Long, tight, black pants. Not jeans, but some type of fabric that’s stretchy and soft to the touch. Probably not velvet—I don’t know. Definitely sexy as hell when they cling to the legs of a woman you can’t get enough of. Her top is tight and black too, with long sleeves and a zipper that’s open halfway down a beautiful cleavage.
I miss her even though she’s sitting right in front of me, long coils of hair collected in a ponytail that rolls over one shoulder. Lips bright red and daring, her makeup is warpath-ready. She’s got color shadowing her eyelids too, and it fades off discretely where it meets manicured eyebrows. Her irises sparkle, giving off a feline vibe my dick twitches to.
“Ready for the kill, aren’t you?” I flick her my wolf smile across the table we’re occupying on the plane. It’s a six-seater, a so-called star jet, specifically engineered to entertain impulsive celebrities and politicians who’re easily bored.
Tatiana lifts the corner of her mouth. She pats her thigh, showing me where she’s strapped her gun. “If I have to, I have to.”
Did I mention she’s no nun?
It’s been eight hours since I heard my cousin’s voice on the phone. Four hours since we got on this plane. We’re halfway across the Atlantic, and I can’t wait to set foot on Venetian soil and hunt down the men who kidnapped Gabriela. They haven’t contacted us yet. This could mean several things, the worst being that they’ve already…
The second worst is they’re pressing her for information. I can’t go there right now. Not to their methods; this is Santa Colombini, where nothing and no one is sacred. Not to the information she could leak, because holy fuck.
Behind us sit Bully, Fritz, and two of Felix’s guys, my core four while we’re in Venice. Together, they constitute a star team, with Marty, a skinny blond guy renowned for his speed and accurate aim—and Carlos, an experienced gunman with additional hand-to-hand combat and throwing star expertise. With the Nascimbeni clan and our loyals—the Nero, the Terra, and the Casaconti, we’ll be strong.
“Another drink?” The flight attendant lowers her tray to the table.
“Sure, give me a couple fingers of Yamasaki. Tatiana?”
“Please.” She nods toward the Meiomi, her favorite pinot noir.
My beautiful ice queen. My father and I are in disagreement more often than not, but I believe him in one thing; once a man’s heart is tagged by a woman, it’s hard to remain objective.
I’m taking Tatiana further into danger. Chances are, I’m even taking her to my only one, my deepest secret, the one I love more than my life. How can I keep Ariadna to myself if that happens? All these years of shrouding her in my mind.
These years have been Hell. These years have been Heaven. For Ariadna’s protection, the years to come need to remain the same, with kernels of light for each photographic snapshot I can devour of her living her life. She’s my blessing, a love like no other, and the insistent longing for her can keep grinding against the roots of my heart as long as she’s safe. If I have to meet her with Tatiana present, the consequences could be devastating.
Problem is, I’m hooked, and by now it’s fucking hard to say no to Tatiana. I should’ve stopped what’s developing between us as soon as I realized Tatiana is hiding as many secrets as I do. I could’ve pressed her harder for info. If I hadn’t already spread my resources thin, I could’ve had her surveilled on a whole different level too, but now, it all boils down to this: I chose to bring her with me.
Tatiana might not be my lover. She might not my ally. Maybe she’s the hottest enemy anyone could attract. Heck, she could be the fall of the Nascimbeni dynasty. My instincts are rarely wrong though, and this woman doesn’t want my family as casualties in what she called “the big picture.” What picture might that be? A Vatican picture?
We have a few hours before we land. The guys are watching film with headphones on, and if there’s ever a good time for a chat with my ice queen, it’s now.
Once the stewardess leaves, I slide past the table and onto Tatiana’s couch. She raises her lashes and runs her gaze over me, starting at my hairline and ending on my lips. The way she does it is imperial, a queen indeed, allowing her underlings to entertain her. That’s funny considering how only hours ago I had her panting on her back. I ruled her. Subdued, dominated, sexy as fuck, her will was mine.
“Who is Ariadna?” she asks, tipping my world on its axis with three little words. I close my eyes until I can sift all emotion from them.
“No one.”
“Ariadna Santa Colombini. Didn’t sound like no one to me. Your first love? The one you couldn’t forget?” She tilts her head. “Were you the star-crossed lovers forever separated by your families’ feud? Very Shakespearian. And it’s even in Italy.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Is it?” She leans back against the upholstered leather, sinking into it like she belongs there. “One thing I’ve learned is that what a man says in his sleep tends to be the truth.”
“Interesting. I always thought people rambled. Then again, I don’t speak in my sleep.” I match her posture but lean into the upholstery with one shoulder so I face her.
“You did last night, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t sleep last night. We got on this plane,” I remind her.
“Oh, you slept in Malibu, after… everything. You were talking to her. You told her, ‘Ti amo tanto.’ I looked it up.”
“I commend you for your memory.” I nudge her nose with mine. “And you still wanted to come with me? What does that make you, a masochist?”
