Текст книги "My sweetest oblivion"

Автор книги: Danielle Lori

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

“Judges, lawyers, and politicians have a license to steal. We don’t need one.”

–Carlo Gambino

I WAS POURING A COUPLE fingers of whiskey neat when Adriana came up beside me. I eyed her as she grabbed the vodka decanter and then filled a tumbler three-fourths full.

She glanced at me, looked away, and then flicked her gaze back to me when she noticed my attention. “What?”

“Maybe try to hide your alcoholism from me from now on.”

“Let me continue my classes and I will.”

“Would you rather be safe, or happy?”

She blinked as if it were a much more complicated question. “Both, I think.”

“Unfortunately, that isn’t a choice.”

Her sigh was put-out. “It’s not my fault a lot of men want to kill you.”

A lot was probably an understatement.

“And now you.”

Her brows knitted. “What?”

“They’ll want to kill my wife too,” I said, before adding, “Probably rape you a few times first.”

She frowned. “Like you’re going to do to me?”

Somehow, I knew she was going to say that. I stared at her, my expression impassive. She pushed a strand of caramel-colored hair behind her ear. She had golden specks in her brown eyes, like Elena’s. In a disturbing way, I hoped there were other similarities.

“You’re not even going to say you won’t rape me?” She sounded annoyed, bringing her drink to her lips while looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I admired the view with her. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Not very good at keeping promises.”

She choked on a sip of vodka, glancing at me with wide eyes. “I’m going to die,” she muttered before disappearing.

Dry amusement filled me, and I gave my head the tiniest shake. That meeting with my future wife went well. I hadn’t raped a woman in my life and wouldn’t start now, though, for some reason, I’d felt like sabotaging the conversation. Probably because I was already agitated, and the night had just started.

Elena stood in the kitchen talking to Lorenzo, with her complete attention on him. Her long hair was pin-straight and she wore a gold dress that hugged her every curve. It was way too fucking tight and receiving enough stares from my cousins to piss me off. Even Luca had glanced at her with a knowing smile and then tipped his beer to me in an obnoxious gesture.

Lorenzo was making a besotted idiot of himself. The man was a cold-blooded killer, yet he appeared to be a nervous mess talking to Elena Abelli. He was currently rubbing the back of his neck and fucking blushing—and just imagining Elena tied to Lorenzo’s bed in some kind of fucked-up BDSM scenario made that Russo blood burn me from the inside out.

“That went smoothly.” Gianna’s tone was dry, apparently having overheard my conversation with Adriana. “Why did you have to invite him?”

Her pupils were so dilated only a sliver of dark brown surrounded them. A wave of displeasure ran through me. It sucked me back to age fifteen when I found my mamma’s lifeless eyes wide open.

“Who?” My question was indifferent, but I already knew.

Her gaze narrowed. “Christian.”

“It’s none of your business who I invite to my apartment, Gianna.”

I wouldn’t have invited him if I’d had a legitimate reason to do so—and more than Elena practically drooling over him yesterday. The asshole had a pretty face, and it annoyed me more than I cared to admit that it had interested Elena.

“I don’t want him here, Ace.” She watched Christian talk to my uncle Jimmy with a sour expression.

“Ask me if I care,” I answered dryly.

Gianna had hated Christian since the moment she met him. The FBI part was at the top of the list of reasons why, but she was also the agent’s opposite in every way. She scoffed at his perfectionism, while Christian grimaced at her lack of decorum.

Elena’s soft laughter filtered through the room, hitting me in the chest.

My jaw tightened.

Lorenzo was not that fucking funny.

“That’s the wrong sister you’re staring at. The right one is over there.” Gianna pointed a white-painted fingernail at Adriana, who sat on the couch next to Benito with her legs pulled up beside her. “She’s probably recovering from your threat of rape.”

I let out a dry breath when Adriana giggled at something on Benito’s phone. “She looks real traumatized.” There was something cold and fearless about her, but apparently the idea of sex with me was unappealing enough she believed she would die from it. Maybe it was a good threat I could keep in mind, because I thought I might need a strong one with her.

