Chapter 10
10
AMARA
The plane lands in the early morning hours, and I’m utterly exhausted. I want nothing more than to curl up in the big bed and go right to sleep, but I know I can’t do that yet. Especially not when I’m going to have to leave this room and finally face Lazaro. I’m not exactly looking forward to that, but also I’m not looking forward to leaving the plane and heading off to Nico’s house.
Rori’s spent the last few hours talking to me and telling me more about the place, and while I’m curious, I’m also terrified. It sounds so overwhelming, and while the people she speaks of sound interesting, they’re also strangers. Strangers that hold my life in their hands.
A part of me wonders if I’ve been completely fooled and I’m about to walk into a trap. And if I am, what am I going to do to get out of it? I’m in a totally new city, at the mercy of people I don’t know, and I’ve already been warned that if I run, they’re going to catch me.
I’m fucked if I do, and, possibly, fucked if I don’t.
“Everything will be fine,” Rori murmurs softly, watching me as she opens the bedroom door, releasing Hades from his guard position. The good boy didn’t move for hours, only laying down to keep watch after we’d been left alone for awhile. I’m still surprised that Lazaro and Alonzo didn’t try to come in here, but I’m also grateful that they didn’t.
We emerge from the bedroom to find the plane abuzz with activity, Alonzo and Lazaro barking orders from their positions near the partition. Camilla is sitting in the seat I vacated, her skirt halfway up her thighs, hair mussed, lipstick smeared, and a lazy, but smug, smile on her lips. It’s obvious she’s been busy with someone during the flight.
My stomach sours thinking that it might have been Lazaro. Hell, probably right outside the bedroom door. Or maybe he decided to keep her away so that I couldn’t hear her, and fucked her in the bathroom at the front of the plane. Why should I expect anything different? It doesn’t matter what a man says, it only matters what they do.
I keep my expression neutral and unaffected as I hold her stare for a moment and then look away, feigning indifference. Out of the corner of my eye I see her smug smile falter slightly. Oh, someone was expecting me to get jealous and upset; well, she’s going to be disappointed.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were giving out more than just food on this flight,” Rori remarks thoughtfully, drawing my gaze. Alonzo and Lazaro immediately turn to look at us. Lazaro’s dark eyes move to mine, and I can see they hold concern and a slight hint of guilt. Guess that answers that question.
“We are a full-service flight,” Camilla answers, reaching forward to pick up a half-empty glass of expensive looking liquor. She brings it to her lips and adds with a sly smile, “It’s my job to make sure that everyone receives service no matter what.”
“So, what, you add yourself to the menu?” Rori snorts. “Oh, wait, is that what the fine print was at the bottom of the menu earlier? ‘Warning, each order of stewardess comes with a complimentary STD’?”
I barely manage to contain my shocked laugh. Holy shit. Camilla’s face contorts with fury as she shoots to her feet. “You fucking bitch,” she screeches. “How fucking dare you? I should?—”
“Finish that sentence and you’re out on your ass. No one will ever hire you again.” Alonzo’s voice rings out as he stalks down the aisle toward us, his face a mask of fury.
Camilla turns her furious gaze toward Alonzo. Lazaro steps forward as well, but he hangs back, watching the whole scene with a dark look. “I should not have to put up with being insulted in such a manner in my own workplace, Alonzo. Don Caruso won’t be pleased about this. Perhaps you should think about that before you bring women like these two on this plane.”
“I think she’s implying that we’re whores,” Rori says in a dramatic stage whisper as she rolls her eyes. “How cliché. Especially considering she’s the one who looks like she’s just been through the ringer with someone. Alonzo, if you fucked her, I’d get yourself tested. You too Lazaro, because this one definitely hands it out like free dessert at an all you can eat buffet.”
Camilla rounds on her, her hand raised. Two things happen simultaneously. Hades snarls viciously, and Alonzo’s hand wraps around her wrist, yanking it down swiftly. Camilla lets out a cry of pain. “Enough!” he roars, even as Rori quiets Hades with a quick hand signal. “Get the fuck out of my sight, now ,” he snarls at Camilla.
“Alonzo,” she whines.
“Speak one more word, and I will ensure you pay dearly,” he warns her harshly. Her face pales, but she pulls away from him and then turns on her heel and stiffly walks toward Lazaro. He doesn’t even glance at her as he steps aside to let her pass, and her shoulders sag as she continues on.
A tense silence fills this part of the plane, and I glance around worriedly. Rori is eyeing Alonzo in a way I can’t quite decipher, almost like she’s unsure whether to thank him, or yell at him for interfering. Alonzo gives her a foreboding look, then turns on his heel and barks, “We’re leaving. Both of you, move it.”
