Chapter 25
Willow
Leo is stiff and silent, eyes roving, both hands on the wheel, a loaded gun resting between us.
We didn’t pack. I don’t have clothes, but I haven’t mentioned it because I assume we’ll acquire what we need. I haven’t spoken because I don’t want to break his concentration. Back at the condo, he tenderly washed my cuts, bandaged my wrists, kissed my forehead, gave me aspirin, and we left.
He scans his surroundings constantly, as if he expects a car might sideswipe us or bullets rain from the sky.
Did I do this? I didn’t allow anyone in. Leandro and his men didn’t call up. I don’t know how they found me. I’ve done exactly as Leo told me and haven’t shared my address with anyone other than my parents. Scarlet pushed for it, wanting to update my contact information, and I told her I couldn’t share it. But I had my art shipped to the studio. Is that how they found me?
I steal a sideways glance at Leo. For the first time, he reminds me of his namesake, a lion. He’s scanning the concrete jungle, a killer poised to attack.
We turn onto an expressway. The outline of London skyscrapers comes into view in the reflection of the side view mirror. Traffic is slow moving, heavy with homeward bound commuters.
Leo rests his elbow on the divider between us and rotates his wrist, holding his hand out, palm up. An intricate mesh of deep lines crosses his palm. If only I’d paid more attention to the palm reader in Florence.
“You okay?”
I nod in answer, but his attention is trained on our surroundings. His fingers wiggle.
“I am,” I say.
“Then give me your hand.”
With everything going on, my insides still thrill at his request. I place my palm over his. He weaves his fingers through mine. I slide in the seat, shifting closer to him, mindful of the gun.
He lifts our joined hands and rubs the back of my hand against his rough, unshaven jaw, then presses his lips against the skin.
“If I had shown up any later, he would’ve taken you.”
“I tried to fight him.”
His gaze cuts to me and his jaw flexes. “I can see that. I should’ve taught you self-defense techniques. Did your father not teach you?”
I always have security, but saying so feels like blaming Leo, and I don’t want to cast blame. None of this is his fault.
“I can’t believe he came for me. He’s pazzo !”
“Did he say anything to you? Like what he was planning?”
“He said I belonged to him.” He’d reached out and cupped my breast and squeezed like a demented creep. To a man like him, women are possessions. “He believed my father agreed to give me to him. He’s consigliere . Our capo’s brother. Is my father, my family—will Massimo go after them?”
“Did your father promise you to Leandro?”
“Not to my knowledge. It was undoubtedly discussed. But now that I think about it, maybe. The way my father rushed our wedding was highly unusual.”
“Like he wanted to avoid confrontation. Or avoid giving Massimo the opportunity to deny it.”
“Massimo agreed. My father wouldn’t marry off his daughter without the capo’s approval.” But as I say the words, I doubt them. Did Father move forward with a plan to beg forgiveness after the marriage? Did he go away on business, hoping Massimo would calm down over time?
As the distance between us and London increases, the road clears incrementally, and we drive faster into the night.
“If I’d gotten home five minutes later…” This idea clearly bothers him, and I squeeze his hand to reassure him I’m fine.
My fears differ from his.
“I thought you’d come home and wonder what had happened. That you’d think I left willingly. You showed me the stairs and the safe room, but I… I was in our bedroom, in the closet, when he appeared out of nowhere. I was trying to decide what to change into. I didn’t hear him.” My voice cracks. He hasn’t said or done anything to blame me, but I need to explain. I need him to know I wasn’t going willingly. “I would never go willingly.”
He lifts my hand once more to his lips. It’s not so much a kiss as a pressure against my hand, as if he needs to hold me the only way he can while we’re driving.
“I love you.” My words are whisper soft, too soft to be audible.
He lowers our hands and says, “Recline your seat. Close your eyes. Your adrenaline is going to crash, and you’re going to become tired. Sleep it off. I’ll wake you when we arrive at Nick’s.”
“We’re going to Nick’s?”
“He has an estate. It’s secure. We’ll be safe there.”
“Leandro is dead. Why wouldn’t we be safe?”
His gaze flits between the rear and side view mirrors. “Would the capo avenge his brother’s death?”
“My father said he’s a fair man. He said he would be a good leader.”
My father shared so little with me. I know far more about the shipping business than I do about the inner workings of the Lupi Grigi.