“You’re a cruel man, Isaias. Has anyone told you that?” She nuzzles me, dark fringes eclipsing her bright-bright greys.
“Now’s not the time for this. Just know you’re it for me.”
“Yeah?” She nips at my lip, suckles on it, pulls it into her mouth. It’s exquisite, the scent of warm sugar growing heavier. “Maybe I’m smarter than you think.”
“Maybe I know you’re plenty smart. Maybe I think you’re too smart for both of our goods.” I kiss her back, working her mouth, pressing harder with each kiss, causing her head to rock against the headrest with each mini-attack.
“So maybe I’m so smart that I get it. You love someone far away but enjoy your second-bests at home. Am I that to you, sweetheart, a second best?”
She smirks, and my eyes dart to the lipstick smudged around her mouth. Is there anything hotter than knowing that’s your doing?
“Can we talk about this later? I don’t want to lie, and I can’t tell you the truth right now without putting lives in danger. For now, just know that you’re my all.”
“I’m your all. That doesn’t make any sense, Isaias. You hear yourself, right?” Her eyes flash, and I swear it’s jealousy in their depths.
I get to my feet and take her hand. Hesitant, she stands with me. I pull her out on the floor, step in behind her, and turn her body so she faces the back of the plane. “After you.”
“To where?”
“To the back lounge. We’ll be locking the door there,”—I jut my chin at it over her shoulder—“and I’ll be fucking you senseless. I think we’ll both feel better after that.”
The good thing about private jets is you don’t have to worry about layovers. Now, we land on a small private airport on the Venetian countryside. Bully and Fritz get off first, down the rickety staircase, scouring the surroundings through the early morning sun, dark sunglasses on their noses.
I help Tatiana down. She hasn’t broached the subject of Ariadna since I stilled her jealousy in the back lounge. On the other side, we haven’t discussed her Vatican deal either, so I guess we’re even for now.
Carlos and Marty are last off the plane. I’m keeping my father’s men out of the issues concerning my involvement with Tatiana; in the wrong moment, it could be life-threatening for her to have their loyalties switch from me to Il Lince. But Carlos and Marty are hired guns, and of the two, my instinct tells me to choose Carlos as the extra eye on my two-faced queen.
As we stride to the waiting car, I flick a look to his face and see what I already knew; nothing gives away the private pow-wow we had while Tatiana slept off my passion in the back lounge.
I call Sebastian Nero as I lower myself into the backseat. “Hey. I’m at the airport and heading out of here. Any news?”
“The boyfriend woke up. He’s hazy on the details, but mentioned having been on Testaprati Island.”
“Amedeo Santa Colombini’s place,” I say, voice gruff. “I figured.”
“Yeah. His Palazzo Rosa is on the backside, hidden behind poplar trees and spiked gates. It’s a fortress. There’s the bridge, of course, but if that’s where she is, the best way to get in unnoticed would be by boat.”
“I agree.”
I’ve been there. I clear my throat, thinking how different the occasion was, how fatal, how it shaped her future and mine. She was beautiful. We were stupid kids. The chemistry between us hit the roof, especially after a night of drinking.
“The boyfriend doesn’t necessarily think that’s where they're keeping Gabriela, though.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because she was in the car when they threw him out at the docks.”
Life is arbitrary and full of split-second decisions. It’s up to you to make the right ones and back them up with might.
If her father had known she’d run into me, he wouldn’t have let her out that night. If my father had known I’d rock my hips, narrowing in on the prettiest girl in the bar, he would have kept me indoors.
But there she was.
High on our youths, invincible and uncaring of the sins of our fathers, we were a prince and a princess raised in the embrace of organized crime. No one understood each other better.
When we introduced ourselves after twenty minutes of make-outs in the darkest corner of Il Mezzinino, our mouths stayed apart while I stared at her. I’ll be damned.
She answered by kissing me again then arching an eyebrow. You’re not chickening out, are you, Nascimbeni?
I arched mine in response, mirroring her gesture. When has a Nascimbeni ever backed down from Santa Colombini?
Come then. Il Palazzo Rosa is empty tonight. My family is in Rigatone, celebrating the baptism of my cousin. Her smile was small and alluring, the kind that could pull a guy by the dick to the darkest corner of the world.
I smile wryly, thinking how stupid a teenaged boy can be. How did I accept such an invitation, taking a boat over the canal, and laughingly stepping up on an enemy pier with only a hoodie to cover my identity? Santa Colombini servants were present even if her family was on the other side of the city.
I shake my head like I have many times before. She, a true princess, promising death to the guard who saw her sneak home with a boy’s hand clasped in hers. The guard looking away, making sure he never caught my face.
We walked in her front door, over checkered marble, up centuries-old mahogany stairs ending in a gallery above the foyer. It was her Santa Colombini castle, and she took me to her tower. It touched the clouds. I did too.
I touched the clouds in that room with her under me. She wasn’t my first, but we shared a kind of fire that scorched and needed to rage.
Later, a servant knocked on the door. We were drunk on what we’d done and doing it again when her most trusted murmured that her parents were on their way home. But they were staying over? Porca miseria!
