An Alternate Universe #2
His voice was like ice. “Exactly. That’s why they bought them, because they knew you’d tell them when it was arriving in New York.”
I stared at him, aghast. “I didn’t, but Alberto could have given them the details. He’d be within his rights to do so. I mean, it’s their art.”
He pushed away from the chair. “I knew I couldn’t trust that weasel.”
Picking up his phone, he fired off a text, probably to his brother. A chill settled over me. I didn’t like Alberto’s chances.
Once he was done, he threw the phone down and raised his gaze to mine.
“They waited for the container to cross the Atlantic, then sent a team to take it off our hands the second it docked. Six of my men in body bags. Three million in product walking back into their own warehouse like it never left.”
“But why?” My voice came out as a squeak. “If they sold it to you, why steal it back? You already paid them—”
“Because they don’t want our money.” He paced again.
“They don’t?” I ran a hand through my hair. Okay, now I was really confused.
“They want our supply route. By hitting us at the docks, they were sending a message: the Marcellis can’t protect their product coming into New York.
” He turned to me. “You make a family look weak in front of its customers, the customers go elsewhere. The distributors go elsewhere. The whole fucking network bleeds out. Then the scum that they are walk in and offer to do it cheaper, cleaner, faster, using a nice little gallery in SoHo as their private port of entry.”
I went cold. “My gallery?”
He dipped his head. “Your gallery.”
“Oh God.” I dropped my face into my hands. This was getting crazier by the second. “I don’t believe this.”
“They want to push you out and use it themselves,” he continued, almost as if he was thinking out loud, piecing it all together. “That’s why they went to your apartment.”
I gasped. “That was them?”
“Probably a hitman hired by them.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.” I put a hand over my mouth.
He looked at me in concern. “Really?”
I nodded.
He strode over to the sink, poured me a cup of water, and set it in front of me on the table. “Drink that.”
I reached for it, my hand trembling so hard I could barely hold the glass.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this.” I took a desperate sip. It helped ease the bile lodging in my throat.
“You said you picked up several transactions over the last year,” he continued, standing opposite me on the other side of the table. “So they’ve been doing this for some time.”
I took another gulp of water.
“Some of those were Malakov,” I reminded him, once I could trust myself to speak.
He drummed his fingers on the back of the chair.
“They knew we’d suspect the Russians. Orlov was also buying up Reyes paintings.
Los Santos Rotos knew that. They planned the hit so it would look like Malakov.
They wanted us turning our guns on the Bratva while they walked off with our entire route. ”
I sank back into the chair and clasped my hands together in my lap. This was a lot. I didn’t know if I could get my head around it. Closing my eyes, I tried to stop the tears. I failed.
I’d worked so hard. I thought about every artist I’d hung, every wall I’d painted, every receipt I’d saved in a shoebox before I could afford a real bookkeeper.
Now men I’d never met had turned it into a drug smuggling operation.
With a sob, I lowered my head as hot tears ran down my face.
I felt his hand before I saw it. Two fingers under my chin, lifting my face up.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
I opened my eyes and blinked. Dante was crouched in front of my chair at eye level.
The way he was gazing at me made my breath hitch.
His expression was calm, controlled, but his eyes burned with an intensity that twisted me into knots.
I hated this man, and yet I longed for him.
I despised him, yet he just had to look at me and I melted.
I’d never been so conflicted—or turned on.
“They aren’t going to get it,” he said quietly, but his words were edged with steel. “Not the gallery. Not the route.” He traced the line of my jaw with the back of his hand. I shivered, surprised by the gentleness of his touch. “Not you.”
I tried to swallow.
“Especially not you.”
He dragged the tip of his thumb across my lower lip. The way you’d test the edge of a knife before you used it.
“Do you understand me, Ophelia?”
I nodded. The words wouldn’t come.
“Say it.”
“I understand,” I croaked.
“You’re under my protection now. While you’re helping my family, we’ll protect you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
I didn’t want to think about what would happen after.
This man and his family had used me. Abused my gallery. Kidnapped me and held me against my will. I should just slap that gorgeous face of his. Instead, his talk of protection, his possessiveness, made me want to swoon.
There was something wrong with me. There had to be.
It was just relief, I told myself. It had been so long since I’d had someone in my corner fighting for me that I wasn’t thinking rationally. Now, here was this dangerous man telling me he had my back.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
“Okay,” I whispered, deciding I didn’t have the energy to fight it.
Before I could take a breath, his mouth came down on mine, and there was nothing tender about it. It was the kiss of a man putting his name to something. Staking his claim. His lips closed over mine, and for a heart-pounding moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Then he was forcing my mouth open, hot and hungry. When I didn’t let him in fast enough, his teeth caught my lower lip, pressing down into the soft flesh. I gasped at the sudden sting, but also at the surge of heat that flew through my body.
I wanted this man so desperately. Wanted him to claim me, make me his. I knew it was fucked up, but it felt so right.
His hand came up to cradle the side of my throat, his palm wide, fingers splayed along my jaw. It was a possessive gesture, and I loved it. His thumb rested just under the curve of my ear, against the frantic beat of my pulse.
He held me there while he ravished my mouth. Long and hard. Until I felt myself falling into him. My mind went blank, and my whole world narrowed until it was only him. I made a small, groaning sound in my throat as he turned me into a trembling mess.
Then he pulled away, breathing hard. A lingering moment passed, where he just stared at me with that stormy intensity. Then he placed one hand on the table and pushed himself up into a standing position.
I was so stunned by the kiss that I didn’t know what to say.
“We’ll continue your self-defense classes tomorrow morning,” he said, abruptly turning his back on me and walking to the door.
“Where are you going?” I called after him, managing to find my tongue.
He didn’t turn around. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here. I’ll be back later.”
And then he left.
I heard the SUV start and the tires kick up gravel as he drove away.
I sat in the quiet for a long time, trying to make sense of my ricocheting emotions.
Safe, in a cabin where I was being held prisoner. I’d just had the living daylights kissed out of me by a man I hated. He was my enemy, and yet he’d sworn to protect me.
I felt like I was in some alternative universe where nothing made sense.