Fire Bound

  He laughed. Happy. Truly happy. He helped her to straighten her legs and put them on the floor so he could pull her into a standing position. "The bathroom is right over there." He indicated a door.

  She stood in front of him, her hands framing his face while he looked up at her. "In case I didn't tell you, I'm madly in love with you." She brushed a kiss along his forehead. "I'm not certain where my clothes are. I can't get back into my wedding dress."

  He laughed and stood up. He'd set a small bag just inside the door. "Grab one of my shirts. I brought a couple because if you said yes, I knew you'd need something to wear, not that I'd mind in the least if you wanted to walk around just as you are."

  "I'm leaking everywhere."

  "I like that. Me. In you. That works for me."

  She laughed softly and walked to the bag in her silver heels and silk stockings. He watched her, unable to take his eyes from the woman who had changed his life just by seeing him. Recognizing he was real when he'd long ago given up on himself. She was so beautiful. All of her. Inside and out.

  He marveled at that. She'd lost everything. Been betrayed by the two people she loved. She had to have had a difficult childhood, being trained as an assassin and set on a course of vengeance for her uncle. None of that had corrupted her. She was pure light to him, a fire that burned hot and bright, cleansing him.

  He found the second bathroom and took a quick shower before pulling on a pair of jeans and nothing else. Dinner would be delivered soon. He'd chosen that carefully as well. To surprise her, he'd ordered a mini, traditional wedding cake. The cake he chose was that of millifoglie, layers of a kind of filo pastry, very, very thin, intermixed with light cream, chocolate and mascarpone, topped with fresh berries and a slight dusting of powdered sugar.

  He'd left instructions for the champagne to be chilling. There should be strawberries and whipped cream in the refrigerator. He had plans for both items much later. Strawberries mixed with her honey and the cream sounded like a great combination to him. His mouth watered, just thinking about it as he hung up her wedding gown and his suit.

  She emerged from the bathroom dressed in one of his tees, a dark navy that fit like a long dress on her. Barefoot, no makeup, her hair wild, cascading down her back in a fiery sheet of red. "They have everything, really good shampoo and a hair dryer. Toothpaste. Even toothbrushes in packages." She grinned at him. "No underwear though. I left my lace ones hanging on the shower curtain all nice and clean, but not dry enough to wear."

  "You don't need panties," Casimir assured her. He had to kiss her because she was too tempting looking the way she did. She looked innocent yet, to him, she was a sexy temptress. "They have a pool. We can lie in the sun." He glanced at his watch. "We've got two hours before dinner will be delivered." He held out his hand.

  She didn't hesitate, reaching for his hand, threading her fingers through his. He drew her to his side and wrapped his arm around her, holding her there. Pressing a kiss onto the top of her bright hair, he led her down the hallway, outside into the sun. The series of patios led to the long, endless pool. The water looked as if it poured over the edge into the deep turquoise sea below. Loungers lined one side of the pool with a few unopened umbrellas scattered here and there just in case shade was desired. Outside was quiet and very tranquil with the sound of the water looping endlessly.

  "Take the shirt off, malyshka, no one can see you but me. The villa is protected on all sides from prying eyes. The sun will feel good on your body."

  "I'm a redhead, honey," she murmured, tipping her head up for another kiss. "I burn easily."

  He obliged her, giving her what she wanted, taking her mouth and taking his sweet time about it. He loved kissing her. She was great at kissing. Perfection. She tasted of love and her addicting honey. When he lifted his head, he caught the shirt and pulled it over her head.

  "Sunscreen." He showed her the bottle of lotion. He looked forward to covering every inch of her with it. His cock jerked again, just thinking about it.

  She dragged her hair up onto her head, tying it into a messy, fancy knot, the action lifting her breasts. Unable to resist, he drew her breast into the heat of his mouth, suckling, teeth scraping just enough to have her come up on her toes, gasping, her hands gripping his hips hard.

  When he let her go, he was more than satisfied to see he had left more marks on her, just as he'd promised he would. He indicated for her to lie down. She did immediately, stretching out on her belly like an offering to the sun. He crouched down beside the lounger and took his time, rubbing the sunscreen into her shoulders, back and arms, moving lower to massage it into her firm buttocks, paying special attention to every crease, crevice and dimple. He smiled when she began to squirm, unconsciously moving her hips restlessly. He was careful to get every inch of her legs.

  "Turn over, Giacinta, let me get your front."

  "If you do that, I'll be attacking you, Casimir," she informed him.

  "Turn over, malyshka." His cock was already hard and erect and pulsing with need.

  She did as he said, presenting her breasts and fiery curls to his hands. Again, he took his time, massaging the lotion into her skin, every little inch, paying extra attention to her breasts and nipples, then moving down to make certain her partially bare mound was properly coated before moving on to her legs. The moment he was done, she reached for the jeans riding low on his hips.

  He took her slow, leisurely, there by the pool. They swam, made love again and then fell asleep. He woke her just before dinner arrived, grateful she got in a nap, because he had a very long night planned for both of them.