Truthfully, I’d thought about sleeping with Adriana a complete total of zero times. All thoughts of sex had been about her sister, especially after she’d arched her ass against me yesterday in the universal way all men understood as a go-ahead.

She hadn’t been shy about letting me know she’d let me touch her, but I couldn’t help an inkling of awareness from settling in when she’d placed her hand on mine and I’d felt that ring of hers. She loved some man. Wore his cheap ring on her finger like it was a diamond.

Bitterness had run through me. She wanted to get off and she was going to use me to do it. When I realized that, I’d felt something I had never felt in my life: like I was expendable. And that pissed me off.

Nonetheless, Do you respect me? had followed me around all day and night in that soft, sweet voice of hers. Everywhere I fucking went.

There was always some vice that eventually killed a Russo.

Irrationality. Idiocy. A penchant for unprotected sex with cheap hookers. My father’s was monetary greed.

I was beginning to think mine was Elena Abelli.

I wanted to fuck her and ruin her for anyone else. I wanted to crush her wings and then put them back together again so she’d become dependent on me. I wanted her to need me. That dark, possessive, and dangerous feeling crawled through me every time she crossed my path.

Elena Abelli was my vice, and fuck if I’d let it kill me.

However, the urge to try to fuck her out of my system was consuming me, regardless if she wanted me to be someone else. It was an itch I needed to scratch. And when I was done with her, she’d never remember another.

Gianna shook her head while looking down on me, although she was a foot shorter, even in her heels. “That’s an awful idea,” she said.

“What?”

“Sleeping with Elena.”

Jesus.

Elena’s papà stood three feet away, though he was too deep in conversation to have heard.

“Gianna,” I warned.

“What? It’s what you were thinking.”

“And what am I thinking right now?” Gianna thought she was clairvoyant when she was high, which was a lot of the time.

She pursed her lips. “That you want to strangle me.”

My brows rose in accord as I took a drink of whiskey.

“I don’t understand how I had sex with you,” she said, observing the party with a sigh.

I didn’t either, though I could only feel relieved that she’d been the one to start it. Truthfully, we’d been so drunk, there was hardly a memory to go with the deed.

My gaze landed on Tony, who appeared to be getting talked down to by his mamma. It was only a diverting amusement that he’d brought Jenny, who was currently trying to sell my aunt Mary Kay.

Gianna began to drift away, but before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed her arm and asked, “And why would it be such a bad idea?”

I didn’t look at her, but I felt her sad smile.

“Because you’ll fall in love with her,” she said. “And she won’t love you back.”

The chatter was low, Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling In Love a little quieter. The soft lighting sparkled off the glass view of the city, and Nicolas’s black-suited form only highlighted it as he stood near the bar.

I didn’t know how it had happened, but I was drunk. Lolled into a sense of warmth and complacency, and I couldn’t stop myself from heading toward what had to be a gentleman. The problem was, if I stopped to ask this one for help, he’d most likely take advantage of me. Or maybe that was only wishful thinking . . . He’d probably only give me a rude stare.

“I didn’t expect you to like Elvis Presley.”

I was assuming just because I could.

Nicolas glanced at me with a half-lidded amber gaze that always sent my pulse racing. “Every time you’ve assumed, you’ve been wrong.”

I took the remaining steps toward him, eating up the electricity that spanned between us with each click of my heels. “That’s not true.”

I stood by his side, perusing the liquor decanters. Close enough my shoulder brushed his chest. Close enough my skin danced with awareness.

“Yeah? Then what have you gotten right?”

I reached across him for the gin, pretending that my arm grazing his didn’t affect me at all, when in reality it sent a rush of warmth low in my stomach. “I assumed from day one that you were an asshole, and I was right.” I paused with my hand on the decanter, not believing that had come out of my mouth.

A hint of a sly smile pulled at his lips, almost as if he was thinking about something inappropriate. “Is that the first time you’ve said asshole?”

