17

LUIGI smoldered with anger. He hadn’t been able to grieve. All around him were wailing women, each determined to be more dramatic than the other. Louder. More annoying. Clinging to him until he wanted to pound them into the ground. When he wanted to knock them away from him. His stupid cow of a wife. Aldo’s beautiful but idiotic widow who knew all along he had a mistress, but clung to him anyway because she didn’t have a backbone. His own sons, weeping like children, following in their mother’s footsteps, although he’d tried to teach them to be men.

He needed to be alone. Away from them all. He had surrounded himself with incompetent bodyguards and idiotic soldiers. Men who cared more to beef up their bodies than their brains. It was necessary at the time. Now, he needed intelligence. More than intelligence, he needed cunning. An ally. Someone to take Arturo’s place. Giacinta could have been that person. She wasn’t male, but she was smart. So damned smart and loyal.

He called the one soldier he decided would make the best bodyguard, since he couldn’t have his niece. He called Tomasso and issued orders. He wanted Tomasso to come to his home and pick him up. He wanted to see for himself the man’s reaction to the fact that he had two homes, a wife. Sons. If Tomasso wasn’t the man he thought him, he’d kill the bodyguard and replace him.

Luigi prided himself on being a good judge of character. He had bested his all-powerful big brother. The chosen one. The one who had gotten the most beautiful woman Luigi had ever laid eyes on. Never once had Elizabeta looked at him. She had eyes only for Marcello. Luigi had been the one to tell Marcello about the beautiful woman he’d seen. Marcello had known Luigi wanted her, but he still went after her. He’d married her, and then his father left Marcello the family business. As always, Luigi had to protect Marcello simply because there was a birth order, not because Marcello was smarter. Hell no. He wasn’t and he never had been.

The best thing his brother and his bitch of a wife had done was to have Giacinta. Even then, Luigi had been smart, making a fuss over the baby, coming around often to take her places and make both Marcello and Elizabeta think he adored their child. It was easy enough to talk them into getting dogs and a dog handler. Of course Luigi would handpick the man. Now that he’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a brilliant, masterful move on his part, he was put in a position of consultant and could slowly ease his way to buying a much needed restful retreat at the edge of the sea, a good distance away.

“Luigi!” Angeline’s whiny voice set his teeth on edge. “Are you even listening to me? For God’s sake, I just lost my brother. I can’t understand why you’re not paying attention to the boys or me. They’ve lost a beloved uncle.”

The vision of his hands around her throat rose up. He’d been having that a lot lately. He couldn’t get rid of her, not this soon. The only way to keep from strangling her with his bare hands was to put distance between them. He was even dreaming of killing her, not a good thing when he was sleeping in her bed. Still, she provided him with the best of alibis. He’d lavished attention on her from the moment he went to their house until he couldn’t take another moment with her. Even with him putting himself out, the greedy bitch wasn’t satisfied. She wanted every second of his time. Every second.

“Luigi!” Angeline shrieked his name.

Luigi winced at the tone. That was the tone he knew would one day set him off. Just. Not. Now. He couldn’t afford a mistake, not when he was so close to his goal. From the moment he met Angeline Porcelli and conceived his plan, she’d been clingy. She would spend hours whining about how her daddy loved Aldo so much but she was just a woman and he would dismiss her as if she wasn’t worth anything. Luigi poured his attention into her, but she would cry for hours and tell him how Aldo didn’t have time for her anymore, now that he was married, working so hard and had a mistress. When Luigi was home, it was his sons who took his time, once more leaving her alone. Hell, if he strangled her, he’d be doing her a service, putting her out of her misery.

“I heard you, Angeline,” he said quietly, keeping his head down, texting fast as he did. “I did everything you asked. The boys know they shouldn’t have been making such a fuss with so many people around. They’re just upset about Aldo’s death, just like you, but I had a word with them. I spent time with them and reassured them nothing would happen to you or them.”

“It will!” Angeline wailed and threw herself into his arms. Clinging.

