Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
~NADIA~
“ W hat are you doing here?” Papa asks as I walk into his Denver office. He frowns and sets a pen on the notebook he was scribbling notes in. “You’re supposed to be in Seattle with Carmine.”
“I’m not going to Washington.” I pace to the window and stare down at Coors Field, downtown Denver, and the mountains beyond. I have to admit, it’s a beautiful city. Once you get past the high altitude, it’s one of my favorite places. But I’m not here to admire the scenery.
“Carmine is in Seattle,” Papa reminds me.
“I believe so.”
“So, I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”
“I don’t need to be with Carmine,” I say and watch as a crane works on a skyscraper. “I can work just fine without him. Better, actually.”
“You’re supposed to be working together.”
“Now that the charade is over, there’s no need.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
His stern voice has me turning to look at him.
“We don’t trust each other.” I cross to my father. “For good reason. The Martinellis think we had their family members killed.”
“We didn’t.”
“You and I know that, but convincing them is another matter entirely. And why would he work with me anyway?”
“Because he’s been ordered to do so.”
I roll my eyes and then sigh as I sit in the chair opposite my father.
“You’ve worked hard for your entire adult life to be taken seriously in this family,” Papa says thoughtfully. “You don’t question orders. Why now?”
“Alex wouldn’t want to work with him, either.”
“Did you fall in love with him?”
I scowl at the absurdity of the suggestion. “Absolutely not. He’s a liar—and not a particularly good one. And he’s a Martinelli.”
“He’s also young and handsome.”
And excellent in bed, but I’m sure my father doesn’t want to know that.
“I’m not young and stupid,” I remind him. “I just didn’t see the value in following him to Seattle when what we’re looking for most likely isn’t there.”
“It’s a place to start,” he replies and waves me off. “Get up there. Today , little one. And keep me apprised of the situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stand and turn to leave.
“Nadia?”
“Yes?” I spin back to him.
“I love you.”
I smile and blow him a kiss. “I love you, too, Papa.”
There’s a car in his circular driveway. I don’t think the older Cadillac belongs to Carmine.
I park behind it just as the front door opens, and Carmine steps out with another man. The unknown person nods and then gets into his vehicle and drives away.
I slam the door of my rented Lexus and send Carmine a sassy grin as I climb the steps of his house.
“I knew you were the big, fancy house type.”
“How did you find out where I live?” he asks by way of greeting.
“Oh, Carmine.” I pat his cheek and breeze right past him and inside, not bothering to wait for an invitation. “Don’t insult either of us by asking stupid questions. You knew plenty about me before you found me in Miami. And I know more about you than you’d probably be comfortable with.”
“I just have one question,” he says as he follows me into his living room. “Is your house really being remodeled?”
I cross to the mantel and run the pad of my finger over a little owl statue there. “I don’t have a house. If you’d done more research, you’d know that.”
“Maybe you live in a house owned by your father,” he suggests.
“I bounce from place to place,” I say without elaborating. I walk over to a painting and touch the name of the artist. “You have a lot of expensive knickknacks.”
“Are you going to simply walk through my house and touch everything?” I notice his teeth are clenched, his hands fisted. It fills my heart with glee.
Pissing him off is a pleasure.
“Maybe.” I smirk and wander into the kitchen. “I’m starved. I couldn’t stomach the crap they served on the plane. I know you have a private jet, but I went ahead and jumped on a commercial flight this morning. Even first class turned my stomach.”
I open his fridge and take inventory of the contents. I pull out a cheese and cracker tray and dig in.
“This salami is fantastic. Where did you find it?”
“You’d have to ask the caterer.” He leans his hip against the island and crosses his arms over his impressive chest.
Carmine Martinelli is the male version of beautiful. He looks like a fallen angel. With that thick, dark hair, those deep brown eyes, and full lips that could turn a girl inside out, he’s an impressive specimen.
No, I didn’t fall in love with him.
But I enjoyed him. Every chance I got.
“You look well,” I say and pop a cracker into my mouth. “But you have some bags under your eyes. Not sleeping well?”
There are no bags. He looks fucking magnificent. But seeing the spark of annoyance flicker in his eyes is worth the dig.
“What do you want, Nadia?”
