Chapter 5
Vivi
SLEEK FRAME. brOAD shoulders. Dark, midnight-blue eyes.
Shivers raced down my spine. Not from the jagged line traveling from his temple to his jaw, the scar calling him dangerous—and Sofia’s ghost—but from the stranger’s stare, so intense, so sinful.
He looked at me in such a wicked, lustful way that my skin grew hot and my underwear damp.
Heat flushed my cheeks, and still, I couldn’t break our eye contact.
Even worse, my nipples furled into tight knots—a betrayal of my personal vow to remain impartial to a made man.
This was wrong. The lascivious thoughts consuming my mind were wrong. A good girl shouldn’t want something bad. So bad I had to shift my legs to dissipate the tendrils of desire curling low in my stomach.
But I wanted the monster to take my innocence and smear it in bloody stripes on my thighs.
I saw it in an instant. He was over me, naked, his muscled chest heaving—my very own angel warrior.
I clutched my necklace just as I imagined his weight spreading my thighs open.
His hard length. The punch of his hips. The pinch of pain.
I gasped.
“Vivienne?”
My gaze whipped to Dante, who waited two steps below. Vigo untangled our arms, glancing from me to the crowd—a shadow cloaking his features in darkness. Mama intervened, taking my hand with a smile while my mouth gaped open.
They couldn’t know how warm I was, how my core pulsed, or how heavy and sensitive my breasts were against the satin of my dress.
If I could sneak back to my room for some privacy, five minutes of personal pleasure, I would run.
I was young, but I wasn’t that na?ve. I had the internet, a bevy of soft-core romance movies, and a vibrator.
Until a minute ago, my fantasy had been derived from words on screen.
Now he was flesh and bone, and I had an urgent need to do something about the throbbing tension.
Yet I couldn’t leave. Vigo would notice. They would all notice, as the attention of the crowd had yet to scatter completely.
“Go.” Mama nudged me in my brother’s direction. “I’ll find you soon.”
I inhaled a steadying breath, glancing over Dante’s shoulder. My stranger had vanished. Relief escaped my lungs in a sigh, or maybe it was disappointment. No matter. He was a fantasy. One to keep me awake later tonight while my fingers danced over my wet flesh. Alone. How I was meant to be.
“Are you all right, Viv?”
My vision reverted to Dante, who waited with a frown.
“Hey. Hi.” I laughed, but the sound was as shaky as my feet when they met the floor.
“This is a lot. The party, I mean, but I’m fine.
” I waved around the room, pretending not to search for my monster.
But I was. His black hair wasn’t so different from most of the men here.
Italians were somewhat predictable. Tall.
Dark. Handsome. Well-endowed if I believed Sofia.
I forced my thoughts out of the gutter, and my vision to Dante’s face. His scowling face.
“What?” I asked.
“Who are you looking for?”
“No one.” I tugged on my skirt hem as I’d done earlier, but this time hoping to cool the flames my body created.
Sweat pooled between my breasts. Summer had settled in on the coast, the steamy July night winning the battle with the air conditioners working non-stop to cool the ballroom.
I fanned myself. Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.” I sighed.
“I was searching for Sofia if you must know. She left in a sulk earlier, worried about her entrance. How was it?”
He took my elbow, maneuvering me around couples and men who averted their gazes when we passed. “Ridiculous, as always,” he said into my ear.
A stab of jealousy pricked my skin. “Did she, um, get the man she was searching for?”
He laughed. “Denied, I’m afraid. It was a harsh rejection.”
Relief was swift, but so was confusion when two other recruits turned their backs on me. “Dante.”
“Sì, sorella. (Yes, sister.)”
“What did you do?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
We passed a small group, all wearing head-to-toe black. Their eyes darted in a conspicuous game of how not to stick to the target.
“Why won’t they look at me?”
“They who?”
“Dante!” I stopped, searching for anyone who would make eye contact. When I found no takers, my vision centered on my brother.
He had the gall to look sheepish. Nervous even, with his fingers raking through his hair. “Viv, you’re eighteen.”
“And? I’m still the same girl I was yesterday. Too short. Too skinny. Too—not Sofia. No one cared about me until you told them what…?” I shot my hands up, exasperated. “Tell me, and don’t shake your head. And don’t do that either.”
