12. Evelyn
“Stai bene?” Massimo’s rumbled words played through my mind, not quite comprehensible. I was good with languages, but I’d never studied Italian. I wished I’d asked him what he’d meant, but I just stared dumbly as he slipped into the sitting room of the safe house suite.
My hands shook, so I clenched them into fists to hide the traumatic response. No one was around to witness my distress and be disturbed by it, but hiding the sign of unease was an ingrained response. I had a lifetime of practice at pretending I was okay, a skill I’d perfected during my six-year relationship with George. His happiness meant everything to me, and I didn’t like to upset him.
George…
Two new, masculine voices joined Massimo’s in the next room, speaking in rapid-fire Italian that I couldn’t even begin to follow. Whatever they were saying, it was clear from their sharp tones that the atmosphere was tense.
My mind churned, struggling to process everything that’d happened since I’d awoken from my sordid dream, and my whole world had been turned upside down.
Massimo and his friends were Italian, not American or Mexican. Were they working with Interpol? I knew European agents sometimes collaborated with the DEA on international operations.
Massimo must work with George. It was the only scenario that made sense to explain his presence in the bar earlier this evening and at the clandestine meeting I’d overheard between George and the cartel members.
I want my money.
My heart stuttered at the memory of George’s harsh demand. On the night I’d been kidnapped, I’d been targeted because of his involvement with the cartel. I’d been groped and beaten, and it would’ve been so much worse if the mysterious third man hadn’t shown up and saved me.
That feral roar of rage that’d resounded through the basement where I’d been held captive echoed through my mind. My entire body quaked.
That man had saved me, but he’d also killed the men who’d kidnapped me. George had told me that I’d been found in that basement with two dead men.
Is she innocent? my savior had asked in Spanish, one of the last things I could recall before I’d blacked out from pain.
He’d known my kidnappers.
And law enforcement agents didn’t murder cartel members in cold blood.
Deep in my bones, I knew that the man who’d saved me that night wasn’t a white knight. He was associated with the cartel somehow. He worked with Duarte’s men. George had mentioned the drug lord’s name during his heated argument in the alley.
If I’d tried to save her, they would’ve killed me too.
My thoughts tangled as my mind struggled to process all of the traumatic experiences I’d endured on that night in the basement and tonight, when I’d stared down the barrel of a gun.
My chest ached, as though it was on the verge of cracking open to release all of my inner turmoil on an anguished scream.
I sucked in a desperate breath to stave off my panic, and the scent of leather and amber suffused my senses. I was wearing the beautiful stranger’s shirt. The smell enfolded me, blotting out the scent of drying blood that made my camisole stick to my skin.
Massimo’s blood.
He’d thrown himself in front of a bullet to save me.
And George…
He ran.
I heard the door to the suite open, and an unfamiliar man spoke in Spanish, a language I understood. “You were shot? Let me see.”
It was the doctor, here to treat Massimo’s wound.
I released a shaky breath and stepped toward the threshold to the sitting room, peering around the doorjamb to further assess my situation. Some instinct for self-preservation warned me not to boldly step into the room and join the strange men. The Italians had spoken in sharp, angry tones. I didn’t know what I would be walking into, so I chose to linger in the privacy of the bedroom and take in whatever information I could.
I got my first look at the two Italian men who’d arrived first to interrogate Massimo. They were almost identical—clearly related. Both men were model-handsome and almost as imposing as my dark savior, even though Massimo was a few inches taller. He faced away from me, but I could clearly see the other two men in profile as they fixed him with twin glowers. The only discernible difference between them was their choice of hairstyle—one military short and the other in loose black waves that framed his granite face.
The clean-cut man barked something else in Italian, and Massimo rolled his shoulders as though shaking off irritation. Then, he grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head to reveal the gory wound at his side.
He was even more powerful than I’d realized, muscles rippling as he moved with shocking grace despite the pain he must be enduring. Blood coated his right side, and a darker gash scored his ribs.
The doctor went to work, inspecting and cleaning the damaged flesh. I swallowed down my nausea at the sight and focused on the Italians, who had resumed speaking to each other in their native language.
Amidst the indecipherable words, I caught on to one that they repeated several times: Crawford.
They did know George, then.
My heart skipped a beat. Did they know he was corrupt? Were they taking bribes from the cartel too?
Then Massimo spoke to the doctor in Spanish, and my whole world crumbled. “It’s not serious. Barely a graze.”
