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He shakes his head. “I have to admit, the verdict’s still out on the lady reporter. But if you say you have it under control, I believe you. Emelia is already going to be inside. Izzy can write her story based on the pictures. It’s going to be a lot easier to keep two people safe than it would be to try to keep three people safe.”
The way the load on my chest lightens tells me exactly how much this woman is starting to mean and just what a great fucking idea that is. “It’s a good plan,” I tell him, keeping to myself that there was no fucking way Izzy was going to walk into the lion’s den without me or someone I trust by her side and backed up by ten fucking machine guns.
The deal may have initially been to have her get the pics and the story, but that changed the minute those fuckers came after her. The very minute I knew that she was more to me than any woman, including my mom had ever been. After spending time with no one but her, locked away in my room talking about everything from our childhood to now, she’s going near that fucking gravesite without me over my fucking dead body. “Dom’s still okay with Emelia going?” Personally I’d put my foot down if I were him.
“He says it has to be her decision. She’ll live with it for a lifetime, and he wants her to decide.”
I nod. Righteous words, but I just hope the whole fucking thing doesn’t backfire, because then he’s going to be living with her death for the rest of his life. “I’ll get the camera from Izzy.” My older cousin has already made up his mind to let Dominic make this call. I respect the reason behind it, but that doesn’t stop the gnawing feeling that this could go south for everyone concerned.
Chapter14
Isabella
The minute Lorenzowalks out the door, I clear off the table and go and get my computer. The dining room table with the sun warming my skin makes the perfect place to work on putting a heartfelt spin on the mafia story. It leaves that faint tinge of doubt that will make those who think she may have been taken against her will believe that they are right.
One look at those two in the boutique, before they knew anyone was watching, would clear up any misunderstanding about that. Love like that is rare. The kind you can see between two people with just a look, a gesture, or a tilted head to whisper something that makes the other one blush.
Love…
A loner all my life, love never came into play for me. Not with a first crush, not with a first boyfriend, or even the first man who took me to bed. That emotion is for people who have emotional energy to give. I was too busy leaving the country I grew up in with someone else’s identity. My future in Italy was written in stone the minute they found my father guilty.
The way I saw it, I had one choice—the path he created for me a long time ago. Only after years did I consider the possibility that the families he supposedly betrayed considered me dead or a lost cause and no longer important enough to find.
And even if I knew what the emotion felt like, burying myself in my work left no time for love…
No lovemaking two times a day, no butterflies in my stomach when a man smiles at me, or while I wait for him to waltz through that door in his black Armani suit with that I wanna fuck you look on his face that makes my center wet.
Damn, I am so in over my head…
I sigh, looking at the image of Dominic and Emelia staring at me from the computer monitor. They are so obviously in love to me regardless of what I want others to think. My fingers begin tentatively at first, and then as the words begin to meld into coherent thoughts, inspired by their image, the words, sentences and paragraphs begin to take shape until the rough draft of the article is done and the sun has begun to set.
I stand and stretch, looking out over the city as night falls and the lights begin to twinkle and flash. A land that has been home to mafia families for years, and one that will belong to only one when everything is said and done.
A knock on the door startles me. I walk over to it and look through the peephole. Darryl stands outside with two of my suitcases and the large bag that I use for weekend trips. I open the door, and he grins. “Sorry it took so long. I got caught up in some other work. Lorenzo sent me a text and told me to bring them here,” he says. I glance at the guard who stands stoically by the elevator and gives me a nod.
“Come on in,” I tell him, but the guard shakes his head. “No one in, no one out,” he says in English but with a heavy Italian accent.
I roll my eyes. “I’ll take them from here,” I tell him, pulling one of the large suitcases in at a time. “You packed for a month,” I tell Darryl, after both of them are in and he hands me my weekend bag. “Let me grab a tip,” I tell him.
He grins and shakes his head. “No, we don’t accept tips. We are paid handsomely for the work we do for the Larussios. Enjoy your night,” he says, turning to talk to the guard on duty before pushing the button for the elevator.
The guard’s black soulless eyes send a shiver down my spine. I close the door and slide the dead bolt into place, glancing out the peephole again. The man is staring straight at the door, seemingly straight at me. A shiver runs down my spine.
I try to shake the need for someone so ruthless looking from my mind and pull my suitcases into the bedroom and put them against a wall. This is just for a couple days. Once we get the funeral over tomorrow afternoon, things will die down. I go to the kitchen and look around and find exactly what I’m looking for on a wrought iron wine rack next to the refrigerator.
After opening just a few drawers, I find the opener. I’ve just poured myself a more than generous glass of red wine and have had several large sips when the door rattles.
I walk toward it tentatively. No one is going to come busting through the door made of heavy steel and dead bolted to boot. Especially with Mr. tall, dark, and ruthless right outside the door. I look through the peephole, and Lorenzo is texting with a grin on his face.
I open it at the same time a ding sounds on my phone at the table, alerting me to an incoming message. My cheeks feel hot as I open his door. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lock you out,” I tell him, while the guard stationed at the elevator glowers at me with that same soulless look.
He smirks. “I have to admit, that wasn’t the way I saw my entrance playing out,” he says huskily, closing the door behind him. His hand snakes behind my hair, and he draws me close, kissing my lips. “Your lips taste like wine, sweet and delicious.”
My cheeks heat with the warmth that always seems to take hold every time he’s near. “I finished the article. Would you like to see it?” I ask, excited to see what he thinks, but a little nervous too.
His eyebrows raise. “You’re fast. I thought we would put it in as a piece with the funeral pics tomorrow. Let’s take a read. If you like it, maybe we can send it out into the world tonight. It can hit the presses before the funeral articles.”
My stomach does a flip. “I’ve only gotten the first draft done. Forewarned,” I tell him. “But I’m sure Larry will be chomping at the bit to get it anywhere you want,” I say.
