As we leave the restaurant, Ivo slips his arm around my waist in a possessive gesture for all to see. He helps me into his vehicle and climbs into the driver’s seat. He swings onto the main road, then casually rests his hand over mine and holds my hand all the way back to the house.
Ivo walks me to the door, as usual. Only this time, he says, “Invite me in, baby.”
I blink and inhale deeply. “Would you like to come in for coffee?” Goodness, I sound breathy and totally unlike me.
Oh, that sexy smile is mesmerizing. Ivo steps inside, and I move to close the door, but all of a sudden, I have my back against the door, and Ivo is pressing his body into mine. I feel his hard muscles, every inch of him.
He reaches out to touch a tendril of my hair with his fingers. “Did you wear that dress for me?”
Why am I finding it hard to breathe? I can’t concentrate with him this close to me. “I…I wanted to look nice for you,” I murmur.
“Mission accomplished, babe. I could hardly take my eyes off you, and neither could any other man in the room. It’s a miracle I didn’t start a war tonight,” he says, his hand moving down my cheek, and under my chin. His full lips hover over mine, so close, so very close. “I said I wouldn’t kiss you in this house, but I’ve waited a long time to taste you. I normally take what I want, and my patience is at an end. I’m going to kiss you now.”
Ivo tilts his head to the side, his eyes half-lidded, and his mouth descends. He presses his lips to mine. It starts off slow and sweet, soft, delicate kisses, once, twice, then harder, deeper, with fervent, urgent desire I’ve never felt before. One hand is braced next to my head; the other traces a path down my neck to grip my nape, holding me steady as his mouth plunders mine. All I can do is hold on to his arms for fear that my legs will buckle beneath me. My lips part beneath his insistent pressure, my head growing dizzy, my world spiraling, sending delicious tremors down my spine.
When he finally lifts his head, his dark eyes are brimming with fire, and both of us are gasping for breath. “Jesus Christ, baby, you can kiss,” he says, resting his forehead against mine.
I’m still clinging to his shoulders. I’ve never been kissed like this before. My lips are swollen, my chest heaving, my breasts pressing against the fabric of the lace corset of my dress. I’m positive my face is flushed. I didn’t want the kiss to end. Wordlessly, I gaze upward. He nips at my earlobe and whispers, “Oh yes. I’ll enjoy watching you come undone in our bed.”
He moves me away from the door and slowly releases me. My legs wobble as he caresses my cheek. “Good night, regina mia.”
And he’s gone, leaving me standing in the entranceway, staring at the closed door.
Sleep did not come easy last night. A million thoughts ran through my brain, everything from finding a dress to planning a menu for the wedding, but mostly, Ivo’s kiss. I knew that when he kissed me, it would be memorable, but this was more. That moment will be forever sealed into my soul.
After tossing and turning most of the night, I finally drifted off, only to wake again at four in the morning. Staying in bed wasn’t an option, so here I am on my second batch of muffins, watching the sun come up. It’s not like I can call Evangeline at this hour or even make arrangements with a florist or caterer, so baking is my therapy.
I pack the muffins into tins and clean my kitchen, then take them out to the guards that Ivo has assigned to watch over the house. He wasn’t pleased that Ruggero showed up that day, and although he’s never been back, Ivo insists upon a man being on duty day and night.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Ciro says when I hand him the tin. Ciro is young but fierce. We’ve talked a few times, and I learned that his father and brother were killed when he was only seven. His father was a soldier, and his brother was only twelve when they were hit by a semi that skidded out of control on the highway. He’s become the man of the house and looks after his mother and younger brother. He can’t be more than twenty-one, and yet he’s experienced more tragedy than any young person should. His rounded face still holds a boyish look, with a head of wild, untameable curls, but his eyes tell a different story. They say he understands suffering. He graciously takes the muffins from me. “These will be gone in an hour once I get home. The cookies you baked last week didn’t make it to the kitchen,” he tells me.
“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” I say. Letting him continue his work, I go back to the house and begin making lists. My to-do list is on the second page when my cell phone rings. Evangeline’s name lights up my screen.
