Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
RENZO
Do I know I’m irresistible?
Abso-fucking-lutely. Women have always been drawn to me like I’m the center of their universe.
But I want to be Fina’s world. By her side, inside her, above and beneath her, in every possible way and all at once. That feeling only magnifies as the day passes.
I spent the morning flaunting what I’ve got, teasing her until even Riley flushed.
Midmorning, I gave them a break. While they took the long staircase from the pool deck to the private beach, I turned my attention to business.
The kid had sent me a text, and I needed to see for myself what the clever little fuck meant.
Compared Naples warehouse footage to Grassi feed. Same guys.
I settled into a pool chaise and opened the first link.
Security footage from the Naples warehouse attack showed several shadowy figures moving in and out of frame, working quickly and efficiently as they spread gasoline around the perimeter.
Job done, they climbed into a waiting vehicle off in the distance while the last man, dressed entirely in black from boots to ski mask, struck a match, tossed it, and sent our warehouse and a Beneventi associate up in flames.
The second feed is drone surveillance from a Grassi warehouse hit a week ago—the first real surveillance job my team had been handed while chaos erupted around us.
Six men. Gasoline. Same fucking scenario.
Massimo’s holding is torched, but this time two men are inside: a Grassi soldier and a Beneventi associate.
Like we’re amateurs who’d leave a man behind at a crime scene.
Like we’d leave proof we were behind it.
No wonder Massimo is convinced we’re the enemy.
Honestly, I’m disappointed in him. He’s sharp enough to command armies and run families, and yet he didn’t recognize this bullshit for what it is.
Whoever set this up has balls, I give him that. But his arrogance is laughable. He thinks pitting our families against each other means no one will connect the dots. He sure as hell didn’t expect me to catch him on camera at an enemy site. I text the kid.
How many Grassi holdings are we positioned at in Sicily?
I wait as he types his response.
Seven. And we have feed from one more attack from three days ago.
Keep a man at each, night and day, and immediately send whatever you have.
On it.
Yeah, and I need to get moving. I toss my cell aside. Now that I have confirmation, there’s no time to waste. I have to get to Sicily and reach Massimo before my father does.
Somewhere in the distance, doors slam. More soldiers arriving. All hands on deck.
I consider looping Sandro in, then dismiss the thought. He’s like my father, and has zero interest in talking to Massimo, who sealed his fate the moment he kidnapped Dante.
If I find out he’s laid a hand on Dante, I’ll bury my old friend alive.
And yet, if he believes we killed his father, I can understand the fury driving him.
Fina will have to run interference while I vanish into the shadows, buying me the time I need before the Beneventi soldiers move into position.
I stand and, bathing trunks barely dry, make my way to Sandro’s office, earning the curious stares of suit after suit.
The box is exactly where I suspected, unopened in the closet.
Hooking it beneath an arm, I retrace my steps to the pool, where I remove the preassembled drone from the packaging.
I had a kid fine-tune it a few weeks ago before shipping it to Sandro.
Typically, custom builds like this can take days to assemble, testing my brother’s patience.
This particular drone’s flight controller resembles a video game stick so the learning curve is easy.
It not only has a high-tech camera for photography and video, but a special gimbal that holds the camera in place while the drone moves in different directions, making aerial shots commercial-grade quality.
From the top of the stairs, I send it soaring. My target glides through the sea below, beautifully unaware.
I ease it lower and lower, then forward, until I’m hovering over the spot where Fina vanished beneath the surface.
A moment later, she breaks through, hair slicked back, droplets tracing her cheekbones, long lashes blinking away water. She could be a fucking swimsuit model, her natural beauty outshining everyone else.
It takes her several minutes to notice the drone.
When she does, she paddles in a slow circle, tilting her chin toward it, well-aware who’s operating it. Then, with a grin that could cut glass, she curls her finger at the camera.
I ease the drone forward, pulse kicking hard in my throat.
Her eyes glimmer with mischief as she traces her hands down her body. Without warning, she whips off her top, arching back into the water.
My grip on the controller tightens, heat surging through me as every muscle locks. The sunlight catches on her skin, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
I fucking better have this on video.
Suddenly, my afternoon just got more interesting.
Ten minutes later, she and Riley return from their excursion at the beach.
Our eyes lock, and I contemplate dragging her into the casita and giving her some competition in who can be naughtier.
“Can you show us how it works?” she eagerly asks, as she and Riley pull two pool chairs beside my own.
“This baby is a quadcopter because it has four propellers. Unlike, say, an airplane with a fixed wing or a military drone, this has a motor that allows the rotary wing to spin against the air to create lift. As it spins, air molecules shift downward, which pulls the drone upward. Once in the air, it can move in four directions by spinning the four propellers at different speeds.”
I pause, heat creeping up my neck because I’ve just geeked out on them.
To my surprise, they’re hanging on every word.
I give a quick self-conscious smile and rein in the urge to go into detail about how military drones are usually fixed-wing, needing skilled ground operators, precise field data, and a maze of other technical systems to function.
I keep to myself the fact they’re also silent, efficient predators in modern warfare.
“How about an aerial tour of the local attractions?”
Riley claps her hand. “They’re setting up for the antique fair just south of here. Can we steal a peek?”
“Only if you promise to buy two more lamps? Hell, I’ll pay for them.”
She chuckles, and I can’t help thinking my brother’s lucked out with her.