“We’re working together, remember?” I shrug a shoulder and open a jar of green olives. I didn’t lie about being hungry. I’m suddenly starving.
“Given that I haven’t heard a peep from you since the wedding, I figured you’d blown that off.”
“A peep?” I snicker and chew on another olive. “You’re cute, Carmine.”
He huffs out a breath of annoyance.
I love ruffling his feathers.
“Anyway, I thought I’d come to Seattle and see you. Find out what you know.”
“I’m working on some leads.”
I nod slowly. “What kind of leads?”
“Rumors. Making calls.”
“The mafia is good at keeping secrets, aren’t they?” I shake my head and close the food containers back up, then return it all to the fridge. “Bastards put a lot of bullshit in this world, but when it comes to covering their tracks, they’re damn good at it.”
“What do you know?” he asks.
“I did get a call when I got off the plane,” I admit and walk over to him. I brush my finger down the buttons of his white shirt. “I always did like looking at you in these white button-downs.”
He catches my hand in his and pushes me away.
“What did the caller say?”
The rebuff hurts my feelings more than expected—and more than it should. But I keep my face schooled in the sneer I’ve worn since I arrived.
“A new chemical’s being passed around,” I say casually. “It’s lethal. Highly addictive. And in large quantities, can cause seizures and foaming at the mouth.”
“Who—?”
“I’m not going to tell you that,” I say smoothly. “And you know it. That’s all I know for now. I really should go. I’ll be in touch.”
I march away from him before I do something monumentally stupid, like strip him naked and suck his cock.
Carmine has a grade-A penis.
And it’s off-limits.
“Have a good day.”
“Wait,” he says as he hurries after me. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be around.”
“Nadia.”
“Goodbye, Carmine.”
I hop in the car and zoom away from his house.
I’m not good at emotions. I’m excellent at keeping myself aloof. Cold, even. I don’t mind being called the ice princess at all. Because when emotions get tangled up in business, you die.
And I’m not ready to meet Satan yet. Or, should I say, he’s not ready for me?
I don’t like that I feel things when I’m around Carmine. It’s purely physical.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I mutter as I drive toward the freeway.
I knew the several months I spent with Carmine were a lie. He didn’t love me, and I certainly didn’t love him. We were merely playing house. Manipulating each other.
But we also had fun. We laughed a lot. We got along well. And the sex…
Well, let’s not go there.
I enjoy him. And that’s the part that annoys the hell out of me. Because he’s a Martinelli, and my father told me when I was thirteen that anyone with that name was off-limits.
Nothing has changed in that regard.
So, I’ll do as my father asked and keep an eye on Carmine, but I’ll also keep my distance.
For my fucking sanity.
Because I’m going to be the next boss. My brother doesn’t have the chops—he’s too selfish, too immature.
I can’t stand him.
I’m the one who studied at my father’s knee since I was a child. I’m the one who pays attention and does as she’s told.
And I’m often overlooked because I’m a woman.
But that won’t stop me.
I’ll do my job here and continue proving to my father that I’m the one who should step up after he’s gone.
The hotel just wasn’t cutting it. Too many people were in and out. Too many eyes. I know that Carmine has eyes on me, but I was making it too easy on him.
So, I checked out two days ago and secured a vacation rental by owner, a VRBO, instead. I used my father’s assistant to make the reservation, so my name’s nowhere on the application.
I like being anonymous. Carmine wasn’t wrong. My family owns the condo I live in just outside of Atlanta, and my name isn’t on that one either. I don’t want anyone to trace me back to any holdings. I want to be mysterious.
It’s hard for the bad guys to find you if they can’t figure out where you live.
Not that they didn’t find me anyway , I muse, rubbing a hand over the rib that still sometimes gives me fits.
I haven’t heard anything on the drug thing for days. I’m basically just sitting in Seattle, twiddling my thumbs. I could do this from anywhere.
But Papa wants me here.
I blow out a breath and shut my laptop. I’ve been calling in favors and making calls, and I’m going nowhere fast. It’s like I’m two inches away from getting the information I need, but then it gets tugged just out of my reach.
It doesn’t help that I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. The simple news of a new drug doesn’t give me much to go on. That happens every day in every city, and my family isn’t into the drug-dealing scene.