My stomach dropped. I recognized that oddly accented voice.
Is she innocent?
Massimo had been in that basement with me on the night of my terrible ordeal. He’d been the one to save me from the cartel.
He’d killed my kidnappers.
He’d murdered them to save me.
Now you’ll have to taste broken glass too. I will make you lick it up like the dog you are.
His macabre threat to the man who’d tried to roofie me played through my mind. In that moment, I’d known he was dangerous, but I hadn’t truly considered his capacity for such brutal violence.
And the way he’d handled himself when he’d jumped in front of the barrel of that gun to save me…
Someone had screamed in that alley, and Massimo had been the only man to emerge. In the aftermath of the fight, his heartbeat had been steady.
My chest convulsed, and an awful choking sound caught in my constricted throat. The bedroom spun around me, and I stumbled back, desperate to put distance between myself and the lethal man in the next room. The world tilted, and my knees hit the plush carpet.
My heart slammed against my ribcage with bruising force, and my lungs burned.
I couldn’t breathe.
A tinny ringing pierced my eardrums, smothering the heaving sound of my failed breaths. They stuck in my tight throat, the air never reaching my oxygen-starved lungs.
“Evelyn.” I recognized that accented voice. It was the first time he’d ever said my name.
How did he know my name?
Massimo wasn’t an Interpol agent. He didn’t work with George.
He shouldn’t know my name.
Big hands reached for me—the same hands that’d scooped me up and carried me away from danger.
The hands that’d murdered the two men who’d kidnapped and brutalized me.
I tried to scramble away, releasing a whimper like a cornered animal.
His dark brows were dangerous slashes over his stunning wolf’s eyes, and his full lips twisted in distaste.
“Please…” My mouth formed the desperate plea for mercy, but no sound came out.
Strong arms closed around me, dragging me close to his bare chest. He was massive, so much more powerful than I could ever hope to be. I’d never be capable of fighting him off, even if I were skilled in self-defense. As it was, George had always promised to keep me safe, so I’d focused on running to keep fit rather than building muscle.
Massimo’s corded arms enfolded me, caging me against him in a careful but firm hold. One of his big hands lifted to the center of my chest, applying pressure over my racing heart.
“Breathe,” he rumbled, a low command. His deep voice rolled through my body, compelling my obedience.
My chest loosened, and I managed to suck in a deep breath.
“That’s it,” he praised. “Another. Keep breathing.”
I heaved in another ragged breath. My chest convulsed, but I managed to take in the oxygen I so desperately needed. I forced down another.
One hand remained firmly on my chest, applying that grounding pressure against my heart as its erratic beats slowed to a more regular rhythm. His other hand brushed over my scalp, thick fingers trailing through my hair in a soothing motion.
“You’re doing so well, farfallina,” he said, warm and coaxing. “You’re safe.”
I tensed again, and he shushed me, cradling my face so that my cheek pressed against his chest. I inhaled the scent of leather and amber, and something deeper that was purely masculine and unique to Massimo. Every time my lungs expanded, I breathed him in. With his warm, sure hands soothing me, the scent became heady, and the world turned slightly surreal.
The room was no longer spinning, but it was fuzzy at the edges; my full focus was on him.
Two fingers curled beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. Those shining silver eyes stunned me, and my brain blanked for a few merciful seconds.
My next breath came easier. I could feel his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek where it was pressed against his chest, and my own heart slowed to match it.
“No one is going to hurt you,” he said with the weight of an oath. “I’ve got you.”
A shadow of fear flitted at the back of my mind, but I was too mesmerized by his intense gaze for true terror to stir. Or maybe I was simply wrung out from all the trauma I’d faced in the last few hours. Exhaustion rolled over me, making my entire body feel oddly heavy. I sagged in his arms, all instinct for fight or flight draining out of me.
“You don’t work with George,” I said, my voice strangely soft. I was so tired, and all that tethered me to reality were his arms and his silvery eyes, which seemed to hook my attention like a lure.
His lips pinched in a frown, but he maintained his gentle grip on my limp body. “No, I don’t.”
“This isn’t a safe house.”
“It’s not.” The admission was clipped, as though he was reluctant to say it. “But you are safe here.”
“Who are you?” I asked on a little puff of air. My terror was still a mere flicker through my thoughts, kept at bay by his heavy hand over my heart.
