Chapter 24 NORA
NORA
Adrian tips amber whiskey into a heavy tumbler, the neck of the decanter clinking against glass before he sets it down with a sharp click.
I hitch one hip over the carved armrest of Luca's leather wingback chair, right next to his shoulder, resting my palm on the polished wood while an armed guard shifts his boots outside the open archway.
"Say that again," Luca says. His jaw locks tight, his fingers digging into the edge of the mahogany desk until his knuckles turn white. He doesn't raise his voice, but Adrian's boots scrape back an inch against the wood floor under the unblinking glare.
Adrian slides the tablet across the polished wood.
The screen glares under the lamp light, showing me on the restaurant patio last week with a wine glass halfway to my mouth.
"Bellini's men have her. Not the passport scan from London.
This is fresh. The wire says she's their leverage to bring you down. "
Matteo curses under his breath and drops hard onto the leather couch until the cushions puff up around him. "Prime leverage. Wow. That sounds cold. Did he get a marketing guy to write that?"
I drum my fingers on the armrest. "I've been called a lot worse. Usually by rich guys when I tell them they can't lie their way out of jail. Plus, my hourly rate usually makes them want to kill me anyway."
From the corner, Enzo rubs his temples in plain annoyance. "Can you go five minutes without bringing up your job?"
I wave my fingers at him with a nasty little smile. "Not until the check clears, sweetie."
Luca does not smile. His hand clamps down on my knee, heavy and warm, anchoring me to the spot. He looks at Adrian, his jaw tight. "How long have they had it?"
Adrian tucks his hands behind his back with the stiff, formal posture of a soldier delivering bad news. "Two weeks at most. They're moving men around Naples right now. Safe houses, heavily armored cars, the whole setup."
Enzo pushes away from the shelf and crosses his thick arms over his chest. "So what do we do? Lock her in the basement until we hunt them down?"
Matteo snorts and taps his screen. "I'd pay good money to watch you try locking her anywhere. She bit you last week just for bringing her cold coffee."
"It was disgusting dishwater and you know it," I bite back, glaring directly at both cousins.
"The plan is I stay right in the middle of this," I break in, cutting off whatever stupid idea they are about to pitch. "You don't shove the fixer in a closet when the house is burning down."
Matteo points at me with his beer bottle. A loud bark of laughter breaks out of him. "I swear to God, I love her. She fights like an angry stray dog and talks like a sailor."
I cross my ankles. "Sweet talk won't help you with me, Matteo. Though you might get the good rolls at dinner."
Luca squeezes my knee hard enough to bruise, reclaiming control of the room. "We reinforce the perimeter tonight. Adrian, double the rotations on the east road. Enzo, you and Matteo take the southern access points. No one drives out alone."
"And Nora?" Enzo asks.
"Nora stays with me."
I turn my head and glare at him. "I am sitting right fucking here. You can use my name without treating me like a piece of luggage."
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. Almost. "Nora stays where I can see her. Better?"
"Better. But I'm charging you extra tomorrow for having to deal with your bossy attitude."
"Add it to my tab," he murmurs, his grip relaxing just enough to glide his thumb along the hem of my shirt.
Nonna appears in the doorway with a wooden spoon and the expression of a woman who has outlived three dons and will outlive a fourth if he keeps talking nonsense. "You will eat before you go play soldiers. All of you. Including the English one."
"I am Scottish on my mother's side," I offer.
Nonna taps her spoon against the doorframe to underline the verdict. "You are skin and bones and talking too much. Kitchen. Five minutes. Or I feed your portions to the guard dogs."
The meeting breaks the way these things always break. Men peel off with phones already in hand. Adrian lingers long enough to give Luca a look that says more than a report, then follows Enzo out. Matteo salutes me with two fingers and a grin that promises chaos later.
When the door shuts, the library feels smaller.
"Prime leverage," I mutter, rolling the words over my tongue while I stare at the floor. "That sounds fancy. Do I get a gold trophy for this?"
Luca stands. He cups the back of my neck, thumb brushing the short hair at my nape, and the contact lands like a promise he has not decided how to keep. "You are not leverage. You are the reason I will burn their docks if they try."
"Sweet. A little crazy, but I can work with it."
He exhales a rough puff of air, his chest rising against my knee. "We leave in twenty minutes. Go find your jacket."
"Bossy tonight," I remark, staying firmly put.
"Always," he snaps back, though his thumb lingers right against the pulse point in my throat.
"Where are you taking me, exactly?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.
He pulls himself up tall and looks down at me. "The docks and the supply warehouses down south. If Bellini is moving his gear around, I want to shut it down before his men can even unpack."
I fold my arms tightly against my chest. "And you need to drag me along for the ride because why, exactly?"
"Because your eyes catch small things everyone else walks right past," he murmurs, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. "And I'm not leaving you behind here when half my men are spread thin."
I slide down off the chair onto my feet. "Fine. But if I get killed out in some rusty storage shed, my mum is going to write a nasty murder mystery about you."
"I will take the risk."
Combat boots stomp hard against marble tile as two guards haul crates of ammo toward the foyer.