Luigi held her, holding his cell behind her back and finishing his order to Tomasso to come and get him. He needed to get the hell out of there fast or he wasn’t going to be responsible for what he did.

“Everyone is already looking to you, Luigi, to take Aldo’s place in the family business. He was so busy. You’re twice as busy. If you take his place, not only will you be gone all the time, but you’ll be in danger. You know you will. And you’ll put all of us in danger. I went out with you all those years ago because your family was small and no one was going to be jealous of your territory and come after you.”

He winced. That was Angeline’s way of belittling him. She was a passive-aggressive fighter, slinging little arrows at him when she wasn’t getting her way. But she knew better than to use his family’s name for her poison. He dropped his arms abruptly and stepped back, eyeing her with anger and a cold mask.

“You seem to forget that my brother, sister-in-law and niece were all killed, slaughtered, by someone. It was your family who stood to gain the most, and if I wasn’t already dating you, I would never have believed your father when he assured me he wasn’t involved in any way. Don’t you ever say something like that again. Now get the fuck out of my sight.” He ground out the last order from between his teeth.

Angeline stepped back, shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I’m just so scared for you. For all of us.”

“Go, Angeline. I have business to attend to. My family business. One of my men will be picking me up soon. In the meantime, I want you out of my sight so I can forget the things you just said to me.” He kept his voice ice-cold.

Angeline had heard that tone before and she whirled and ran, sobbing. Luigi gave a sigh of relief and went to his study and firmly closed the door. She had clung to him constantly, not leaving him alone for a moment, so he’d taken to hiding in the bathrooms and outside on the grounds where she couldn’t find him. Hiding in his own damned house. He despised her. She was weak. Useless. Angeline still believed he loved her because she wanted to believe it.

She hated sex and she’d made it clear to him that she was sacrificing to have sex with him because it was her duty, and because she loved him. Once he’d known that she didn’t like it—not because she didn’t feel anything when she was with him, but because she thought herself saintly and to her sex was dirty—he took a perverse pleasure in showing her dirty. Making her like it. She spent a great deal of time on her knees praying for her soul after nights with him.

Luigi rubbed at his pounding temples. Ironically, the one person who had been loyal to him, other than Arturo, he’d had killed. That bothered him. He hadn’t considered that it would be so difficult, but he had almost convinced himself not to go through with it. He had known all along that Giacinta had to die. He wasn’t a caring man, and he had no idea when emotion had begun to take hold of him. When he began to look forward to their talks. Their chess games. Her laughter. Just having her back in his house after long months in the States.

Giacinta was intelligent and she was loyal to one person—Luigi. He sighed and poured himself a drink, staring sightlessly out the window. Giacinta. She was gone. The one person who brought a little joy into his relentlessly dark world. His own sons couldn’t match her intelligence or her drive. She was a secret weapon he could have used against his enemies. He’d never have another like her. He hadn’t wanted her dead. It was necessary.

“Necessary,” he murmured aloud, and tossed back the rest of his Scotch.

The car arrived in record time, a good mark for Tomasso. He greeted Luigi soberly, aware of the loss of his brother-in-law. The world knew of Aldo’s loss and the scandal of his wife and mistress fighting while the body lay still warm.

“Are you all right, sir?” Tomasso asked, opening the car door for him to the back passenger seat. There was genuine concern in his voice.

Luigi nodded curtly. For some reason the question caused his chest to ache. A great stone pressed down on him. Giacinta. There was no bringing her back. He’d have to live with his decision. Luigi settled into the backseat, prepared for the long drive back to his estate, his sanctuary by the sea. He was grateful Angeline knew nothing of it because he needed peace. Quiet. He needed to come to terms with what he’d done.

“Are you all right, Signor Luigi?” Tomasso asked again softly, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

Luigi lifted his hand up dismissively. “Just drive. Raise the glass between us.”

He didn’t feel like talking. He liked that the man hadn’t asked a single question about his home, or why he had never mentioned being married. Tomasso would be a good soldier. He was strong. Intelligent. He knew when to keep his mouth shut. Luigi knew ruthless when he saw it. He knew dangerous. Tomasso was all of those things. He was also hungry for a home. Luigi would give that to him. But not now. Now he needed to grieve for his lost niece in peace.