Maybe our fathers have us on a wild goose chase, just to see if they can pull the strings and have us follow along like good little puppets.
I wouldn’t put it past them.
I need some air, so I slide my feet into my running shoes, grab my windbreaker, and set off on a jog.
This little neighborhood near the water is beautiful. Full of older homes, it’s clearly an established neighborhood with low crime and little drama.
I would generally think of it as boring.
My pace is steady as I climb the first hill. Seattle is nothing if not hilly, but it makes for a good workout so I’m not complaining.
I just hit my stride when something sails over my head, and someone lifts me from behind.
“Let go of me, you asshole!” I’m kicking and flailing about, but it’s no use. I can’t see who grabbed me.
So I go limp. Deadweight.
The man holding me grunts with the effort it takes to hold me, but throws me onto a seat of a vehicle. And then we’re moving.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand.
No one replies.
I know there are at least two of them. The one who grabbed me and the other who’s driving.
Fuck, this isn’t good.
They could kill me and dump me. My father would rain hell down on them, but they could still do it.
The vehicle—van?—parks, and I’m jerked out and taken down what feels like a series of hallways. Finally, they dump me onto a chair and tie my hands behind my back.
“What the fuck?” I ask—and am punched in the jaw.
I see stars. My mouth throbs.
“You’re asking a lot of questions.”
I frantically search my brain to place the voice. Have I heard it before? It doesn’t sound familiar.
“And that pisses you off,” I guess.
Someone punches me again, in the left eye this time.
“We’re going to teach you to keep your questions to yourself, bitch.”
The beating is ruthless. By the time they dump me on some random sidewalk in downtown Seattle, I’m bloody, bruised, and quite sure my right shoulder is dislocated.
It’s hard to breathe.
I pull the bag off my head but can’t see out of my left eye. What I can see is clouded and red because of the blood in my right eye.
Christ, I don’t know what to do.
I can’t go to the hospital. And I’m never stepping foot in that VRBO again.
How did they find me?
I’m going to pass out, and I don’t want to do that here, so I stumble to my feet and look around. I’m in an industrial area. People walk about, but they don’t look my way.
It’s as if women are dumped, bloody and broken, every fucking day.
Whoever grabbed me didn’t take my phone, so I pull it out of the sleeve in my leggings and punch in the address for the condo that Carmine and I lived in for several months. I know his family owns the building, and no one lives in the penthouse full time.
I’ll crash there until I figure out what to do.
According to my cell, I’m only a couple of blocks away. I hobble toward the building, having to stop and lean on the concrete to catch my breath a few times.
Did they break another goddamn rib?
It takes five times longer than it should to reach Carmine’s building. I’m ecstatic to discover that my codes still work on the door and the private elevator that leads up to the penthouse.
When the apartment doors open, I step in and lean against the wall as I listen for any movement inside.
There’s nothing.
It doesn’t appear as if anyone’s been here since Carmine and I were here before leaving for Denver last week.
Has it really only been a week?
The red roses Carmine got me are still on the sofa table, wilting. A pair of my heels lay on the floor next to the kitchen island.
This is the only safe place for me in the city. I need to call my father, but that will have to come later. I’m not even sure what my name is right now.
The adrenaline of the attack is wearing off, and I know I’m going to be sick. Nausea roils my stomach, and dizziness fills my head. I just want to sleep. I probably shouldn’t. I most likely have a concussion, but I’ll be fine.
Everything will be fine.
God, I hurt. More than I ever have in my life.
I swing by the kitchen to grab a bucket from under the sink in case I do throw up, and then stumble to the couch in the living room. The sofa is huge, deep, and so comfortable that Carmine and I took many an afternoon nap here, tangled up with each other.
We also fucked like rabbits on it, but I’ll think about that later.
The moment I lie down, I feel exhaustion overtake me. But the rest is fitful—I can’t get comfortable. I can’t catch my breath.
I really should call an ambulance. My father would not be pleased, but I’m alone, and something is very wrong.
I feel the anxiety building in my stomach. I reach for my phone, only to discover that I set it on the counter in the kitchen.
I want to cry.
Everything screams in agony.
And, suddenly, someone looms over me.