Page 15

CHAPTER 15

Alessandro

“ G onzales, I was sorry to hear about your son,” I tell the man standing before me. A fake platitude if I’ve ever heard one.

I don’t like Eric Gonzales, and he can probably tell, but in our world, liking someone isn’t a prerequisite to working with them. If it were that way, I’d probably be a one-man show because I don’t like most of the fuckers in this business.

Gonzales has been married six times in the span of eight years and has a multitude of kids. The man’s dream must be to start up an army of sons.

He shakes his head, his expression stiff. “These things happen.”

I hold back a snort. Neither he nor I are going to lose any sleep over one of his twenty-three sons being kidnapped for ransom and eventually killed when the kidnappers realized not a cent was going to be forthcoming.

“I hear you’ve been absent from the city.” The man’s brown eyes are razor sharp, even though he’s pretending like the conversation doesn’t bother him in any way.

The sly bastard probably wants to know if I’ve started making new alliances that can affect ours.

I shoot him a tight-lipped smile. “I didn’t take you for one who listens to idle gossip.”

He slants me a glance, noting my obvious evasion. I’m a fool not to have taken into account that someone will take note of my recent suspicious movements.

If someone has noticed, then I’m sure it won’t be difficult either for someone else to trace me back to Sienna, which is why I need to resist the pull to see her. A sense of discomfort crawls down my spine at the thought of one of my enemies finding out about her.

Have I made her a target by taking her? Do I need to check on her to make sure she’s?—

Damn it.

Here I go again, finding some flimsy excuse to see her.

I don’t need to see her. Maurizio has it all under control. He’ll alert me if something’s wrong. Him or the one million other security precautions I put in place. And so far, my phone has been blessedly silent, which means my prisoner is exactly how I left her.

Fucked out and dripping my cum.

My cock twitches, and I clench my jaw and will my boner not to make an unwanted appearance.

It’s been three days since I lost the battle against resisting the prosecutor’s daughter—three days since I told myself one taste would be enough. Bitterness makes my lips curl.

I knew touching her would be a mistake. I just didn’t realize how much of a catastrophe it would be. If I had known that three days later, I would still be able to taste her on my tongue, then I’d never have touched her.

Liar.

“Something the matter?” Gonzales’ rough voice drags me back to the present.

“Problem?” My voice is arctic cold.

“You are distracted.” He frowns at me. “Should I be worried about the goods?”

“No,” I assure him. “All your money is there, washed and untraceable. I even threw in a little gift as a thank you for being a loyal customer.”

Brown eyes narrow in my direction. “I don’t trust gifts.”

“You’ll like this one,” I say impatiently, motioning at one of my men. He nods in understanding and approaches us with a small wooden box.

I unlatch and open it with a smug smile. “What were you saying about not trusting gifts?”

When I glance at Gonzales, he’s wearing a look of pure greed, eyes fixed determinedly on the green gems twinkling in the box.

“Where did you get these?”

I chuckle. “I’m afraid we aren’t quite in a place in this relationship where we can just spill our secrets.”

“You won’t tell me?” he snarls.

“It’s only fair,” I reply with a shrug. “Since you won’t tell me where you get those guns from.” I raise a brow inquisitively, but he presses his mouth into a thin, stubborn line. Just as I thought. I clasp him on the shoulder. “In that case, we’ll both live to keep our secrets another day.”

He grunts, unimpressed, but snatches the box away before I can change my mind about giving him a gift that’s almost fifteen million dollars. The same cost as The Revelation.

Fuck. My. Life.

How does everything keep on finding a way back to her?

My phone begins to buzz in my pocket, and I nod at Gonzales before stepping away to pick up the call from an unfamiliar number.

“Speak,” I bark into the phone, hardly in the mood to speak to anyone.

“Mancini.”

My eyes widen when I recognize the hard, authoritative voice on the other end of the line.

“D’Addario.” I smile into the phone. A smile I don’t feel. “I won’t ask how you got my number. I’m impressed, actually. Did you need something?”

“You have something that belongs to me.”

I take a second to examine the irrational anger at hearing Ivan call Sienna his.

“And what may that be?” I ask as I step away from the warehouse with a critical eye on the men switching money crates into children’s school bags for transportation.

His sigh is weary, and I wait for the sense of victory to consume me, but there’s nothing. My jaw clenches.

“I miss her,” the prosecutor says. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Of course I do , I want to scream. I know what it feels like to miss someone. For the first few months after Pasquale died, I still put his bowl out in the kitchen, waiting for him to come back and have a meet with me.

“It’s me you want, not her,” Ivan growls. “Let her go, and you can do anything you want with me. Just, please—” His voice breaks on the last word.

It’s almost impossible to reconcile this man with the man who stood tall and strong in that courtroom and eviscerated my brother into pieces.

