Captive Rival: Armani (Captive #2; Bellanti Brothers #8), page 15
I flick off the safety, my finger firm on the trigger.
“Armani,” Dante calls. “Wait.”
Without taking my eyes off Donno, I say, “Fuck waiting. Talk, Donno. The contract.”
His wrists are bound to the arms of the chair, but he manages to put his hands up slightly in surrender. “I swear I don’t know. Bruno don’t tell me nothing. He takes what I give him and pays me.”
Dante pulls me aside. Tucking the gun away, I dip my head as he speaks in my ear.
“If all the shit that’s happened is on him, what about Candi?” he says. “None of this was her.”
“Which is what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I say. “No matter. I’ll sort it out later. Let me clean this up first.” I’m about to turn back to Donno but pause. Is Dante actually trying to defend my wife? “Why do you care? You hate Candi.”
“I never said that. I just…don’t trust her. But maybe we need to rethink her position.”
With that, he claps me on the shoulder and leaves. Clayton is the only one left to bear witness now. He’s leaning against a table on the far side of the cellar, arms crossed.
“Leave us,” I tell him.
He does, and the room goes still. Donno’s breath is shallow and silent, to the point that I watch his chest for movement to make sure he’s still alive.
Finally, he lifts his head. “I’d have you tell those boys I’m sorry, but I know it won’t do no good.”
“It won’t. You broke Marco’s heart.”
His voice is almost imperceptible. “I know.”
“Once Dante and I got older, we weren’t there for him much anymore. But you were. You picked him up every day from school. Played some ball. You even watched a few of his games. He’d look for you in the stands, you know. You showed up more than our dad ever did.”
“I’m not a good man.”
“You can be a bad man and still make good choices.” Shaking my head, I add, “I wish you’d come to me about your financials. We would have helped you.”
“Nah. My debts were in Bruno hands.”
“I would have paid them off.”
“Could never ask that of you.”
“It was the least I could have done to repay you for being good to us.”
He looks away, eyes glistening. I expect him to beg now, to apologize, to ask for another chance.
But he doesn’t. And a part of me withers, because I can’t give him another chance if he doesn’t ask. And even if he does ask, I have to deny him.
“I’ll put the diploma on your grave myself,” I say.
He nods. “I’m ready.”
Pulling the Walther from my holster again, I take aim. I watch. I always watch. If I’m going to take a life, I’m damn well going to see it through, so I never forget who I am and what I’m capable of.
But this one I don’t need to see to know that I’ll feel it in my heart until the day I die.
I close my eyes.
And pull the trigger.
19
CANDI
The first thing I did when I got back to Casa Bellanti was collect my cat from the chef’s assistant, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed for a nap. I was jet-lagging hard, and Armani had abandoned me to attend to some “business” pretty much the second Donovan dropped us off in the driveway. But after alternating between dozing and tossing and turning for a few hours, I finally give up on sleep and set myself to the task I’d been dreading ever since Armani gave me my phone back: dealing with the Brunos.
Or, more specifically, dealing with Juliana.
I’m sitting in the cushy armchair by the window in my and Armani’s bedroom, Mr. Sprinkles curled up in my lap, my stomach churning as I read (and listen to) all of my (former?) best friend’s messages. Her tone goes from casual to annoyed to concerned and then wavers between worried and pissed off. Typical Juliana.
Not that I blame her. With no warning, I dropped off the face of the planet for a week, and with my phone turned off, all her calls were going straight to voicemail. I guess it’s a good thing I was only gone for a week, because I’m sure she’s about to call the police or show up on the Bellantis’ doorstep demanding to see me. Jules isn’t the type to just sit around and wait for a body to show up.
It’s almost funny. On the island, I couldn’t wait to hear her voice, but now that I’m back in Napa, I feel sick just thinking about dialing her number. I have no idea what I should say. She knows that Armani and I got married in a quickie Vegas ceremony, but all I had said about our elopement was that it was my idea, that I had him wrapped around my finger…which might be the most egregious lie I’ve ever told. Jules has no idea I’ve been compromised, that Armani’s plan is to have me playing both sides.
