Tropical Getaway

  “And Marco?”

  Ava tilted her head and regarded Dane. “First you need to understand something. In the ninety-some years that Santoris have had the restaurant, no one has ever, ever, worked with or for the mob or any families.”

  She paused and smiled. “Well, during Prohibition, the Ciprianis next door made their own wine and pumped it through basement hoses into our saloon, but even that was outside of the Mafia.”

  Dane sipped his drink, listening to her.

  “It was a law, handed down each generation. A guiding, unbending family principle. The Mafia was the reason Italians had such a bad reputation in this country. The mob was a scourge on good people with ethics. Never, ever give them an inch. This was in grained into us our whole lives. But not all of the neighbors felt the same way. Especially the young boys who didn’t have such a bright future and could be tempted by the money and power.”

  He nodded and studied her as she talked, but his scrutiny no longer unnerved her. In fact, she was beginning to like it.

  “A couple of Marco’s childhood friends became small-time crooks. Not very high up in the pecking order, but runners, or gofers.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “Well, one of them was in a jam. There was a little war going on between two families and one of the kids, Angelo Ferrisi, was playing both sides. In name, he was associated with his uncle, Anthony Ferrisi, who’d grown to be pretty powerful. But Angelo was also secretly working for another family.”

  “So Angelo was stupid and greedy.”

  “Very much so.” She remembered the beady green eyes and fat cheeks of the kid Marco had always felt sorry for. She’d never liked him as a boy, and he grew into a surly, scary teenager, who leered at her chest and made every excuse to brush up against her when Marco wasn’t around. A snotty kid she had hated. But that didn’t matter anymore, because Angelo Ferrisi had been dead for five years. Ava shuddered at the memory of his battered body, the blood in the snow, drops spattered on the gleaming glass door of Santori’s.

  “Angelo needed to hide a stash of illegal guns somewhere clean, somewhere the police and his own family would never check. He talked Marco into letting him use a storage room at the restaurant.”

  She remembered the morning she was digging around the storeroom to start the tedious task of monthly inventory, when she found the boxes of hard black guns. Shaking in fear and anger, she’d marched upstairs to the apartment and found Marco asleep. He’d been cavalier and dismissive, telling her to just forget it. Everything was cool.

  “But everything wasn’t cool,” she said, unaware that she hadn’t spoken her thoughts out loud for a few moments.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, you know Ava. Woman of action. Takes matters into her own hands.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled and took her hand, but she barely noticed. “I know her.”

  “Well, I stewed over it all day. I was really worried about Marco, not anything else. I knew from local gossip what was going on between these two families, and I knew Dominic would kill him if he found out.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I ratted on them all.” She said the statement with the same disgust that grabbed at her gut when she thought of the consequences.

  “But you just said Dominic would kill him.”

  Ava squeezed her eyes shut. “Better Dominic figuratively kill him, than the Ferrisis or Galuccis literally kill him.” She opened her eyes and looked directly at Dane. “I really did want to protect him, Dane. But in retrospect, I may have had other, far more selfish motives. It wasn’t always easy living in the shadow of the amazing and gorgeous Marco Santori. Even if he was five years younger.”

  “Is that why your father sent him away?”

  “No. It gets worse.” Damn the crack in her voice.

  He stroked her arm gently. “Go ahead.”

  “I told Dominic, called the police, and set up Angelo. Only it didn’t unfold quite the way I thought it would. The family who Angelo was working for thought he’d turned them in, and cost them thousands. So, they killed him. Beat the life out of him and left him bloody and dead. In front of our restaurant.” She closed her eyes again. “I found him.”

  He squeezed her hand.

  “Angelo’s family blamed Marco. They threatened to kill him. And they would have, Dane. Dominic said that the only way for Marco to stay alive was for him to leave. For good. With no contact with us, so that he was safe.” She couldn’t stop her tears and didn’t try. “I did it, Dane. I got them in trouble and I got Angelo killed and I am the reason Marco had to leave and give up his family.”