“No one you should fear.” His thumb caressed my chilled cheek, and I was tempted to lean into his warmth.
I barely resisted the urge. Something deep inside me knew this was wrong; Massimo was a dangerous man. I shouldn’t find comfort in the hands that’d killed at least two men.
To save me.
“You were there,” I whispered. “In that basement. You’re the one who…” I trailed off, unable to put my roiling emotions into words. He’d killed for me, but he’d also saved my life.
“Yes,” he replied, firm and unrepentant. “I will always protect you, Evelyn.”
He’d protected me from the man who’d tried to roofie me in the bar.
He’d jumped in front of a bullet for me tonight.
But he was associated with the cartel somehow.
Maybe he was a good man. Maybe…
“Are you working undercover?” I asked, grasping at straws. “Is George?” I already knew the truth in my heart, but I had to ask, a tiny spark of hope still flickering in my chest.
His beautiful features twisted into a scowl. “Your fiancé,” he spat the word like it was poison on his tongue, “isn’t working undercover. He’s corrupt, Evelyn. He’s a dirty agent. The coward ran. He abandoned you. I saved you. I will always do what’s necessary to protect you.”
“You don’t even know me,” I protested, thoughts tangling as my heart was crushed beneath the weight of the awful truth.
I didn’t understand why Massimo was so committed to ensuring my safety if he didn’t work with Interpol. If he wasn’t one of the good guys, why would he care?
“I know you’re innocent. I know you’re a good woman. That’s reason enough.”
But how could he know that?
Is she innocent? he’d asked in that basement, during my nightmarish ordeal with the cartel.
He’d been in the market last weekend, watching me.
He’d been in the bar at precisely the right time to scare away that creep.
And he’d been in the alley tonight, as though he’d been waiting to rescue me.
My blood ran cold. “You’ve been stalking me.”
His jaw ticked with something like irritation, and his arms tensed around me ever so slightly. “I’ve been stalking Crawford. He’s working with Los Zetas. I’m just doing a favor for a friend.” He shook his head, glossy black curls swaying around his sculpted face. “At least, that’s how it started. I won’t lie to you, Evelyn. I’ve been after Crawford, but you’re the one I care about. You’re in danger because of him—because of his negligence and selfishness. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. He’s not worthy of you.”
My stomach churned at the implication. “And you are?” I shot back, fear finally surging to the fore along with my defiance. “You’re a criminal. You work for the cartel, don’t you? Let me go!”
I wriggled in his arms, but he didn’t budge an inch. He simply held me, fixing me with a shining glower, until I stopped struggling. I crossed my arms over my chest and tipped my chin back, making my outrage apparent even though I couldn’t physically fight him off.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said. It was a decree, a vow.
I swallowed hard, my stomach dropping.
“I don’t work for the cartel,” he countered. “But Stefano Duarte is my friend. Your fiancé,” his lip curled in disgust, “is working for his rivals. I’m doing Duarte a favor.”
George’s awful conversation in the alley played through my mind in a sickening loop.
“All he cares about is power and money,” Massimo growled. “I know men like him. He would sacrifice anything for it, even you. I won’t allow that to happen.”
My insides quaked at his formidable frown, but I managed to hold my ground, my defiant stare clashing with his. No matter what was happening with George, the man who held me so gently had just admitted that he was friends with a drug lord.
“Let me go.”
“No.” It was a low, firm refusal. There was no room for negotiation in that hard tone. “It’s not safe for you out there.”
“I’m not safe in here!” I shot back, my voice a bit too high pitched. I took a quick breath to quell my mounting panic and hurried on. “You’re a criminal. I don’t know where you’ve brought me, but it’s not a safe house. I want to leave. Now.”
“Stefano Duarte owns this building,” he replied coolly, completely unmoved by my outburst. “It would take a small army to penetrate his defenses. No one will get to you here.”
My heart sank. Massimo had saved me, but he’d also kidnapped me. I hadn’t known it when I’d willingly gotten on that motorcycle with him, but he’d managed to capture me with little effort.
All it took was risking his life to save yours, an unwelcome voice whispered in the back of my mind.
I ignored it. The cold, hard facts were that Massimo had been stalking me, and now he’d trapped me in a drug lord’s fortress.
Looking up into his silver eyes, I saw a flash of possessiveness, a dark hunger as he studied my face. Massimo wanted me, and he had no intention of letting me go.