Sold to the Italian Mafia Boss: Chapter 8

I wake early, but it’s more difficult to get out of bed than usual.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Kate is asleep, her head cradled in my arm, her golden hair spilled across the pillow. She’s in her silk dressing gown, one leg extended out of the blankets. Her thigh and calve, milky in the morning light, are bruised; from what? The fight the other night? I hear the echo of gunshots and see the blood arcing across the wall and the bodies of the Russians collapsing in the hall. Who the fuck have I gotten into bed with? I should be concerned, shouldn’t I? About trusting her. About sleeping with her. And yet, I’m not.

Kate is many things, as I’ve learned over years of studying her and a week of knowing her. But a liar, even to me? I don’t think so. She’s candid. She’s clever and blunt. And she saved my life the first chance she had to take it. She could easily have let me die. Hell, she could have killed me herself. But she didn’t. I know it’s self-preservation on her part. Survival. But then, the way she kissed me at the shooting range, the way she dressed my wound last night…the way she gave herself to me, fell into her hunger, the way she let herself feel everything, everything—that can’t be faked. She’d have to be one hell of an actor.

She stirs, lips parting, eyes opening. When she sees me, she freezes, her arm tightening across my chest. “Oh,” she says softly. And then she smiles.

Fuck. It’s a knife in the ribs, that smile. I’ve never seen it before. It’s open, loose, and easy. It’s daylight. And it makes me want to kiss her again. More gently, with more purpose. It makes me want to make her melt, fall back into the silk pillows, and close her eyes, and let my hands and my mouth explore her body. Let me bring her there over and over until the sun sets.

What the fuck am I doing?

I shift, forcing myself to go to ice. That’s not what this is about. This is political. Respecting her—hell, liking her—is fine.

So long as it doesn’t get in the way. I pull away from her, turn my back and grab my trousers. She says nothing, but I sense tension as it’s produced in the air, fraying, made of static. I hear her sit up and roll out of bed. Swiftly, silently, I get dressed.

“We have a meeting today,” I say coldly. “An American.”

“An American?” When I turn, I find her looking at me strangely. She’s stepped into jeans and a thick black sweater, her hair tousled, her eyes sleepy. Girlfriend, I think, all too easily. She looks like a girlfriend just now. “Who? One of my contacts?”

“Yes. An Arthur Black.”

“Fuck.” She narrows her eyes. “Why? Why him?”

Something treacherously like jealousy blisters open inside me. “Why not him? You have some sordid history you’d like to share?”

“No,” she snaps. “I barely do business with him anymore. He’s a fucking sellout.”

“Barely do business?” I shift to look at her, pulling on my watch. We look like a husband and wife, really, don’t we? Getting dressed in the same room, bickering about guests coming to visit. “Your accounts exchanged well over a million dollars last year. No collateral.”

“It’s to keep him at bay,” she says, jabbing a finger at me. “What the hell, Luca? Why didn’t you consult with me first? He’s dangerous.”“So am I.”

She rolls her eyes. It makes me want to grab her. Hold her. Kiss her neck until she gives me that blinding smile again. “I thought we were past this phase. I’m stuck here now. I’m stuck with you.”

“You didn’t seem too unhappy about that last night.”

She looks at me sharply, a flush flooding her cheeks. “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t do that.”I cross my arms. “Do what, exactly?”

Her flush deepens, and she averts her eyes. “Flirt with me.”

“Look. We might be married, Kate. We might have fucked last night. But the reality remains that you are my prisoner, and for your safety, you still need to pay out. And the debt is quite significant.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she nods. “I know that.”

“Do you want to save your father? Do you want to pay his debts the right way?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I straighten, raking a hand through my hair, and go for the door. “Then let’s get to work.”

***

Arthur Black is a tall, handsome, full-watt smile American arms dealer. His mom was a billionaire, a real estate mogul from Dubai who got her hands into organized crime and is now sealed away in a maximum security prison in New York State.

Arthur lives a high-profile life, not unlike her. He’s friends with celebrities and star athletes; his roster of boyfriends includes everything from rappers to Formula 1 drivers. And he holds himself like he’s not just the smartest man in the room, but like he owns the room—and everyone in it.

That’s precisely why I chose to meet him in town, at one of the Michelin-star restaurants reserved for Hollywood actors and young royalty on winter holidays. We meet for lunch and are seated in a private upstairs room where the walls and ceiling are made all of glass. Snow coats the top, sending cold blue light diffusing over the white tile floors and walls. I come in alone, just on the off-chance Arthur has something wild planned.

But as soon as I clap my eyes on him, I realize I’ve overestimated him. This isn’t the kind of man who brings armed guards or plots assassinations. In fact, despite us being close to the same age, he has the aspect of a boy: goofy, drenched in wealth he didn’t own, and too cocky to even hear the word no.

