Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

Not a surprise, but Alessandro let me stew in silence on our walk to my house after his ultimatum of physically taking me from my home whether I liked it or not.

After he’d grabbed his suitcase from his rental and we’d made it to my door, I couldn’t help but break the quiet first. “I wouldn’t put it past Armani to kill three men and have you look like my knight in shining armor to trick me into getting married. Maybe he’s not even really dying.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be shocked, either,” he snapped, irritation in his tone as I unzipped the key from my pocket.

Before I could open the door, he snatched my wrist. “Let me clear the house first. Make sure no one is waiting inside.”

Clear the house? “Fine.” I handed him the key, and I followed him inside.

“You didn’t set the alarm when you left?”

“I never do for walks.”

He grumbled something under his breath while setting aside his suitcase. “Turn the alarm on,” he ordered roughly, removing the dead guy’s gun from the back of his jeans.

I did as he asked and waited for him to check my home for threats.

When he returned and gave me the all clear, hiding the weapon at his back, I couldn’t help but blurt, “Twelve men in the last nine months.” I wasn’t ready to drop my theory yet. “Are you lucky Number Thirteen he’s sent?”

He removed his shoes, as if only now noticing there was blood on one. He’d probably left a trail on my hardwood during his check of the house. “More like the unlucky son of a bitch that—” He let go of his words, replacing them with a string of curses while throwing a hand in the air. “To be clear, I want to marry you even less than you want to marry me.” He tossed his hat on my counter, where it landed on top of the envelope he’d given me.

“You keep saying that. Doesn’t mean I believe you,” I shot back, pushing away from the door but still very much in defense mode. Tense, reactive, ready to swing if necessary.

“It’s the truth.” He stepped closer, sending me back to the door, and his eyes briefly cut to my mouth. “And I don’t need the money, so no, he didn’t buy me off.”

“But you have your reasons to be here, whether it’s because Armani sent you or not.” I lifted my chin in challenge. “It has to be more than a favor. If you’re going behind Armani’s back with Gabriel, what does Gabriel get out of this? What do you?”

His nostrils flared as he stared down at me, jaw locking tight, as if he were ready to go ahead and take me over his shoulder and end the conversation now.

“When your father’s dead and you officially take over, you’ll turn the organization over to Gabriel. With your blessing, no one will protest the transfer of power. And no one will view you as a threat since you willingly gave up the throne and the life. You’ll be free of him. Of all of them.” He took a step back, affording us both a chance to breathe. “I don’t love the plan, but Gabriel’s the lesser of the two evils, and you won’t be wedded to a psychopath and will be safe. And I . . .”

“You what?”

“My debt will be paid back.” His casual tone both reassured and frustrated me. He also didn’t seem like the type to bend to another man’s will, but he was still working with Gabriel.

Unsure how to respond, I pointed out, “You got blood on my floor.” I studied his lethal and muscular frame, and he followed my eyes to his jeaned legs.

“Just a flesh wound.”

Frowning at his dismissive attitude over his health, I knelt before him. Unsure what possessed me to feel the need to take care of a man who was still technically a question mark, I lifted the pant leg to see whether he was bullshitting me on the injury. “Doubtful you need stitches,” I said decisively, “but let’s get the wound cleaned up anyway.”

He stared at me, as if equally surprised I was on my knees before him after accusing him of working for Armani.

I know, I know. I’m giving myself whiplash. But it’d been a wild twelve hours, so anything went at this point.

“You’re taking all of this much better than I anticipated after—”

“Watching you kill three people?” I let go of the pant leg, and he offered me his palm to stand.

The gentleman killer? “If I believe everything you’ve said to me,” I began, letting him know he wasn’t off the hook yet, “I suppose there are some reasons that killing is justified.” Once on my feet, I slipped my hand free from his big one, hating the little jolt of something I felt at him touching me. “But I guess I owe you for saving my life.”

“If it wasn’t some charade staged by Armani, you mean?”

“Right.” I nodded, remembering I still owed him gratitude for something else. “And, um, thank you for the hair-holding last night if that wasn’t part of the act to win me over.” I turned to the side, setting my attention on the hallway. The only shower was in the primary bathroom upstairs.

At the feel of his hand wrapping around my forearm, I went still. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Callio—”

“Callie,” I cut him off, facing him. “You can call me that, I suppose.”

He kept his eyes on me for a bit before surrendering with a nod of agreement.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Come on.”