“I’m sorry to bother you so early. It’s not too early, is it? I couldn’t wait to talk to you. Ivo said that you set the date for three weeks from Saturday and might need my help. I’m so excited to help and thought I’d reach out,” Evangeline says quickly before I even get my hello out.
“I was going to call you, but didn’t want to disturb you this early either.” I laugh. “Imagine that, we’re both losing sleep, and both of us are up and about.”
Evangeline laughs along with me, then says, “What’s first on your agenda?”
I groan. “A dress.” I’m not looking forward to dress shopping. No matter what I choose, someone will come up with a snide comment.
“Well, you don’t sound thrilled about shopping.”
“I’ve never been much for parties, and at this one, I’ll be part of the main attraction,” I tell her honestly.
“And you’re going to be beautiful,” Evangeline insists. “Raffaele has arranged for Francesco and Massimo to accompany us while we go hunting for the perfect dress. We’ll have to find one for Adriana as well.”
“That’s right! She’ll want a poofy princess dress.”
“And a tiara!”
“You can’t be a princess without a tiara,” I joke.
“We’ll get you sorted out first, then look for Adriana. I can call ahead to a few shops and make appointments for us. Raffaele prefers it that way, and it’s easier on Francesco and Massimo,” she says. Evangeline is the capo’s wife and is most certainly a target for the enemy. Raffaele is protective and extremely careful, especially since she was almost abducted by a gang. The story was never openly discussed, and there have been plenty of theories as to why they would come after a member of Ultimo Morte since there have never been dealings with this gang prior to that point.
“I don’t want to put you out. I can do that,” I respond.
“Please let me help. Get ready and have the list handy, and we’ll get to work. We’ll pick you up by ten,” she says in a cheerful voice.
“Thank you. I have to admit, I was looking at this list and beginning to panic.” I sigh.
“No worries. Help is on the way.” Evangeline makes me feel so much better. We say our goodbyes, and I go get ready for our shopping trip.
As I’m putting on my lipstick, my phone buzzes with a text.
Ivo: Museum booked. Reception at 1 p.m.
Holy heaven almighty! How did he pull that off? It’s nearly impossible to get the venue, let alone with it being only a few weeks away.
Me: I’m impressed! You must be a miracle worker.
Ivo: More like the devil that doesn’t take no for an answer.
I’m sure I don’t want to know what Ivo had to do to get our venue. Some things are better left unknown. Instead, I write back, My hero, with a smiley face. To which he responds with a thumbs-up emoji.
We’re at the second boutique on the list, and I’m already frustrated. All these dresses are too much. Too many sequins or too much lace. They’re not me!
Eviva, the owner must know Evangeline well, because as soon as we arrive, she greets us at the door, then promptly locks it behind us.
“We’re making sure you have all the privacy and time you need to find what you like,” Eviva says, clasping her hands together. She turns to me. “I hear you’re the lucky bride. Shall we get started? I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee and scones for you while we browse the dresses.” And then she guides us to our own private room, with cozy chairs. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. “Now tell me, what kind of dress are you looking for?”
That’s the first time anyone has asked me what I wanted. Even for my first wedding, my mother was overly involved in choosing my dress. I did like what I wore, but it would have been nice to try on the dresses I wanted.
“This is my second marriage. I’m a widow,” I explain. “Something elegant, refined, and tasteful. And not white.”
“That seems doable,” Eviva replies with a smile. “But you forgot to add youthful. You’re still a very young woman.” She hands me a cup of coffee. “I’m glad you found love again.”
Eviva is a middle-aged woman who takes great care of herself. She’s fashionable and chic. Her blonde hair is styled in an easy-to-manage bob, and her makeup is perfect. It’s no wonder she owns a boutique. But she’s also kind and sensitive and a great listener. She goes through the racks, pulling dresses she thinks I would like, and tells me to take a look and choose a few more.
Evangeline gets into the fun and picks out several dresses for me to try on as well. Then she sits back and says, “I’m waiting for the fashion show,” and takes a bite of a blueberry scone.
I try on seven gowns, all very beautiful and classy, but none that wow me. Then Eviva hands me a rose-gold gown that I never would have chosen for myself. “Trust me,” she says with a grin. “I think this is your dress. Not many could pull off this style, but I’m sure you can.” She gives me a wink. What have I got to lose?
