7. Gigi

7

GIGI

"Was that your brother?" I ask as Stephano disappears down the stairs, his hand resting on the woman's shoulder, possessive, protective, caring.

At the visual, my body pulses with need. That's the type of hold I love on me , rare as they are. Few men in my experience know how to demonstrate this in just one simple touch. And now, with my luck, it's this Mafia asshole who knows just how to tug at every sexual nerve in my being.

I force my thoughts away from the man and his hands and the fact that I want them all over me, and glance back at Matteo. I doubt Don Trapani knows what's happening on our yacht. This is no security company executive enjoying a complimentary cruise to seal the deal. What's happening here makes me want to vomit.

"Matteo?" I press him, but he doesn't respond. "Matteo!"

"Yes!" he grunts, exasperated. "Stephano Scalera. My younger brother and in charge of tonight's auction."

He's standing there, shaking in shock and fury. I bet nobody has ever vetoed his instructions like this, least of all a woman. I know better than to mess with a guy in such a state. I soft-foot it to the sliding doors and catch the eye of one of our crew. He comes up to me, hesitant. Useless.

"Tell the captain to get going. We're taking a sunset cruise. And secure the cabins," I say under my breath. "Tell the rest of the staff that nobody—and by that I mean nobody —takes orders from anybody but me. I'm the only Trapani on this yacht, and I'll dictate where we go next."

The waiter nods. His gaze flicks to Matteo. I hope my guest is still rooted to the same spot.

"Go," I hiss, and he rushes off.

I close the sliding door and lock it as a delay strategy. When I turn to face Matteo, his fisted hands are pumping by his sides as he fights to contain himself. I lean back against the sliding door, trying my best to swallow my fear. Matteo is tall, built, and clearly in the mood to punch something. Inwardly, I already flinch. It's been almost two decades since a man last laid a hand on me, but old habits die hard.

Why the hell didn't I run when I could have? It's not too late, but when the yacht's engines turn on, he blinks at me. I press closer to the door, blocking his way. Inside, I'm cowering, shaking like a leaf, but I won't allow him to step a foot onto the deck and make his escape. I will decide how this ends.

Matteo doesn't move or step in my direction, but his eyes narrow at me. " What the hell have you just done?"

I bite my lip, not quite ready to give my plan away here. I need a couple more minutes. Just long enough to get us out of the marina. Luckily, our yacht is moored close to the harbor mouth, and it wouldn't take much except a ton of fuel to get out to sea. Initially, it's so slow, you won't notice the movement unless you fixate on a spot to compare your location to.

"Would you like a drink?" I ask, but I don't move to the bar, protecting the door.

"Gigi Trapani," he says as he takes a step in my direction. "What have you ordered your staff to do?"

I shrug. "Sunset cruise?"

I'm thinking on my feet here, but the easiest way to get a fair exchange for that poor woman will be to make a hostage swap. I'm not buying into her wanting her virgin auction. She's done the dumb and desperate thing, thinking she can wipe out her dad's debts by selling herself. Clearly, she isn't from a Mafia family. If this were Carla, I would have gone in her place. I would've forced them to take me instead. I'd do anything to stop this auction from happening, and this is the only way I can save her. I'm kidnapping Matteo and intend to swap him for this woman Stephano is now holding hostage.

With effort, I inhale softly and force a slow exhale out, trying to relax my shoulders. The yacht is moving farther and farther away from the marina.

"Fuck!" Matteo screams, frustration thick in his tone. He spins on his heel as he drags his fingers through his hair. He circles the room, muttering incoherently under his breath. At last, as if all hope is gone, he slumps down onto the sofa and buries his face in his hands.

For a full five minutes, it's quiet as I guard the door and he just sits there. I glance through the window, watching as we finally slip into the waterway.

A knock on the glass door behind my back makes me jump. I turn around and stare wide-eyed at a massive man I've never seen before. Shit. I didn't think this far. This guy has bodyguard stamped all over him, his thick fingers curled in a fist that looks as if it can break my neck by pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. His pale skin is accentuated by his bald head, his cheeks almost grey in the shade. He cocks a brow at me as he knocks again, and I step away, fearing him even though there's bullet-proof glass between us.

"That's Burley, my bodyguard," Matteo says behind me. "Best you let him in before he breaks the door down."

"Wouldn't that be a nice way to thank Don Trapani for lending you his family yacht," I sass him. I can't show my fear, but I also know when I'm outnumbered. Between Matteo and Burley, I'm a matchstick. I unlock the door, and Burley slides it open, stepping into the room with a limp.

"Boss. What the hell? We're almost out to sea again?" he huffs in a British accent. "I thought we were staying put for the night."

Matteo grunts. "Ask her what's going on. Stephano just took Tasha?—"

"You let her go then? Motherfucker." Burley limps along, and I notice the bandage around his biceps and the way he presses a hand to his butt cheek.

Bullet wounds.

