Page 39 of His Wicked Wants (West Coast Mobsters #6)

CHAPTER 36

GAbrIEL

Once night has fallen, and the speeches are over—not all that many, since there’s a distinct lack of attendees on Roxy’s side—I’m thinking about retiring for the evening, heading back to my cottage where I can unwind for the night. No one will miss me, and I’m tired of watching happy couples everywhere. But as I’m backing up carefully, trying to avoid catching anyone’s eye who might make me stay, I bump straight into someone.

“I’m so sorry,” I say automatically, whirling around. “Oh!”

“Hello,” Nero says. He wears no smile, but his eyes are gentle, which is a lie. Even in a suit, even with all the tattoos—warning signs—covered up, except for the PER SEMPRE across his throat and the ones scattered over his hands…

Even in this perfect disguise, it would be impossible to mistake this man for anything but dangerous.

And then I realize what he’s wearing. The pants. Those pants. From the other day when we—and the very same shoes that I?—

I feel my entire face heat up, and to make things worse, he smirks when my eyes snap back to his. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to sneak away,” he says. Purrs, really. Are we back to more games?

I can’t help glancing down at his pants again. At least he seems to have had them laundered. “You caught me,” I say, raising my hands in mock surrender. “Honestly, these sorts of parties aren’t really my thing.”

I hated the lavish parties I was dragged along to as a kid. Not just because they were filled with adults and boring talk, either. I just found humans a little overwhelming. They never slowed down, never stopped just to drink in the sunlight.

It occurs to me now that perhaps that’s why I’m so attracted to Nero. The way he did nothing all day but bask in the sun, just like so many of the plants I love.

“I can’t let you go without at least one dance,” Nero tells me.

I raise my eyebrows. “A dance? In front of everyone?”

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

I give a surprised little laugh. “I thought it was the other way around. And you told me yourself to stay away from you.”

Nero comes closer, slides a hand around my waist, and pushes me backward a step. “I also told you, Gabriel, that I am a bad man. If I have ever made you feel slighted or unwanted, please understand it was for your own good. The Family—Sandro, really—would prefer that I not have anything to do with you.”

“Why?” He’s still leading me backward, and before I know it, we’re at the edge of the crowd of dancers.

“They thought I was going to hurt you. And they were right,” he adds regretfully.

A shiver goes through me as his hand slides up my back. “Are you…going to hurt me again?”

“I told you I wouldn’t. Well,” he adds, “not without pleasure alongside it.”

He takes up my right hand and settles my left on his shoulder before pulling me close, so that I have to dance now, or push him away.

I don’t want to push him away.

“The grounds looked incredible today,” he murmurs as we sway together. “I hope you will be recognized for your contribution.”

I switch it up, trying to take the lead in our slow dance, but Nero senses what I’m doing, and spins me so that my back is to the crowd and all I can see is him. “I know you dislike being led,” he murmurs in my ear, bending close to me. “But when there are two in a dance, one must lead. And I’m afraid I am incapable of following.”

“What makes you think I can follow any better than you can?” I might like it in bed—might enjoy playing at submission with Nero—but I have no desire at all to let that leak into my daily life.

But Nero is chuckling. “Oh, I know you don’t want to follow—but you don’t want to lead, either. You are your own man, utterly. You’re like one of those trees up on the rise, completely your own being. All I’m asking is that you give way to me occasionally. Bend a little, like a tree in the wind. I need it, you see.”

He’s not talking about dancing. Not even the sex, which is one place where I’d always be happy to let him take the lead, since he’s so good at it. “What exactly are you saying?” I ask slowly. “Just tell me plainly, Nero.”

There’s a look I have never seen on his face before—trepidation. He takes a breath as if to speak, but before he can, something shoots out at us and collides with our legs.

Nero laughs as he looks down into the shocked face of the flower girl, her light brown ringlets falling all over her face after her abrupt stop. “Slow down, piccolina ! You’ll do yourself a damage.” The flower girl stares solemnly at him for a moment but then, as he crouches down to her height and pushes her hair gently out of her face, she lets out a giggle. “Did you hurt yourself?” She shakes her head. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte,” she says shyly.