“In all likelihood, he’ll want to avenge his brother’s death,” Leo declares. “He’ll need to make it known his family can’t be touched. The question is, how will he go about doing it? Will they come after only me, or will they come after you, too?”
The weight of his question wraps around me, squeezing with the force of a vise. “Most of what I know about Massimo and the Lupi Grigi amounts to rumors.” The tales aren’t good, but surely they’re exaggerated.
“Which is why we’re staying at Nick’s estate.” It occurs to me that if he’s right, if Massimo will choose revenge, he’s in danger. “Massimo’s coming after you?”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“How can you say that? If something happened to you because you agreed to this arrangement, all to help me?—”
“Hush.” He releases my hand and reaches across the seat to touch my thigh. “We’ll get this settled. I’m not afraid of the mafia. They’re a support service for the syndicate. They may not see it that way, but if Massimo doesn’t back down, he’ll get a masterclass in world order shoved up his ass.” He turns off the expressway and his muscular hand squeezes me with a firm, resolute grip. “Recline your seat. Close your eyes. I’ll wake you when we’re there.”
I do as he asks, reclining my seat to ensure I don’t block his view. I shiver, and he cranks the heat. How did it come to this?
The car door opens, and I blink, taking in a dark shadow bending over me. A scream rips through my mouth.
“Shhh.” It’s Leo. “It’s just me,” he says in the deep timbre I hear in my dreams.
I press a palm over my hammering heart.
“We’re here. Come on, baby. I was going to carry you in.”
My eyesight adjusts to the dim light, and his familiar smile comes into focus. It’s a slight smile, one that says he has indeed relaxed during the drive, allowing the Leo I love to return.
He helps me out of the car, and our feet grind the gravel leading to marble steps in front of an impressive English estate. An expansive lawn surrounds the house, and trees line the border of the lawn in the distance.
An oak door with aged hardware opens, and Nick stands in the threshold.
“Do you have bags?” Nick asks. He’s dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a silk robe.
“No. We came straight here,” Leo answers.
“Take her up to your suite. I’ll be in my office.”
Leo takes my hand and leads me up a grand staircase to the second floor. Most of the lights are off, but enough light exists to cast a series of oil paintings, all equestrian hunting scenes, in a soft glow. A logical choice for art, I suppose, given this house is undoubtedly a country estate.
We arrive at the end of the hall, turn right down another similar hall, and then arrive at a door that he opens without knocking.
“This is where I always stay when I visit.”
“Those two weeks you were away when we first married. Is this where you were?”
“For a few nights, when I wasn’t in Abu Dhabi.”
The canopy bed looks like it came from the set of the Catherine the Great movie. He flicks a light switch and one bedside lamp lights, casting a golden hue over half the room. Gold swirls adorn the wallpaper. A thick golden-brown carpet covers the floor, and the antique furniture is ornate with gold accents.
My fingers brush over the silky-smooth gold comforter. “Nick has a thing for gold, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not sure who decorated his estate, but I’ve always imagined he hired someone and never walked through the estate to see what they did.”
“So, his room isn’t like this?”
“I haven’t seen his bedroom. No plans to either.” He pulls back the comforter and steps aside. “There are spare toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, anything you could need in the bathroom.”
“Bring many people to stay here?”
He taps the tip of my nose and smirks. “Jealous?”
A little . “No.”
He presses his lips to mine, tucks some hair behind my ear, caresses my cheek, and breathes in deeply. “You’re the first woman I’ve invited into this room.” He steps back, and I see it, the warmth in his eyes. He hasn’t told me he loves me, and he may not, but there’s no doubt he cares. “Treat this room like it’s your own.”
“Are there any spare clothes?” There very well could be. An ornate armoire dominates the opposite wall, and there are doors in the hallway that lead toward the bathroom.
“You’re welcome to anything of mine in the closet. Are you feeling okay?”
My face is sore, my eye throbs, but given John died… “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And tomorrow we’ll take care of getting you everything you need.”
“Leo?” I call to his retreating back.
He turns, giving me his undivided attention. “I’m glad you haven’t brought anyone else here.”
His expression is hard to read, but solemn feels like the best description, and my heart sinks. “We can’t forget our situation.”
“But I’m yours.” Can’t he see that? For me, it’s no longer an arrangement. I only want to be with him.
“You’re not my possession, Willow.”
“But I am.” Can’t he see it? Doesn’t he feel it?
“I can’t keep you.” His lips contort into a sad smile, and he leaves the room.