  15

  Aldo Porcelli had four bodyguards. Lissa had three days to study the layout of the building where Porcelli's mistress, Lydia Sartini, resided. Luigi had carefully marked the places the bodyguards always waited for him. One stayed by the car at all times. The car was out as a place of attack, not if they wanted Aldo's death to look like an accident.

  One bodyguard always stayed at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor where his mistress's apartment was. One remained down the hall, a good distance from the apartment, near the window. His angle on the apartment wasn't the best. Lydia Sartini's apartment was set back, creating a small alcove effect, changing the angle of the hall so one couldn't see anything going on in the doorway. The apartments in the building were deliberately built for privacy. Porcelli wasn't the only man to keep his mistress there.

  The fourth bodyguard acted as a roving sentry, prowling through the garage, up the stairs, through the hallway and down the flight of stairs at the far end of the second story. The lift was an open wrought-iron cage, rarely used by the residents' visitors. There were no security cameras for obvious reasons. The men wanted complete privacy and deniability.

  Luigi had stayed hidden away, supposedly in his wing of the house, grieving for Arturo. In reality, he was home with his wife and family, a great alibi when he knew Aldo, his wife's brother, was going to die. There was no way anyone could blame him, he was with Angeline and his boys. Casimir and Lissa actually drove by the house to confirm he was there. Even with the knowledge that Luigi had betrayed her father and lied to her for years, pretending to be alone, forsaking a family of his own for her and their ultimate goal to bring justice to those who had killed her parents, seeing him with his wife and sons was a much bigger blow than she expected.

  She glanced up from the blueprints spread across her lap, to look at her husband. Husband. In her wildest dreams she had never once imagined herself married, and certainly not to a gorgeous, romantic man. Her wedding day and night had been spectacular. Casimir had planned every minute, every detail. They'd worshiped each other's bodies over and over in so many ways - and her husband could get very creative.

  "What is it, golubushka?" His voice was gentle.

  He knew. He was like that with her. He knew when she was melancholy, like now. She shouldn't be thinking of Luigi; she needed to concentrate on the plan to take Aldo without harming a
nyone else. Without getting caught. Without anyone suspecting his death was anything else but an accident.

  "Talk to me, Lissa."

  It was back to Lissa and Tomasso. But now, she wasn't even Lissa. She was Patrice with her glossy dark hair and stick figure. He wasn't Tomasso, he was Steve Johnson from Philadelphia, just in for a few days of sightseeing. Steve looked much older, but distinguished with his graying hair and cool shades.

  "I was thinking about seeing Luigi with his family," she admitted.

  Although he was driving, he instantly reached for her hand, connecting them physically, pulling her palm to his thigh and holding it there. "Malyshka."

  Her heart stuttered. She loved when he called her "baby," or more precisely, "little girl," in his own language. He had different inflections, depending on why he was using the endearment. This was sheer love. She heard it in his voice. Stark. Raw. Honest. Soft and so very sweet when she needed it most. He always seemed to know. He could read her that well.

  "I watched him for a long time."

  She didn't have to tell him that, he'd been there with her. They'd set up surveillance just across the street from his backyard. The house was a mansion. Angeline wanted status and Luigi gave it to her. Soldiers were in and out, moving through the grounds with dogs to ensure safety. Luigi wasn't taking any chance on any of the families in power hitting his family.

  He was head of the Abbracciabene family, but his territory was small. Through his marriage to Angeline, he was allied with the Porcelli family. That territory was much bigger, and Aldo wielded a tremendous power in the underworld, so he was protected. That protection clearly wasn't enough for Luigi. He led a double life and had to be paranoid. Still, he spent a lot of time on the large patio, hiding from his wife.

  "I know you did," Casimir replied softly, his hand squeezing hers. He rubbed the back of her hand and once more tightened his fingers, pressing her palm deep into the heat of his chest, right over his heart. "Talk to me," he repeated.

  She moistened her lips, trying to think how to word what was preying on her mind. She didn't want Casimir to get upset. Like her, he was a fire element. He could burn hot with passion or be just as destructive as a roaring fire could be. He was intensely loyal. He hadn't known his blood brothers growing up, hadn't been around them as a man, yet he'd remained loyal to them, so much so that he was willing to die for them. He had planned to sacrifice himself for the sake of his brothers' happiness. He wouldn't understand someone like Luigi. He'd never tolerate such a betrayal as Luigi had committed, conspiring to kill his own brother and family in order to gain power. Raising a child as a weapon to continue his thirst for power.

  "Malyshka."

  That "baby" was a clear warning. He expected her to tell him why she was upset.

  She sighed. Pushed at the fall of black hair surrounding her face. "Luigi really is grieving for Arturo. I studied his face through the binoculars. He stared off into space forever. I guess I wanted to think he was wholly a monster, incapable of loving anyone."

  Casimir glanced at her sharply. "He certainly doesn't love his wife. That was clear. It was a little shocking that she doesn't see it."

  "I think she sees it, she just doesn't care. She has what she wants. She lives a certain way and has filled her life with friends and events. They appear to almost live apart. The three boys..." She trailed off. "Much more difficult to judge." She detested the wistful note in her voice. "I'm sorry, it's just that..." She left it. How could she possibly explain why she was so conflicted about Luigi?