He had contacted Alberto the moment Aldo’s widow had called Angeline hysterically. She needed them desperately and Luigi had rushed Angeline to her side. Luigi was able to see Aldo’s body and the blood at the mistress’s apartment. He got to witness the widow making all kinds of accusations to the mistress, casting suspicion there, but he knew Aldo’s death would be ruled an accident. There was a catfight, with Aldo’s widow trying to claw scars into Lydia’s face. The police had seemed more concerned with that than protecting the crime scene.

The coroner pointed out that little black spot on Aldo’s finger where he’d pressed the doorbell. Around the doorbell the surface was blackened—all from an obvious short. The police told the widow what happened, that Aldo had jumped back from the electrical shock and hit his head on the fountain—the fountain Aldo had given to Lydia. It was priceless. Perfection. While chaos, screaming and weeping took place all around him, he’d stood there in silence, admiring Giacinta’s work. She’d exceeded the master. Using that fountain to kill Aldo was a stroke of genius.

She was invaluable, and he’d been forced to kill her while his useless wife was still alive, an albatross hung around his neck. It hurt. It was so unexpected that he wanted to weep. He had wept. Angeline had seen him and thought he wept for her brother. He had wept for Giacinta. He hadn’t even done that for Arturo and he’d known how much he cared for his friend and bodyguard. Giacinta. He had called Alberto and told him to do it immediately because he knew he would rescind the order if it wasn’t already done. He would have stopped it.

In the week that had passed since Aldo’s and then Giacinta’s death, he had attended Aldo’s funeral. The long procession honoring him had been a joke. What hypocrisy, the man had gone to church every Sunday and had killed men the next day without so much as flinching—but he still got a church funeral with the congregation weeping over him and the priest blessing his casket and saying prayers over his body. That night, Luigi had returned and spit on Aldo’s grave, only by that time, he wished it were Angeline’s grave. Because he had to play his part of loving husband and heir apparent to the Porcelli throne, he hadn’t been able to pay tribute to his niece. To stand by her grave and whisper he was sorry and that he’d always keep her close.

Giacinta. He shook his head and wished for another drink. This wasn’t a limousine. He’d had the interior of the car changed to suit him. He liked having a glass panel to separate him from the driver. He’d also had the car fitted with bulletproof glass. The doors had been reinforced as well. He knew when he took over the Porcelli family there would be many who wouldn’t like him bringing both territories together, so he’d prepared, but he should have added in a bar. He needed a drink . . . badly.

He looked through the glass partition to the back of Tomasso’s head. He was in his car, driving to the place he thought of as home. Not the house he shared with Angeline and their sons, but the home he’d made for Giacinta. How was it that he’d brought three boys into the world, male children, and none of them had his traits, but Giacinta, a product of his brother and his wife, was everything she should be?

He pressed his fingertips to his temples. He had to quit thinking about her. She had to die. He had no choice. She was too intelligent. He’d sent her to the United States when she was eighteen because he knew she was too smart to stay at home by the sea while he disappeared for weeks at a time—necessary to maintain his life with Angeline and the boys. Once she knew he had a wife, and who his wife was, she would start putting the pieces of the puzzle together and figure it out. She would know what he’d done.

Luigi nearly groaned aloud. That would almost be worse than killing her. He never wanted her to know the truth. He’d made the right decision, but damn, it hurt. Now he had to rebuild, find good soldiers, men who could be loyal and smart, men he could count on. He looked at Tomasso again. He needed more like him. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to pull a trigger. Men who were hungry to have a family.

He’d told Alberto to make it fast. To make certain she didn’t suffer. To bury her on the property where Luigi would care for her. Alberto had disappeared like he would after he took care of business, but when he returned, Luigi was going to ask a lot of questions, make certain he had carried out his orders to the letter. He didn’t want to think Giacinta had suffered.