“Where is she?” He asks, giving me a full, blinding grin as we shake hands. “Come on, you know I’m not really here to see you, Romano.”

“I’m disappointed,” I say, returning the smile with one of my own. Sharp enough that I see Arthur hesitate, gauge me. Size me up a little. “Please, sit.” I already am, but Arthur is hesitating. When I command him to and gesture dismissively, he, to my surprise, obeys. “You came a long way for a visit with my captive. You couldn’t have imagined I’d let the two of you have much time together.”

“Look, I’m glad you called. I’ve been admiring your organization from afar since my mom was still out in the real world.” Arthur kicks back, flicking a lazy finger at the waiter, who arrives with a bottle of top-shelf whiskey and pours for us both before vanishing back into the woodwork. “But the only reason I’m here is Kate. You wouldn’t even have my information if it wasn’t for her, right? I don’t usually associate with people of your…caliber.”

“A bit early in the meeting to be insulting me,” I say, but I say it without any sting and smile mildly, sitting back in my chair. Arthur drinks without toasting—a bit brusque, a bit uncultured—and I wait until he’s taken a drink to take mine. “And anyway, our calibers aren’t so different, you and I. In fact, according to my most recent information…yours might even be in danger of falling beneath mine.”

“I’m a baller,” says Arthur with a grin. “I know how to spend like I know how to earn. Sue me, OK? But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I went to MIT. You know what that is, MIT?”

I study him. He’s enigmatic. Jittery but alternately calm. Cocky but occasionally vulnerable. I’m not certain what will work best with him. But that’s why I brought Kate. “I’m not here to listen to your credentials. As I’m sure, you’re not here to listen to mine. Let’s cut to the chase. Liam McNamara owes my organization a massive debt, one I intend to collect. And soon. Not immediately; I’m not a monster. And anyway, I’ve helped myself to a down payment.” I signal to the waiter, and a moment later, Kate skulks obediently in.

Before she can greet Arthur, I stand, catching her by the waist and leaning in to kiss her softly. Possessively. Her hands fly to my chest, but I hold her firm, feeling Arthur’s shock as it suffuses the air. When I release Kate, her face is flushed, her eyes full of murder. Some part of her, clearly, even after last night—truly hates me.

Good. That should, at the very least, keep things simple. “Sit,” I say to her, coolly but with a tone that brooks no argument. “Kate, you remember Arthur, I take it? Arthur, you recall Kate McNamara—my wife.”

Kate sits stiffly, letting me slide her chair in for her like some perverse kind of gentleman. I sit beside her, signaling the waiter, who comes to pour a few fingers of Arthur’s whiskey for Kate. She drinks it in one gulp, then rudely—but somewhat hotly—snaps her fingers for a top-up.

Arthur is looking between us, his expression blank with shock, his mouth hanging open. “No—I don’t believe it. You’re not that stupid, Romano. Liam will have your head.”

“Liam is wise enough to know this is the best investment he could have hoped for,” I reply curtly. “Kate, you’re the one who’s good with numbers. Isn’t that right? And Arthur here went to MIT. I’m sure you can both do the math. Liam is locked in more than ever, and my debt is more apt to be paid out—and soon. But now I’m thinking about fairness, you see; now I’m thinking about interest.”

“Interest?” Snaps Kate, turning that murderous glare back on me. It’s enough to send chills down my spine, though I can’t determine if it’s fear or attraction or a seductive blend of both. “That’s what this is? You’re going to buy out my partners as fucking interest?”

“Language, love,” I say, as condescendingly as possible. Her face lights up, and I’m surprised at how much pleasure pulses through me when it does. “You and Arthur go way back, is that right? Good. History is good insurance.”

“If you think for a second that I’m gonna—”

I cut Arthur off with a raised hand. “Kate is mine now,” I say simply. “Mine to fuck, mine to impregnate, mine to kill if I please. Mine to lend out. Mine to sell.” As I say it, I reach for her and find her sitting stiffly with shoulders rigid and hands gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles have gone white. I brush the back of my hand over her cheekbone. “Mine to do with whatever I desire.”

“What the hell does that matter to me?” demands Arthur.

“Your accounts are tightly linked. Don’t think I didn’t look closely at the numbers, Arthur. You’re skimming off the top. By a fat fucking margin.”Arthur goes white as a sheet. He and Kate lock eyes. And I can tell by the way her spine softens that Kate didn’t know this—I didn’t think so. She manages so many accounts, and if I didn’t have good men on it, I’m sure I wouldn’t have caught it, either.

“So,” I say. “Interest.”

“What the fuck, Arthur?” Kate says, and she sounds genuinely offended. Knowing her, she’s more pissed off that she didn’t catch the mistake herself and had to be told by a third party. “How long have you been fucking me over?”