Switching the camera to live feed, I send the drone into the air, keeping my eyes on their reactions instead of the screen.
“Wow, look at that view,” Riley says, her voice full of awe.
“The sea and sky go on forever,” Fina murmurs.
Finding the fair takes some time, but I know I’ve hit the mark when Riley claps her hands again. “See, Fina. It’s huge.”
Like most markets, it’s set up in a local square, tables forming a rectangle around a weathered statue framed by old trees.
I keep the drone high enough that none of the vendors notice.
“The only street I’ve never been down is the one to the right. Can we check out the shops?”
I guide the drone along the narrow lane, gliding past a small café with bistro tables set out on the sidewalk, a butcher shop with a pig etched on the window, and a boutique that instantly lights up the women beside me.
The street ends abruptly, spilling onto a sidewalk and then onto stone steps leading to an ancient church’s tall wooden doors.
A throat clears.
All three of us glare at the man interrupting us.
“Sandro would like you in his office for a conference call,” his soldier informs me.
I hand the controls to Fina, and almost curl up in laughter at her startled expression. “You trust me with this?” she bursts out.
I climb off the chaise, anxious to get the latest update over with. “Fly it over land,” I reply with a wink, “and all is good.”
FINA
“Everything okay?” I ask when Renzo returns to the casita.
He’s been inside Sandro’s office for a few hours with two dozen or so men, Massimo Grassi first and foremost on their minds.
I can’t imagine what Massimo was thinking, pissing off Sebastiano Beneventi and kidnapping his right-hand man.
Does he understand he’s in deep water? That the repercussions for his actions will be severe?
“Okay with the drone I pulled out of the pool or are we talking mafia business?”
I blink. “Is that where it disappeared to?”
He chuckles. “Considering you owe me now, can I ask a favor, one that will put you in an awkward position with my brother?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
“I’m flying to Sicily in an hour. Lie to my brother and pretend I’m still here for as long as you can.”
“Okay.” I bite my lip, then softly say, “You’re leaving in an hour?” I don’t hide my disappointment. I couldn’t even if I tried.
“Against orders. I’ve got to sort this shit out with Massimo before war breaks out officially.”
I nod. “Despite his men attacking you or what he’s done to Dante, you consider him a friend.”
He rubs his fingers across his jaw. So handsome. So completely male. “Yeah. But pray he hasn’t fucked up, or that’ll change rather quickly.”
A shiver runs up my spine. The violence beneath the surface of this beautiful man always surprises me.
“Now let me say goodbye, properly.” He grabs my hand and tugs me along into the bathroom.
“What …”
His finger taps my lips. “Shhh …”
He turns on the shower and tests the temperature until it suits him, then hoists me to straddle his hips and steps beneath the stream of water.
With one quick bounce, I lift into the air.
When I drop, he’s inside me in one smooth thrust.
His pace is ferocious.
I love every flex, every upward drive.
We go at it, with me anchoring my thighs to his hips as leverage to lift, with his hands on my ass to keep me from falling.
He tears my top off with his teeth.
I laugh between moans.
His eyes pierce me. “Arch your back and let the water drip off your gorgeous breasts. Give me a repeat performance, dirty girl.”
Fingers curled against his shoulder for balance, I do as requested. Rewarded by the feel of his dick swelling inside me.
“I’ll never get enough of you, you know that, right?” he grinds out.
I giggle. “Right. That’s your dick talking.”
“Look at me.”
His firm tone causes me to still.
“I’m going to marry you.”
“What?” I gasp, completely thrown.
“Once this shit with Grassi is over, once that motherfucker who attacked you is dead, we’re getting married.”
I’m speechless, and blurt out the one question that comes to mind. “Why?”
“You trust me?”
“To marry me?”
So many memories, so much disappointment when he failed to follow through, so much anger that took years to release. Last night I told him I trusted him, yet here he is, asking again. Like my word is not enough, like my trust matters as much as my love.
I hated him for what he did. Hated his false promise, the way he backtracked, his endless excuses. He didn’t just break my faith; he stomped it into the ground.
He was different then. Wild, strung out, lost to addiction.
I understand that now.
When did I let trust slip back in? Was it his confession in the barn? His commitment to get clean? Addiction is not conquered with a snap of the fingers. He will need support, even now. He will need therapy. I think he knows that.
Do I want to be there for him?
I tilt my head and smirk, because somewhere along the road, I decided to believe in him again. “I’ll think about it.”
He steps forward, pressing my back to the wall. “Maybe you need convincing?” His hips drive into me, forcing my body to slide up the wet tile.
“Maybe you’ll actually propose?” I shoot back, gripping him as he fills me deep.
I fantasized about a future with him for years, beginning at thirteen when, as a guest at his Rhode Island estate, I spied him across the room, a tall drink of lemonade—the kind mixed with bourbon. My girl crush turned into a slight teenage obsession. Even at a distance, I tried to know him.
Still, this complex man is hard to nail down.
I never knew Renzo the way I do now. His passionate, inner-geek side, the brutal devil beneath the pretty, mouthwatering package.
“You need a proposal?” He grunts, enjoying this, the sex fiend another side of him I can’t live without. “I’ll do right by you, babe. And when I ask again, your knees will buckle. I promise you that.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
But I will … I am. I’ve always done so, for better or worse.
I arch and close my eyes.
And give myself over to him.
Bodies colliding, our hearts tangled tight.