16. Dark Memories
CHAPTER 16
DARK MEMORIES
R affaele
I stare at the cracks in the ceiling, tracing the webbing along the dingy white plaster of the motel room as I count down the minutes before my alarm goes off. I’ve been awake half the night, a wicked storm of dread and unease brewing in my gut. Tomorrow, I return to Rome, the eternal city, the one I’d vowed never to set foot upon again.
What the hell was I doing?
I never should have agreed to any of it. I knew it the moment I strolled into that boardroom and those brilliant, soulful eyes latched onto mine, I should have walked away. If I’m being completely honest with myself, I felt the attraction long before that day, the night I saw her at The Velvet Vault, but I ignored it all the same. Now, it’s too late.
Not only is my career on the line, and my life, but also, I’m like a pit bull when it comes to my clients. Once I’m invested, there is no walking away. And damn it, that little mafia princess will be my ultimate undoing. I can feel it deep in the marrow of my bones.
A streak of light seeps through the blackout curtains, and I hiss out another curse and roll over. My cell phone sits on the nightstand taunting. I’ve been putting off this call for days, ever since I agreed to this cursed trip. With our departure nearly upon us, I can’t postpone it for much longer.
With a grunt, I reach for my phone and force myself to sit up. The crappy mattress squeals its protest, coils digging into my ass. At least, I’ll finally be rid of this nasty motel. If I don’t douse myself in cologne every morning, the scent of dampness and mildew cling to my skin all day.
I slowly scroll through the contacts, my finger finally settling on the least detestable option. With one quick glance at the clock, I confirm the time difference and jab my finger at the call button. The now foreign ringtone buzzes, different from the familiar one in the U.S. Every second feels like an eternity, and I’m an instant away from hanging up when a deep voice echoes across the line.
“ Pronto ?”
“ Ciao , Giuseppe, it’s me.”
A string of curses vibrates across the line, and I can practically see my older brother’s face as he spits them out. For a second, it feels like only mere inches separate us instead of an entire ocean.
“Are you out of your mind calling me? Do you know what Papà will say?”
“Yeah, I have a pretty good idea.”
“Then why?”
“I thought you’d want to know that I’ll be back in Rome in a few days.”
“ Che cazzo fai, stronzo ?”
That’s a good question, but the truth is I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. “It’s a job,” I hiss. “Don’t worry, I’m not coming home.”
“You’ll be in Rome, coglione . That is home.”
“It doesn’t change anything. I’m coming with a client. We’ll be there for a few months, and then I’m out of your life for good.”
“Damn it, Raffa, are you trying to piss Papà off? Or just trying to get me in trouble?”
“I’m not asking you to get in the middle of this. I simply wanted someone to know in case word gets back to the capo .”
“You know Antonio is running most of the operation now?—”
“I don’t care, Giuseppe. I’m not interested in any of it. Papà made his decision long ago. This was my courtesy call and the last you’ll hear from me if all goes well.”
“And if it doesn’t?” A jagged edge laces his tone, raising the hair on the back of my neck.
“Is that a threat, fratello ?” I growl.
“No, just a question, Raffa. I hope you know what you’re getting into coming back here.”
“I can handle myself.”
“And your client?”
“Don’t fucking worry about her. She’s my responsibility.”
“Oh, a she?”
“Yes, a she,” I snarl.
“Do you think that’s wise after?—”
“Don’t you dare say her name, Giuseppe, or I swear to Dio , I will reach across the phone and rip your spine from your throat.”
“Relax, fratellino . I see you really have that temper under control.”
“ Vaffanculo ,” I grind out. “Fuck off with that temper bullshit. Like Papà was the best role model for keeping his cool.”
“Clearly, or we wouldn’t have turned out to be such well-adjusted men.” A rueful chuckle slides out.
“I have to go. I have a trip to prepare for.”
“Good luck, Raffa, I mean it.”
“Thanks, stronzo .” I press the call end button and toss my phone on the mattress. At least the worst part is over.
Now, all I have to do is make sure my client and my family never cross paths while we’re in Rome.
Screams echo across my subconscious, the blood-curdling cries elevating my pulse. My breaths come in ragged pants, and I squeeze my eyes closed in a vain attempt to drown out the surfacing memories.
But it’s too late.
I’m sucked into that room, the darkness crawling through every corner, the metallic scent of blood infiltrating my nostrils. And those screams, oh Dio , I’d never get them out of my head. They are permanently carved into my skull, much like my tattoo and the ensuing blood staining the back of my eyelids.