“Why not,” I respond and, with Eviva’s help, step into the gown.
“Don’t look,” she orders. “Let me make it perfect.” Eviva fusses, pinning the dress a little tighter at the waist. “You have such a tiny waist. I used to be that slim once.” She laughs. Then she steps back and gasps. “You’re the vision of an angel from heaven. That dress was made for you.”
“Can I look now?”
“Step out and onto the platform. That way, Mrs. Di Morte can see it too.” Eviva guides me onto the rounded step, where mirrors are all around so we can see the dress from every angle.
Evangeline gasps. “Oh my God, that’s the one! It’s spectacular.”
I stare into the mirror at the sweetheart bodice with an off-the-shoulder neckline, circular flounce, and short sleeves. A deft fit accentuates the bust, waist, and hips, evoking a trumpet silhouette. The bodice is embellished with entwined embroidery that flows into the sleek skirt, which flares with layers of tulle in a matching design.
It’s the most exquisite gown I’ve ever worn. The design fits my body, accentuating my curves in all the right places. Everything about this dress makes me feel magnificent.
“I’d style your hair up and to the side in a very neat bun,” Eviva says, lifting my hair from my shoulders and holding it up and back to get the full effect.
“She’s right,” Evangeline jumps in. “It shows off your long neck. What do you think?” she asks.
I’m still staring into the mirror, and through the reflection, I glance at Evangeline. “I love it. I didn’t think I’d find anything this perfect.”
Evangeline grins from ear to ear. “Yay!” she exclaims, raising her hands in the air to celebrate. “You’ll have to tell your maid of honor what you’d like her to wear to complement your dress, and we need to look for Adriana. And we can cross this off the list.”
“I was hoping you’d be my maid of honor,” I say. “I think we’ve grown close, and I consider you a good friend. Maybe my best friend.”
Evangeline gets out of her chair and races toward me, hopping up on the pedestal to hug me tightly. “I’d be honored.”
“Now, careful of the pins,” Eviva says with a chuckle. “We can’t have the bride get injured.” We laugh along with her. “Why don’t I help Elisa out of her dress, and you can take a look at what dresses you would like to try on.”
“Can I have another minute?” I ask. I’m not ready to take it off yet. I can’t explain it, but it makes me feel beautiful.
“Of course, dear. Take all the time you need.” Evangeline and Eviva begin looking at dresses for Evangeline while I admire my wedding dress.
Several hours later, we finally leave the shop. The dresses have been measured for alterations and will be ready by the end of the week. Eviva has even given us the name of a children’s store where we may be able to find something for Adriana.
We’re both exhausted by the time we’re done and ready for lunch. I suggest a deli down the street, but Francesco doesn’t like the idea.
“That’s not a good idea. Too many people,” he says.
“It’s right across the street, and we’re starving. You gentlemen have to eat too,” Evangeline reminds them innocently.
“Massimo, check it out,” Francesco orders in a none-too-happy tone.
Massimo is gone and back in no time at all. “There’s only a couple of tables. I told the guy to keep the last one open.”
I’m not used to all this caution. Maybe because I’ve rarely left the house in the last few years. It stands to reason that Evangeline would garner this much attention, being Raffaele’s wife. We walk across the street to the quaint deli and place our orders. Francesco has us sit at the corner table with him, while Massimo keeps watch outside.
“Doesn’t Massimo need to eat?” I ask Francesco.
He lifts the wrapped sandwich. “He’ll eat it in the car.”
“I feel guilty,” I say.
Francesco chuckles. “We know our job, and trust me, we’re used to it.”
When we’re done eating, I insist on buying the coffee to take with us. It’s the least I can do for all they’ve done for me today. Evangeline is being escorted back to the car while Massimo waits at the door for me.
“Hey, pretty lady,” a deep voice says. I look up to see a handsome man in a tailored suit smiling down at me.
“Hi,” I reply politely and turn back to see if our coffees are ready.
“Forgive me, but I couldn’t help coming over to talk to you. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I know I’d regret it if I didn’t.”
