to be faced with Leo and his formidable reputation as someone that nobody fucks with. But Bianca is showing an almost smug satisfaction. I watch her, wary.

She sweeps her gaze up and down his form. “Leonardo Russo. We finally meet.”

“She says Sofia is dead.” Even though I don’t believe my aunt, my voice catches on the last word.

“Why do I doubt you’d so quickly remove the one tool you have for controlling Nicole’s actions?” Leo asks softly. “No, I think Sofia’s still alive.”

Bianca’s gaze flicks from me to Leo and back again. Her shoulders are tense, her hands thrust in the pockets of her coat.

“Nicole,” she says. “You can make this right. Whatever Leo has told you, whatever he’s promised you is only lies. He’s using you every bit as much as I ever have. Do you think he could ever trust you after what you did? No. The only place for you now is with me. Me and Sofia. Come. Come here.” She holds out her left hand toward me, beckoning me like she would beckon a dog.

“First, you say Sofia is dead. And now you say she’s alive?” I say, my tone incredulous. Rage and hate boil in my veins, but I take a page from Leo’s book. I master my emotions, I force myself to stay calm. “First, you wants me dead, and now you want me back? You try to kill me, then say my place is with you? You are wrong. So very wrong.”

But she’s right about one thing—Leo won’t trust me again. Not fully, not like he used to. I might be sharing his bed, his house, but there’s always something there between us. A brick wall that might never crumble.

“Come with me,” Bianca says. “Let’s end this charade, once and for all.”

“Fuck you,” I tell her.

Her brow raises. “You used to be so eloquent. A pity, really.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Leo says. “This ends here, tonight.”

“You’re right,” she replies. “It does.”

Despite the shadows and darkness, I see the movement of her right hand, the shape of something in her pocket. And I know she’s going to kill him.

A cry catches in my throat. “Bianca, no!”

I throw myself in front of Leo as the sound of a shot echoes in the night.