“Yeah. Did I use it right?” I tugged off the lid and poured some liquor into my glass.

“Could’ve been better.”

I frowned, a little affronted. The first time I used a curse word to insult someone and it was lame? Maybe I didn’t have it in me. I glanced at him, and a sudden wave of shyness overcame me when I noticed he’d been watching me.

“How so?” I added some tonic water and lime to my glass.

“It was pretty unmoving.” He had one hand in his pocket, while the other brought his glass to his lips as he looked around the room.

“How would Nicolas Russo do it, then?”

His gaze settled on mine. “If I was going to insult you, I’d make sure to leave you thinking about it for a while.”

I stirred my drink, feeling like stirring up something else. “So show me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want me to insult you?”

I nodded, took a sip, and then licked the gin off my lips. My breath turned shallow when his gaze fell to my mouth and darkened.

“Thought I did that yesterday.”

“Really? I’ve already forgotten.”

The tiniest bit of amusement crossed his expression, and he ran his tongue across his teeth, a calculating stare coasting around the room. We were sort of secluded, the guests closest to us having their backs turned. Although, when I was in his presence it always felt like we were alone.

He shook his head. “I’m not going to insult you.”

“Why? Are you acting like a gentleman tonight?”

“Nah. Just don’t care to.”

I scoffed. “That’s because you don’t have a good one—”

A breath of shock escaped me when his rough palm gripped the side of my throat and he pulled me to him. His lips pressed against my ear.

“You look like a slut in that dress, Elena.”

A violent shudder rolled through me.

My eyes closed as his warm, masculine scent sank through my skin and sent a hum through my veins.

His words softened. “Only good for one thing, and it’s not running your pretty little mouth.”

I couldn’t breathe with his body pressed against my side, his dirty, insulting words in my ear. He ran a thumb down the goose bumps on the back of my neck, and then his grip was gone. I stared blankly as he grabbed his drink and walked away, leaving me with a parting word.

“That’s how I would do it.”

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“You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars.”

–Gary Allan

“MAMMA, DOES THIS DRESS MAKE me look . . . easy?”

My mother sipped her cocktail with a straw, a crease forming between her brows. “Well, cara mia . . . you did sleep with a man you couldn’t have known very well.”

“Mamma!” Adriana scolded.

There were few moments in my life when my mother and sister’s roles switched, but it had happened.

“I didn’t ask if I was easy. I asked if I looked easy,” I sighed.

The truth was, this dress was tight. And by “tight” I mean that I didn’t try it on at the store and when I finally got around to putting it on it fit two sizes too small. But it was just too pretty to stay in my closet.

“You don’t look easy, Elena,” Adriana assured.

Benito sat next to her on the couch, his arm resting across the back. He gave my dress a cautious expression and scratched his jaw. “Well . . .”

“Ugh, just forget it.”

I headed through the throng of people toward the patio area and pool. The chatter dissipated as I walked out the double doors and into a hot, still night. The terrace was empty; the only company tall buildings and their yellow lights filling the horizon.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced at the nighttime sky. “No stars,” I said quietly. I had a feeling they would be visible at Nicolas’s red brick house.

“Scorpius.” The voice was cool.

Christian’s presence brushed my side as he came to stand beside me. “Scorpius is there.” He nodded to where my gaze was focused, with a flat gray sky staring back.

“And there?” I pointed a little to the left.

A small smile pulled on his lips. “Aquila.”

I had a feeling he could name every constellation and each star they were made up of. It suddenly felt like he was completely out of my league. Cop or not.

A sigh escaped my lips. My head was light, my inhibitions unhindered by the alcohol I’d consumed.

“Don’t enjoy parties?” he asked.

“No, I do. Honestly, I’m shallow in that regard.”

He laughed. The sound was deep and rough, and a shiver coasted down my spine. He even laughed like an Adonis.

“How do you know so much about the stars?” I asked.