And so she rushed me out her window, kiss on my lips and eyes wide with fright. Born mafia, there was no need for details; a Santa Colombini sleeping with a Nascimbeni? Never, never. If we were found out, I’d die a torturous death, and she’d suffer gut-wrenching punishments.
“You’re smiling?” Tatiana squints at me. “Thinking about Ariadna?”
“Eh. Just stuff from the last time I was here. I was young and dumb. Others were too. We did shit we regretted, and I guess, didn’t regret at the same time. It’s complicated.”
She returns her gaze to the window, at ancient walls with flaking paint, a sun that dances over terracotta roofs. It’s not difficult to catch her vibe; Tatiana is fuming.
“Everything’s complicated when it comes to that chick, huh?” she mutters.
“That’s sort of true.” I smile wider. Can’t say I don’t enjoy it when my ice queen hits her boiling point.
“This is it,” Marty says from the driver’s seat.
“Okay. Let’s get on it.”
My guys jump out first, boxing in Tatiana and me while escorting us to the entrance of a three-story building. It rests wall against wall with similar weatherworn constructions, top tiles blurring against the sunshine above us. We have the water at our backs, but this isn’t tourist Venice. This is real Venice, where Venetians live and mobsters hide.
My stare flicks to Tatiana, a brass goddess striding forward. She’s at my side where I want her, but what if she snitches—backstabs—destroys?
“You’re chuckling,” she murmurs against my shoulder, her hand light on my spine. She hooks a finger inside the rim of my pants, walking with me. I don’t object. Fritz notices. Turns away. It’s not capo behavior to let your woman hold on like she owns you.
But I’m no capo. I’m here by accident, by famiglia, by love. And I shake the thought off before it can rock the plans I’m weaving in my mind.
“Signore, welcome. Everyone’s upstairs, waiting for the briefing,” Sebastian says. I scoot the woman I don’t trust in front of me, into a narrow stairway closed in by short steps and dark walls. I keep my palms around her hips, feeling her shift, the undulations of her ascent causing my chest to seize.
“Looking forward to it,” I say. Adrenaline floods my veins, wanting me on the streets, but for this to work out, I need to join brains and hearts in a common goal.
We’re in this together. The Santa Colombini have one of ours. It’s an easy hate, an easy death. My mission is to make all energy burst alive with purpose, for all men gathered here to become one organism. As I take the podium under the low ceiling in Maritima Rocu number 59, the situation is clearer to me than ever.
The Nascimbeni clan in Venice isn’t big enough to pull this off on our own. We’d need sheer luck to jump the Santa Colombini without the full effort of the Nascimbeni loyals, so this meeting is make or break.
“Amici!” I shout, raise my arms high, the dim lights in front of me keeping the crowd of burly men as silhouettes.
The room responds with an instant roar. Bully and Fritz flank me, their giant’s arms crossed while they stare out over the crowd. Tatiana is in the front row. Ivory bright, she stands out, small and feminine, between Marty and Carlos. Taller and wider, their shoulders curve above hers in protection.
“Finalmente sono con voi!” I pump my fist in the air. Clutched fists raise in front of me, twenty, thirty of them, then the whole room erupts.
“Cuccio-lo! Cuccio-lo!”
I inhale the rush of their enthusiasm. I wasn’t born here, didn’t grow up here, and still they trust me. I give Sebastian a nod. He’ll translate from now on.
“It’s time we stop this terror! Again, they have one of our own. The Santa Colombini have abducted my cousin, a sweet, smart, beautiful woman from under our noses. She’d barely stepped off the plane when they took her, and she came here with no harm in mind. She came here to hug you!”
I point at the women in the back, relatives with Gabriela’s gaze, with brows pulling down toward the temples in the melancholy way of the Nascimbeni. “Are we going to let them get away with this?”
“No!” The shout comes from an old man in the front. “No. No. No!”
I don’t recognize him until the others join him, stomping the rhythm of their No! No! No! It’s my mother’s uncle Guasparre from the Terra clan.
My chest inflates, their uproar setting fire to my own fury, to my frustration, my panic, my desperation.
“It’s over!” I bellow. “Amedeo’s reign of terror is over!”
Every family here has bled at the knife of the Santa Colombini, and they roar their agreement, fists shaking.
“We’re taking him down. We’re doing this together. Uniti! Who’s with me?”
Sebastian’s hoarse rendition booms in Italian. Shoulders tense and fists clenched along his thighs, he multiplies the impact of my challenge. The clans pull toward us, closer, tighter, until they’re one will burning, one heart beating.
A shift suddenly stirs the back of the crowd. It zigzags forward, with big men stepping aside to the appearance of the smallest girl. She could be nine—she could—and she doesn’t stop until she’s all the way at the front.
Dark braids straight along a thin neck, she lifts her hand, palm forward and fingers spread toward me. Eyes burning with intent, the girl opens her mouth and calls, in a timber so light it’s crystal: “Avanti, Nascimbeni!”