The car jerked hard, pulling to the right. He gripped the door handle and glared through the glass at Tomasso. Tomasso overcorrected, fighting the car. Obviously something was wrong. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the steering. The car jerked again toward the right. Luigi’s heart accelerated as Tomasso fought that pull. Fought to keep them on the narrow, winding road above the cliff.

The jerk came again, this one much more pronounced, and Luigi’s seat belt tightened almost to the point of pain, cutting into his flesh. Then there was the sound of squealing brakes, the car fishtailed and then slid. More sliding . . . The sensation was terrible. Slow motion. Off the road. Into the air. Soaring.

Luigi saw the sea rushing at them and had time enough to grip the door. His mind had gone momentarily numb. He couldn’t think what to do, but he knew they were going to impact with the wide extensive turquoise blue surface.

The car hit the water hard, jarring him. It began to slowly sink beneath the surface. He gasped, his mind finally kicking into gear, realizing he was going to drown if he didn’t get out of the car. The accident had happened so fast. One moment he was thinking of her—his beautiful niece—and the next he was fighting for his life.

He couldn’t get the seat belt to loosen. He fought it, but there was no give. The woven strip was so tight he couldn’t get to his knife, just inside his jacket. He looked through the pane of glass to Tomasso. The man was alive, and already on the move. He’d rolled down his window and was making his way out. Luigi could see his legs as they slipped through the car to the water outside.

Relief swept through him. Tomasso would get him out. He tried the seat belt again, but it refused to loosen. The car was filling with water as it sank. Already, the roof was underwater, the car sinking to the bottom as the sea tried to claim them. He had to get out. Soon the interior would be completely filled. Where was Tomasso?

He looked out his window when he caught a glimpse of movement. He froze. Shocked. Tomasso was there. Treading water. Holding on to the side of the car with his gloved hands. Gloved hands. Even as he watched the man, Tomasso reached up and tore off his hair and face. He stuffed both inside a bag he held.

Luigi’s heart nearly stopped. He could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes. Tomasso had been in his home a month. Over a month. Nearly two. And this? An assassin. There were rumors of course. There always were in his line of business. Even among hit men there were some considered the elite. Luigi knew he was looking at one of those men. Tomasso—or whoever he was—made no move to rise to the surface or swim away. He just stayed there, suspended outside of the car, watching dispassionately as it filled. Making certain of the kill.

Luigi cursed him, pounded on the glass, but he knew no matter what he said or did, there would be no mercy from this man. No amount of pleading. No bribery. There was no way to stop one of the elite. Luigi spat at him. Furious. Terrified. He’d never considered this could happen to him so fast. He tried for his knife again. Then his gun. The gun was tucked into his waistband at his back. There was no hope of getting to it.

There was movement in the water behind the assassin and for one moment, hope burst through Luigi. A woman swam up next to Tomasso, dressed in a bathing suit and tank. She carried a second tank with her. Tomasso took it and shrugged into the webbing, shoving the regulator into his mouth and then strapped the weight belt around his waist. There was no hurry in the movements, and Tomasso never looked away from Luigi. Just waiting.

Only then did the woman turn toward him. Stared right at him. His heart stuttered in his chest. Giacinta. Staring at him. Right. Through. The window.

Alive. She was real, not a figment of his imagination. Giacinta was alive. She knew what he’d done. All of it. He could see the knowledge on her face in spite of the mask she wore over her eyes. There was pain there. Regret. Sorrow. She had loved him—genuinely loved him, and that was more than he felt from any other living soul. He’d ordered the death of her parents. He’d ordered her death.

Involuntarily, he reached out to her. Pressed his hand to the window as the water closed over his head. She reached out to him but before her hand could touch the window, Tomasso circled her waist with his arm and caught her wrist in his other hand, preventing her from touching the car.

Panic hit first, panic so intense and overwhelming that he began to fight. To thrash. Kick his legs. He was frantic to get out of the tight seat belt that held him pinned to the seat. He tipped his head up, trying to get to the surface even though he knew it was impossible.