“Grew up in an old farmhouse in Iowa. Sometimes there was nothing to do but stare at the sky. Got tired of not knowing what I was looking at.”

“Well, that was a decent explanation, but it was a lie. Try again.”

I blinked. That would have never come out of my mouth a year ago. I would have accepted the lie and moved on. Maybe I only needed to become an alcoholic for the courage to free myself from my childhood chains.

I saw the tiniest smile out of the corner of my eye. “Studied astronomy abroad. Wanted to impress French girls right into my bed.”

“Even more unbelievable. Have you seen yourself?” With that face, this man wouldn’t have to impress anyone.

Another smile. “How did you know the first one was wrong?”

“You’re colder than the Arctic. You don’t become that way in a friendly small town. That’s city living, most likely on your own. No wonder you found yourself on the wrong side of the law.”

Small shake of his head. “Heard a lot about you, Elena Abelli. Can’t say you’re what I was expecting.”

I didn’t even want to know what this man had heard about me. I seemed to be a popular subject, and I didn’t believe it was for any good reason.

“Haven’t you heard? Assuming will only get you killed.”

“Sounds right out of Ace’s handbook,” he said wryly.

A sliver of uncertainty curled in my chest. He knew there was something going on between Nicolas and me, though I didn’t know what myself. What a twisted web I was tangled in.

“Christian, do you drink?”

“I do.”

“I’m going to use the ladies’ room and then make one. What would you like?” I finally looked from the sky to him. Wide shoulders in a navy blue suit outlined the brightly lit horizon.

His presence was comfortable but distant, like he stood on a different terrace another world away. His gaze met mine, and I waited for that zing of chemistry to settle in, but all I felt was scrutinized by icy blue eyes in a handsome face full of secrets.

He ran a thumb over his watch, in a thoughtful tic I’d noticed he had. “I’ll get the drinks and meet you back out here.”

His gaze flicked to the left and so did mine. My papà watched us through the glass in the living room, not with caution but interest. All of a sudden, I knew. This had been set up.

Disappointment sank like lead in my stomach. I wanted control of some things in my life—this conversation one of them—but as my papà gave me a “behave” expression, I knew it had all been contrived.

Although, if Papà was considering Christian, that meant he hadn’t settled on Oscar Perez. The possibility released some of the pressure closing in on me. I would take Christian over that creep any day.

“That sounds great.” I smiled the Sweet Abelli smile.

Feeling tipsy, with too many thoughts on my mind, I headed inside. My feet froze when I saw Nicolas leaning against the hallway wall. One hand was in his pocket while the other held a cigarette he played between his fingers. He wore an expression most people would run from.

I had no choice but to walk past him, so I swallowed, and then forced one foot in front of the other when I wanted to head in the opposite direction.

His gaze burned as it followed my every step. My heart raced, and I prayed for anyone to step around the low wall and save me from this man.

My skin danced with unease as I walked by him, but apparently, he was only trying to kill me with his expression because he didn’t say a word. His silence seemed to be worse than his demands; at least I knew his intentions then. Once I’d made my way past him, I stopped, turned, and snapped, “What?”

“What did I tell you about Christian, Elena?” His voice was low and calm, but it carried a deadly edge.

I hadn’t considered his current mood could be due to the fact I was talking to Christian on the terrace. We’d only been speaking, and in view of everyone. Was he serious?

“I don’t know. I must have missed it.” My response was sarcastic, and he didn’t like it at all if his narrowed gaze was anything to go by.

“Then let me remind you. Stay the fuck away from him.”

“I told you before, and I’ll say it again: I’m an Abelli, not a Russo. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’m growing tired of you not showing me the respect a don is due,” he bit out.

“And I’m fucking tired of men!”

His gaze grew lethal. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

I couldn’t believe what I had said, but I was drunk, frustrated, and just damn tired of trying to force myself not to feel a certain way. I could still taste the curse word on my tongue and it felt strange, sinful, liberating.

“No Christian.”

Two words. He expected me to listen to those two commanding words.

