Page 9 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

No doubt Julian would be puzzled to hear how often I’ve used his face as a mental focal point to keep calm. I never expected our paths to cross again. I’m having trouble adjusting to the fact that the real Julian is somewhere down there in the airport terminal.

The plane pitches closer to the ground. The long ribbon of runway is now in sight. I shut my eyes and breathe slow and deep, summoning the strength I’ll need for Gabriel’s sake.

He’s not like Angelo. Violence doesn’t come naturally to him.

He always loved magic tricks and was a computer whiz.

He would have been much more suited to writing endless lines of code rather than waving a gun around.

I should have fought harder to free him from the clutches of our grandfather.

Gabriel and I arrived in the world together. I can’t imagine remaining here alone.

To avoid hurtling into an abyss of panic, I pull my daily journal out of my bag. The first half is a page-a-day for daily organization and the second half is full of blank lined pages for lists and observations.

Alice has tried to convince me that digital writing tablets are superior but I’ve hated every single one I’ve tried.

What started years ago as a therapy exercise has evolved into a vital routine that keeps me grounded.

I’d give up my phone, my car keys and the microwave before I’d give up my journal.

I click a fine point black pen and locate the page with today’s date. Today has been such a clusterfuck that I failed to complete my daily task list. The pressure in my head eases as soon as I start writing.

Travel to Wyoming

Good. I can cross that one off already.

Meet the Tempesta brothers

But I’ve met them before. I chew the pen tip and add the word ‘Again’.

Buy a new litter box and cat food for Louisa

This will need to be a priority when I land. The process of packing up was rather chaotic and I forgot a few things. I couldn’t justify dragging a litter box aboard Cassio Tempesta’s private jet but I should have grabbed a bag of cat food.

I click the pen a few more times and flip to the journal portion. At the top of the first empty page I write FIRST IMPRESSIONS in neatly scripted capital letters. Then I write the name Julian Tempesta. The next three pages are for Tiberius, Gaetano and Fortunato.

Naturally, I’m hoping to find a solution that protects my brother and doesn’t require me to say marriage vows. But in the meantime, I’d be foolish not to start assessing the Tempesta brothers.

Not all marriages in the secretive upper crust of the Mafia world are arranged. My own parents were simply high school sweethearts who married right after graduation. It’s possible the Tempesta brothers never agreed to their father’s scheme. For now, I need to play along and stay prepared.

I spit my gum into a tissue and carefully store my journal seconds before the wheels of the plane bounce off the runway. The jolt knocks my teeth together.

“Christ!” bawls Angelo, bumped out of his nap.

He sits up and scans the surroundings with confusion. His bleary eyes land on me and he remembers why he’s on a plane. He hisses through his teeth, as if I’m to blame for this entire debacle.

Angelo breaks for the exit the instant the stairs are lowered. He doesn’t even look back.

“Nothing but chivalry,” I mutter while wrangling my handbag, my travel tote and Louisa’s cat carrier. My suitcase has wheels but it’s not easy to manage with an armful of other crap. It’s also extremely heavy thanks to the fact that I stuffed my favorite weighted blanket in there.

The lone flight attendant takes pity and helps me get to the bottom of the steps but then I’m on my own. Louisa yowls inside her cat carrier. A harsh wind blows my hair into my eyes.

I don’t see Angelo’s black leather jacket anywhere and I’m staggering under the weight of all my cargo with no clue if I’m heading in the right direction. I’m not expecting my suitcase to be suddenly abducted but that’s exactly what happens.

“I’ll take that for you, ma’am,” says a deep voice as another blast of wind fans my hair across my face. The handle of the suitcase is plucked from my cramped fingers before I utter a sound.

Louisa’s carrier is taken from me next.

“Let me get this.” A second deep voice doesn’t exactly ask for permission before stealing my cat.

Then I spin around and feel the weight of the travel tote leave my arm.

“Way too much for a lady to carry,” chuckles my latest ‘helper’.

Somehow I’m surrounded by men. I don’t know where they came from but they have cowboy hats, muscled forearms and dark eyes flashing with mischief.

Recognition spikes.

Of course I know who they are, even if I can’t tell right away which one is which.

I’m only able to snatch a handful of quick glimpses as I battle the wind, my hair and general bewilderment. It’s still enough to feel grudgingly awed.

Time has heaped a lot of rewards on the Tempesta brothers.

They were always tall. Now they are taller.