  "Don't you think I understand?" Casimir asked. "That man was your only family growing up. He wasn't just your uncle. He was your mother and father. He put a roof over your head, food in your mouth and clothes on your back. He taught you everything he knew about his business and he made certain you were good at it, good enough that you weren't going to get killed. It might have been harsh training, but in the end, you recognized that he was ensuring you stayed alive. That had to feel like caring."

  "I remember when he first brought me home. He was stiff. He'd always been around when I was growing up, but he wasn't particularly affectionate. Over time, he became that way. Arturo started it, giving me hugs and wiping away tears when Luigi was upset with me, but then eventually, Luigi began to thaw. He laughed more. He took me more places himself. He ate dinner with me. I thought we were close. I thought he loved me." She finished the last in a small voice, staring unseeing down at the blueprints.

  "Luigi is incapable of love."

  She shook her head. "That's not true, Casimir. He loved Arturo. I could see it on his face. He still can hardly bear the loss."

  Casimir inclined his head, his thumb sliding over her hand. Back and forth. She found the motion soothing.

  "I'll give you that," he conceded. "But, lyubov moya, you know you can't save him. There's no way to do that."

  "I know." She did know. It was just that, when she thought of him, she still thought of her uncle, not of the monster who ordered the hit on her family. She tried to remind herself that he had made certain anyone loyal to her father had been murdered. Even those working in the house - maids, the cook. The gardener and his entire family including children. Her uncle had done that. The thought made her sick. It made her feel worse that knowing all of those things, she still had a difficult time thinking he was that person.

  "He'll have to kill you," Casimir reminded. "After this. He's going to ask to meet you somewhere, a place he can arrange an accident for you - one where you won't be identified as belonging to him. He can't have any blowback if he plans to take over the Porcelli family. The counsel won't like it, and they'll be scrutinizing his every move. That's why he wanted accidents, no more than a couple a year. That's why he stayed patient. He knew they would be looking at him and he had to appear absolutely clean."

  She knew he was stating the truth, but she didn't have to like it. She wanted to believe that Luigi at least loved her the way he did Arturo - that all those years together meant something to him. It was true that he had to be planning her death, there was no other way he could be certain she wouldn't find out about Luigi's betrayal of her family and come after him. He'd lived on the edge of that sword for so long it would be a relief for him to get rid of her. He'd sent her to the United States once she had turned eighteen to make certain she didn't have a chance to stumble on the truth about his wife and children.

  "I love you, Giacinta," he said softly, bringing her hand to his mouth. His teeth teased her fingertips, scraping back and forth gently. "I know this is difficult, but I can do it for you. There's no need..."

  "It's my mess," she interrupted. "He killed my family. He's planning on killing me. I have to be the one..."

  "No, you don't. I'm your family. Your husband. When he killed your family, malyshka, he killed mine. My father-in-law. My mother-in-law. They belonged to me as well. My parents were torn from me, just as yours were. Viktor and Gavriil hunted those responsible down one by one, over the years, just as you have done. You planned on taking care of the last of them - the Sorbacovs. For my brothers."

  "And my sisters."

  "So Luigi is my duty just as much as yours."

  She nodded her assent. "Okay."

  He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. "Okay? You aren't going to argue some more?"

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't argue."

  He smiled at her and returned her hand to his thigh. "You argued with me over Viktor. Still, I find all that fire sexy, so we're good."

  "Why didn't Viktor and his seventeen assassins go after Sorbacov?"

  "He was planning to do just that. After he brought down Shackler-Gratsos. All of us knew he would do it. We didn't know about the others, but we knew Viktor would make a try. He's always been about protecting us. He takes that job very seriously."

  "Too bad he doesn't do the same with his wife. If she is his wife," Lissa said, trying hard to keep the biting sarcasm from her voice.

  Viktor lo
oked and acted like a biker, a one percenter, more, an outlaw biker. That didn't surprise her. He had come from a brutal background, learning a thousand ways to kill a man, torture him or just plain fuck him up. He would do so without mercy and with no remorse. If any of the Prakenskii brothers was truly a straight-up killer, Viktor was one. Gavriil maybe, but Viktor for certain.

  He also had the mentality of a man who believed he could get away with telling his woman what to do and she'd do it without question. She knew Blythe Daniels. Had known her for five years. Blythe wasn't a jump-on-command woman. Lissa couldn't imagine elegant, beautiful Blythe with Viktor.

  "That school, Giacinta, they took those little boys and flogged the skin off their backs for any infraction. They were forced to hurt one another. You can't imagine what it was like. Each of the schools was progressively worse. We all knew that if we were sent to the one Viktor was in, odds were, we weren't coming out of there alive. Those who lived through it were given the dirtiest, most dangerous jobs Sorbacov had."

  "There are eighteen of them. They're all trained assassins. Are you telling me they couldn't get to Sorbacov?"

  "All eighteen had someone they protected. Viktor had us. Each of the others no doubt had siblings as well. I'm not surprised Viktor managed to bring them together. If he trusts them, believe me, malyshka, those men are loyal to him and one another."