“Do what?”
“The pouty lips, the heavy lids. Apologetic. You look sorry, that’s what.”
“I am. See, I didn’t do much. Just a small warning to the new guys, yeah?”
I snagged a glass of champagne, though I was underage, and he said nothing.
No one would. We were Italian. We drank wine from the nipples of our baby bottles.
Lord knew I needed a gallon tonight, between the mystery man and Dante warning off the rest of them.
Not that I actually minded. I didn’t want these dolts.
Father could have them. Besides, everyone knew the capo’s daughter was off-limits.
One could look, but never touch. Dante just re-enforced an unwritten rule, but still, curiosity won over relief.
“What’d you say?”
He shrugged. “Slight bodily harm. No foul, no big deal. They’ll all live.”
I rolled my eyes, but this time my laugh was loud and strong. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re my sister. None of these idiotas are worthy of you.”
I gathered my big teddy bear brother into a hug, breathing in pine and a hint of patchouli. “You don’t have to worry about the men. Mama and Father have an agreement that allows me to choose.”
He grunted, squeezing a little harder. “Unless it was written in blood from bone, I have no faith in their treaty. Fists are a better deterrent to these fools.”
Dante was harsh with many and soft with me. Stefano was more of a grizzly bear with deadly claws, and I shrank a little in Dante’s arms when he appeared in the doorway. Then I thought of Mama’s strength, and I straightened.
The eldest child in the family was tall, like all of the male Cabellos.
Tanned, olive skin. Dark hair, light eyes.
A black Gucci button-down shirt was opened at the collar, where he hooked his sunglasses.
No one would mistake him for a recruit. There was too much confidence in his smirk.
Dante was practically his twin, but for his crooked smile.
He also didn’t cause my cheek to sting. Stefano did that when I thought of his palm connecting with it a few nights ago.
And what he did to the dirty fed just before he made contact.
“Don’t let him bother you,” my favorite brother commanded.
“I won’t. He doesn’t. I’m not bothered,” I lied, twisting away so I wouldn’t have to watch everyone greet him with reverence. Their admiration of the devil’s spawn sickened my stomach.
“What do you do at these parties, Dante? Drink? Gorge on the food? Seems like overkill if you ask me.”
“It’s a thing.” He shrugged again, taking a spear of fresh antipasto from Francesca, who passed the tray to me. I murmured my thanks, then nibbled, waiting for Dante to continue. “Everything Father does is with intention.”
“And?”
“And his intention is to provide the fools with hours to eat and drink. Mostly drink and watch the women, waiting to learn who loses control. There’s always one.”
I scoffed. Dante’s warning to the men made sense now. “So if they can’t restrain themselves around big boobs and booze, they’re no match for the house of Cabello.”
He smiled, his cheeks full of olives. “Exactly. Come, let me introduce you to some friends.”
Dante’s “friends” were always women, and they were kind to me because they wanted him.
I sipped champagne, scanning the crowd. Father enjoyed his celebration with a toast to his growing family.
Stefano was busy regaling recruits with stories.
Mama mingled like a good hostess. Dante disappeared with a duo, leaving me with two things of my own.
Sofia’s harsh stare and the memory of an unforgettable face.
Dark hair. Sharp features. Burning blue eyes. He was so beautiful that my heart thumped to a new melody. Such a bizarre reaction to a complete stranger.
I sighed and wandered from the ballroom to the gallery.
The studio was made of deep shadows and beams of light, highlighting priceless artwork.
I stopped to study a Monet, the pitch of voices rising and fading outside the doorway when a stray couple passed.
Then a cold chill rippled across the room and over my spine—a sensation very different from what I’d felt earlier.
“Hello?” I called, spinning around.
A man wearing head-to-toe black stood ten feet away, blocking the only exit.
The designer suit fit perfectly against the width of his shoulders.
His hair was neatly trimmed, as was the new growth of his beard on a square jaw.
He should’ve been handsome, but something about him made the hair on my nape tingle.
“Wrong room, I’m afraid. The party is that way. ”
I pointed down the hallway. He stalked forward, his wired gaze tracing over my body in the same way men looked at Sofia, and that was because he was drunk, not because I was beautiful. Irritation straightened my shoulders.