“Alonzo,” Lazaro says warningly, his expression unchanging. I don’t hear what Alonzo says, but he stalks past Lazaro, his shoulders tight. Lazaro’s gaze moves over us both and he says in a much calmer tone, “We need to get a move on. The longer we stay here, the greater the risk; right now we’re sitting ducks. The SUVs are waiting. Rori, you go out first, make sure to keep Hades close to you, and stay behind Alonzo. We don’t know if they know about you yet, but we don’t want them thinking you’re an easy target. Amara, you’ll be close to me, alright?”
I don’t see any other option, so I nod. Nerves jump in my belly. This is really happening.
Within minutes we’re all leaving the plane, rushing down the steps toward the waiting vehicles. I keep scanning our surroundings, almost expecting someone to jump out of the shadows, but nothing happens. The other men move quickly, throwing luggage and supplies into the back of the SUVs. A few of them give quiet orders, and a couple stand sentry, guns at the ready.
Lazaro ushers me into the middle SUV, shutting the door as soon as I’m safely inside. Surprisingly, he moves to the other side and climbs into the back with me. Rori isn’t in this SUV with us, and neither is Alonzo. Another man is driving, one I don’t recognize. “Brother,” the deep voice says in greeting, glancing at us in the rearview mirror. “Your ugly face is still the same, I see. I thought the southwestern sun would help you out with that, give you a bit of color.”
“Drive,” Lazaro growls at him. “We all know that I took all the good looks before Mama and Papa got to you. They just gave you the leftovers.”
His name pops into my memory. Urso. This is Lazaro’s youngest brother. It’s too dark for me to make out his looks, but from what I can see in the low light from the dashboard, he has the same dark eyes as his brother, yet there’s a boyish look about him when he smiles that way in the mirror. I can also make out that, like his brothers, he has a bit of a beard, but his is much thinner than theirs. Of course, he’s also as wide as they are, so I guess the giant gene runs in the family.
It kind of makes me wonder how the hell their mother pushed them out, because holy shit, that must have hurt.
The SUV moves in behind the one in front of us, and I wonder briefly if that’s where Rori is. Is Alonzo with her too? I almost hope not, because of how pissed he looked, but she’s a big girl and can handle herself.
“Don’t listen to him, cara .” Urso chuckles, bringing my gaze back to his in the mirror. There’s a kindness in his eyes, but it does nothing to settle my nerves. “He got all the brawns, but the good looks and brains, those skipped him and Alonzo altogether.”
“Fuck off,” Lazaro huffs.
“He’s cranky when he’s tired,” Urso explains with a wink back at me. “But don’t mind him, we’ll put him to bed and he’ll be right as rain once he wakes up.”
“If you say so.” I avoid looking at Lazaro, but my lips twitch when I hear him mutter something under his breath.
“Comedians, both of you. Urso, since you’re here, I take it to mean Papa and the others are as well?”
“Landed a couple hours ago. Everyone else is back at the house strategizing, and Alessio is doing everything he can to piss off Nico every time he opens his mouth.” He gives a low chuckle. “Zeno and I figured it was best to get out of the line of fire for a little while so we offered to come and grab you.” Then he winks at me in the mirror again. “And there is such prettier company to meet here, so I’d be a fool to stay home.”
I flush at the compliment, unable to help myself. Charm and sex appeal must be another family trait.
Lazaro snaps something in Italian, but Urso doesn’t seem the least bit concerned when he answers back with a laugh, sounding calm as a cucumber. I glance at Lazaro curiously, but his face is hard and gives nothing else away. Hmm, maybe he doesn’t get along with his younger brother as well as he portrays.
The rest of the drive is mostly quiet, other than Urso asking a few random questions now and then. His eyes light up when I tell him what I do for work. Though, I’m confused. Wouldn’t he know that about me since Lazaro does? But that thought flitters away when he suddenly exclaims, “Do you do men’s cuts? I’m in desperate need, and so is Zeno. The two of us didn’t have time to see our regular barber before we left, and though he’ll be jealous, I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“I do. If you want me to cut yours, I’ll be happy to.” Maybe if I offer to do hair while I’m here, I won’t be bored out of my mind. Besides, when people come to see me at the salon, they like to talk, and they often divulge plenty of information without even realizing it. A few barber chair confessionals will give me a good lay of the land.
And maybe even some ideas on how to get the hell out if things do go south.
“It’s a date!” Urso claims happily, then he laughs outright when Lazaro makes a low warning growl.
I turn my head to glare at him, but freeze when I see the look in his eyes. It’s pure possession, the kind that I both fear and long for. The last man who looked at me like that…
No, I’m not thinking about him. Or rather, them . That’s a rabbit hole of memories that I don’t want clouding my mind when I’m about to meet the people who hold my life in their hands, in one way or another.
