Page 12 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

Spending too much time with Getty is often like being stuck in the company of an oversized, unstable middle school tyrant.

He’s betting that I won’t retaliate in front of Cecilia.

He’s right. I can’t risk scaring the hell out of her on the first day by dragging my brother out of the truck and hammering him with my fists.

He won’t be so lucky next time we’re alone.

Cecilia reaches into the purse at her feet and pulls out her phone. She checks the screen and her shoulders dip with disappointment. I wonder who she was hoping to hear from.

The thought that it might be a guy streaks through my mind but the intel reports commissioned by my father are always reliable.

According to that information, Cecilia doesn’t date.

She has one close friend, an elementary school teacher.

She goes home every night alone. There are several boyfriends in her past but they’re long gone.

With a sigh, she pushes the phone back into her purse and gazes out the window while tugging at a lock of brown hair.

“Is something wrong?” I ask her.

Getty kicks my seat again. I think about ripping the boot off his foot and making him eat it.

Cecilia folds her hands in her lap. “I just wanted to make sure my brother wasn’t trying to reach me.”

She’s not talking about Angelo. No detective work needed to figure that out.

And Matthias? His last known whereabouts are somewhere in the grimy concrete jungle of New York. He doesn’t stay in touch with his sister or anyone else.

She’s expecting to hear from Gabriel. Her twin.

The reason why she’s here. That spineless little fucker is currently holed up in San Diego and I have little doubt he’s sniveling in some beachfront bar, drinking his way deeper into the self-pitying hole he’s dug for himself. We’re keeping an eye on him.

As for Mancini, he wasn’t too pleased to have his plans thwarted but he’s not foolish enough to be suicidal.

My father took my advice to soften the blow by giving Mancini the green light to terminate a longstanding rival who has been getting a little too bold.

He’ll let the matter go. He has no other choice.

I doubt Cecilia has any clue about the original deal her grandfather made to hand her over to Mancini. I hope she never finds out. Now that she’s sitting next to me, I feel substantially more enraged at the prospect she might have ended up in the clutches of that potato-shaped turd in Seattle.

Not fucking happening on my watch.

She perks up when we approach the town of Vigilance. At a glance, the place has its share of old fashioned small town charm, enhanced by the colorful building facades.

A quicker route to the ranch would be to take Old Country Road instead of crawling through the main artery of town but I have my reasons. Fort expresses his displeasure with the detour by honking, passing me and then burning rubber.

Cecilia takes in the sights with obvious interest, as I figured she would. I spent enough time examining her Pinterest boards to know off the top of my head what catches her eye.

She likes coffee shops. Libraries. Pastel paint colors. Organized closets. Label makers. Journals. Fountain pens. Cursive handwriting. The show Gilmore Girls.

On the outside, Vigilance probably looks like the kind of town dreamed up to star in a show full of quirky but excessively courteous people who host book clubs and shit and know everyone’s middle name.

Reality is murkier. Vigilance is mostly dull with a heaping of petty drama. But the town probably looks all kinds of quaint to a lonely girl who romanticizes small town life.

I ease off the accelerator to let her get a good look. Getty mutters some choice curses in the backseat. Fort and Tye are long gone.

Cecilia turns her head to stare at the pink and green awning jutting out from Sugar Jean’s Sweets. “We’re close to the ranch?”

“Just seventeen miles,” I say.

She looks my way and flashes a teasing smile. “You say that like it’s practically around the corner.”

This is the first time she’s really smiled at me. That forced half-smile of polite greeting on the tarmac doesn’t count. Some rare sensation gets knocked loose deep in my chest.

The feeling, whatever it is, will be squashed for now.

Once I’ve made a plan, I don’t deviate. And I’ve got big plans for her. No getting sidetracked.

“You could always ride here on horseback,” Getty pipes up from the backseat. “We’ve got plenty of horses on the ranch. Just say the word and I’ll help saddle you up and take you for the ride of your life, Cecilia .”

There’s just no stopping him from spoiling the mood and being a dick.

Cecilia doesn’t dignify his offer with a response but her hand automatically flies to her left leg.

A shadow drifts over her face and answers a question about whether or not she’s been riding since that accident so many years ago.

Clearly not. She doesn’t even want to hear about horses, let alone climb into a saddle.

To change the topic, I point out the library and Rustler Steakhouse, which has an authentic saloon theme that tourists always go wild for. She nods and absently rubs her leg.

Once we leave Vigilance behind, there are no other vehicles on the two lane road leading to the ranch. There’s also no sign of Fort and Tye. They must be miles ahead.

Cecilia sits up a little straighter at the sight of the ranch entrance. The broad metal gates have been left open. A large iron sign hangs from the entrance arch and depicts the ranch name with a graphic of our cattle brand; the shape of an eye with the letter T inside.

“Was Storm’s Eye always the name of your ranch?” Cecilia asks. “I couldn’t find much information about its history online.”

“No. The place changed hands a couple of times over the course of a century and used to be called Rose Creek Ranch. My grandfather changed the name the day he signed the deed. That was close to forty years ago.”

“And he picked Storm because of your last name,” she says. “Tempesta. Tempest. He left New York and brought the storm with him.”

I’m driving at a speed little more than a crawl to give her time to take in the view. A handful of puffy clouds scud across a sky which is otherwise clear. There’s no smog, no haze, no city pollution to fuck up the scenery.

Cecilia leans forward in her seat. I try to guess what’s behind those earnest brown eyes as she scans the landscape.

Wealth won’t impress her. She grew up rich and ran from all that luxury when she had the chance. My job is to figure out what it is she does want.

“Do you know what the eye of the storm is?” I ask her.

“Of course. The calm center.”

