Page 36 of Last Breath (Blood Wine Dynasty #2)

Nella

The judgy face of the Virgin Mary glared at Nella like she knew exactly what was going through her head. The memory of Jett’s hands on her hips, the rough graze of his stubble against her jaw, the leather and pepper scent of him enveloping her, his erection pressing against ...

Friends. They were friends. She had to convince him of that. She had to convince herself of that. And friends did not think about each other like that. Especially not in church. And definitely not when they were about to embark on the most ridiculous heist attempt ever conceived of.

A heist where they were literally asking for permission to break in.

‘Antonella?’ Matteo La Marca’s thick Italian accent echoed through the stone walls. Grey’s silhouette emerged beside him and Max followed behind, flanking Ariana La Marca. In Nella’s hazy, sleep-deprived state, they looked like the most bizarre bridal entrance party any church aisle had ever seen.

‘Why is my daughter here?’ Matteo demanded as he knelt before the altar. Nella was pleased to see his hands shaking as he made a gratuitous sign of the cross.

‘She’s twenty-five, Matteo, she’s learnt to walk on her own by now,’ Nella said.

‘I wouldn’t call this coming willingly .’ Ariana glared at Max, who was staring resolutely off to the right like she was suddenly filled with holy wonder by the painting of the Last Supper.

‘Is there a gun to your head,’ Grey asked, ‘like there was at the gala?’

Ariana flinched at the exact moment an orange arm of sunlight smeared across her face, making her blue eyes sparkle with a contained rage that reminded Nella of sapphires trapped in the prison of a wedding ring.

‘She has no business here,’ Matteo growled, moving towards Nella’s pew.

Jett stepped between her and Matteo in a way that should have made her grind her teeth in feminist fury but instead made a small flare spark somewhere near her navel as she watched his shoulders tense under the fabric of his navy T-shirt.

‘My daughter has nothing to do with this.’

‘You’ve defiled her body with your cuore tattoo, haven’t you?

’ Grey said, referencing the medieval La Marca ritual of branding their kin with a tattooed heart on their fourteenth birthday instead of purchasing a charm bracelet or an expensive watch like normal families.

‘So you’ve brought her into La Marca business. ’

‘ She can get into the Lake Orta house,’ Nella tested, ‘can’t she?’

Ariana turned her furious eyes on her father. ‘What are they talking about?’ She said it in Italian.

‘You’ve been sniffing around crime scene evidence, I see, Antonella,’ Matteo said in Italian, then, switching back to English, ‘Tell me – did poor Detective Avery know you only let him lick your tight little pussy because you needed to listen to my private conversation with Clarkson Li—’

It was a blur of navy as Jett launched over the pew like an Olympic hurdler towards Matteo. Grey somehow stepped between them, one hand on Jett’s chest, the other held out to Matteo, who wore the same expression as Jesus in the painting nearby – Jesus is Betrayed.

‘Leave it, Jett—’

‘Dad!’ Ariana had the social decorum to pretend to be shocked at her father’s words, though Nella wasn’t sure if Ariana’s objection was more to do with her father referencing another woman’s vagina or the fact that he’d said it in a church.

‘Let him go, Greyson,’ Matteo drawled, his mouth curving up at Jett. ‘The attack dog can’t help himself.’ He turned to Nella as though they shared some sort of understanding.

She gathered all her strength to not hurl the Book of Hymns by her knee at his surgically altered nose.

Hit them where it hurts. It was the only piece of advice she’d taken from her father.

Although given to her during a non-contact game of netball that he’d only come to watch because the goal keeper was the daughter of the owner of the brewery he was trying to buy, Nella had fashioned it for her own purposes practising law.

And now.

‘Your dad owns a house in Milan, Lake Orta,’ Nella said to Ariana, who quirked an eyebrow as if to say, And? He also owns three football teams.

‘My lawyer ...’ Nella said, swallowing. ‘My dead lawyer thinks there’s something in that house that will prove my family is the rightful owner of the Barbarani Sangue recipe.’

Ariana’s expression didn’t change, but Nella guessed from the rise and fall of her beige turtleneck sweater dress that her real heart was beating rapidly under the tattooed one on her breastbone.