I force myself to look away from him, turning to watch the buildings and city lights. They pass by in a blur, but even still, I can see now why they call it the city that never sleeps. People still dot the sidewalks despite the late hour, and there are a decent number of cars flying along beside and behind us.
It’s nothing like my small town.
When we finally pull through the gates that lead up to the largest mansion I’ve ever seen, my nerves come back full force. Holy fuck, this is where I’m going to be staying? I gawk at it, wide-eyed, taking in the gothic architecture, the circular driveway, and the guards patrolling. The moon hangs low overhead, adding to the ominous look.
Urso pulls up directly in front of the main door and announces, “Home sweet home. Please exit calmly, no pushing and shoving.” He laughs, and then hisses painfully when I hear something connect with his head. I turn to glare at Lazaro, who lowers his hand unrepentantly and simply climbs out, coming around to meet me when I open my door.
I look around to see if Rori and Alonzo are there, but Lazaro’s body blocks my view. I want to glare at him for that, but instead, he takes my hand and gently pulls me toward the front door. When we walk inside, my mouth falls open in shock. Holy shit, this place practically screams money.
We’re greeted by a large foyer, with a sweeping double staircase front and center. The floor is gleaming marble and practically sparkles, though that probably has something to do with the black chandeliers dripping in diamonds overhead. The walls are lined with expensive art, and I see a hallway leading away in each direction, and then an additional one underneath the stairs.
It’s opulent, and the gothic vibe seems to be as much on the inside as it is on the outside. I’m utterly out of place.
“I’m taking Amara up to rest,” Lazaro tells his brother briskly as he pulls me toward the stairs.
“I think Papa and Pietro would like to meet her,” Urso reasons.
“They can meet her when she’s had time to rest,” he answers firmly. “We’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours. I’ve given my report to Alonzo; he can relay it, or it can wait until we’ve had some sleep.” Then he says something in Italian that has Urso laughing like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world.
This family is really strange. And now that we’re in the light, I can see that Urso certainly does look like his brother, though the ease of him is misleading. The light lets me see that this man is just as dangerous as his brothers, he’s just better at hiding it in the dark. I fight back a shudder. If they’re all like this, I can only imagine what their father and the Carusos will be like.
I’m grateful that Lazaro is insisting that I get some rest. I’m going to need my full wits to handle them all.
I don’t fight him as he leads me up the steps, then through a maze of hallways that I’m never going to remember, until we reach a set of wide double doors near the end of one of the long hallways. A full stained-glass window and set of stairs sits at the very end, and I briefly wonder where it leads before I’m being pulled into the room. Lazaro flicks on the light and locks the door behind us.
Wait a minute, why is he locking the door? And why is he still in here?
I spin around, glaring at him when I see him leaning against it, watching me with an unreadable expression. “I am not?—”
“I’m sorry,” he interjects, halting my words.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you on the plane. I shouldn’t have, but it pisses me off to see you deprive yourself of something when you have no need to. Knowing that you’ve let yourself always come last, when you should have never had to do that in the first place.”
Well, that’s one way to take the wind out of my sails.
Some of my anger and hurt dissipates. “Thank you.” And since we’re giving apologies, I add, “And I’m sorry I snapped at you the way I did on the plane.”
“But not for what you said?” he asks directly.
“No.” It’s true. I can be sorry for the tone it was delivered in, and maybe I could have handled things more tactfully, but I don’t regret anything I said. I still mean it, and after walking out to find Camilla sitting there that way, it’s clear I was correct.
“What you said about never doing what I want because you’ve had to deal with men telling you to your whole life, are you talking about the foster families you were with, or what that fucker said when he grabbed you in your salon?”
My entire body freezes. That is the last thing I want to talk about. Instead of giving him a straight answer, I merely reply, “You said you looked into me, so you should already have the answer, Lazaro, and I’m not rehashing it with you. I want to take a shower, climb into bed, and sleep.” Or at least try. With the way things have been going, I’m probably going to have nightmares.
“I only know the basics, not everything in depth.” He straightens away from the door and moves to stand in front of me. “I want to hear the answer from you, not a sheet of paper. As for the rest of it, the bathroom is that way, and it should have everything you’ll need.”
“If you don’t know, then it’s not any of your business. And if you want any kind of cordial relationship, or friendship maybe, then you won’t go reading whatever you have on me. I have worked hard to put that behind me, Lazaro, and that’s where it’s going to stay. I’m going to shower, goodnight.”
I turn and stalk toward the open doorway across the giant bedroom, walking inside and shutting the door behind me. I’m plunged into darkness, and I start to panic immediately.
Shit. Shit. Light. I need to find the light.
My hand moves frantically along the wall until I finally find the switch, flicking it on and drawing in deep gulps of air, trying to stave off the panic attack that’s threatening. It takes another minute, but finally, the tightness in my chest eases and my breathing slows. Okay, okay, I’m good. I’m okay.