“Quindi sei la sorella. (So you’re the sister.)” His tone was soft, yet he couldn’t mask the finely laced animosity in each word.
Though I hated my father’s business and what that made me, it was the only advantage I had in this situation.
So I stared down at him as best I could and used my most haughty voice.
“I’m the king’s daughter, and you would do well to remember with whom you are speaking.
You may call me Ms. Cabello if you must address me at all. ”
Dark amusement glittered in his eyes as he inched closer. “And I’m his hired gun. His best asset. Pietro, at your service.”
My gaze dropped to the hand he extended. I didn’t take it. “I think, Pietro, you should return to the others as the ceremony is about to begin. You wouldn’t want to miss your big moment. Or ignore the warning my brother shared.”
“But you know, I don’t like threats.”
A biting laugh left my lungs. “Then you’re in the wrong business.”
“I don’t like them,” he said in that same gentle tone, but this time it was sharpened by the clench of his teeth, “unless they’re given by me.”
He advanced a foot.
I slid to my left with a hand extended. “Stay where you are.”
He chuckled. “Your father would be proud of such strength, but I only want to talk to you.”
“Just leave, per favore.”
“I am not yet ready.”
My eyes narrowed in on his pinpoint pupils, caused by more than a drink. A symptom I knew from Sofia on her worst days. “You’re high.”
“I’m relaxed. Here.” He reached into his jacket, retrieving a small tube of white powder. “We can relax together.”
Heart thumping, I edged back. “No, thank you.”
“Just a little,” he urged.
I pivoted to run. Pietro’s hand caught my throat, yanking my back into his chest. Fear ballooned inside of me, escaping in a gasp.
The hold he had on me loosened. His fingers disappeared.
I fell forward, landing on my knees with a thud and my breath heaving from my lungs.
As I massaged the sting his grip left on my neck, I turned to understand why he had given up the fight.
Sleek frame. Broad shoulders. Burning blue eyes.
My stranger wasn’t a ghost at all.
He was my monster.
Il mio bel Salvatore (My beautiful savior).
And he had Pietro in a chokehold. Now my assailant scraped at the clamp-like grip, turning his face purple.
“What would you have me do to him, Vivienne?”
Mio salvatore’s voice shot heat straight through my veins. It was so deep and silky smooth that it seemed to reach inside and soothe the anxiety trembling through my limbs. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.
“Viviieennne,” he said again through a tight jaw.
My heart thumped hard in my chest as I stood and stepped closer with the urge to trace his scar from temple to lip. Except instead of touching him, I smiled like a dolt.
He blinked. His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth and back again. Then he shook his head. “What did he do?”
“What did he do?” I repeated.
“Vivienne.”
I liked how he said my name. I thought maybe I’d like his hand around my throat while he pressed dirty words below my ear. That idea caught me so off guard, I stuttered through the truth. “He touched me.”
His jaw ticked, his eyes flickering with spiteful flames at the man he held. He dropped Pietro to the floor. The pledge wobbled on his feet, but he still had the sense to surrender with a smile stupider than mine.
“I just wished to share.” He flaunted the cocaine. “You know, have a good time, capisci?”
My savior remained quiet while he removed the drug from Pietro’s fist and handed me the vial, a small twitch bending his lip. “Hold this, per favore.”
“Of course,” I whispered, a shiver ghosting through my shoulders when his skin stroked my own in the exchange.
He studied me for a moment before his vision shifted, and he became someone different.
A man.
A savior.
The monster.
Pietro’s first finger broke with a wicked snap.
The second snapped with a horrific crack.
The third was drowned out by Pietro’s scream echoing against the walls as he folded over.
Dante appeared in the aftermath, rushing in with a biting curse.
He tipped my chin, and I found the same soft, apologetic expression he held earlier in the night.
Nodding, as if convinced I was unharmed, he left me.
Sidestepping the now moaning Pietro, he moved to the brooding soldier, whose chest barely rose after his recent exertion.
They spoke in a hushed tone—words I couldn’t hear.
Another recruit arrived, and together, he and Dante dragged the whimpering Pietro from the room.
I watched it all happen with a note of hysteria rising in my throat, but then they were gone, and I was all alone.
All alone with my monster.