Chapter 5
5
AMARA
How is this even happening right now? A part of me wonders if I’m going to suddenly wake up and realize this is all just one giant nightmare. The other part of me is freaking the hell out. My stomach churns at what Lazaro just told me, and just how much my life is about to change.
I said I wanted to leave town, but not like this. Not because of something that has nothing to do with me, but because of who my biological parents are. Or supposedly are, anyway. This could all be a huge mistake, and Lazaro and the rest of them are all wrong.
My brain latches on to that, desperate to make it make sense.
“How do you actually know I’m one of the missing girls?” I ask Lazaro, hating the desperation that leaks into my voice. “I mean, short of a DNA test, this is really all speculation.”
He pulls out his phone. I swear to fuck if he shows me an actual DNA test, I’m going to lose my mind. Instead, he turns the phone around and I see at a picture of a woman who looks strikingly like me. Hell, if it wasn’t for her eye color, I might think it was me. The woman has dark brown eyes, and her lips are a little fuller than mine, but not by much. We have the same olive-colored skin, dark brown hair, and small nose. I swallow hard. “This is your cousin, Gia.” Then he flips to another picture. “And this is your cousin, Sienna.”
Sienna is another mirror image of myself and Gia, though her face is a little fuller where mine and Gia’s are thin, and her eyes are hazel, instead of brown or green. Her hair color and facial features are much the same.
So much for hoping to be wrong. It’s hard to deny something that’s staring you right in the face.
“Shit,” I mutter, still staring at the picture.
“The De Lucas have some strong genes,” Lazaro says with a wry smile. “All their sons look alike, as do their daughters. You have your mother’s eyes, while Sienna got your uncle’s, and Gia got her mother’s.”
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. How the hell am I supposed to refute any of this now?
“Alright, fine, from all appearances, it looks like what you’re saying is true,” I admit begrudgingly. “But now I have to abandon my life because of it? How is that fair?”
“Life isn’t fair, Amara, and out of the two of us, I’d say you know that far better than I do.” A simple, factual statement, but one that has my entire body going rigid, because it’s finally sinking in just how much information Lazaro has on me; information the people who work with him would have uncovered. His dark eyes hold mine as I stare at him.
Humiliation, panic, betrayal—though that one makes no sense—and finally acceptance, flash through me. I probably shouldn’t be surprised. A little red tape and a ‘sealed’ stamp wouldn’t stop the people that work with Lazaro and his boss. But knowing that they found out what I’ve been through, the traumatic moments that have shaped me, makes me want to scream. But I swallow it down. No, I won’t let him think that knowing those details gives him any kind of advantage.
I step away from him, my walls going up high and fast. “Life may not be fair, but I’m done being used as a pawn in anyone’s game,” I tell him icily. “Just what is the plan if I go with you to New York, hmm? You say it’s not marriage, but you expect me to, what, sit around and wait? Or do you intend to put me to work in some other way?” I let the insinuation hang between us.
Lazaro’s eyes flash, and his jaw clenches. He looks intimidating, like he’s ready to lose his temper, but the man is nothing if not controlled. Instead, he grits out, “No other man gets to touch you, Amara. That is a fact, and one you need to learn quickly. As for the rest, there is no ‘if’ about it. You’re going to New York with me, where I’ll make sure you’re safe. What you do while you’re there is up to you. I don’t give a fuck if you want to learn to knit or dance around the garden with a bonnet on your head. The only fucking thing I care about is that you’re safe.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my attention caught on the first few words. “I’m afraid that neither of those options appeals to me. And what the hell do you mean, ‘no other man gets to touch me’? That makes it sound like you plan to do the touching yourself, and you don’t want anyone to interfere. Is that what this is all about, Cattaneo? You want to make me your own personal whore? Did you win the draw to come and get me? Oh, I know— is it that whoever got to me first got dibs? You won the race, and I’m the prize?”
The utter fury on his face at my words has me stepping back, ready to run, but I stop myself. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s scaring me.
“Do not call yourself that disgusting word again, Amara,” he hisses as he advances toward me. “You are no one’s whore, least of all mine. As for the rest, tell me that you and I don’t have chemistry. That you don’t wonder what it will feel like to have me between your thighs, to have my mouth on all the places that’ll make you feel so fucking good. I felt it the moment I laid eyes on you. So, no. No other man is going to touch you because, until we both decide otherwise, you’re mine, Amara. It would be that way no matter who the fuck came to rescue you.”