His lungs burned. He knew he couldn’t hold his breath long. He’d never been able to swim and he certainly couldn’t stay underwater long. His gaze went back to hers. His niece. His Giacinta. Pleading. Trying to tell her he was sorry. Trying to beg. Ordering her. Swearing at her. He didn’t dare open his mouth, so he did it all with his eyes.

Then it happened. He couldn’t stop it from happening. He inhaled. The water burned in his nose, down his throat to his lungs. He saw Tomasso’s hand grip Giacinta hard, yanking her back and away. She resisted for a moment and then they were swimming away, while the water poured into him. He closed his eyes not wanting to watch his last hope swim away.

Lissa tried to keep her mind blank as Casimir kept her swimming away from the car. Twice she tried to turn back. For what, she didn’t know. Her uncle had wiped out her family, turned her into a killer and then put out a hit on her. Seeing the desperation in his eyes, the mixture of pain, sorrow, even, maybe love . . . That had been so difficult. She tried to think of him as a monster, an illusion, not a real man. Not her uncle, the man who had raised her all those years . . .

She choked and realized she was crying, her tears filling her mask. She wasn’t breathing properly for being underwater. Casimir swam close to her, his hand occasionally touching her, brushing along her shoulder or arm, just to let her know he was there. He knew how difficult this task had been. He probably didn’t know it would haunt her for years. They all did. Every single one of the lives she’d taken.

Intellectually she knew they deserved to die. Her family wasn’t the only family to be killed by the men she’d brought to justice. She even knew she’d saved more lives. That didn’t matter when she went to bed at night.

They swam for a long distance, Lissa trying hard to keep her mind from straying back to the car. Casimir had packed her things and her suitcases were in the car waiting. Lissa Piner had to be on a train, on her way to Germany, to her next appointment, before word got out that Luigi Abbracciabene had died in a tragic accident right on the heels of his brother-in-law Aldo’s accident. The driver, Tomasso, would never be found. His body either carried away by the sea, or perhaps he was a coward and fled when his boss had been trapped. Either way, the tire marks on the road would attest to the fact that he’d tried hard to keep the vehicle on the road. Once the car was examined, the faulty steering mechanism would be blamed.

Casimir touched her shoulder, indicating to start moving upward. She had left their boat far from where the car would go off the road and into the sea. They were two tourists, a couple, exploring the sea. She obeyed his directive, staying close to him, afraid she would be silly enough to swim back. By now Luigi was dead, drowned in the terrible accident and people had to be aware a car had gone off the road on the winding cliff above. They would be putting together a dive team. She couldn’t be anywhere near the car and Luigi.

The moment her head broke the surface, she ripped off the mask and threw it into the boat. Casimir’s hands spanned her waist and he nearly tossed her in after her mask. She crawled across the seat, removing the rented tank, and shoved her fist into her mouth, looking at Casimir with stricken eyes.

He took off his tank with slow, deliberate movements she had come to recognize in him. His gaze never left her face. “It’s done, malyshka. These are the last tears I want you to shed for a man who doesn’t deserve them. I know you’re crying for him, not for you. We’ll take the boat back, so you have the time it takes to do that to mourn him. After that, never again.”

She nodded, although she wasn’t certain she could follow his dictate. She understood it. Luigi Abbracciabene, her uncle, was a monster. The man she thought she knew didn’t exist. Casimir wanted her to understand the difference. She could cry for a childhood dream. For herself. For her loss. But he didn’t want her crying for the man, because that man—the one she thought was good—the one she’d loved—didn’t really exist.

She studied Casimir’s set jaw as he guided the boat back toward the resort where she’d spent the last few days. He looked invincible, with wide shoulders and a muscular body. He wore his expressionless mask, something he did often out in public, but rarely did when they were alone.

Casimir despised Luigi, and she knew it wasn’t just because he’d hurt her. Or even put a hit out on her. It had to do with the things he’d found in the warehouse where Cosmos’s wife, Carlotta, had died. He didn’t give her details, he hadn’t wanted her to know. She knew Luigi was involved in prostitution, but it was far worse than that. She didn’t want Casimir to give her specifics. It was hard enough to come to terms with Luigi’s betrayal of her family.