Arthur snorts. “I haven’t. Are you serious?” But there’s a high note in his voice. He’s nervous. And when he gestures at me frantically, his hand is shaking. “Come on. We’ve known each other a long time, Kate. A long time.” He looks at her pointedly. “You’re not gonna believe this motherfucker over me, are you? Really? He kidnapped you! He’s the son of your father’s worst rival!”

Kate only stares at him. Her expression is strange. She’s doing some kind of calculus. “Wait, no,” she says after a moment. “I do know when. Three years ago, right? When you tried to pull out and I locked you in…I sensed there was something in that. A maneuver. You must not have started then, though, not right away, because I was watching that account closely. But you were pivoting, planning it. Because of that night.”

Arthur’s face goes so red it’s almost purple. I glance at Kate—now it’s my turn to be surprised.

“Because I wouldn’t sleep with you,” she says, her voice almost awed. “You petty little fucker. And to think, I trusted you…” Her eyes narrow to slits. “What were you saying, Luca, about interest?”

“Come on, Kate,” says Arthur, voice wobbling. “You need me. Your father needs me. You can’t afford to lose me—”

“Together,” Kate says, pointing a finger at me while looking fiercely at Arthur, “we out-own you by tens of millions. If you don’t want your ass erased from this corner of the world, I advise you to do exactly as you’re fucking told. Do you think the only way to be ruined is by being in jail like your mom, Arthur? There are much, much worse fates.” With every word, she leans closer, her eyes never leaving Arthur’s, never blinking. “You get protection through me. Through my father. Through his contacts. You’re not from this world, and I get that. But so does everyone else. And the minute I take my name off of you, the minute you become vulnerable. You wanna know what it’s like outside of Hollywood parties and private yachts? I’ll fucking show you myself.”

Arthur has been leaning back for every inch Kate has leaned forward. He’s pressed flush back against the chair, pale as a sheet, sweat beading at his temples. The cockiness is all a facade, then. And it folded like a house of cards.

I snap, and instead of a waiter, a pair of my men appear. Two of my biggest, hulking, dressed all in black, carrying the least discreet rifles we’ve got in the armory.

“No,” says Arthur, shrinking. “No, wait, please, I’ll work with you—”

“Work with us?” Kate says it before I can. And then she stands up before I even have the chance. I watch her in surprise as she rises, balancing all of her fingertips on the table and looking down her nose at Arthur like he’s the smallest insect in the world, and she’s primed to put her boot down on him. “You’ll be lucky if I let you work for us, Arthur.”

The guards get him by an arm each and drag him out, and Kate watches, ice cold, not blinking at his pleas and cries for mercy. Once he’s gone, a door out of sight banging closed, she looks at me.

“You can’t kill him,” she says, sighing, sinking back into her seat and taking a sip of her whiskey. She sits back, crossing one boot over the opposite knee. She looks, for all the world, like a fucking kingpin. Girlfriend, mafia boss—is there any uniform she can’t wear? “He’s valuable. And whatever he was skimming isn’t enough to kill the account over.”

I chuckle. “No? Then what was all of that?”

“A performance. No crime boss ever got anything without a little grandstanding.” She finishes her whiskey and puts it down, leaning her elbows on the table and locking eyes with me. “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what, exactly?”

“Throw me to the wolves. If we’re meeting my people, tell me.”

I consider her. Consider the request. Given the circumstance, she performed quite well just there. But I can’t deny that coming into negotiations with both of us on the same would help. A lot, I think, given her apparent acting skill. “Why?”

“You know why.” She doesn’t blink. Her gaze is ice. As intense as mine ever is. Fuck. She’s impressive. “You really want to capitalize on this marriage, farce that it is? OK. Let’s do it. I want to pay my father’s debt.” She takes a deep breath and exhales. “If that means fucking my position, if it means losing my contacts to you and possibly bankrupting him—fine. I want him to leave. Free of you, free of your threats looming over him.”

Her passion for her father wounds me. So far, I’ve been able to overlook it. It makes me miss my father. It makes me respect her even more for all that she’s doing, all that she’s willing to sacrifice just for the chance to save him.

“Please, Luca,” she says and surprises me by placing her hand over mine on the table. “I’m in this now. Let’s work together.”

“You’re brilliant,” I tell her, and her eyebrows go up, and she lifts her hand from mine and sits back. “You’re cunning. You’re courageous and clever and experienced and fearless, and I don’t trust for a moment that, given a chance, you won’t turn on me. Give me one reason that I should trust you, Kate. Right here. Right now.”

She’s pale. But she nods, seeming to understand. And she says, “You shouldn’t.”

“Then nothing here is going to change.” I stand, turn, and walk out.