“Let go of her,” I shout. “I’ll do anything you want.” With my gun clenched in my fist, I drop to my knees as he presses the knife to her neck.
“It’s too late, figlio mio , her fate is sealed along with yours , traditore pezzo di merda .”
“It’s never too late, just please don’t ? —”
A scream streaks across the chamber, ripping the air from my lungs. It isn’t until I feel the tears running down my cheeks that I realize the guttural howl came from me . A fracture races down my heart, splitting not only my failing organ in half but my entire being. A pool of deep crimson inches dangerously close to my jeans as I kneel on the floor, stunned, immobile, numb . I drop my hands to the concrete and the blood seeps into my palms. She’s still warm…
The scene blurs and retreats into the dark recesses of my tortured subconscious, to torment me another day. I blink quickly and sit up straight, trying to clear my mind of the horrible images that refuse to stay buried. Sweat trickles down my spine as I slide off the mattress and pace the tiny room. I’ll never survive this trip to Rome.
Heaving out a breath of resignation, I march toward the bathroom. I need a fucking shower.
When I walk into Isabella’s room, it looks like a bomb went off. Four suitcases are spread open on the plush carpeting and more clothes than line the racks at Barney’s are sprawled across the bed, on top of armoires and spilling from the closet. It’s the first time I’ve been granted access into her private sanctuary, and I can’t help but take it all in. I’m typically dismissed at her door with a cold smile or contemptuous wave.
Beyond the chaos, I see bits and pieces of the spoiled little princess standing at the massive walk-in closet which could double as a bedroom for most. One entire wall is all shelves covered in glittering medals and trophies. From ballet to horseback riding, it seems the principessa has excelled in it all. Valedictorian of her graduating class in high school, high honors from NYU and an empty frame beside the first two diplomas. I inch closer and peer up at the tiny black scrawling at the interior corner of the gilded frame: Isabella Valentino, MD .
It seems as if my client has her entire future all planned out.
I continue to scan the room with her attention fully devoted elsewhere. Below the main trophy shelf, I find more awards, these lacking the typical gold-plated characters atop a pedestal. These instead are from organizations, charitable ones: Humanitarian Award from the Cancer Foundation, Community Service Award from the city of Manhattan, Angel Award from NYU Langone Hospital, Lifetime Achievement Award in Philanthropy… the list goes on and on.
A frustrated grunt spins my attention to the little overachiever as she sits atop a Gucci suitcase trying to force the zipper closed. There is no way that girl earned all of these awards.
“Need help, principessa ?”
Her upper lip curls into a snarl when I offer a hand. She tries and fails again to zip up the oversized baggage before her shoulders slump and she crawls off the suitcase, defeated. “Yes,” she mutters.
“Yes, what?” I drop down beside her and lift a brow.
“Make yourself useful and close my luggage,” she bites back.
“I’m not your butler, principessa .” I slowly rise but her hand winds around my forearm, dragging me back.
“Please,” she grits out. “I can’t get it closed.”
“Clearly. Because it’s much too full.”
She bats dark lashes at me, crawling closer on her knees. “You’re telling me with those bulging biceps, not even you can zip it up?”
“I’m so thrilled you’ve noticed my arms. I work very hard to achieve these results.” I shoot her a teasing grin as I cross those arms over my chest.
“Come on, Raf, just do it, please.”
Oh, Dio , the sight of Isabella on her knees, begging nonetheless, have me instantly hard. It’s like the woman’s mouth has a straight line to my cock. And now I can’t stop thinking about those pouty lips wrapped around my dick. Merda .
“Right. Out of my way.” I circle her and drop down to the floor once again to drag the zipper all around the pricey suitcase. For what she probably paid for that thing, the closure better be indestructible. Once it’s secure, I rise and meet a pair of blazing blue spheres, an unexpected glossy sheen opaquing their typical brilliance. “What’s wrong?” I mutter.
“Nothing.” She spins around and disappears into the closet once more.
A long minute later, she finally emerges, a hint of redness encircling those mesmerizing eyes. She was definitely crying… but why? She’s finally getting exactly what she wants.
She keeps her back to me, gaze dipped to the mountain of luggage. “We’re wheels up at seven tomorrow so make sure you’re ready to go bright and early.”
“I’m already packed. I don’t have quite as much to bring as you do.”
“Great.”
“No snappy comeback? No comment about my all-black wardrobe?”
“It’s not always about you, Raf.” Without turning to face me, she saunters out of her room, leaving me in a stunned silence.