‘Naturally, your father doesn’t want me to see what’s in that house.’

‘I do not want any Barbarani on my property,’ Matteo snarled. ‘There’s a difference.’

‘But what if I have an escort?’ Nella asked. ‘Someone who can get us in? I’m assuming it has something to do with the abbey – that’s where the key is, right?’

‘Ariana.’ Matteo pushed past Grey. ‘Andiamo. We’re leaving.’

‘Like Grey said,’ Nella continued, ‘there’s no gun to your head now, Ariana, but there was, in the cellar last July.’

‘Ariana!’ Matteo’s ears were reddening but his daughter didn’t move. Her trapped, sapphire eyes were moving between Max, Grey, Nella and Jett as though replaying those moments from last winter. ‘I told you already, I—’

‘You spoke to them?’ Matteo spat. ‘When?’

‘You told us you couldn’t help us find out what happened to Clarkson,’ Jett said, his voice thick, ‘but this is different. This is not a risk to your life. And if your father and the rest of your family are so adamant that you have claim to the sangue recipe, then there can’t be anything to this rumour that there’s evidence in the Lake Orta house that undermines that. Right?’

Ariana’s eyes flickered to Max. ‘If I go with you,’ she said, ‘my debt’s repaid? You won’t ask me for anything again?’

‘Ariana!’ The reddening of Matteo’s ears had now spread to his face. ‘You owe them nothing! The gala was their fault, their own—’

‘Max saved her,’ Grey said. ‘The cops told you that. Ariana wouldn’t have left alive if it wasn’t for her.’

‘Raphael saved you all,’ Matteo said. ‘The Barbaranis owe me, Greyson Hawke.’

‘Maybe Raphael saved the Barbaranis,’ Jett said, ‘but the only La Marca there was in the bunker with Max and Grey and the killers.’

‘It’s true,’ Ariana said, her head low. ‘I don’t remember much, but I know that.’

‘Ariana—’

‘It’s my choice,’ she said, putting her hand on her father’s arm. ‘You’ve done so much for me, Papa, so let me do this for you. I’ll take them into the house, put this all to bed. If we own the recipe, there’s nothing to fear from what’s in the Lake Orta house, is there?’

Did Nella imagine it, or was there a hint of challenge in Ariana’s voice? Surely not, because that would mean Nella might have to not completely despise her.

Matteo could not back down to his daughter’s words.

Everything was playing out exactly how Nella had anticipated.

All going to plan. Except – well – that.

Where was La Marca’s spanner? The second shoe to drop?

Why was he letting himself be backed into a corner?

Had she really bested him at his own game?

His face frosted over, ice crystallising over a lake. Her stomach dropped.

Stupid girl. Her father’s voice zapped through her bruised brain like a drowsy mosquito.

Matteo was never just going to roll over and let his caged princess make a decision for herself for the first time in her life, let alone fly to Italy with his mortal enemies who he was trying to destroy with the powers of contract law.

What have you done, Antonella? her father hissed. When will you learn to listen to me?

‘ Bene. Very well, we are all making decisions. You may take my daughter,’—he turned to Nella—‘but I will require collateral.’

‘What are you talking about?’ She added, You crazy old bastard in her head.

But Matteo ignored her, shoving his hand into his pocket.

Nella didn’t miss the way Max and Grey slipped their hands into their respective jackets in anticipation of a mass de-Barbaranifying of the immediate vicinity.

But Matteo calmly pulled out his phone, tapped twice on the screen and said, loud enough for the skeletons six feet under in the church cemetery to hear, ‘Raphael. Now.’

Nella’s stomach clenched. She’d resolved to not look at Jett, but Matteo’s words fizzled out the last of her willpower.

She tried to ignore the ache in her chest when his dark eyes met hers and she shoved down the instinct to pull him into her now, in this church, in front of everyone, to straddle him on a pew and drown out the sound of Matteo’s voice with the groan she wanted to take from him as she slipped her hand under his belt.