  She pulled her hand out of his firm grip and wiped away a tear. “The police wouldn’t put him in witness protection or anything so formal, and there was no way he could be safe in Boston. He had to disappear. So he did.”

  “But why the estrangement?” Dane sounded confused. “Why not letters or secret family visits?”

  “Well, he didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms. Dominic was furious that Marco had broken our personal family code. And Marco and I…He didn’t want to see me, Dane. He hated me for what I did. When he left, he said horrible, horrible things…” She turned away. “He swore he’d never speak to me again, I was not his sister, I was a mean, jealous bitch…”

  “Ava.” He took her face in his hand to bring her back. “He was nineteen. Just a kid. You were trying to help him. You knew he was in with the wrong crowd. You were young yourself.”

  She shook her head at the hollow defense.

  “Didn’t your parents want to forgive him and have a relationship with their son?”

  “They believed if they had any contact with him, he could be found. Dominic made an edict. No one could ever have contact with Marco. Dominic was so angry at him that he wouldn’t even allow us to say his name for years. Only my mother could get away with it. She worshipped Marco. I think she did exchange letters with him; she didn’t seem at all surprised to find out he was on a ship in the Caribbean.” She closed her eyes. Not a day went by that she didn’t question her own motives. And bitterly regret the results. “But I—I obeyed Dominic. I thought someday, he’d call me. But he never did, and now…”

  He bowed his head so close to hers that his hair touched her forehead. “He never told me, Ava. He never said a thing against you. Except that you were a great big sister.”

  It couldn’t be true. Marco couldn’t have forgiven her. If he had, wouldn’t he have called her or written to her?

  “He may not have told you, but he didn’t forgive me. He died hating me.” The lump in her throat threatened to make her sob.

  “I think you’re wrong about that. He was very happy here. I don’t think he regretted how his life turned out.”

  Ava’s gaze flashed at him. “Short, Dane. His life turned out to be very short.”

  He winced.

  “What did he tell you?” she asked. “Why did he say he left?”

  “He said he fought with his father because he didn’t want to go into the family business.”

  “And you believed that? Didn’t you wonder why he never talked to us?”

  “No. It’s precisely the reason I rarely see or speak to my parents. It made sense to me.”

  She turned toward the sky, trying to find her star again.

  “I always had a fantasy that someday I’d pick up the phone and it would be Marco. He’d say, ‘Hey, Avel Navel.’ And I’d say ‘Hi, Marco Polo.’” A sob broke through. “That’s what we called each other. When we were little.”

  “Instead you got a call from the Coast Guard telling you he’s dead.” His voice was flat, pained.

  “Presumed dead, Dane. I thought there was hope.” She turned to face him, blinking back a tear. “I’m sorry I’ve been so pushy about what you should do. Apparently, I didn’t learn my lesson about taking the law into my own hands.”

  Gently, he outlined her face with his fingers. Her cheeks, her chin. His feather touch skimmed ove
r her lips. A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “You can’t help it, princess. You’re a woman of action.”

  He set their glasses on a ledge next to him, then he put both arms around her and tucked her head under his chin.

  “The lesson to learn is that you can’t change history.” He kissed her hair gently. “If I could bring your brother back, I would.”

  She looked up and saw the determination mixed with pain in his aquamarine eyes, and it squeezed her heart. “It wasn’t your fault,” she told him.

  “And it wasn’t yours.” His gaze locked on hers, straight and steady. “I promise you this: I will do everything possible to find out whose fault it was. Not that it will change history, but perhaps it will help you understand it.”

  She held his gaze. And her breath. And then he closed the few inches between them and his mouth nearly met hers. Almost. So close, she could taste the cognac on his lips.

  “Not here,” he whispered, his breath on her mouth. He stepped off the bowsprit and put his hands on her waist to bring her down. Grabbing the empty snifters, he held her hand as they walked down the deck. He set the glasses on a cocktail table and then put his arm around her, sliding her naturally into the solid and comforting length of his body.