Now, I’m terrified to face Juliana. What happens if I slip up and give myself away? Or if she sniffs out my lies? If the truth comes out about me, the Brunos won’t want to use me as a mole anymore. They’ll tell me nothing. They might even kill me. And even if they don’t, I’ll still be useless to the Bellantis as a double agent. I know Armani cares about me—at least, I think he does—but ultimately, Dante is in charge of their family. If he tells Armani to divorce me, where will I go? What will I do? How will I ever feel safe from the mob after getting cast out by not one, but two notorious mafia clans?
My entire future seems dangerously uncertain.
Taking a deep breath, I go to Juliana’s contact and hover my finger over the call button. One, two, three, call. My finger doesn’t move. Come on. Just tap the damn button. Still, I don’t budge. You can do this, Candi. You’ve called her a million times, it’s no big deal. Let’s get this over with. Aaaaand GO.
But even with all the silent pep talking, I still can’t force myself to call her. My pulse is pounding in my ears, and my hands are shaking. I need to work up to it a little more, I guess.
First things first, I go downstairs to the kitchen to make myself another cup of tea. Something calming, soothing, stress relieving…and then I find it. A tin of lavender honey chamomile. Perfect. Steaming cup in hand, I’m about to head back to the bedroom when I pass the Bellantis’ home office. Oddly, the door is cracked open. Someone is pacing inside the room.
I hesitate outside for what must be a moment too long, because suddenly the door flies open and I’m face to face with Armani. Shit. This is not a good look.
“I wasn’t eavesdrop—” I start to say, lifting my tea as if in explanation.
Armani shakes his head at me, gesturing to the phone pressed to his ear. I didn’t even realize he was talking to someone.
“Non buono abbastanza,” he says coolly into the phone, and even with my limited Italian, I can translate it: Not good enough.
Sorry, I mouth to him, about to tiptoe away and leave him to his call. But he rests his hand on my shoulder and steers me into the room, gently closing the door behind us.
I’m led to the couch, where I sit down and proceed to slowly sip my tea. Armani goes back to his pacing, something I’ve noticed all the Bellantis do when they’re angry or upset or otherwise in some kind of turmoil. Clearly, this isn’t a productive call he’s having.
The person on the phone must be done talking, because Armani starts barking at them in rapid Italian again. The words roll off his tongue so quickly, I barely recognize anything aside from no. Which must be why he’s letting me sit here—because he knows I won’t understand the conversation anyway.
Still, the tone of his voice is enough for me to put together that things are heated. This must be a mob thing, right? Or am I reading too far into it? Maybe the reason I’m allowed to listen in right now is because he’s talking to an Italian vendor of Bellanti wines, and nothing of import is being said. For all I know, they could be arguing about discounting the price of the Elite Reserve.
Armani’s voice rises again. He’s been tense since we left the island, even more so than usual. I don’t know if it has to do with the Brunos specifically or just the Bruno-Bellanti war in general…or if there’s more to it than that. It’s probably wishful thinking to hope that he’s reevaluating the terms of our marriage, but I can’t stop replaying our day at the waterfall, remembering how tenderly he’d looked into my eyes while we were sharing that plum, and then everything that happened afterward. I felt so connected to him. It wasn’t just the sex, either. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
What if it’s all in my head, though? Is it completely idiotic to believe he’s starting to feel something real for me?
He ends the call and stares out the window for a while, his jaw clenched.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Everything okay? That call sounded a little…intense.”
I try to sound as casual as possible, so he doesn’t feel pressured or even more stressed out. My voice seems to pull him from his thoughts and he slips his phone into his pocket.
“You mean you weren’t following? I thought you were getting pretty fluent in Italian,” he teases.
“Yeah, no. I’m still just working on basic vocabulary. You were talking way too fast.”