I force myself to look around at the giant bathroom, focusing on how luxurious it seems and feels. The room is huge, almost as big as the bedroom out there. Whoever designed it definitely wanted to keep the gothic theme going.
To my left is a doorway that opens into a very large walk-in closet that curves in behind. I’ll have to check that out later. To my right is a spacious glass shower, complete with marble tile throughout, fancy shower heads and dials, and even two wide marble benches, one on each end. Were they planning on hosting orgies in there? To the left of the shower is another door that I assume leads to the toilet.
Rich people really do like having their own private toilets. The room is capped off with an obscene number of chandeliers. Four, to be precise.
Straight ahead, though, is the real eye catcher. On each side of the room are two huge vanities, with one extending down lower and showcasing a mirror with LED lights around it, and storage for anything a woman might need to do herself up. At the end of the room are three floor-to-ceiling windows, their panes framed by gothic arches, with a clawfoot tub set directly in the center. The tub is black, with a white interior and gold faucets.
It’s a bit too dark for my taste, but damn, I could get used to this.
I move away from the door, searching for a towel before finally locating one under one of the sinks. Oddly, they don’t have a linen closet in here, but then again, if this room isn’t used often, that makes sense. I’ll check out the closet for some clothes after I’m clean.
The shower is a dream, though it takes me a couple minutes to figure everything out. Why do they have to make these things so damn complicated? The hot water eases the tension in my body, and I finally allow myself to relax. I’ll definitely be asleep quickly once I get in that bed out there, and something tells me it will be just as soft and luxurious as it looks.
I wrap a towel around me and then around my hair, before I make my way into the closet. Holy shit, it’s just as big and opulent as everything else in this place. The black clouded marble tile extends in here, and all four walls are lined with shelves and spaces for things to hang. In the center sits a large square ottoman, with the same black chandelier hanging over it as in the bathroom. The decorator sure is consistent.
I look around, trying to find the clothes that Lazaro mentioned, but freeze when I notice something. There are men’s clothes in here. Not many, but enough that it’s clear someone has been using this closet. And they look pretty big too…
Sure enough, the suits are giant sized. Two guesses who they belong to. I bite back a scream of frustration, both at him and myself. I should have known he’d pull something like this. He could have at least told me and not acted like he was taking me to my own room.
On the opposite side of the closet, there’s an array of different clothes hung up and sorted. Cabinets with glass fronts showcase shelves full of shoes. When I start pulling out some of the drawers, I find a mixture of underwear, pajamas, yoga pants, and even a few lingerie pieces. All of them still have the tags attached.
So he’s been planning this all along. This time I’m going to punch him even harder in the balls, and then I’m punching his stupid face. Once again, a man has decided where I’m going to be put, and he expects me to just go along with it, compliant and obedient. Well, he has another thing coming.
I let the towel drop to the floor, pulling out a simple pair of black underwear, a black cotton bra—because no way am I facing him without being fully clothed in every possible way—and a pair of polka dot pajamas that cover me from my neck all the way to my toes. Not a speck of skin showing. I find a pair of comfy looking slippers, trying not to love them with how nicely they fit and feel on my feet, and then head back out to the bathroom.
I towel dry my hair vigorously, using some of the products I find in the make-up vanity, before I finally feel confident enough to walk back out there and face the man who is forcing me into a situation I don’t want, and one that I’ll never be ready for, even if I did.
Taking a deep breath, I walk to the door, open it, and step out. Lazaro is still standing there, shirtless and dressed only in his dirty dress pants, his phone to his ear.
I’m momentarily stunned, unable to look away from him. His muscles bunch and flex as he shifts, and his skin looks so smooth, my fingers itch to reach out and touch it. His waist is narrow, his shoulders so broad, and his entire back is covered by a tattoo of a skull, its mouth open as if to swallow me whole. It should frighten me, but instead, I want to get closer to inspect it. Why did he pick it? His arms are covered in tattoos too, but they’re a mix of a lot of things, so I can’t quite make them all out.
Suddenly, he turns, and I get the front view too, and I have to hold back a whimper. Damn it, this man should not look this good. Just like I thought, he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He somehow looks broader now that he’s facing me, though I’m sure that’s a trick of the eye. A woman’s name decorates the left side of his chest, along with an image of a mother holding a child. Verona. Is that his mother? Almost all of him is covered in tattoos, with very little free space to be seen.
What the hell are you talking about, Amara? Get a fucking grip and remember why you’re mad.
Oh, right. I force myself to meet his eyes and find him watching me, his lips quirked up in amusement, even as he says, “Alessio, I’ll see you in the morning. Go back to sexing up your woman.” Then he hangs up and says in that same silky tone he used on me in the bunker, “See something you like, colombina ? If you want to touch, I won’t stop you.”