“Oh, well, then I should count myself lucky, huh?” I holler at him. “The big, bad mafia man is staking his claim. Not only has he decided to make me his personal pet, but he’s going to actually try and make it good for me. All because of some ‘chemistry’ he claims we both feel. You’re a huge Italian man with an accent, so of course we have chemistry. You would have chemistry with any woman between the ages of eighteen and eighty. That doesn’t make it special, and it doesn’t make me want to drop my pants, bend over, and let you have your way. The only thing it makes me want to do is punch you even harder in the balls.”
His eyes narrow further. “Feel free to try it, dolcezza , and see what happens,” he coaxes. The low timbre and sensual promise in his voice have my entire body heating in response.
Damn it! I can’t allow that. I need some space, and fast. Even now, I can feel the growing tension and desire between us. This man is far too potent.
I turn away, but his hand wraps around my forearm, spinning me back to him. He easily blocks the punch I aim for his gut, and then, the next thing I know, I’m airborne until he’s holding me up at his eye level. I let out a cry of alarm, my hands flying out to grip his shoulders tightly, as if that’s somehow going to keep me from falling. My eyes dart to the floor, which seems an awful long way down. Hell, if he drops me, I’ll probably break some bones.
His thumb and forefinger grip my chin, returning my gaze to his. “We’re not done talking, Amara,” he tells me in a low voice.
“So you put me in air jail?” I breathe, trying to calm myself. I don’t mind heights, but this feels different. The only reason I’m not freaking the fuck out is because of the tight grip he has on me, and that I have on his shoulders. I might even be leaving marks with how deep my fingers are digging in.
“Air jail?” he repeats, blinking at me, confused.
“You know those dog and cat videos where they misbehave on their walks or attack their owners, so they just pick them up and carry them to make them stop? Air jail.”
He stares at me, then blows out an irritated breath. “You Americans and your weird fucking expressions.”
“It makes us unique. Look, I’m sure you yanked me up here for a reason, so how about you get to it so that you can put me back down? By the way, if you drop me, I’m going to be seriously pissed.”
“Why the fuck would I drop you?” he demands. “This is what I get for trying to understand the female mind. As for why you’re up here, I’m not done arguing with you.”
“Nah, the moment’s gone now,” I point out. “If you had let me storm off in a huff, maybe we could continue, but not after this. Unless your goal was to prove how big and strong you are. If it was, well done.”
I’ve effectively befuddled him. Not exactly my intention, but I’ll take it. If it means an end to this discussion, all the better. Being this close to him puts me at a huge disadvantage. Unfortunately, the man isn’t easily dissuaded.
“Then you can just listen,” he tells me after a moment. “You and me, we can figure that shit out once we get out of here, but you are coming with me to New York. You want to fight and scream the entire way, fine, but I won’t be leaving you in danger on your own. Is that clear?”
I scowl at him. “You need to understand that I’m tired of being told what I will and won’t do, and that isn’t going to change just because you order it. So I hope you’re prepared for some sore balls, because that bullshit makes me feel extra punchy.”
His lips pull back into a salacious smile. “You’ll just have to kiss them better, won’t you, dolcezza ? If you’re really repentant, you might find you come to crave the taste.”
I want to fight him and tell him how wrong he is, act all disgusted that he even dared suggest it, but I swear my brain short-circuits. Damn this man and his ability to render me mute at the worst times. Desire simmers in my blood, and from the heated look in his eyes, he knows it.
Then, before I can get my brain back online, his grip on my chin tightens. He tilts my head back and presses his mouth to mine, and what was a short circuit is absolutely fried.
The kiss isn’t long or overly passionate, but there is no mistaking it for the claiming that it is. His lips are firm, but the grip on my chin softens, and when he finally pulls away, I can only stare back at him in shock. Then he smirks at me and murmurs, “Oh yeah, you and I are going to be a thing. Good luck trying to deny it now.” Then he releases my chin, sets me back on my feet, and pulls away like he hasn’t just set my brain on fire.
“I need to call my boss to send us some backup and get us out of here,” he announces, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t you see if you can find us something to eat? If you’re thirsty, that sink works; the water seems fine, but to be safe, we should boil it first. There are meds on the plane, but we should try not to poison ourselves before we get there.”
My brain is finally starting to come back online, but not enough to do more than nod. I turn to watch him as he walks out the bunker door.
I am in so much trouble, and I’m stuck down here for who knows how much longer. I need to get myself under control, because that can’t happen again. Ever.
Lazaro Cattaneo has the ability to overwhelm me, and if I have to go to New York and face all that shit, I need my wits about me. Especially if, when this is all done and over with, I want to leave the whole fucking thing behind.
I managed to stay off their radar for twenty-six and a half years. I can do it again, and not even Lazaro will be able to find me.