They were always good looking. They’ve catapulted to ridiculous status.

There’s not a flaw in sight. With similar strong jawlines, defined cheekbones, olive-toned complexions and powerful frames, there’s no hiding the fact that they are brothers.

But no one would guess they are Mafia princes. They’ve broken from the trend of dark suits and expensive shoes in favor of rugged cowboy charm with boots, hats and blue jeans. Ranching life is serious for them.

The three brothers who accosted me on the tarmac now stand back to observe me with impenetrable expressions. I can’t put my finger on the reason, but I feel as if I’m about to become a source of endless amusement for them.

“HEY!” Angelo’s bark demands my attention.

He stands roughly twenty feet away, his posture broadcasting impatience as he waves me over, presumably to meet the man at his side.

I start to take a step in that direction and then change my mind.

I’m tired. I’m pissed. I have no clue what to expect next and now a bunch of men are staring at me.

If that jackass brother of mine has something to say then let him walk over here and say it. I cross my arms and stay rooted in place.

Angelo lowers his arm and gives me a ‘What the fuck?’ shrug.

My eyes swing to the other man.

What happens next is both invisible and electric.

I’m reminded of a childhood visit to Newport Beach where my parents had rented a summer house right on the water. We had stopped for lunch at a fish taco place and I elbowed Gabe to show him that the actor from our favorite show about a high school detective agency had just walked in.

This sudden, powerful rush is not unlike the surge of awed shock in that fish taco shop. Standing within arm’s reach was a real flesh and blood person who had lived rent free in my head for ages.

Naturally, Julian Tempesta isn’t a celebrity.

And I’m no longer a wistful preteen with a crush.

The flutter in my belly has everything to do with the fact that Julian once risked his life to save mine.

I was nobody to him and yet he shielded me from death.

He did his best to keep me from seeing the horrors that will haunt me no matter where I am or how many years pass.

Maybe an experience like that cements you to the one you share it with, whether you like it or not.

Our eyes lock across the short distance. The sudden bone-deep tremor is inexplicable. I knew I’d be seeing him and yet somehow I’m unprepared.

With effort, I shake the feeling off.

Julian leaves Angelo behind without a word and heads this way. His walk is unhurried, his strides long. Angelo is forced to start trotting to keep up.

Julian doesn’t halt until he’s inches away. At five-foot-four I’m not really short but I need to tip my head back to see his face. This feels like a disadvantage.

There’s a trace of dark shadow on Julian’s jaw, hinting that he started the day clean shaven but a rough beard that needs to be tamed daily is starting to win.

I bet he has the ability to be fully bearded within a week.

He wears a grey button up shirt with the sleeves rolled over his strapping forearms and I force my eyes to quit checking out the impressive way he fills out his jeans.

“Welcome to Wyoming, Cecilia.” His voice is like melted butterscotch spiked with whiskey.

I don’t realize my mouth has been hanging open until I try to speak and it comes out in a croak. “Hello.”

Julian’s eyes spark with a deep intelligence but his expression reveals nothing. I’m aware that he’s evaluating me as much as I’m evaluating him. And I suspect he’s far more skilled at the task.

Frankly, I’m at a loss when it comes to proper etiquette as a prospective arranged bride to a man I hardly know. But I’ve got to start somewhere.

Rather than wilt into a tongue-tied puddle under the heat of his gaze, I straighten my spine, refuse to blink, and hold out my hand. “It’s been a while but I remember you, Julian.”

Julian meets my handshake with no hesitation. His palm is warm and calloused and my hand disappears into it. I have no doubt he could crush every finger bone with one squeeze.

He keeps custody of my hand like he’s daring me to pull back first. “We’re all glad you’re here,” he says, his mouth bending into a confident smile.

Why am I watching his mouth at all?

There are a million things to worry about right now and the sexy shape of Julian Tempesta’s full lips isn’t one of them.

I want to yank my hand away. I need to keep a clear head and that’s not happening while I’m this distracted.

When I do finally flex my fingers and relax my hand, Julian takes the hint and releases me. Nearby, Angelo is checking his phone. How nice that he’s got other priorities.

Julian nods to his three brothers. “Cecilia, I’m sure you remember the boys. Tye, Getty and Fort.”

They take turns approaching.

Tye was the first one on the scene, the one who took my suitcase. Now he slides an arm around my shoulders and folds me into a warm but bizarre hug.