A commotion from the church entrance pulled her, kicking and screaming, from her depraved mind. The front doors wedged open enough to reveal Raphael in the arched church entrance, the new sunlight not reaching far enough to cast his features in its glow. But he wasn’t alone.

‘Let him go!’

Nella was shocked that the voice who spoke first wasn’t her own, or Jett’s or Grey’s – but Ariana’s.

‘Nothing will happen to him,’ Matteo said, eyes glinting, ‘as long as nothing happens to you.’

‘Is he handcuffed ?’ Jett hissed.

‘Mr Barbarani,’ Matteo strode down the aisle, his words directed at the figure whose hands were bound behind his back. His green eyes glared at the scene before him, but his sharp, smart mouth was forced shut for once in his life by shiny black duct tape.

Nella couldn’t breathe. Her father’s voice rattled between her eardrums, a prisoner shaking the bars of his cell.

What have you done. What have you done. You have forsaken your family. Your own blood.

‘Be honest,’ Matteo continued. ‘You’re secretly glad I’m sequestering you away from the media right now. Congratulations, by the way – fatherhood is truly what makes one a man.’

Nella felt Ariana shift beside her. It was so weird that this girl seemed just as pissed off that Luca was the collateral Matteo had designated to guarantee her safety.

Was it because Matteo had kept her in the dark about his schemes or because Ariana had accidentally picked up some human DNA despite her questionable parentage?

‘Luca ...’ Nella started to run down the aisle.

‘Oh, no,’ Matteo said, shaking his finger. Raphael tightened his hold on Luca’s shoulder. ‘He remains with me. Until you get back here with my daughter.’

This wasn’t ... No.

‘Ariana’s not a prisoner,’ Nella said, blood pounding in her ears.

‘She’s coming willingly.’ She moved to grab her brother, but Matteo stepped between them, veneers glinting down at her like a vampire about to pierce her neck.

She felt the pulse of Grey and Jett beside her, ready to rip Matteo’s own throat out if he so much as breathed too close.

A ridiculous part of her felt annoyed that she alone could not elicit such hesitation.

‘I won’t let you,’ she said. To Luca, to Matteo, to herself, she didn’t know anymore. But it was true. She wasn’t losing Luca, she wasn’t putting him in danger again. Not after Dad, not after Frankie ...

She was the oldest. She had to keep him safe. Luca’s life was her responsibility, no matter how much she denied any sense of duty to her family. He was hers to protect.

‘You have no choice,’ Matteo sneered.

Luca tried to mumble through the tape, his green eyes darting between Nella and Matteo, then back to the end of the church where Max and Ariana stood.

‘Let him speak! He’s not going to use his mouth to undo his cuffs!’ Nella said.

Matteo nodded at Raphael and the rip of tape tore through the hollowness of the church in a sickening sound.

‘Son-of-a—’

‘Careful, boy,’ Matteo said. ‘You won’t be speaking about my mama like that under my roof.’

‘Fuck your mother. Fuck the lot of—’

CRACK!

Matteo’s hand cut clean across Luca’s face. Nella felt the strike like it was her own skin.

Luca spat at Matteo’s shoes as Nella launched between them, fighting off Jett and Grey, who tried to tear her away.

‘Come on, Luca.’ Nella grabbed his shoulder, which Raphael still held. ‘Let’s go home. I’ll find another way.’

‘Get fucked,’ he said. ‘Let him take me. I’d like to see him try to really hurt me.

See all those vultures out there with their cameras?

Imagine the story I can give them: Matteo La Marca abuses boy in church, then locks him up in private bunker in his estate.

I hear Sophie Kingsley’s itching to destroy another dynasty’s reputation.

Go, Nella.’ Luca glared at her, his eyes sparking with determination.

‘Find what you need in Italy to prove he’s as fake as his fucking toupee. I’ll be fine.’

She knew her brother. And she knew he was the furthest thing from fine. But why wasn’t he fighting this more?

‘Go,’ Luca said again, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Above him, Jesus looked sadly down from his crucifix at the scene below as if the realisation was slowly dawning that even he couldn’t save the Barbarani children from their own messes.

‘So, what’s it going to be, Antonella?’