“Right. After my grandfather moved his family away from the mob wars eating up New York’s five families, he intended for this ranch to be a sanctuary. My father carries on the tradition, as do we. This place isn’t the storm, Cecilia. It’s a refuge from the storms.”

She turns her head and studies me. She’s quick to mask her feelings but she’ll need to be far quicker to fool me. Her eyes drift over my chest and glide along my arms, briefly settling on my hands before traveling back up again. Her breath shudders and she squirms in her seat.

I’m extremely confident the flare of attraction between us is mutual. She felt it the instant our eyes met. She feels it now.

No matter how tempted I am, I won’t capitalize yet. I’ll wait until the time is right.

The steering wheel skims through my hands as I take the last bend in the long lane leading to the house. Cecilia’s attention returns to the panorama on the other side of the windshield. The peaks of the mountains look closer than they are. A pair of hawks circle a clearing just south of the corral.

“Are you having a party?” Cecilia sounds wary now that we can see everyone lined up in formations outside the main house.

Cassio Tempesta is immediately distinctive. The tallest man on the scene, my father is dressed all in black and stands in the foreground. He’s joined by Fort and Tye. Mel waits at the bottom of the porch steps.

The wranglers and other ranch staff, led by Miguel, are assembled on the left. They’ve obviously been ordered to clean up for this reception but otherwise they all look like ordinary rough and tumble cowboys.

The line of sinister looking men on the right are trickier to explain.

Then again, I’m sure I don’t need to. Cecilia will recognize them for what they are. It’s a cast of characters that often changes and includes everyone from the security team to visitors in charge of our satellite operations around the country.

My father is putting on a show of dominance in honor of Cecilia’s arrival. The Grimaldis, one of the oldest and most respected Mafia families this side of Sicily, are at our mercy and my father enjoys proving it.

Cecilia frowns with uncertainty, waiting for her question to be answered.

Getty pushes his face between the two front seats. “ You are the party, princess. Hope you’ve got a plan to entertain us.” He plucks at her sweater sleeve. “Get creative. We’re counting on it.”

I pump the brakes hard enough to send him lurching into the dashboard.

“Fucker.” He rubs at his head. “Better become really talented at sleeping with one eye open.”

“Quiet,” I warn him. “Nothing good happens when you try to surprise me, does it?”

An ominous silence follows. I’m sure he’s glaring himself stupid while firing invisible knives into my skull. Let him.

Outside the truck, my father raises one hand in greeting. When people comment on the strong resemblance between us, they’re not just talking about my appearance.

All four of Cass Tempesta’s sons look like our father. We’re tall and powerfully built with matching wavy black hair and dark eyes. We’ve all spent considerable time outdoors and we look it with our hardened hands and sun-kissed skin.

The qualities my father and I share are less tangible. We’re sharp and observant. We’re ruthless when crossed. We’d die for our family. And we won’t hesitate to kill to protect what’s ours.

Cecilia is trying like hell to appear calm but her renewed tension is obvious. She draws deep breaths as I roll to a stop and cut the engine. My father expects her to come to him and he won’t take kindly to waiting.

Cecilia’s soft brown eyes swerve to me and I give her a nod of reassurance. Before I can exit and walk around to her side, Getty dives out of the truck and flings open her door.

“Welcome home,” he says. His grin widens when he sees her flinch. “You belong to us now.”

Cecilia’s fingers fumble with the seatbelt button. I immediately reach over and release it for her. She turns her head and this time there’s skepticism written on her face, along with some dread.

I can understand her reluctance and I’m tempted to offer her some final words of encouragement before she’s thrown to the wolves. However, I’d rather see how she handles the challenge on her own.

Cecilia exits the truck carefully, taking her time, keeping her face pointed down until she’s got both feet firmly planted. Then she slowly raises her head to confront the many eyes focused on her. She’s about to get a crash course in being the center of attention.

By the time I’ve jumped out of the truck, she’s on her way to greet my father. Her shoulders are squared and her chin is up, determination engraved in her attitude. I admire how she can pull it off at the end of a day like this.

“Cecilia.” My father grips her by the shoulders and kisses both of her cheeks. “I haven’t seen you since you were a child. Welcome to Storm’s Eye Ranch. The boys have been looking forward to your arrival.”

She looks tiny and fragile next to my hulking father. I’m sure it’s not easy for her to come up with a greeting that doesn’t sound sarcastic. Technically, she’s here of her own free will.

The key word is ‘technically’ . All that hangs in the balance is the life of her twin brother.

“Thank you, Mr. Tempesta,” she says, sounding properly gracious. “I appreciate the welcome. I’ve always been curious about your ranch.”

My father is satisfied with her answer and Mel steps up next, her face alight with excitement. We’re not in the habit of hosting pretty young women here. Cecilia is a novelty.

Mel embraces Cecilia and gushes with praise. Cecilia looks over her shoulder and when our gazes connect, a few seconds pass before she shifts her eyes away.

Why do I get the feeling she was searching for me, hoping to be comforted by the fact that I’m nearby?

It’s a thought worth chewing on while I remove Cecilia’s cat from the truck.

My father is already on his way back to the house. He motions to the staff to disperse. Mel talks a mile a minute and steers Cecilia to the front porch while promising the kitchen staff has been hard at work preparing an epic multi-course Italian dinner.

With Cecilia’s cat in hand, I join my brothers. The animal thumps around in the crate, unhappy with being transported yet again.

Tye elbows me with a grin and jerks his chin toward our guest. “We have the power to make this really easy for her,” he reminds me.

“We do,” I agree, my eyes glued to Cecilia’s body as she daintily climbs the porch steps. “But we won’t.”

My brother laughs.