“Not sure whether you’re offering to wash the blood from my body and clean my wound, but I assure you, it’s not my first rodeo. I can manage just fine.”

I couldn’t believe it, but my lips nearly betrayed me by smiling. “Now that’s a word I never thought I’d hear a city boy say. Rodeo.”

He finally unhanded me and picked up his suitcase. No brand name in sight on it, and I’d expected something as expensive as yesterday’s suit. “Where’s the shower?”

“In my bedroom, where you clearly were last night since you went through my things to locate my firearms.”

He ignored my words, and in a husky tone remarked, “You can’t be alone while I’m showering. You’ll stay in your bedroom and lock the door while I’m cleaning up. Understood?”

“Again with the bossiness.” And yet, I was semiflustered at his commanding tone, those sharp eyes on me, not to mention the straight-up orders that kept falling from his lips. Frustrated by my odd reaction to him, I started down the hall to get to the stairs, but his hand on my hip stopped me in place. And what a place to stop—right next to the quote by Dolly Parton I’d had framed: “We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.”

“Do I need to remind you I’m wearing blood from the men who tried to kill you?” he murmured from behind, still holding my waist like I was already his wife. “Bossy is to keep you safe. You’ll need to deal with it.” His deep voice slid under my skin, and I wanted to rebel, but something told me I’d be wasting my breath.

Pulling my focus away from the framed quote, I then shifted free from his touch and fast-walked to the stairs and darted up them. Once in my bedroom, he set his suitcase by the door and looked around, acting as though it was his first time seeing my room.

It wasn’t all that impressive. A queen-size bed with a fluffy white comforter I’d snagged from a Bed Bath & Beyond store-closing sale. Throw pillows from Hobby Lobby (my guilty pleasure store). One antique nightstand Imani had helped me fix up that now matched my dresser. Then there was the vintage floor lamp my best friend, Nala—a music teacher at my school—had gifted me. Aside from that, there was my favorite spot, a sitting nook by the window where I’d wasted a year trying to write songs with no luck. Armani had killed the creativity in me. I now had writer’s block. Thankfully, he hadn’t strangled the voice from me, and I could still sing.

“So, um, when will Gabriel call you back?” I did my best to come across as more sweet than sour that time. Sidestepping him, I was even a “good girl” and followed his orders, shutting and locking the door behind us.

“Gabriel’s more than likely trying to talk Armani down from flying here himself. And since his plan was to send Marcello, his second-in-command, here to intercept you, Gabriel will need to also convince Armani not to do that.”This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Intercept is a polite word for Marcello kidnapping me,” I said as Alessandro removed the gun from the back of his jeans. “Those men, they—”

“They were hired hit men, more than likely. No one that would tie directly to who wants you dead,” he finished, as if knowing where I’d planned to go with my line of thought even before I did.

“And how do you know they were hit men?” I set my back to the dresser, trying to get comfortable, but his overpowering presence in my room stamped out the possibility for that.

“Because it took me about four minutes to kill them, and if they hadn’t been trained professionals, they’d have been dead in thirty seconds,” he said flatly.

Before I could comprehend his words and ask how many dead bodies he’d racked up in his lifetime after the military, he started for the bathroom, gun still in hand.

I hesitantly followed him; he set the weapon on the vanity counter. You know, perfect place for that. Went great right alongside my pink hairbrush.

“You think Gabriel can convince Armani to trust you?” I asked while ducking down to grab a towel from the cabinet beneath the sink.

“Trust? No. But since I saved you, and someone on his team betrayed him, I bought us some time. Plus, my family name will give him . . . pause.”

I was curious for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, I closed the cabinet and stood to face him, towel in hand that was as pink as my hairbrush. “And you also hope this saving-my-life thing will earn you a chance to marry me?”

The scowl cutting across his lips was probably from his disdain for marriage and not because he’d have to use a pink towel. But maybe I was coming around to the idea he was being honest, because his acting skills couldn’t be that stellar.

“If you want to refer to the killing of three men who planned to play slice and dice with your body as a ‘saving-your-life thing,’ then yeah, that incident may help me get on Armani’s better side. Not that he really has a good one.”

“Nice image you painted.” I raised my brows. “‘Slice and dice’? Really?”

Angling his head, he leaned closer, the towel all that separated us. “What did you think those men planned to do with those knives? Show you their culinary skills?”

“You can be a real ass, huh?” And there goes my attempt to be sweet instead of sour.