I shook my head. In my mind, it was Christian or Oscar. The easiest decision I’d ever had to make.

“No.”

He slipped the cigarette in his pocket, and my pulse leapt when he took a step toward me.

I backed up and was only aided when a soft yet consuming grip came to my throat and he lightly pushed me. I fell back a step until I hit the wall. It was an aggressive move, but the way he did it so gently, so absolutely, made something flutter in my chest and spread throughout my body. Want. Need.

He stepped closer until his vest brushed my dress, and my breasts tightened in anticipation. I couldn’t breathe with him so close, his hand around my throat, and the idea that anyone could come down this hall. People were drinking; they’d have to use the restroom.

He braced a palm on the wall beside me, and I’d never felt so consumed in my life. His head lowered, lightly resting on top of mine.

What is happening?

My heart burned.

“Nicolas,” I breathed. “This is inappropriate.”

His thumb caressed my neck, causing my pulse to hitch.

“Platonic,” he rasped.

My insides melted, my lips parted, and my vision grew hazy. I wanted to taste that word straight from his mouth. A laugh from around the wall filtered through the buzz in my ears. I shook my head to clear it, but his face was so close to mine I couldn’t think.

“No,” I panted. “It’s not. Please let me go.”

“No. Christian.” His tone wasn’t nice, even though his touch remained so. It was a strange play on my senses.

And then I realized what this was.

Blackmail.

He was going to hold me here until I complied. He knew being caught like this would unnerve me more than it ever would him because of my past.

Frustration tightened in my lungs. The longer we stood here—him holding me in an intimate way—the further the panic spread through my blood, itching and chafing. I pushed against his chest in a last-ditch effort, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

“Okay,” I whispered. “No Christian.”

He must have been satisfied with my answer, because he stepped back.

A second later, someone came around the corner. Ice crawled up my throat. Benito stopped when he saw us, his eyes narrowing to slits.

Nicolas and I stood a couple feet apart now, though we were both alone, and my wide doe eyes had to give everything away. I forced a smile, and Nicolas gave my cousin a look of dark indifference before I sprinted into the bathroom.

Leaning against the door, I exhaled a breath of relief.

I was not going to marry Oscar Perez.

Now that I knew there was an out, I let myself hope for the best. And I wasn’t going to lose the chance because of Nicolas Russo.

I used the restroom, went straight to the terrace beside the pool, took my gin and tonic from Christian, who must have noticed I liked them—a good quality in a man—and swallowed a large drink for courage.

Then I talked to him. Animatedly. Like it was 100 percent my choice and not done by my father’s interference. Like I hadn’t gotten blackmailed not to.

Christian was amused by it all, appearing to know everything I did, and I wouldn’t doubt it. He was perceptive, and hot. He only got hotter the more I drank, but, for some illogical reason, I couldn’t push Nicolas out of my mind for a second. I was continually aware of his presence, even with this insanely attractive man’s avid attention.

My gaze caught on Nicolas’s through the glass. He watched me, his hands in his pockets, while talking to Luca. His expression was unexpected: indifferent and calm. Like the exchange in the hall hadn’t happened.

What a confusing man.

He’d told me he didn’t bluff, and unfortunately, I would soon learn he really didn’t.

Five minutes later, my cheeks felt hot from my fifth drink of the night, and I was beginning to think I’d imagined Nicolas’s temper as well. Christian was easy to talk to, though I wondered how much of what he said was the truth. I listened as he told me about a cabin he owned in the Rockies, where the stars were incredibly bright.

“Sounds beautiful,” I commented. “I would love to see it.”

“See what?”

My shoulders tensed at Nicolas’s deep voice behind my back.

“My cabin in Colorado,” Christian responded, while I said, “None of your business,” at the same time.

“You sound angry, Elena.” Nicolas’s voice was tainted with something dangerous. “Maybe you should cool off.”

My brows knitted. “What? No—”

I never got to finish what I had to say.

Because, with one hand on my side, Nicolas pushed me into the pool.

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