Destino (8 page)

“A martini, three olives, extra dry,” she said while nodding to someone who went on and on in Italian about her show. Mira blushed over the flattery and waited patiently for her drink. Accepting it, she moved away from the crowded bar, sipping, careful not to spill a drop. The music tempo changed to American rap and she grew even more tired of the atmosphere.

“Can you?
Per favore
? Follow
Signora
?”

The deep commanding voice spoke clearly above the music behind her. He spoke directly in her ear so he could be heard over the music. Her head turned and tilted back at his towering presence. She was reminded of the popular series she watched a couple of years back, The Incredible Hulk. Except this man wasn’t green. He was darkly tanned and gorgeous, with the body of a giant. The alcohol lingered on her tongue and she swallowed. Her voice came out weak and unsure. “Excuse me? Follow?”

“
Venire
… this way.”

He gave a nod to the roped off destination she intended to make her way to. She frowned at the giant’s attire. His dark suit was a striking contrast to everyone around her who wore white. Then it dawned on her. He must be the security Fabiana hired. “Oh, yes, I was looking for our section. Fabiana sent you to find me?”

The man blinked at her. He didn’t appear to speak English that well. A woman passed by them really close, taking the time to run her hand over the giant’s arm. She referred to him as Nico. He ignored her. His hand swiped left and forced three to four people to stumble back with a squeal of protest. He had cleared the path for her. No one dared challenge the blatant rudeness. She noticed the stairs he wanted her to climb. She nodded and headed in that direction.

Careful of her martini, she ascended the velvet blue staircase.

Fabiana kissed Armani on the cheek and said goodbye. The crowd had thickened to the point of claustrophobia and she had to turn sideways to escape those clamoring for ten seconds of the designer’s time. Just as she emerged she felt a large calloused palm capture her hand. Her head turned to offer a polite refusal of the unwanted touch, only to find Lorenzo staring down at her. She had to blink to be sure it was him in the dim lighting of the club. But how could she miss those eyes, and that strong determined handsome face of his? He wore all black to her all white party. Fabiana shook her head smiling. Gently he pulled her through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor to an open space.

“I found you.”

“Yes, you did. I had hoped you would.”

She made sure to leave his name at the door. But when she glanced down he wasn’t wearing the card that would grant him access to all the private levels. She glanced around at the security and wondered how again he had made it in without being stopped.

“Really?” His dark brow arched.

“Of course. I’ve been in your country for four weeks now and only seen you once.”

Lorenzo smiled. “Let’s change that. Tonight you and your friend should come to my villa, Lake Como.”

“Tonight? I don’t think we can.”

The strong arms circling her waist drew her in closer and his palm slid down the curve of her backside. It was a bit forward for him to touch her so intimately so soon, but pressed against his hard frame with his jeweled eyes shining down on her, she couldn’t summon an objection. “I want to know you better,” he said softly before brushing her lips with his, then licking her gloss from his mouth as if it were honey. Fabiana raised her arms around his neck.
Fuck it, why not?
She rose on her toes because he was indeed that tall and brought her mouth up to his. Parting her lips she intended to entice his tongue to slip inside. He tasted of mint, and the feel of his hand easing slowly down her hip sent shivers of excitement up her spine.

“Mmm, okay. I have to convince Mira,” she grinned.

Lorenzo brought his mouth to her ear and kissed it before he spoke. “Trust me. I think she’ll agree.”

Mira scanned those gathered. She didn’t recognize the faces staring back. None of the familiar people who frequented her circle of friends were present. Most of the ladies were in white, but the men weren’t dressed appropriately. Their dark suits separated them from all the others.

“This way.” Her escort said in an exact firm manner, which drew her attention to the opposite side of the roped off room. Two menacing looking men stood on either side of the table where Giovanni Battaglia waited. His gaze travelled over her face and searched her eyes to see if she would join him. Her curiosity as well as her vanity was aroused, silencing the warning voice in her head. The men seated at the table with him rose as if it were expected. Two of them silently walked away. The third stepped to the back of his section and stood silent. Mira forced her legs to move. When she reached the table, he stood to greet her.

“
Ciao Bella
,” he smiled. The pronunciation of the word was near perfect. The man had definitely lived abroad. She was grateful that she didn’t have to struggle with an interpreter for this conversation, but even more nervous that despite her strong willed personality she saw no way to avoid a sit down with him. Giovanni extended his hand. She extended hers. He again kissed her knuckles tenderly. He lifted his eyes to hers, and the firepower made her cheeks warm. “Please,” he said gesturing for her to sit.

The wait had been far too long. He’d sat in the noisy club for nearly two hours before his men told him that she arrived. He sent for her over twenty minutes ago.
It was ridiculous!
Then she appeared. He’d never seen a woman make white look so damn sexy. Those pants of hers were painted to her curves and the rhinestone belt made her hips sparkle as she approached. Her smoky brown eyes fell upon him, and he was captive again. This he liked. It was a bit more subdued than the flash and glamour he saw walking down the catwalk. Don’t get him wrong, he liked her sexy dress, but preferred a woman of her caliber not reveal so much cleavage and legs to an undeserving audience. If she were
his
woman, he’d never let her flaunt for others what was his only.

There appeared to be a problem with his greeting. She didn’t look please to see him. In fact her smile was thin, and she hesitated with her martini before she even accepted his hand. It made him a bit nervous. And Battaglia men were never nervous. Had she not received his flowers?

Nico pulled out her chair and she sat, placing her martini gingerly on the table, causing the olives to stir in the cloudy drink.