Strangely, Casimir’s wanting to protect her from that about her uncle, when he could easily have used those details any number of times when she’d burst into tears over Luigi’s betrayal of her, made her love Casimir even more. Even now, when the tears ran down her face, he didn’t reprimand her.

Looking at her husband, she realized there was no excuse for what Luigi was. What he’d become. His brother had loved him. She had loved him. His parents loved him. He’d had a good childhood. He hadn’t seen his parents murdered. He hadn’t been ripped apart from his brother. Taken to schools where he and his fellow students were tortured and brutalized to shape them into killing machines. Even Viktor, Casimir’s oldest brother, had a code. He was loyal to his family and that included the others he’d gathered around him from his school.

Luigi had become a monster through jealousy and the need to be able to live his perverted lifestyle, the need for power. He was hungry for others to admire and envy him. He needed the constant subjugation of others to make him feel powerful. She suddenly understood the truth. Even had Luigi ascended to the throne of both families, he wouldn’t have been satisfied. He would still need more.

Casimir sat quietly, guiding the boat toward the resort, keeping a watchful eye on her. Caring for her. That care was genuine. Every word. Every action. He was a man who had suffered and could easily have become a monster, yet he hadn’t.

His eyebrow went up. “What? Golubushka, you cannot look at me like that and not expect a reaction.”

She realized the tears had dried up. Luigi Abbracciabene no longer held any sway over her. The man in that car wasn’t anyone she knew or cared to know. Her uncle had died years ago, far before her father and mother. She had a life, and that life was the man sitting there looking at her as if she was his entire world.

“How am I looking at you?” she challenged.

“With love.” His voice softened along with the hard lines etched deep into his face. “You’re looking at me with love. Stark. Raw. For the world to see.”

“Maybe that’s because I love you like that. Stark. Raw. I don’t care if the world sees it or not as long as you do.”

“We’ve got a train to catch, malyshka,” he said. “We’re going to miss it, you keep looking at me that way.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked.

He flashed her a small grin. “You know better. You’re tempting me on purpose.”

She shook her head. “No, not this time. The truth, my amazing husband, is that I was thinking to myself how extraordinary you are and how lucky I am to have you.”

His features stilled, went to stone. His eyes went liquid, a beautiful molten silver that held everything she’d ever wanted—or needed. Her heart stuttered. Her stomach did a slow somersault. She rubbed her thumb along the center of her palm, watching his face while she did it.

“We do have a private car, right? On that train? Because you wouldn’t guess what I’m thinking right now.” She centered her thoughts on his cock. On her mouth. On the delicious things she wanted to do with him.

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble,” he warned. Shifting his legs restlessly. “I can take us out away from shore and will if you don’t stop. We’ll be scrambling for another way to Germany.”

She laughed, the wind whipping the sound back to them. “Such a missed opportunity.”

“I’m not going to miss out,” he corrected. “Just delay it until we’re on that train.”

Lissa stepped off the boat, tied it up and then hurried to her little cottage while Casimir took care of returning the scuba tanks and boat back to the resort’s rental place. She’d already showered and dressed by the time he returned and was scrubbing down the cabin out of habit. After a lifetime of being careful, she wore thin synthetic gloves that had the fingerprints matching Patrice Lungren’s identification. She wore her black wig and, unless she was inside, bound her breasts. The only time she didn’t was when she was swimming, and then she used a long, shapeless cover-up.

“You have everything?” Casimir asked as he emerged from the bathroom, his jeans carelessly buttoned. He’d left the top button undone and was still barefoot.

“Now who’s the tease?” she countered. “Seriously, honey, we’ve got to get out of here. The cottage is small, so it was easy enough to get things clean. I double-checked the drawers and under the bed, but I lived out of my suitcase. What about your things?”