I’m stunned. I’ve never been hit on before. Guido and I were a foregone conclusion, and we never dated or even flirted.
“I, um, well, thank you, but I’m attached,” I tell the gentleman quietly.
He looks at my hand. “No ring, baby. Can’t be serious if a man doesn’t put a ring on your finger,” he teases.
“Well—” I’m at a loss for words, but Massimo has other ideas. I find him by my side with a menacing look on his face.
“Buzz off! The lady told you she’s not interested,” Massimo states sternly. Unfortunately, this man doesn’t scare easy. He takes out his business card and puts it in my hand. I place it on the table, leaving it there.
“Call me,” he says and gives me a sexy grin. Massimo is about to grab the guy by the collar, but thankfully, the coffees are ready. I put the tray in his hand.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “It’s not worth it.” Massino glances down at me with a murderous look. “Come on, a really tasty sandwich and heavenly coffee are waiting for you, and he’s not worth our time,” I coax.
He takes my arm and leads me back to the car, and on the way, he grumbles, “Ivo would have torn him apart.”
“Men will be men, and how is he to know I was engaged? I’m not going to give it another thought, and neither should you.”
When we join Evangeline and Francesco, Francesco notices Massimo’s expression and immediately asks, “What happened?”
I give Massimo a pleading look to not make this more than it was, harmless flirting.
“Nothing.” Massimo sighs. “All good.” Francesco narrows his gaze, but Massimo keeps quiet. Evangeline gives me an inquiring glance, but I just smile and change the topic back to the success of finding the perfect dresses.
IVO
“You gotta tell him.” I hear Francesco talking to someone as I come across the courtyard from my home through the gardens and over to see Raffaele. As I get closer, I see he’s speaking with Massimo. Massimo has his head down, staring at his shiny black shoes.
“Nothing happened,” Massimo replies. “I handled it.” I stop short and stay out of sight. Nothing should be kept a secret from Raffaele, and if Massimo doesn’t come clean on his own, I’ll have to question his loyalty.
“If it were your woman, would you want to know?” Francesco asks.
“Fuck!” Massimo swears. “Ivo’s going to be pissed.”
I’m already enraged, knowing that it has something to do with Elisa.
“Are you worried he’s gonna take it out on you?” Francesco asks.
“Hell no! I would have broken the guy’s hand if he even attempted to touch her. I made it clear he needed to fuck off. Elisa was so stunned, she didn’t even realize the guy was hitting on her at first, and once she did, she was completely lost. By that time, I was giving the guy his marching orders. Arrogant asshole, though,” Massimo says.
“Then you got no problem,” Francesco replies.
“Yeah, but Elisa didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I think she was embarrassed,” Massimo responds.
I’ve had enough and come into view. Both men see me at the same time. Francesco looks at Massimo, giving him the eye. Massimo nods.
“Catch you both inside.” Francesco excuses himself, leaving Massimo and me alone.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask. I’m giving him the opportunity to give it to me straight.
“Francesco and I took the ladies dress shopping. All went well, then they wanted to grab a bite at a diner across the street. Again, all good,” he says. “Elisa insisted on buying coffees for all of us for the drive home. We all argued, but it was making her upset, so we went with it. Francesco took Evangeline back to the car to wait for us.” Massimo inhales and pauses before letting out a breath.
“Go on,” I order, watching his expression intently.
“This slick guy comes up to her and starts flirting. She was really surprised by it, like she’s never had anyone flirt with her before. Anyway, Elisa tells the guy she’s attached, and the asshole makes a comment about her not having a ring on her finger. He said that her guy wasn’t serious if he didn’t buy her a ring. I was right there and told him to fuck off. He walked away, but not before he slid his card into her hand. Elisa ignored it, and we left…”
I’m livid. I can feel the heat burning up my face, my fists clenching and the need to punch something hard bubbling up inside me. I’m mad at myself. I never thought of a ring. Shit! Here I am, marrying the woman, and I didn’t remember to put my mark on her.
“Elisa didn’t want me to tell anyone. She doesn’t want to upset you,” he adds. “Honestly, nothing happened, but I want you to trust me with Elisa, and Francesco pointed out that in order for that to happen, I had to tell you.”