“That ‘ass’ is trying to save your life, so maybe you could consider being less of a pain in mine.” He righted his body, elongating his neck to show his six-plus-inch height advantage over me. But he also afforded me some much-needed breathing room. Because despite previously being outside, a little sweaty and now bloody, he still managed to come out smelling like masculinity and luxury bottled into the most intoxicating and expensive brand of cologne. And I kept wanting a dizzying whiff.

Alessandro reached around me, his arm brushing against my rigid body, then he forcefully shoved the shower curtain aside, clearly still irritated with my hot-and-cold attitude. But I was a vibe girl, and I tended to match the energy of those around me. And the man could go from asshole to hero and back again as fast as I could change things up.

“You know, for a charmer, like you were last night, you’re—”

“I was only charming to try and get you in bed.” He casually turned on the shower as if he hadn’t just been incredibly blunt with me. “I’m leaving the door unlocked. If someone manages to get inside the house, come in and let me know. Got it?”

I nudged the towel against his chest. “Risk seeing you naked, or take my chances with an intruder? Those are my options?” Narrowing my eyes, I added, “Hmm. Tough choice.” I could withhold the charm just as easily, dammit.

“Callie.” His clipped tone had me flinching, but his baritone voice dropped into borderline silk as he followed up with, “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“What part?” I whispered as he finally accepted the towel.

“Being your husband.” He shook his head and turned to the side. I went to the doorway only to stupidly turn around to see him discarding his phone and the towel to remove his shirt.

That was my cue to go. Not that I budged. He caught my eyes in the mirror, and I shamelessly moved my gaze to his rippling abs in the reflection. Arms made of steel. Strong shoulder blades and a touch of chest hair over those hard pecs.

He turned toward me, offering me an in-person view instead of just his reflection. I followed his hand, which was now at his belt buckle, finding the start of the happy trail above the leather belt. He popped the tail end out, slid his open hand across his waistline and grabbed the belt buckle, and swiftly pulled it free in one—holy shit, that was hot—move.

After the snap startled me, and he was looking at me like he wished he could take the belt to my ass, he casually tossed it to the floor. Without a hint of modesty or stain of red on his cheeks, he unbuttoned and unzipped his fly, allowing me to see his black briefs beneath. Well, something told me he was a briefs, not boxers, guy.

“Are you planning to watch me undress?” The dark finish in his voice jerked my attention away from his crotch.

“You did see me last night,” I reminded him. “Well, hints of me.” Like my boobs.

“You confuse the fuck out of me, you know that, right?” He called me out, and maybe I needed that.

Because who was this woman? “Makes two of us.” At the feel of my lips crooking at the edges, I reached up to confirm the display of emotion there. “I’m smiling. Is there something wrong with me?” When his response was only a cocky grin, I added, “Heck, is something wrong with the both of us that we’re bickering like an old married couple and now smiling after what went down?”

A dark brow shot up—you know, the sexy way Henry Cavill does it in movies? Yeah, like that. But somehow, it was even more just . . . well, more, in all caps.

“I know there’s something wrong with me.” One defined shoulder lifted with the perfect amount of casual effort. “But as for you? My guess is still shock.”

I wish. “I, um, should be going now.”

“Probably a good idea, Callie.” The huskiness as he said my name managed to throttle my sense of awareness yet again.

I was standing in a bathroom with a shirtless and handsome guy, and no man had ever been in his spot before. I’d moved into the garden home only a month before finding out the dreaded news about Armani—two weeks after breaking up with my boyfriend.

“I’ll be quick.” That was his nudge for me to leave since I continued to stare at his bronzed chest, feeling like I could write a sonnet or two about his muscles.

“Okay,” I mouthed, finally leaving. Once in the bedroom, I grabbed clean clothes from my dresser—cutoff jean shorts with my worn-out, favorite red tee that said NASH on it.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror atop the dresser and freed my hair from the bun. Using my fingers, I combed out the tangled locks since my brush was lucky to be sharing the same space with the naked stranger instead of me.

I bowed my head, hating the fact I still wasn’t scared. Or nauseous. Or any of the things I should have been after the deadly encounter. Just oddly defiant, acting a little immature, and kind of turned on.

Thoughts of marriage to one of my father’s men and being forced to produce a male heir had me sick last night. But death? Nope. Not a DiMaggio. Not a . . . My thoughts died at the sudden blare of my alarm.

My first instinct would have been to go to my lockbox, but with Alessandro there, I’d take my chances with him over a sidearm.