  As he slipped the card key into her cabin lock, Ava shuddered, anticipation igniting every cell in her body. Just a kiss, she told herself as the door opened. Just one kiss. That didn’t make her a statistic. Just one kiss. He hadn’t judged her harshly. He’d made her feel whole again.

  He stepped into the darkened room and gently tugged her with him. She heard the resounding click of the door behind her. Just one kiss. Like one sweet taste of chocolate to fill the ache of craving. She nearly swayed from dizzy expectation, closing her eyes for a second. But before they opened, she tasted his mouth, tasted the almonds and vanilla of the cognac. As he parted his lips, she reached for his tongue with hers, a fire building low inside her as she instinctively pressed her body toward him in a reflex so natural she couldn’t have even thought to stop herself.

  Just this kiss.

  “I’ve thought about this all day,” he whispered.

  “When you weren’t fighting the bad guys.”

  He smiled. “Even when I was.” He pulled her closer, letting her feel his response to her. Her knees weakened at the sensation. He lowered his head and his tongue barely touched her lower lip, tracing it from one side to the other. His tongue skipped along her upper lip. Tasting her, tempting her.

  He flicked down the warm skin of her throat, sending electrical shocks through her body. She moaned in response. This is more than one kiss.

  An urgent need to push her hips against him silenced the warning voice. The force of his erection pressed against her stomach, making her want to stand on her toes and clasp him between her legs. She took his head in her hands, cupping his face and bringing it back to her mouth. He moaned softly as he kissed her and his fingers moved along her collarbone, along the line of her blouse, lower to the deep indentation between her breasts.

  “You’re beautiful, Ava,” he murmured between kisses. “I want to touch you. Every time you’re anywhere near me, I want to touch you.”

  His fingers grazed her nipple, a contact she’d fantasized about a thousand times that day. Dear God, did she just say yes? His hands moved down her back, over her hips, around the curve of her backside. His hardness and her softness and his hands on her body.

  “Come here, princess.” He pulled her farther into the room, still kissing, still touching, still pressing. She followed him, unable to stop the throbbing in her body, wanting more and more of his solid, sexy body and what it was doing to her.

  She wouldn’t open her eyes; then she didn’t have to face it. Didn’t have to admit she was attached to his mouth, his hands, his legs, in a sensual dance toward the bedroom. That she was falling onto her lovely, delicious white silk bed, and the entire male length of him was on top of her. She heard her sandals drop to the floor.

  They don’t know what hit ’em until it’s over.

  She forced her eyes open and watched him kissing her breasts, her stomach. He whispered words of abandon, of pleasure, throaty prayers using her name. This is what hits them.

  But his hands were full of her breasts, torturing her with pleasure. Nothing mattered but his hands and mouth and the desire overtaking every sense. She arched against him and her head fell back with a moan of arousal and ecstasy that came from deep inside her, a place she didn’t even know she had, a sound she didn’t know she could make.

  Then she saw the knife.

  Stabbed into the headboard, viciously gouging the antique oak. A stream of knotted peach and black material hung from its glinting blade.

  The air rushed out of her and she choked, fought for air, and then screamed.

  * * *

  “What the hell—” Dane gasped for breath. “What’s the—”

  Ava rolled off the bed in one movement and stood with her hands over her mouth, staring. Then he saw it. He leaped and seized her shoulders, pulling her into him.

  “Oh, Christ.” He peered into the shadows around the room, possessed by an animal instinct to pounce on the intruder and use his own weapon on him. But the intruder was long gone, leaving only his evil calling card.

  Ava started to shake with fear and shock.

  “What is it?” she gasped in horror.

  He guided her toward the door, as far from the bed and its ominous symbol as possible.

  “It’s a message.”

  “What…what kind of message?”