Casimir had spent every night with her. He’d made appearances as Tomasso at Luigi’s house just to see if anyone was talking about Luigi’s disappearance. Early that morning he’d gone back and packed up Lissa’s room, letting it be known he was taking her to the train station so she could make her next appointment. No one questioned him. They wouldn’t. Without direction and figuring they had time off, the other bodyguards had scattered, finding women, drinking and playing hard while they had the chance. They never noticed they didn’t actually see Lissa in the house.

“I’m good,” he replied. “Let’s go.”

She paused in the doorway. “I liked this place. Not quite as much as the villa we had, but that’s only because we had such complete privacy there and you’re very creative when we have complete privacy.”

“Lyubov moya.” He shook his head, standing close, crowding her body into the doorjamb. “You aren’t quiet when I push you past a certain point. I couldn’t have the neighbors three cabins over calling the police. As it was, I had to bribe those next to us not to call.”

She burst out laughing and pushed at the wall of his chest. “You did not. I’m quiet.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Now you’re just lying.”

“Well,” she hedged. “Maybe I get a teensy loud, when you won’t let me come for like an hour.”

He laughed at her, shaking his head. “An hour? Babe, I don’t want to make you into a liar, so next time we’re in a private place, I’ll set my watch when I torment you.”

He would. She knew he would. The thought of what he would do to her in that hour left her breathless. Instantly damp. Wildly excited. Casimir was very inventive and he always insisted on giving her multiple orgasms.

“You like watching me,” she said softly as he took her arm and led her to the car.

He opened the door and handed her inside. “I love watching you, Giacinta,” he corrected. “Put your seat belt on.” He closed the door and then put their cases in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel. “I also love my mouth between your legs. Your taste is addicting. I go too long without it, and that’s all I can think about.”

He drove like he did everything else. Easily. Casually. Superbly. He didn’t get upset with slow traffic, although they had a train to catch. He wasn’t the type of driver to cut people off or give them the finger. He was an expert driver, another by-product of his training, so they made good time. He didn’t take chances, but he never hesitated when an opportunity presented itself to get around other vehicles.

“Thank you, Casimir. For everything. You saved my life with Alberto. I wouldn’t have made it out of that one alive. At least I don’t think I would have. In any case, without you, I would have had a very difficult time these past few days.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

There was an edge to his voice that warned her to stop, but she needed him to know. “You helped me to see what Luigi was. Not what I wanted him to be.”

“Giacinta,” he reprimanded.

“No, honey. This needs to be said. I need to say it. I persisted in seeing Luigi as the uncle I wanted him to be. I did. Even after he ordered Alberto to kill me. I still had this tiny little hope in the back of my mind that a miracle would happen and he somehow was being framed.”

She sighed. Ducked her head. The black wig fell around her face, reminding her that she needed to remove it. Lissa Piner had to get on the train, not Patrice. She pulled the wig off and tucked it into her bag.

“Today would have been impossible without you. I still hadn’t come to terms with the truth. Seeing him like that, in the car. Even if I’d pulled that off without you, I wouldn’t have left him there.”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me that.”

His voice. She loved his voice. The way he could touch her physically when he wasn’t touching her at all. Just his voice. Soft. Velvet. Brushing along her skin. Over nerve endings. The way he could use his voice like a caress was sinful.

“I do. I do have to tell you, Casimir. You have to know that you helped me see that the man I thought was family, was my uncle, never truly was. He didn’t exist. You’re real. You saw me when no one else could and you let me into your life. You loved me and married me. You’re real. My sisters are real. We built a family together, the six of us. We don’t share blood, but that doesn’t make us any less of a family. They accepted me without condition. I believe that even knowing all of this, knowing what I’ve done, they’ll still accept me because they have accepted their men without reservation. Your brothers are real. They call me family and it means something to them. Even Viktor, as much as he worries me because of Blythe, I believe he would put his life on the line for any one of us. I know your other brothers would. I have all that. Every one of us suffered something traumatic outside of our control. Luigi didn’t. He simply wanted things he couldn’t have and it twisted him into something malevolent. He wasn’t anything like the child I was made him out to be. You gave me that insight.”

“How did I do that, malyshka?” he asked gently.

“Just by being the man you are,” she answered truthfully.