Read Online Ruthless: Mob Boss Book One by Michelle St. James - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle St. James
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confusion cleared from his eyes, replaced by disgust as he looked at her.
“You better hope Daddy comes through. And if he doesn’t, you better hope Nico doesn’t ask me to deal with you.”
He took one last look at her chest, covered only by her white lace bra. Then he left, locking the door behind him.
She stumbled to the bed, tears of relief stinging her eyes. It had been a close call. Too close. She’d been lured into a sense of safety—physical safety anyway, let’s not talk about the danger her body had been getting her into—at Nico’s apartment. Now she felt her vulnerability all over again.
She was at their mercy. All of them.
Where are you, Dad? Get me out of here.
When her breathing had returned to normal, she dug through her purse for the two small safety pins she kept in the change compartment of her wallet. They wouldn’t make up for the loss of her buttons, but they were better than nothing. She pinned her blouse closed and took inventory of her injuries.
The arm hurt, but she could move it. She’d have a nasty bruise, but at least it wasn’t broken. She carefully touched her wrists, still feeling the sting of Dante’s iron grip. Maybe a bruise there, too. But she was alive, and she hadn’t been raped. She would make it to see another day. At this point, it felt like a gift.
She curled up on the bed, hugging her purse to her chest, breathing in the scent of her old life. She thought of David, of his warmth and kindness, his pain over the fact that their father couldn’t accept him. She thought of her father’s stubborn strength, his refusal to let either of them in after their mother’s death. She had been the glue that held them together. Without her, they were puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. Angelica had always assumed they’d have the time to figure it out. Now she couldn’t help wondering if that was true.
But it wasn’t her family that drifted through her mind in the moment before she finally fell into sleep. It was Nico. She remembered his arms around her at the apartment and realized something; she hadn’t been afraid. Not once had she believed he would take her by force. Instead he’d looked at her with his amber eyes, and she would have sworn he would never hurt her.
And that he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her either.
13
Nico sat in the chair behind his desk, silently rolling the rosary beads through his fingers. His mother would be offended that he never said the rosary prayer. His complicated relationship with his faith wouldn’t allow for the hypocrisy of it, but he enjoyed the feel of the cool beads between his fingers. It was a kind of meditation, and he kept a rosary stashed in his desk at home, at the office, even in his cars.
He was ashamed at the turn of his thoughts. Not because of the infamous guilt wielded by the Catholic church to keep its members in line, but because his preoccupation defied every ounce of his business acumen.
He should not be thinking about Angelica—Angel—right now.
Not the way he was thinking about her.
But he couldn’t seem to help himself. The creaminess of her skin still glowed in his mind like a pearl, the perfect heaviness of her breasts in his hand, the point of her nipple rising to a peak under his tongue. It was all there whether he wanted it to be or not.
He’d prowled his apartment in the dark after she left, feeling like he would jump out of his skin if he didn’t have her. He’d taken a cold shower, even watched TV, something he hadn’t done in at least a year. Still she’d been front and center in his mind, and he’d finally gone to bed, tossing and turning until the sunrise started to sweep the horizon pale orange. Then he’d gone for a run along the river, hoping the pounding of the pavement under his feet would banish her from his mind.
None of it had done a damn bit of good.
“You need to get laid, Nico,” he whispered to the empty room.
Saying it made him feel better. That was the source
“You better hope Daddy comes through. And if he doesn’t, you better hope Nico doesn’t ask me to deal with you.”
He took one last look at her chest, covered only by her white lace bra. Then he left, locking the door behind him.
She stumbled to the bed, tears of relief stinging her eyes. It had been a close call. Too close. She’d been lured into a sense of safety—physical safety anyway, let’s not talk about the danger her body had been getting her into—at Nico’s apartment. Now she felt her vulnerability all over again.
She was at their mercy. All of them.
Where are you, Dad? Get me out of here.
When her breathing had returned to normal, she dug through her purse for the two small safety pins she kept in the change compartment of her wallet. They wouldn’t make up for the loss of her buttons, but they were better than nothing. She pinned her blouse closed and took inventory of her injuries.
The arm hurt, but she could move it. She’d have a nasty bruise, but at least it wasn’t broken. She carefully touched her wrists, still feeling the sting of Dante’s iron grip. Maybe a bruise there, too. But she was alive, and she hadn’t been raped. She would make it to see another day. At this point, it felt like a gift.
She curled up on the bed, hugging her purse to her chest, breathing in the scent of her old life. She thought of David, of his warmth and kindness, his pain over the fact that their father couldn’t accept him. She thought of her father’s stubborn strength, his refusal to let either of them in after their mother’s death. She had been the glue that held them together. Without her, they were puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. Angelica had always assumed they’d have the time to figure it out. Now she couldn’t help wondering if that was true.
But it wasn’t her family that drifted through her mind in the moment before she finally fell into sleep. It was Nico. She remembered his arms around her at the apartment and realized something; she hadn’t been afraid. Not once had she believed he would take her by force. Instead he’d looked at her with his amber eyes, and she would have sworn he would never hurt her.
And that he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her either.
13
Nico sat in the chair behind his desk, silently rolling the rosary beads through his fingers. His mother would be offended that he never said the rosary prayer. His complicated relationship with his faith wouldn’t allow for the hypocrisy of it, but he enjoyed the feel of the cool beads between his fingers. It was a kind of meditation, and he kept a rosary stashed in his desk at home, at the office, even in his cars.
He was ashamed at the turn of his thoughts. Not because of the infamous guilt wielded by the Catholic church to keep its members in line, but because his preoccupation defied every ounce of his business acumen.
He should not be thinking about Angelica—Angel—right now.
Not the way he was thinking about her.
But he couldn’t seem to help himself. The creaminess of her skin still glowed in his mind like a pearl, the perfect heaviness of her breasts in his hand, the point of her nipple rising to a peak under his tongue. It was all there whether he wanted it to be or not.
He’d prowled his apartment in the dark after she left, feeling like he would jump out of his skin if he didn’t have her. He’d taken a cold shower, even watched TV, something he hadn’t done in at least a year. Still she’d been front and center in his mind, and he’d finally gone to bed, tossing and turning until the sunrise started to sweep the horizon pale orange. Then he’d gone for a run along the river, hoping the pounding of the pavement under his feet would banish her from his mind.
None of it had done a damn bit of good.
“You need to get laid, Nico,” he whispered to the empty room.
Saying it made him feel better. That was the source
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