Turning to face me, he seems to consider, and then says, “Our allies are still hesitant to back us if we end up going to war with the Bratva. Aka Sergio Bruno’s new best friends in Russia.”
For a moment, I sit in stunned silence, trying to process my husband’s words. I’m shocked. Because that wasn’t some frivolous sales call about wine. It was a call regarding serious mafia business.
And Armani just made an admission of his family’s vulnerability that could hurt the Bellantis very, very badly if I ran back to the Brunos with it.
Which means that…if he’s sharing that intel with me, Armani must actually trust me.
It doesn’t escape me how much this means.
“Wow,” is all I can say. “No wonder you’re so stressed out. Maybe you’re the one who should be drinking this lavender tea.”
A laugh escapes him, though it’s not the humorous kind of laugh. More of a, “we are well and truly fucked” kind of laugh.
“I’m sure your allies will come around,” I tell him, though I don’t know if that’s true. I hope it is.
“Honestly, I’m not so sure they will,” he says. “But if they do, they’d better do it fast.”
Pensively looking out the window again, Armani exhales as if he’s deeply exhausted.
I hesitate and then plow forward with the burning question on my mind: “Why did you just tell me that? Why did you even let me into the office in the first place?”
He shrugs. “Because I needed to talk to you.”
Stomach turning, I say, “About?”
“About the fact that you’re off the hook,” he says nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?” I sputter. That is not at all what I was expecting to hear.
“New information has come to light that clears you of any involvement in some of the more…aggressive actions taken against my family recently. Doesn’t clear your name completely. I’ll still be keeping tabs on you. But we got someone in custody who confessed to a number of misdeeds, going back years. So. Here we are. Even Dante suggested that we reevaluate your position.”
My heart feels so, so light all of a sudden. My name has been…well, at least partially cleared. There’s no denying that I did betray Armani—and his whole family—when I initially started spying on them for Juliana and the Brunos, but finally, finally, I feel a massive lifting of the guilt I’ve been carrying.
“That’s some kind of news,” I say quietly.
He just grunts in response, as if he isn’t even sure how to feel about my semi-exoneration.
Grabbing my tea, I get up to leave. If Armani wants to continue playing the tough guy, let him. He’ll come around eventually. Meanwhile, I’ve got my own messes to sort out. Like what I’m going to say to Juliana. If I’m too much of a wimp to call her, I at least need to respond to her texts.
Crossing the room to Armani, I go up onto my tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on his unmoving lips. I let the kiss linger until the tension in his muscles softens and his chest deflates. And then I pull back and touch his face. The need to comfort him pulses through me like a second heart.
He searches my eyes, like he still isn’t sure about me, like he’s trying to figure out my angle.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him firmly, with a conviction that comes out of nowhere. I’m not even sure who needs to hear it more, me or Armani, but saying it somehow makes it seem possible.
Then I leave him standing there.
But my good mood doesn’t last long. Back in the bedroom, Armani’s words come back to haunt me. The Russians. Juliana’s uncle, Sergio, has made some kind of deal with them. Is it a deal to take down the Bellantis specifically, or more of a long-term, general alliance? Either way, it doesn’t bode well. And then I realize the obvious benefit to me playing the Brunos’ mole: I might be able to get more information from Juliana about the situation. She’s close with her uncle, so maybe she knows what’s going on with the Bratva.
A thrill goes through me. I might just be able to help out the Bellantis after all.
Phone in my hand, I lock myself in the bathroom and lean against the door. My heart is racing, my emotions all over the place.
SORRY, I JUST got home, I text Juliana. Armani whisked me off on a surprise honeymoon to some island in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea we were going and cell service was crap because Middle Of Nowhere. Home now. Talk soon?
She responds immediately. OMG you have to tell me everything. How about tomorrow? Brunch at 11 at the Plaza.
Taking a breath, I close my eyes and try to steady my nerves. I need to mentally prepare for the game I’m reentering, and decide what, if any, hands I’m going to play when I meet with Juliana.