“You sent me the flowers?” she asked.

“I did.”

“Why?”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “This is different. I’m rarely questioned by a woman as to why I would send her flowers.”

She cleared her throat. “What I meant to say is I owe you gratitude.”

His brow arched.

“I know you helped us gain access to our building. I appreciate your assistance.”

He gave her a gracious nod. She swallowed and her gaze darted everywhere but his face. In a moment she would rise and end their meeting. He felt the decision brewing inside her. “I make you uncomfortable?”

“Your note did.”

“How so?” he asked.

“You said we had unfinished business? Other than the favor asked, I don’t know you.”

“But you do. We met.”

“Briefly.”

He tried to understand the reason for her open hostility. “Why are you so distrustful? Have I done something to offend you?”

She looked a bit thrown, then recovered. Her pretty eyes lowered to her martini when she spoke. “No.”

“And the flowers?” he asked. “Were they upsetting?”

“No.” She said in a flat tone. Her gaze returned to his and lingered before she spoke. “The flowers were beautiful.”

“Like you.”

A hint of a smile touched the corner of her glossed lips. “Let me guess, you summoned me because you’d like for me to design something for you and your wife, Signore Battaglia?”

Giovanni chuckled as he lifted his wine glass. Her gaze fell upon his ring and lingered. It was his father’s ring. At its center an onyx stone with a gold letter
B
in the middle. “What makes you think I have a wife?”

“I saw her. She was quite lovely,
and
young.”

“I’m not married. I have tailors if I want a suit, and she doesn’t need me to negotiate a dress.”

A waiter returned and offered to refresh her drink. She declined. He ordered his brand of malt, and the man slipped away. There was laughter from a neighboring table. Carlo and his boys were a bit loud. She glanced over causing her sparkling earrings to sway lightly. It gave him the opportunity to study her. She was different than most women. She possessed a gentle calm that mixed in with her beauty. Every man in the room had to lift their gaze when she passed by. He should have had this meeting with her much earlier. After all, she occupied a building that was rightfully his. Mancini was at the bottom of the little coup. He was certain of it. If the old Sicilian Don weren’t a needed ally in Sicily he’d send him a message for interfering with his affairs. But Giovanni was painfully aware of how men looked upon him and his leadership because of the mixed blood in his veins.

Her curious round brown eyes returned to him. “You don’t have an accent. Not as heavy as everyone else, are you—”

“My father is Sicilian and my mother is Irish.”

“Oh.”

She sipped her drink but again she averted her gaze. He’d prefer she look him in the eye the rest of the evening. There were moments when she came across bold and assertive and others when she was shy and uncomfortable.

“Why did you ask to see me?” she asked.

“I enjoyed the show and wanted to know more.”

She smiled. “Oh. I see. You want to know more? Sorry, I don’t entertain strange men.”

Giovanni smiled. “Good. I’m not like those other men,” he said softly.

“That’s right your entourage is quite intimidating. Makes you important doesn’t it?” She asked the question with a sexy smirk. He couldn’t hide his approval in his smile. He studied her lovely face a moment before he answered.

“Am I?”

“Care to explain how you open doors closed to me in Italy and why?”

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon, give a girl a hint. Who are you? Why did Francesco scurry away when you found us in the hall?” she chuckled.

“I’m not sure what kind of explanation you need.”

“I’m new here,” she began. “I’ve heard things about the men of southern Italy. Good and bad. I’m just trying to understand why you look at me the way you do. Why you sent me flowers and summoned me? What is it you expect Signore Battaglia?”

“I’m a simple business man. I’m also a man.” He leaned forward keeping her within his gaze. “A man who knows what he likes. And I have to say Bella, I like you.”

The tense frozen smile on her face and shock in her stare pleased him. She was delicate, but there was fire there. He sensed it. He caught a hint of a smile form over her luscious lips. And suddenly the spell was broken. She collected herself and spoke to him in a direct challenging fashion. “I missed the Italian gangster movie genre, exactly how does this work? Am I supposed to fall to your feet and be flattered that you’re interested? Do I even have a say or will I be tossed in the Amalfi with bricks strapped to my feet if I reject whatever offer I’m sure you plan to make for helping me regain access to my building.”

“Gangster? You Americans and your imaginations. Just because I’m different than you doesn’t make ne nefarious.”

She blushed. She glanced to Renaldo who stood behind him and then lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

Giovanni chuckled. “Hardly. I do find it interesting that you feel the building is yours. It’s a lease no?”

“Yes, but our solicitor—.”

“It’s only a lease.” Giovanni said firmly.

Mira sat back. “What are you saying?”

“Protection, security, these are things you will need, Bella, so nothing unfortunate prevents you from conducting business in our lovely city. An investor like myself can prove to be quite useful.”

She paused at the sweet endearment, and he knew she understood what
bella
meant.

“So your help comes at a price? You want in on my company. No. Absolutely not! This ends here. Do you understand? I want you to stop harassing me.”

“It was you who noticed me if I recall.”

“I didn’t.”

“As much as I would like to make this personal between you and I, we do have business. If you won’t accept my offer to invest, then here is the final deal. You can continue to lease the property with a modest fee for my inconvenience, and I will have full access to the canals beneath your building that run out to the Amalfi coastline. The doors to the cellars in your building will remain under lock and key at all times. Are we clear?”

She blinked at him, a bit thrown by his frankness.

Satisfied, he relaxed his posture. She however, didn’t. This one wasn’t prone to hysterics. Her silence was as much of a warning as the sharp tongue she used when she sat down. He really did find her appetizing.