Stefano has a history of settling debts by demanding payment in illegal and usually dangerous favors. If the person refuses to play along, retribution is swift and cruel. One of their loved ones might have acid thrown in their face, as just one horrid example.
If Stefano’s goons throw acid on Andrew or Jeffrey, my sisters could be caught in the crossfire. And I swear, if either of my sisters’ beautiful, innocent faces is scarred for life because Nickolas Von Bergen refuses to grow up and get help for his various addictions, I’ll be tempted to do something drastic.
I would never act on my murder-y thoughts, of course—I’m one of the good guys—but I could arrange for Nick to be forcibly removed to a rehab center in Outer Mongolia. There, he can spend a year far from our families and the mob, getting clean while reading anonymous letters warning him that if he gets into trouble with casinos or dangerous men again, he’ll end up back in a tiny padded room at the edge of the world.
Possibly for keeps.
I make a mental note to talk to my handler, Nadia, about what it would take to make a prince disappear for a while.
When I tune back into the conversation between the two men, Nickolas is still nattering inanely about helicopters. “Have you ever jumped out of a chopper? My brother parachutes out of ours all the time, but seriously…I don’t see the appeal. I get into enough trouble on solid ground, right?” He laughs loudly—drunkenly—and takes another healthy swig of his gin and tonic.
Stefano casts a pointed look at one of the men lurking in the shadows beyond the ring of flickering firelight before saying, “I hear you. But I’m tired of solid ground. Let’s go for a ride. I’ll get you back to your hotel in half the time, and we can talk in private. I have a proposal I’d like to run by you.”
Instantly, I’m on high alert.
In addition to his other methods of debt collection, Stefano occasionally kidnaps people in order to recoup his investments—“Pay up, or Aunt Vicky loses a finger” style.
Nick’s family is obscenely wealthy. His eldest brother is the king of one of the most prosperous countries in Europe, his mother is a pediatric heart surgeon with her own small fortune, and his other brother is secretly making a killing in his spare time with various international investments.
Any one of them could afford a handsome ransom, and that’s not even considering his wealthy aunts, uncles, and cousins.
“All right, I’m game,” Nick says, swaying as he lifts his drink into the air. “Just let me finish. Hate to let a fourteen-euro cocktail go to waste.” He chortles again, his eyes sliding closed just long enough to miss the subtle signal Stefano flashes to his right-hand men, Tony and Thom.
Tony and Thom are stereotypical strong men with too much gel in their dark hair, too much gold jewelry adorning their thick fingers and necks, and baby beer bellies swelling above the waist of their too-tight jeans. But they are strong and ruthless and prepared to do what Stefano orders without hesitation.
And they’re both more than capable of overpowering Nick physically, with or without one of the weapons tucked into the back of their pants.
I have to get Nick out of here. Now.
Protecting a civilian in danger is more important than my mission. Union Ten will have another opportunity to bug Stefano’s phone. This could be the last chance to get Nickolas out of harm’s way before it’s too late.
Adrenaline pumping, I come up with a plan. It’s not a great one, but I glance down at my half-empty cup of ginger ale and decide to consider it half full.
Tony and Thom are on the move, easing up behind Nickolas. I dart in front of them with only seconds to spare.
Tripping over my own feet, I stumble, dumping my ginger ale on Nick’s crotch.
“Oh, fuck, that’s cold,” he hisses through his teeth.
I keep my head down, slurring my words as I cry in Romanian, “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”
“I think my balls just crawled into my lungs,” he says with an uncomfortable laugh as he reaches down to pull the soaked fabric away from his thigh.
“Sorry, I take too many mushrooms,” I continue in heavily accented English, tugging my hat lower on my forehead as I grab a fistful of Nick’s shirt. “Can you take me to medical tent? I can’t find. I am so messed up, man.”
“I’ll get someone to take her,” Stefano says from behind me, making the hair at the back of my neck prickle all over again.
I can’t let him or his people see my face. If he does, I’ll be out of the field for the rest of this case, and I really want a front-row seat when this man goes down. It always feels good to get the bad guys, but arrogant, entitled bad guys who assume they’ll never get caught are a special thrill. There’s nothing better than the stunned, confused, but ultimately haunted look that comes over a suspect’s face when they realize they’re caught and there’s no way out.
I need to see that look in Stefano’s pompous eyeballs.
I need it badly enough to do the unthinkable.
“But I want you to take me,” I mumble, reaching up to twine my arms around Nick’s neck. “You’re so pretty.”
He stiffens, and a soft grunt of surprise escapes his lips. For a moment, I worry he’s going to push me away and ruin my shot at getting him out of here, but then he relaxes against me.
A beat later, his arm is around my waist. “You’re pretty, too,” he whispers. “But I don’t want to take advantage of a woman who’s not in her right mind.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” I say, pushing up on tiptoe to press my lips to his.
I don’t expect to feel a thing. I’m focused on my goal, the mission, the danger. But when Nick’s hand cups the back of my head, and his mouth slants across mine, something flickers in my chest. And then his tongue traces the seam of my lips, and the flicker becomes a tingling that sizzles across my skin.
Against my will, I find myself arching closer, my breasts flattening against his strong chest as my tongue dances with his, and fireworks explode behind my closed eyes.
By the time he pulls away, I’m…breathless.
And not because a mafia boss and his goons are standing less than two feet away. I’m panting because Nickolas Von Bergen has knocked the wind out of me. The man is a fool, a drunk, and a chronic maker of poor choices, but damn…he can kiss.
“Sorry, Stefano,” Nick murmurs, pressing my face to his chest as he speaks over my head. “Something’s come up. Rain check on that chopper ride?”
“Of course, no problem,” Stefano says, seemingly with good humor. At least, he doesn’t sound angry. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Nickolas laughs. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?”
“Not really. Not when properly motivated.” Stefano’s reply sends a shiver down my bare legs as Nick turns, tucking me against his side.
“Come on, then,” he says, “Medic tent for you, beautiful, and then we’ll see where the night takes us.”
I giggle in agreement, but as he weaves unsteadily toward the far side of the field, my heart is pounding.
Dammit.
Now what?
If I ditch him, he’ll head right back to Stefano and into Trouble with a capital T. But if we reach the well-lit medical tent, Nick will realize who I am and demand to know what the hell’s going on. There’s no way I can explain the accent when he knows damn well I’m not Romanian.