The bathroom door flung open before I had a chance to alert him. Gun in hand, towel around his waist, and eyes sharp on the door, he ordered, “Get in the bathroom and shut the door.”

That was one directive I wouldn’t argue with. Except, by the time I’d locked myself inside, the alarm went off as if someone knew the code. Only my shadow-guards had the passcode since Armani had forced me to provide it to them.

Not even a few seconds later, there was a loud thud inside the bedroom before Alessandro barked out, “Who hired you?”

A distinct back-and-forth began in Italian between the two men.

“Armani will kill me if he finds out about this,” my former guard bellowed in English that time. Pretty sure that’s Dickhead Number Two.

“What do you think I’ll do to you if you don’t talk?” Alessandro’s threat sliced through the air. It was a low sound that curled around my limbs, giving me goose bumps. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a head start to run if you give me a name.” He tacked on the offer, his tone menacing. “Who. Hired. You?”

“I don’t know. That’s the truth. You can torture me all you want. It won’t do you any good. Whoever forced my hand in helping him has to be someone from the inside to know about Armani’s daughter. Not many do.”

Unable to stop myself, I opened the door, and Alessandro had the guard on the floor face down. The man’s cheek was to the carpet, and with one knee on the floor alongside him, Alessandro’s towel somehow remained snug in place.

“And so you came here to finish the job since those three hit men failed?” I joined in, doing my best to remain calm.

He tried to squirm, to shift on the floor to get a better look at me. “I didn’t know you were with someone in the park. You’re always alone.” The balls on that man to talk about having me killed had me going for him, losing whatever chill I had in me.

Alessandro was on his feet in a second, winding an arm around my back to stop me from going after the traitor.

“I should’ve done the job myself. Snuck in at night and suffocated you with your pillow,” he tossed out while going into a push-up position to rise, but Alessandro let me go to handle him.

“Suffocate her?” Alessandro smashed my guard’s nose and mouth to the carpet with enough force that’d soon have him unable to breathe. “Oh, the things I want to do you.” He switched to Italian as if not wanting me to hear whatever dark words he shared.

The guy was gasping for air, so I went over to Alessandro and tugged at his arm. “You’ll kill him before he can answer you.”

Alessandro turned his attention on me, then blinked as if freeing himself from some kind of drug-induced stupor, and he let go of the back of the guy’s neck and stood. Without losing hold of his weapon, he secured his towel, hissing something again in Italian to the guard, but then let go of his words when a familiar voice began yelling from outside.

“It’s my neighbor,” I told him, unsure what to do.

Alessandro tipped his head toward the window. “Handle him from here.”

I nodded and sidestepped the two men, still in disbelief at everything that’d happened that morning. Once I had the blinds and window up, and with the screen missing, I stuck my head out. “All good! False alarm.” I waited for my neighbor to step off my porch to put eyes on me. “Sorry for the disturbance.”

The old man craned his neck and shielded his eyes with his free hand. And yup, he had the shotgun in the other, in broad daylight. “You interrupted my morning shows,” he grumbled, then waved me off in frustration.

Thankful that was over quickly, I returned the window and blinds back in place and faced the room.

“I need to gag and tie him up,” Alessandro said, and I whirled around. He was looking at me as if asking where I kept the duct tape and rope. “I’d torture him myself, but I’ll wind up killing him.”

Yeah, that I believe.

“I’ll leave it to Armani’s people to do,” he added before I answered his unspoken question.

“The garage should have what you need.” Thankfully, it’s attached.

Alessandro hooked his arm under the guard’s and dragged him up to his feet. “Stay put,” he warned me before leaving.

Noticing the floor lamp on its side, I fixed it upright, then looked around in search of my phone. I’d forgotten to take it on my walk with Alessandro showing up as scheduled earlier.

Finding it still attached to the charger but on the floor by the bed, I crouched and grabbed it. It was still on silent mode, so I flipped on the volume.

Five missed calls from The Asshole. Plus two texts from him as well.

THE ASSHOLE: I know what happened and that you’re okay. Answer your fucking phone. You need to come home. Now.

Italy would never be my home, and I hated that man for ruining such a beautiful country for me.

THE ASSHOLE: You’re still in danger. I don’t know who betrayed me yet. You can’t stay there any longer. You have no choice but to become who you were meant to be. A DiMaggio.

I searched for the emotions I was supposed to have. Trying to locate the fear. Trying to remember the girl my aunt raised and not the DiMaggio trying to break free from the confines of this shell of a body.

I wasn’t him. I wasn’t evil.

