His words start out amicable enough, but his tone shifts at the end. The fuck-off part comes out low and threatening.
Rico backs off, hands up in the air. “Fine. Just make sure you give me her number when you’re done, okay? I’m definitely gonna hit that shit.” Suddenly, his hand reaches out, his fingers brushing up against my cheek. “I’ll buy you for the whole month.”
This time Giovanni reacts by standing up with such force that I’m thrown off him, my body lurching sideways as I struggle to regain my balance. The sudden movement knocks the breath from my lungs, and before I can fully right myself, the two men are chest to chest, their bodies like stone walls colliding.
Giovanni’s face transforms, all pretense of civility evaporating as he growls directly into Rico’s face, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my skin prickle with warning.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, Rico, but you’re here as a guest and I suggest you fucking remember that.”
My heart slams against my chest as the standoff goes silent.
I don’t know much about the history between these two cousins, but I do know exactly who and what they are. Men who solve problems with violence. Men who take what they want. Men whose family businesses operate outside the boundaries of law. And it’s painfully clear they do not like each other.
How do mobsters settle disputes over a whore?
Fists? Swords at dawn? A duel?
Rico breaks, smiling. His hands in the air. “Fine. You don’t wanna share. I’ll forget I ever saw her. Fuck. You’re so touchy, Giovanni. Grow up, will ya?”
And then he ducks under the waterfall, disappearing as quickly as he came.
21
Rico disappears through the waterfall, but his presence lingers like a stain. I remain standing, calculating angles and possibilities while my blood cools from boiling to merely simmering. Five fucking years of silence, and now this?
This isn’t about business. This is personal. The question is why now, why here, after five years of peace?
He manufactured this entire scenario, used the family emergency protocol to draw me here, knowing I’d have no choice but to respond.
But for what?
I peer through a gap in the falling water, scanning the perimeter of the pool, counting exits and cataloging faces. Four of Rico’s men by the bar. Two more by the gate. Dom and Ricky nowhere in sight. Not ideal.
“You’re OK,” I tell Emmaleen absently. But I don’t look at her. Only notice her nodding from my peripheral vision.
She’s perched on the ledge, water dripping from her hair, that white T-shirt pressed tight against her hard nipples. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated in the blue glow of strategically placed lights in the grotto. She’s trying to look calm, but her pulse hammers visibly at her throat.
Rico rattled her.
I sit back down on the submerged bench and pull her into my lap, her thighs straddling mine again. “Where were we?”
She settles against me, but there’s a new rigidity in her spine, a hesitation in her movements. Her teeth begin to chatter. Her mind is elsewhere, racing through whatever threat assessment women make when they realize they’re in over their head.
“You’re OK,” I tell her again. This time softer. Then I kiss her neck, sliding my hands up under the wet shirt to circle her nipples with my thumbs. Her body responds—goosebumps rising on her skin, a small involuntary arch in her back and a shrug of her shoulders—but her mind remains disconnected, processing Rico.
“I like your freckles,” I say, tracing the constellation across her cheekbones.
She shakes her head a little, finally looking me in the eyes. “What?”
“They look like someone flicked you with a paintbrush.”
Her smile is slow, but a small laugh follows. “What?”
“I’m trying to be reassuring, Emmaleen. And take your mind off my asshole cousin. Don’t worry about him. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, and you’ll never see him again. I like your hair, too,” I say, threading my fingers into the wet strands. “It’s kinda wild. Like you. You’re a little bit wild. But not in a bad way.”
Her face screws up as she processes what’s happening. But her focus is firmly on me again, which was the point.
“If you were mine, though,” I continue, watching her reaction carefully, “I’d make some changes.”