  Still holding her, he flipped on the light. The white-handled knife looked no less menacing bathed in brightness. It meant one thing to sailors: death. The symbol of imminent death at sea. And the scarf; the silky peach and black fabric repeatedly bound and brutally stabbed. He didn’t need to count the knots. There were thirteen.

  “Come here, baby. Come with me.” He walked her into the sitting room and sat her on the sofa. Terror darkened her eyes and her skin was alabaster even in the dim light.

  “What in God’s name does it mean?” Ava demanded. “And my scarf! Who would do this? How did they get in here? Why?”

  He could sense her getting angry as the shock wore off. “Stay here,” he ordered. “I want to look at it.”

  Her huge eyes stayed steady on his, but her mouth, still red from his passionate kisses, quivered. One last shiver and she seemed to regain some semblance of control.

  He turned into the bedroom. The crystal clear warning sickened him. Who was in this room while they were on the deck?

  The scarf really turned his stomach. At the end of the thirteenth double knot was the hangman’s noose. Thirteen knots for the devil to untie before he owned the victim’s soul, the old legend said.

  She wouldn’t be safe alone tonight. He took in the rumpled bedding, her sandals on the floor. Maybe she wouldn’t be safe with him, either.

  “Can you save it for fingerprints?” Her voice startled him.

  Of course she couldn’t stay in the other room.

  “I doubt it.” With a jerk, he yanked the butcher knife out of the wood and gently removed the torn material from its blade. He rolled the silk into a ball and stuck it in his pocket.

  Hesitantly, she approached. “That’s a cheap knife, nothing of the quality you have in the galley. That thing wouldn’t cut a vegetable.”

  “I don’t think its owner was threatening to slice tomatoes with it,” he said bitterly. “Anyway, no one would keep a white-handled knife on a ship.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Is this some kind of ridiculous superstition?”

  “Someone wanted to deliver a message, Ava. To threaten you. Or me. The cabin’s registered in my name.” He set the knife gingerly on the nightstand. “Get some things. You aren’t sleeping here tonight.”

  He heard her slight intake of breath. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. I won’t let you stay here.”

  “Excu
se me?” Temper flared in her voice. “You won’t let me?”

  “Ava,” he sighed, knowing what was at the bottom of her anger. “It would be stupid. I’m not leaving you until we are off this ship.”

  She took a step back, her gaze burning into him. “Where are you suggesting I sleep, Romeo?”

  “Romeo?” He choked on the word. “That wasn’t exactly a solo act, princess.”

  Her cheeks darkened and the flush slipped down over her throat, to her chest. Where he’d caressed her so intimately.

  “It won’t happen again.” Unmistakable resolve rang in her voice and determination flashed in her dark eyes. She was having some big, fat second thoughts.

  “It’s entirely up to you.”

  “Good.” She pointed to the door. “Then leave.”

  He shook his head and looked around for what she might need. He’d pack her up and carry her if he had to, but she wasn’t staying in this room. A hint of fear crossed her face and he damned himself. Why hadn’t he taken that slower? He’d acted like a teenager, for Christ’s sake, he wanted her so much.

  “Look, I have a small suite. There’s a sofa in it. You’ll be safe.”

  “It’s not you I don’t trust, Dane.” She looked away from him and whispered, “It’s me.”

  He took the three steps to her in an instant. “Ava. It’s not you. It’s not me. It’s us.”

  “A bad combination?” she asked warily.

  “A highly combustible combination.” He kissed her forehead, as brotherly as he could. “Please come with me. I’ll sleep on the sofa. You’ll be completely safe. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you in here.”

  She sighed. “Okay.” Her eyes moved to the knife on the nightstand. “This is really serious, isn’t it?”

  “It could be. I need to figure out how big it is. I’ll close the business and deal with the consequences. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Genevieve and start the process.”

  “What are you waiting for? Call her now.”

  He smiled at her overpowering need to act. “I tried all night. Can’t find her.” He smoothed her hair and inched her toward the bathroom. “Come on, get what you need. Let’s get out of here.”