“Two for the price of one,” I reply. “I like the sound of that.”

“Sienna is innocent,” he barks into the phone desperately. “She’s pure, and I kept her away from all this because I didn’t want to see her touched by the dark reach of my profession. She’s an innocent.”

Memories of her fucking herself on my fingers, her juices forming a pool under her, assault me. There was nothing innocent about that. I open my mouth to tell him as much, to tell him how depraved his innocent daughter is. To tell him how she had spread her legs and taken every inch of me like she was made for me.

“Just let her go,” he adds weakly.

Never.

My hands curl tighter around the glass of the phone. Any harder, and the back glass will shatter in my hands.

“No,” I state.

“She doesn’t deserve this. She has people here who love her, who miss her.”

My eyes narrow. “Like that bulldog cop Salvadore?”

There’s a pause, and then he adds, “And Catherina.”

My vision goes red. He wants me to let his daughter go so she can go running into the arms of that little prick who will never be able to give her what she wants?

No.

If that is what is waiting for Sienna on the outside, then she’s better off with me.

“I’ll let Sienna go when I’m good and ready to. Not a moment sooner,” I inform him. “Maybe by then, she’ll no longer be an innocent artist. Maybe she’ll be?—”

“Don’t you dare touch my daughter, or I’ll kill you, Mancini.” It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.

My mouth curves up at his words. I haven’t just touched her. I’ve desecrated her and ruined her for that testosterone-fueled cop. She’ll never look at him as anything more than a poor replacement. Or any man, for that matter.

“Can I speak to her at least?” Ivan pleads. “I know she’ll be worried and?—”

“That’s not my business, D’Addario. I’m not a boarding school matron or a cop at the precinct. I’m not keeping your daughter for you until you can come and collect her.”

He lets out a frustrated breath. “A text then. You don’t have to give me a reply. I just need her to know I’m okay.”

I shift my gaze to where Gonzales is gesticulating at one of the men. If I have to guess, I’ll say someone has managed to mess up my clear orders. I should shoot his fingers off.

“Don’t bother me again, prosecutor,” I tell him. “I’m a busy man, and you should be praying that I stay too busy to be able to pay your daughter a visit.”

As he starts to protest, I hang up. Blood simmers in my veins, and I’m tense, my hands curled into fists. I need someone to take out all these frustrations on.

My brain starts to supply the name of the most trusted source of stress relief, but I ruthlessly push it aside.

Sienna isn’t an option. She’s a mistake that won’t be repeating itself.

I wait for the rest of the cash to be packed up and for Gonzales to smoke one fat Cuban cigar while discussing the specifications for the next job.

We part ways after shaking hands and then I climb into my McLaren and gun it to my house. Instead of letting my mind settle into its new favorite object of fascination, I force myself to keep glancing at the side and rearview mirrors for any hint of a tail.

Thankfully, I don’t notice anyone all the way to my gated house, which doesn’t feel all that much like a sanctuary right now. The odd discontent sits heavily between my shoulder blades, and for the first time in my life, I’m thinking of having one of my men bring some random woman here.

Irritated, I strip off my dark grey turtleneck, my black pants joining a moment later, and then I head to my home gym.

I start on the treadmill, and after thirty minutes on it, I jump to the bench and stack weights up until my eyes catch on the punching bag in the middle, and I head for it instead.

I don’t bother gloving up. I need to feel every hit ricocheting through my system. I need the physical pain to keep me in the present because right now, it feels like one part of me is still stuck high up in that tower with Sienna.

Sweat drips down my face as I throw punch after punch, my biceps burning. My knuckles burst open, and it’s only when the blood begins to make the punches too slippery that I finally pull away.

“Fuck!” I bite out, dragging my bloody hands over my scalp.

I stand there for minutes, staring into space and trying to get my breathing under control. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, and messing my hands up hasn’t succeeded in doing anything more than make me look crazy.

Sighing, I grab my clothes and make my way to my bathroom.

I should let her go. If she isn’t within reach, then surely, I won’t be tempted to touch her again. I won’t be beating myself up over a woman who I shouldn’t be sparing a second thought.

Ivan is right. This fight is between him and me. But Sienna has already gotten tangled up in this. I can’t let her go.

The hot water pounds against my back, offering no relief to my aching muscles. I close my eyes and hate myself a little for what I’m about to do.

I shouldn’t.

But when has that ever stopped me?

After my shower, I throw on dark pants and a cashmere hunter-green sweater. Speeding down the lonely road to the tower, I admit to myself that I may just be the tiniest bit obsessed with my captive, and one taste was far from enough.

Not even a second taste will be enough. When will it be enough? I don’t know the answer to that.

But the closer I get to her, the looser my muscles feel, and for now, that’s enough.