Chapter 15
Luca
“HOW’S THE BABYSITTING gig?”
I shot Damian a side-eye glare, hard enough he rubbed his chest and laughed.
“That good, huh?” He took the mug from my hand, swallowing half the latte in one gulp. His eyebrow rose as he considered the contents. “Not bad.”
I scoffed, depressing buttons on Vivienne’s state-of-the-art frothy foam maker because I needed a double dose of caffeine, stat.
Cold terror had sat damp and icy on my skin since the moment I found her missing last night.
Failing at this ridiculous assignment would result in my own shallow grave next to Jimmy’s.
That was the only reason for the frantic pace of my heart; at least I told myself it was as I slammed around her kitchen.
“Vivi—” Wants my help. I ground the thought from my throat. “—drives me insane,” I grumbled instead.
He shrugged. “Nothing new there.”
“She doesn’t listen. She’s…”
Beautiful when she begs.
“Foolish,” he said.
I shook my head. “Not that. Just…”
Stubborn and…
“A complete menace to society.”
I turned on him, my fist twisting in his shirt. “You don’t know anything about Vivienne.”
His already dark eyes went black, remnants of good humor draining from his features.
Years of friendship were reduced to gunpowder.
His revulsion for the mafia princess was the spark that set off my temper.
He didn’t understand how Vivi hated the Cosa Nostra.
What he saw was a poster child for its corruption.
The spoiled mafia princess who didn’t want for anything.
A copycat of Sofia Cabello, who was trouble with a capital T.
But Vivi was different. The entire situation was different. I kept that idea to myself because I couldn’t explain how I knew. Or why I cared. I just did. And that right there was his problem as much as it was mine.
To ease his stiff jaw, I smacked it and returned to slamming shit around the kitchen. A moment passed with his animosity blistering my back.
Finally, he let out a tense breath. “You don’t know dick about that girl either.”
“I know enough.”
“Like what she’s hiding?”
“No.” I leaned against the counter, scrubbing my face. “Earning her trust will take some time.”
He grunted. “We’re out of time. Get into that girl’s head and let’s end this.”
“She swims when she’s upset.”
And likes when my thumb presses against her pulse.
“Old news,” he muttered, walking over to search her fridge. “Jesus, does she eat?”
I motioned toward the plate of pastries Francesca had dropped off earlier.
Thank Christ. Vivienne might not require sustenance, but I was hungry enough to devour a cow.
Apparently, by the way he dove in, Dami was too, yet I had a bigger problem to contemplate.
Someone wanted Vivi dead. The question was: who?
It could’ve been a retaliatory hit for Angelini’s murder, but my gut said this was different—just like Vivi.
“No wonder she’s desperate to leave,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What’s that? Leave paradise?” he mocked with a mouth full of sfogliatella. “Daddy’s little principessa wants for nothing here. Why would she go anywhere?”
“For God’s sake, Dami.” I glared at him and the crumb falling onto his shirt. “She watched her mother’s blood splatter on the wall like an impressionist painting. Why the fuck would she want to stay after that?”
He grunted again, then stood next to me, mimicking my stance by crossing his arms. “If I was her, I’d hunt down Simone’s killer and pull his teeth from his goddamn jaw one at a time.”
“Retribution.” The word sat heavy in the air around us—a concept we understood well. Sometimes revenge was the only path to justice.
“Sì,” he said, then kicked back from the counter as he reached into his pocket.
“But more than likely, the mafia princess will be in the ground next to her mamma in a matter of weeks. I found this at the crash site. Whoever killed Simone came for her kid at the funeral, and they’re not messing around. ”
He handed me a portion of a gun slide. The serial number etched into the metal denoted the rifle as a McMillan 339.
A sharpshooter’s weapon.
My weapon.
Hair at my nape prickled. The Cosa Nostra was a lot of things—a drive-by in broad daylight, shady transactions in the back room of a club, not a helo with a sniper. The evidence confirmed my gut feeling—this wasn’t the everyday mafia hit.
“Rare, military grade,” I stated. “They’re gunning for her with an expensive budget.”
“Exactly.” Dami snatched another pastry and walked away, pausing by the door. “Whoever wants the princess dead will try again soon.”
“I know.”
“Then finish this now.” His tone lowered, harsh and frustrated. “Gain her trust, learn her secrets, and get the hell away from her. Vivienne Cabello is bad news. You hear me?”