At the realization I was no longer alone, with no clue how much time had passed, I looked over to see Alessandro filling the doorway, quietly observing me with folded arms and a sexy lean to complete the dominating look.

“That was fast.”

Narrowed eyes skated over my body, and the heat in his gaze now matched whatever fire he’d just lit inside me with one simple look. “If I had stayed around him any longer, I’d remember what he wanted to do with your pillow.”

Why’d I get the feeling he would’ve enjoyed killing the man? Maybe you would.

“I need to let Gabriel know the situation.” He shoved away from the doorframe and headed for the bathroom, giving me a chance to check out his strong back and muscular calves.

“Armani called,” I said once he returned to the bedroom, holding his phone. “I didn’t answer. But looks like Gabriel already told him about the attack in the park.”

“According to Gabriel’s last text,” he said while typing, “he’s at least convinced Armani to allow me to escort you to Italy. And Armani doesn’t have many options, considering one of his loyal men betrayed him.” He stopped texting and looked up at me. “Plus, I’m a Costa, and even though my family doesn’t exactly play well with the mafia, or any criminal for that matter, he knows I’d never hurt you.”

I strode closer to him as he chucked his phone on my bed and started for his suitcase. “Except Gabriel?” I reminded him. “You’re playing nice with him.”

“That’s different. A debt owed. And for a criminal, he’s—”

“Hard to hate?”

He took one knee by his bag and unzipped it, tossing a look at me from over his shoulder. “So he has that effect on you, too?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “The only one of Armani’s men who doesn’t make my skin crawl. Kind eyes, and his wife has always been really nice to me.” A few more chance steps his way as he rose to his full height. Quite the wardrobe change.

He threw the pants, shirt, and suit jacket onto the bed, and the pile landed atop his phone. “Some people are born bad.” With his strong hands resting on his hips above that towel, eyes on the floor, he added, “Not Gabriel. He had a good heart. Was taken down the wrong path and got lost. It’s my fault. We lost touch in high school, and he joined DiMaggio’s organization shortly after that.”

“You can’t blame yourself. But maybe this is your chance to help him find his way back to the right side?”

He whipped his focus up, looking at me as if I’d asked him to bring back the dead instead.

When he remained quiet, I walked over to him, my eyes now glued south of his navel. I’d swear his dick was beginning to pitch the towel. Of course, I had to go and blurt, “Does fighting turn you on?” Eyes back up, I reminded myself, only to wish I hadn’t looked up. The intensity greeting me in his gaze sent me back a step.

“I feel like if I answer that honestly I might scare you,” he remarked darkly, “and I’d say you’ve been through enough today.”

Pretty sure you just gave me your answer. “So of all the things to scare me today, you think admitting killing men and tying up a guy in my garage makes you hard is what will finally push me over the edge?”

“You’re right, scared seems to be the last thing you are, even if it should be.” He quietly studied me, allowing the moment to marinate to the point my knees were on the verge of buckling. “But now I’m curious . . . Does fighting turn you on?”

“Never before,” I whispered before I could trap it between my lips, allowing him to read between the lines.

He cupped my chin, and I was at his mercy, unable to budge or look away. “If things were different, I’d . . .” His shoulders dipped a touch, as if weighed down by regret. “You’re my assignment. And soon you’ll be my wife, so we can’t.”

“I didn’t recall asking.” I swallowed. “But if I wind up marrying you temporarily, what will you do with me as your wife?”

“Not fuck this attitude out of you.” That fuck hung in the air, heavy and strong, like I could reach out and grab it. Put my hands on it. Hell, taste it. “But I will protect you.” His brows snapped together. “I should get dressed.”

“Worried the towel will fall again, and I’ll discover the rumor about big hands isn’t true?”

A cocky grin tugged at his lips. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” He let go of my chin only to swipe the pad of his thumb along the contour of my cheek while staring at me. “This mouth of yours worries me. The trouble it might bring.”

“Well, you seem to be the only one who inspires these reactions from me.”

His hand at my cheek slipped into my messy hair, and he cupped the back of my head, lowering his mouth to my ear. “Lucky for you I know just what to do with that mouth and how to keep it quiet when need be.”

Oh, fuckity fuck fuck. The man lit a match with those words, and the intense heat went straight to my sex.

He brought his face back around, boldly staring at me. “Get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart.” A dark smile sat on his lips. “You’re off-limits, remember?” He winked. The asshole. “But that doesn’t mean you biting down on my belt wouldn’t be a good look for you.”