“Never keep anything from me. Your loyalty is to Ultimo Morte, first and foremost,” I remind him. “You did the right thing.” This should ease his mind, but I can see that it hasn’t. “Is there more?”
“No, sir,” he mumbles.
“Then what’s with the face?”
“He was so smug and pompous. I wanted to slit his throat.” Massimo throws his hand out, “What guy slides a business card ”—he does the motion with his hand, pretending to hand me a card—“like that, and struts away like a peacock? If I wouldn’t have caused a scene, I would have thrown him through the front window.”
I chuckle. Massimo is protective of our women. That’s a good sign.
“If you find the guy, you have my permission to beat the shit out of him. Let’s go inside. I have to finish up here. I have an errand to run.”
Much as I appreciate Massimo watching over Elisa, I’m angry. I’m so busy looking after business that I never thought of buying a ring. Raffaele used a local jeweler when he bought Evangeline’s ring. I’ll get the number from him. Whenever we call, Timothy Simpson comes running. He has the finest cut diamonds and the highest quality product. Raffaele had Evangeline’s ring designed just for her. A one of a kind.
But first, time to get to business.
After weeks of analyzing the data on the USB keys that we found, we trace it back to offshore bank accounts and an account of funds that have been funneled in and out of the account. None of the accounts are in Guido’s name. They’re numbered accounts that move through several different banks that trace back to Pisa Construction in Italy.
To add to our suspicion, Ruggero was to meet with Raffaele and me, and his wife called to let us know he was called out of town. He’s a coward, and Raffaele is livid. Raffaele has alerted Ultimo Morte to bring Ruggero to him directly if they see him.
Raffaele’s ready to hop on a plane and go back home to rattle some cages and see who the owner of the construction company is. He’s made some calls, and no one has ever heard of them. It’s a shell company for laundering money. Guido’s had this information for years, and he kept it to himself. That’s also riling up Raffaele.
“I should have fucking shot him myself instead of letting him die painlessly,” Raffaele spits out. “We fucking took care of him. He had everything he wanted or needed. All he had to do was ask. Why the fuck was he hiding this from us?”
“He must have had a reason. I know it doesn’t matter what it was. It was still wrong. But he wasn’t thinking straight in the end. Guido was getting sicker every day. I think he meant for us to find the USBs when he was gone. Guido made sure we knew after he was gone and specifically asked us to look after his estate. We’re the ones who trusted Bruto, and he failed miserably,” I say.
“You think this is about his father?” Raffaele asks, absently tapping his pen on the desk.
“It’s not right. None of it. Guido dies, and Bruto starts taking paintings off the wall, cutting Elisa’s allowance short and firing her staff. Then Ruggero shows up and physically pushes her out of the way to get to Guido’s bedroom. It feels slimy, and I trust my gut,” I tell him.
“We’ve been following him for months and found nothing,” Raffaele reminds me.
Francesco steps forward and says, “Perhaps we’re looking in the wrong places.”
Raffaele leans back in his chair, “Go on.”
“The company is in Italy. We’re looking at our businesses here. We have holdings in the old country, do we not?” Francesco asks.
“And Bruto and his wife just got back from Piemonte not long ago,” Massimo adds. “I remember one of his men mentioning it.
“I’ll find out how frequently Bruto’s traveled outside the country and where,” I say, preempting what Raffaele’s going to ask next.
“And Ruggero. He’s being evasive, and I don’t have a good feeling about him,” Raffaele says.
Massimo twists his mouth at the mention of Ruggero’s name. The man should never play poker; he wears his emotions too vividly on his face.
“You got it,” I reply, then ask, “Are we done for now?”
“Got a more pressing engagement?” Raffaele teases.
“I have a matter to rectify,” I respond. Raffaele gives me a curious look, but doesn’t ask for an explanation.
“We’re done. But I want that information within forty-eight hours,” he demands.
“Have I ever let you down?” I say with a smirk.
He returns it with his own shit-eating grin. “Can’t say that you have.”