I clenched my fist, the sharp edges of the titanium gun slide biting into my palm. “I hear you just fine.”
He stared a hole into my temple, so I said it again with a louder bite of animosity. “Capisco esattamente perché sono qui.” I understand exactly why I’m here.
“Buono.” Good.
Dami disappeared, and I turned in the direction of the barracks as if I could see the arsenal of weapons inside.
Tucked away in a locked cage, my case held a prized 339 and a scope with unreal magnification.
There was only one other in existence that I knew of, and it was used by the Navy SEAL who replaced me.
No one had access to this weapon unless you were blessed by the president.
Or a king.
?
VIVIENNE WAS AN expert with a cold shoulder. The sun came and went without a word. She left her room for food—inedible concoctions I couldn’t believe she consumed—and then disappeared again behind her four walls. Though her depression wasn’t surprising, I felt it as an ache behind my rib cage.
The fortitude was necessary. Until I understood who the enemy was, I wanted her confined.
So, I didn’t encourage engagement. I didn’t do anything but research who had access to the 339.
There wasn’t much information available without high-level military clearance, but I had a friend from another lifetime who could provide answers.
When Caden Lawless retired from the Navy, he made connections with the White House, so I used an untraceable burner phone to send a text. Then I waited.
The next morning, Vivi appeared in a cropped tank and pajama pants hanging low on her hips.
I stared at the hearts and flowers on the globes of her ass while she trudged out of her apartment and upstairs.
She yanked on the door handle to Simone’s suite.
It rattled but didn’t budge. A frustrated sound scraped her throat when she tugged harder a second and third time.
By then, her irritation had attracted a guard.
“Where’s the key?” she demanded.
He glanced at me, then back to Vivienne. “No one is allowed in there.”
“I didn’t ask who could go in,” she snapped. “Where is the key?”
He left without saying another word. She stomped downstairs until she found a second guard, but he had the same nonanswer for her. Not even Francesca could help. Chin tucked into her chest, Vivi returned to her suite and barricaded herself in her own room again.
Later that evening, she reappeared, her hair tied in a knot and her asscheeks exposed in the goddamn bathing suit that drove me insane. She stood in front of the glass door, staring at the darkening sky where a cloud rolled over the sun. A tremor shook her shoulders, and she turned.
“I’ll use the pool,” she whispered as she passed me by.
For the first time since I found her empty bed, I breathed deeply.
A dizzying rush of vanilla and oxygen filled my lungs and muddled my brain.
I didn’t dare try to understand why I couldn’t think straight around Vivi; I just followed her.
And God help me, I kept my vision trained anywhere but on her ass while I did.
Bad idea.
The bathing suit’s back swooped low, with crisscross straps holding the spandex together.
Her skin was ivory silk, unmarred, and perfect, and my imagination ran wild.
Vivi on her knees, eyes wide, fingers trembling as they reached for my belt.
Frustration twisted my hands into fists.
I fought to keep them by my side when Eddie walked through the front door.
He pivoted on his heel, staring at Vivi while she walked by.
For Christ’s sake.
Without slowing my pace, I shoved his shoulder, and he stumbled back two steps.
He laughed. “Hey, Mancini. Got time for target practice later?”
I ignored the kid’s request to use the 339, mostly because Francesca blocked my path with crossed arms and an attitude.
“Cosa le stai facendo?” What are you doing to her?
I held her eye contact, forcing words through my teeth. “Leave it alone.”
“Vivi’s not a prisoner,” she hissed.
It’s not as if she’s handcuffed to my bed.
Christ. I cracked my neck. “She’s free, as long as her movement is on the compound.”
She tsked. “That’s a paltry concession after working at the shelter and the church for most of her life.”
I skirted around her, a parting shot following over my shoulder. “There are worse things than being a billionaire’s kid.”
“Not to her.”
The words stopped my progress, though they weren’t a surprise.
Vivi hated this place and everything it stood for.
All of which shouldn’t change my feelings about the boss’s daughter.
They didn’t, I reminded myself. She was just a mafia princess, and I was a man focused on my responsibilities. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Smothering the little autonomy she has will push her away,” she whispered to my back. “You’ll lose any footing you’ve gained.”
I turned, and my tone was not as guarded as hers. “What makes you think I want footing with Vivienne, old woman? I’ve said it to her, and I’ll say it to you—she’s a job.”