A rifle magazine snaps home with a sharp metallic clack, followed by a shouted argument over thermal blankets near the pantry.
Luca's warm palm presses flat against the small of my back, guiding me past the chaos without breaking stride.
The garage hits us with a wave of cold concrete and raw gasoline. Twin matte-black SUVs idle in the shadows, their exhaust vibrating through the floorboards while the empty stalls echo. Up above, muffled laughter rings out from the kitchen, but down here we are completely alone.
Luca shuts the side door. The latch clicks hard.
I turn, backing up against the cool metal of the nearest SUV. "We have maybe fifteen minutes before someone needs a signature."
"Ten," he growls, and then he is on me.
His mouth slams over mine, teeth scraping against my lower lip with a rough, hungry bite that tastes like whiskey and raw heat.
He drives me backward until my spine hits the passenger door with a dull thud.
Cold steel bites through my shirt while his hands grip my waist, hoisting me up until my boots barely graze the seat.
"Clothes," I mutter against his mouth. "I am not explaining ruined trousers to your Nonna."
A low, gravelly vibration rumbles in his chest against my ribs.
His blunt thumbs flick the metal clasp of my belt free, popping the waistband open with a quick, practiced twist. I peel the heavy wool of his coat off his shoulders and let it drop onto the concrete.
When my bare fingers slide beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, they snag on the crust of stiff gauze taped across his collarbone.
Luca flinches with a sharp hiss through clenched teeth, his spine locking rigid.
"Easy," I warn, feeling the thick ridge of surgical tape under his cotton shirt.
"Do not order me around right now," he grunts against my earlobe, his breath scorching hot as he yanks at my zipper.
"Someone has to manage your reckless ass," I pant, digging my fingers into the solid meat of his shoulders. "Your survival instincts are absolute garbage."
He lifts me clean off the seat. "Then fix me."
He gets my jeans down far enough. I kick one leg free. Practical. Messy. Perfect. His belt is next. I help because I am a team player when the stakes are high and the clock is vicious. When he finally pushes inside me it is one long slide that punches the air out of both of us at once.
"Fuck," I breathe.
"Watch your mouth," he murmurs, but he is smiling against my throat, and then he is moving, hard and shallow and exactly as fast as three stolen minutes allow.
The SUV rocks. My hands fist in his shirt. Every thrust knocks a small sound out of me that I would deny later if asked under oath. He hooks one of my knees higher, changes the angle, and the next stroke lands so clean my vision sparks white at the edges.
His fingers tangle into my hair to tilt my chin upward. "Look at me."
I do. His eyes are dark and furious and something softer underneath that he will never name while the engines are running. I hold his gaze and take what he gives me and give it back in the squeeze of my body and the bite of my nails at his shoulder.
"Bellini thinks you make me weak," he grunts against my jaw, his breathing rough and heavy. "He's dead wrong about that."
"Good," I gasp out, holding on tight. "I don't play second fiddle to anyone."
He lets out a dark, guttural curse and kisses me again like the conversation is closed.
The rhythm turns brutal in the best way.
My head knocks lightly against the window.
I do not care. Every muscle in my stomach clenches until my belly cramps with pressure, and then it snaps, and I come with my mouth open against his collar so I do not shout and alert half of Sicily.
He follows a handful of strokes later, forehead pressed to mine, breath harsh, body locked hard against me as he empties everything he has been holding since the tablet lit up in the library.
For a few seconds neither of us moves. The garage smells like sex and gasoline. Somewhere above us a door slams.
"Two minutes left," I wheeze, still trying to catch my breath. "Maybe one and a half if Matteo is already looking for you."
Luca pulls out carefully. He rights my clothes with surprising care for a man who just fucked me against a company vehicle. I zip him up because fairness is important. He finds his jacket on the car floor and shrugs it on like nothing happened.
I run my fingers through my messy hair, checking my face in the dark glass and giving up right away. "Tell me the truth. Do I look like a mob boss's secret weapon, or like a girl who just got messed around with against an SUV?"
"Both," he decides. His eyes scan my face with dark amusement. "It suits you."
Footsteps on the stairs. Matteo's voice, too loud, complaining about the focaccia being gone. Luca opens the passenger door for me like a gentleman who did not just ruin me in a car. I climb in. My legs still feel unsteady. I like it.
He gets behind the wheel. The engine settles into a low idle. Through the windshield I can see Adrian coming down with a tablet and that same serious face. Enzo trails him, checking a magazine.
Luca glances sideways at me. "Ready?"
"To go hunt down the goon who wants to use me as a bargaining chip?" I click my seatbelt shut with a sharp snap. "I've handled worse bastards than him before breakfast. Step on the gas."
He puts the car in gear. The gate starts to roll open. Somewhere in the house Nonna is probably still holding that spoon, waiting for all of us to come back so she can yell about the salt again. I watch the dark road ahead of us and feel the leftover heat of him still humming under my skin.
Prime leverage. Fine. Let Bellini bring whatever he's got.
I negotiate for a living. I have never lost a fight I intended to win.