“What a lovely name. My name is Nero. That’s a very pretty dress you’re wearing.”

“It’s pink!” she says, holding out the satin skirts and turning from side to side, her eyes still fixed on Nero.

“It certainly is. And made for dancing. Would you like to dance?” She nods at once, and he glances up at me. “Do you mind if Charlotte cuts in, Gabriel?”

How could I possibly mind? I think I’m going to melt. “Please,” I say politely, taking a step back and giving Charlotte a bow.

Nero stands up and lifts Charlotte into his arms. “We’ll start like this,” he says, taking up her right hand to extend it, his other arm wrapped securely under her. He spins her around. “And dip like this—” He dips her low, and she shrieks with excitement. “And now I think we’d better dance you back to your sister before she wonders where you are.” He gives me a wink. “Stay right there, Gabriel. Promise me?”

“I promise.” I couldn’t move if I tried.

As Nero sways off with the giggling Charlotte, she says with delight, “Your hands have words on them!”

“They tell a story.” He spins her again and catches my eye. “I hope to add a happy ending to them soon.”

Nero disappears into the crowd, and I turn around, wondering if I have time to grab a glass of water from the nearby buffet before he comes back. I’m feeling lightheaded—whether it’s from the dancing or just from being so close to him, I don’t know. But the first thing I see when I turn around isn’t the buffet table, it’s Darian Thornfield-Hayes, who gives me a small smile.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, Gabriel.”

“I am,” I say with surprise. I didn’t expect to enjoy myself tonight—haven’t particularly up until Nero asked me to dance. But now I feel like a friend to the whole world. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Darian gives a nod. “The service has gone very well. Everything ran according to schedule.”

I feel a little embarrassed that it didn’t occur to me he’d be working tonight. But Darian seems perfectly happy.

“Maybe you and Raffi will have a chance to dance later,” I suggest.

“I doubt it,” Darian says. “He’s on security tonight for the event.”

Miller Beaumont walks by with Nate in tow. “Hi, Darian,” Miller says. “Have you seen Jack or Freddy? Nate and I lost them at the buffet table.”

Darian opens his mouth, about to reply, when fireworks begin to go off. His expression turns from pleasant helpfulness to one of confusion—and then horror. “Oh no,” he gasps. “The fireworks aren’t supposed to start for another two hours! Not until the new Mr. and Mrs. Bernardi are about to leave.”

And as he says it, the fizzing sensation inside of me starts to change, as though all that champagne is turning into vinegar. Anticipation sours into something darker.

Dread.

“Something’s…not right,” I say to no one in particular.

“No, it certainly isn’t,” Darian frets.

“I don’t mean the fireworks,” I begin, but by then, I don’t need to convince anyone, because shouts are floating across the still night air under the noise of the fireworks, coming from the direction of the main gate—and there’s something else, too.

Gunfire.

“What’s that?” Nate asks, confused. “What’s going on?”

Darian seizes his arm and mine. “All of you, come with me. We need to get to the house, now.”

“Hey—” I try to pull away. “I’m not going anywhere. Nero told me to stay right here, and?—”

“He’ll be okay,” Darian says, backing away and pulling Nate with him now. “They’ll all be okay, Raffi and Nero and Jack and Freddy. This is what they do . But all of you need to come with me right now. We have a protocol in place for civilians to get to the house and stay safe in one of the panic rooms.”

“Civilians?” Nate echoes. He looks scared.

But Miller shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere without JJ,” he says stubbornly, pulling away from Darian.

But this time, I grab him. “Jack will want you to be safe. It will be alright. We don’t know what’s going on—it could be nothing—” A piercing shriek lends no credence whatsoever to my words. “—but come with us. We should hide until the Castellanis sort it out.”

To my relief, Miller allows me to pull him along with me. Nate and Darian are already a few feet ahead of us. The house guards are milling around the front door when we reach it, and hurry us inside, along with a number of other staff members.

“Elise,” Darian calls over to where she’s ushering other staff through into the west wing. “Is everyone okay?”

“That’s everyone,” she calls back. “We’re all safe, ready for lockdown.”

But just as Darian is about to reply, there’s the sound of automatic gunfire just outside the door, sending us all scrambling for cover.