She’ll be expecting intel from me. How could she not? I married my mark.
Just then, I hear the bedroom door open. Heart in my throat, I delete the chain of texts and put my phone in my pocket. Armani locks eyes with me as I exit the bathroom patting my hair, as if I just went in there to freshen myself up.
“Hey—” I start to say, but he’s on me in an instant, pushing me into the wall and feasting on my mouth like he’s a dying man.
I’m immediately drunk on the taste of him. It happens so fast. He strips my pants off, lifts me in his arms, and pushes his cock into me. A sharp gasp escapes me as he starts to pound me against the wall. Instantly turned on, I wrap my arms around his neck and give myself up to him.
He came to me to take what he needed to feel better. To use me. So why does this make me feel like I’ve won, somehow?
It doesn’t matter.
We come at the same time, quickly, in a hot rush, and I cling to him like I’ll never let go.
His head is on my shoulder, his arms braced around my body, gripping my shirt so hard that his fingers feel like they’re bruising my ribs.
That’s when I realize…Armani is clinging to me, too.
20
CANDI
I find out that Juliana has a private table reserved in the courtyard for us when I arrive at the Plaza. The hostess leads me outside to a table that’s tucked away in a corner, surrounded by potted palms, with a thatched umbrella shading it. The ambient sounds of a string quartet and the other diners chatting lend a classy but relaxed vibe to the space.
My BFF is sipping a mimosa and scrolling on her phone as I approach, huge designer sunglasses adding extra glam to her sleek black outfit. She looks great. Also intimidating.
As for me, I picked out a maxi-length sundress and a linen blazer to wear, but seeing Juliana makes me somehow feel both underdressed and overdressed all at the same time. My stomach flips, my nerves spiking. Though I’d lain awake long into the night trying to figure out what to tell her, I hadn’t come to any clear decisions.
But the second I see her look up at me and wave, I realize exactly what I need to do. I need to take advantage of the tidbit Armani gave me about the Russians, about how the Bellantis are struggling to secure the protection of their allies when it comes to the Bratva-Bruno union. It’s the only actual “secret” I have that I can spin—and giving it up seems like my only possibility of staying in the Brunos’ good graces. If I’m lucky, I might even be able to gather more info about the alliance from Juliana.
“Oh my God, Candi! Look at you! And they say redheads don’t tan!”
She bursts from her chair to hug me. I hug her back, surprised at how happy I am to see her.
“I thought you’d been abducted by aliens or something!” she adds. “I was about to call the FBI.”
I laugh and then get myself settled across from her. “Abducted yes, aliens no. Ha. Like I said, Armani planned the whole trip behind my back…we went shopping in Nob Hill and then all of a sudden, instead of going home, we were getting dropped off at the airport. It was a total surprise.”
Her head tilts, her eyeline shifting to the huge diamond ring on my finger that’s greedily gobbling up all the sunlight. Whipping off her sunglasses, her face shines with excitement.
“There it is. You brilliant little slut!” she crows. “Let me see it! How big is the stone?”
“Um, I have no idea,” I say.
I really don’t. Furthermore, I had no part in selecting it. Armani had given me the “engagement” ring in the most unromantic way possible. Since we had never actually been engaged, and since Armani had never actually proposed to me before we were married, he had waited until the night of our wedding reception at the Bellanti estate to unceremoniously drop the ring into my palm and tell me that I had to wear it “for the optics.” I hadn’t worn it since. Well, at least not until I was getting ready for my brunch with Jules this morning. I knew she’d want to fawn all over it. She loves jewelry.
Taking my hand, she turns my ring this way and that, cooing at the diamond’s sparkle.
“It’s three carats, easy. Maybe three and a half, even. And an oval cut stone, look how nicely it elongates your finger. Gorgeous.” She glances up at me and grins. “See? Told you there’d be perks to shacking up with the guy. How the hell did you get him to the altar so fast?”