“Sir,” Massimo interrupts, “I’d like to assist you with that, if that works for you.” He’s looking right at me. I glance at Raffaele, who lifts a brow, then nods.
“Right, then come with me,” I tell Massimo. I give a two-finger salute to Raffaele and a chin lift to Francesco before we go. As we walk toward my car, I give Massimo directions on how to go about getting the information I need and who to contact. “Start with two years back. If there’s a consistent pattern, go back another year. Raffaele will want to know how long things have been going on, if anything,” I tell him.
“Ruggero’s dirty,” Massimo says.
I lean my hand on the top of the car door. “How do you know?”
He shrugs. “I can’t explain it, but I just know. He’s always sneaking off someplace. At first, I thought he had a mistress.” He shakes his head. “But he isn’t right. I can feel it, in here,” he finishes, pointing to his gut.
I have the exact same opinion, but we need proof, and that’s what I tell him.
I arrive at Elisa’s place much later than I wanted. We didn’t have plans and there’s no reason to expect me, but when she opens the door with messy hair that she’s trying to smooth down by raking her hand over it, my cock immediately gets hard. I scan the rest of her. She’s wearing a pair of pink-and-black plaid flannel PJ bottoms and a matching pink tank top peeking through the white sweater she has over it.
“Ivo?” she says, with sleepy eyes. Then she jolts awake and gasps, “Adriana?”
“No, babe. Adriana’s good.” I place my hand on her belly and gently push her backward, moving through the doorway and into the entranceway. I walk her to the living room and sit on her couch, pulling her down to sit next to me.
“What time is it?” she asks with a yawn.
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.” She finally focuses on my face and frowns. “What’s going on? Did I do something to upset you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s…” She grabs my wrist and looks at the watch, “twelve forty-five, and you’re here and not sleeping like the rest of the world. And you’re answering questions with more questions.”
When she moves to let go of my wrist, though, I take her hand in mine instead and reach into my pocket. I slip the pear-shaped, two-carat, solitaire diamond ring onto her finger. I like how it looks there.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. Her gaze is fixed on the ring, and when she finally looks at me, she says, “You know.”
“What do I know?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes when I answer her with another question. “He was a jerk. I’m sure that guy tries that with every girl he meets,” Elisa says. “This is a gorgeous ring. Thank you.”
“I should have gotten one long ago.” I tuck my hand under her chin and raise her eyes to mine. “I’m not a warm, fuzzy guy. You may never get flowers from me, but I’ll protect you with everything I have.”
What she blurts out next is nothing I would ever have imagined. “I’m a virgin.” She jerks her face out of my hand and starts to stand. Before she can step away, I tug her back to me, guiding her to stand between my splayed legs.
“You can’t say something like that, then think I’m going to let you run away.” She bites her lower lip, looking extremely nervous. “You were married. I know Guido was in a wheelchair, but he always indicated his legs didn’t work, but everything else was normal.”
“Guido was a proud man. He was devastated when he had to admit he, uh, couldn’t perform. I swore I would never tell a soul, and I haven’t. But we’re getting married, and you’re going to find out soon and…” She tosses her hands. “I don’t know what to say. If you want out—”
“Stop. This marriage will happen,” I tell her firmly. “I’m glad you told me. Never hide anything from me, Elisa. There will be no secrets between us. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” she replies softly. “Are you disappointed?”
Is she fucking kidding? I search her face and see she’s serious. I’ll be her first. I’ve always found Elisa attractive, and in the last few months, my desire for her has grown, but now I’m itching to take her clothes off and lick every inch of her.
I tug her back onto my lap. “You’re not disappointing me. Now kiss me,” I order.
She’s shy at first, circling her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to mine. Her lips move tentatively over my own. Such a sweet, gentle kiss. I delve my tongue into her mouth, and with a little coaxing, she follows my lead, and I deepen our kiss. She squirms in my lap. I’m already rock hard. The bulge in my pants strains against my zipper.
I break the kiss before it goes any further. Now that I know Elisa has never been touched like that, I want to savor the moment when I make her mine.
“Walk me to the door,” I say, guiding her to her feet. We walk to the door, and as I leave, I tell her, “Always tell me the truth.”
“Always,” she confirms.