"She wanted to go!" Matteo shoots up, hands pulling at his hair. "What the actual fuck, Burley? Why would she do that if she wanted to cut my throat two weeks ago?"

That girl wanted to cut his throat? I like her already.

Burley stares at Matteo for a full minute before he slowly shakes his head. "Damn, you're thick sometimes. She's doing this to test you, you idiot!"

"What?" Matteo's eyes widen. Then he swallows impulsively, as if this knowledge is a pill he is taking without water. "Fuck. You've got to be kidding me."

"She likes to push your buttons, boss, just saying. You've met your match."

My gaze jumps between the two men. "What's going on?"

"This is none of your business," Matteo hisses. "And who the fuck invited you here in the first place?"

I quietly blow a fuse.

"Don Trapani, my Papa and owner of this yacht, asked me to come welcome you to Cannes, totally oblivious of the human trafficking going on here," I bite out, holding my finger up to let them know they better not interrupt me now.

Don Trapani is a powerful man. I don't know anything about the Scaleras, but the fact I haven't been gagged and tied up at gunpoint yet speaks volumes. This is a delicate diplomatic situation with scope for negotiations between two equally powerful parties.

"Now that I've seen what I've seen, I know too much, don't I? Maybe your business is none of my business, but once you've decided it's my yacht, my business, let me know." I level Matteo in my most cutting tone, straight from Swiss finishing school. "I'm not dealing with petty little Mafia mantrums today. I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime."

"Mantrums?" Burley blurts out, eyes wide.

"You heard right. Mantrums." I volley my gaze between the two men. "Just like a tantrum, but the male version."

I shake my hair over my shoulders, open the sliding door, and walk off, leaving Matteo to verbally spar with his bodyguard. I'm not waiting around for them to realize they aren't going anywhere except the open Mediterranean. I'd rather take a nice long bath in my cabin to wash off this incessant heat.

I can read between the lines. At some point, Matteo will realize he hasn't got a minute to lose to shut down that auction, to make the exchange—himself for the woman. With this yacht going at top speed, he better make sure he has enough time to turn back to prevent the worst from happening.

I take a detour to the bar where I grab a chilled bottle of champagne, head up to the bridge to make sure the captain understood my instructions, and then go down to my cabin. That innocent woman was wearing my clothes, so Matteo and his Mafia paws have been digging in my closet, too. Disgusting.

But as I sink into a warm bubble bath, the last thing I think about is Matteo rummaging through my closet. All I can think of is his brother's hands. Stephano's touch, the warmth of his hard chest as he held me tight, and the promise of every desire fulfilled when he whispered to me to behave , as if he'd let me come only if I did exactly as he commanded me to.

That couldn't have been our last interaction. I know my style, and I know my type. Sexy as sin and completely in charge. He's already managed to turn me on and gets bonus points for being from the States with sub-zero chances of me ever running into him again. He is the perfect man to meet all my needs tonight.

An hour later, a knock sounds on my door. Matteo took his sweet time, didn't he? Dressed in a robe with my wet hair twisted in a towel, I get up from my bed where I've been reading a book I'd downloaded on my phone. Being without internet sucks, but I'll take one for the team. I had to do something to get my mind off Stephano Scalera and his hands on me.

I open the cabin door. Matteo stands there, looking as if he's aged a year in the short time we've been out at sea. Poor guy, getting seasick on this yacht that has zero rolling or pitching. But no, that isn't his problem.

"Gigi, I—" he breaks off. "We need to head back to Cannes."

"Oh. Why?"

"For fuck's sake, woman," he mutters, so soft it's barely audible. "I need to stop this virgin auction from happening."

I lean against the door jamb and fold my arms over my chest. "And why's that?"

"Because Tasha Armstrong—" He swallows hard, but there's more to it than realizing he said too much. "I need her."

How lame. "For what do you need her? You don't seem to want for anything."

"This is so fucked up." He closes his eyes, drops his head back, and curls his hands into fists. "I'm in love with her," he growls.

Oh.

"And if any other man so much as looks at her, or touches her, never mind fucks her, I will leave a trail of bodies behind."

Oh, hell. He isn't faking it. He is as sincere as a man can get.

Matteo opens his eyes and leans into my space. "And you know what? You'll be to blame for the carnage."

"Oh, dear. We can't have that now, can we?"

As much as I'd like to wipe the Mafia off the face of the earth, I need to keep my cool here. If he is really in love with her, Matteo will move heaven and earth to get to Tasha in time. Those rings on her finger should have spelled it out for me, but how was I to know? That said, I know better than to take his word for it. I stroll back into my cabin and check the time on my phone where I tossed it to the bed. "It's almost six. What time does this disgusting auction kick off?"

"At nine tonight."

"And where?" I ask, expecting some dungeon in the Cannes underworld.

"The St. Chalamet's presidential suite."

The St. Chalamet? Posh. I can get onboard with that. Seems Stephano likes to do things in style.

"You should have spoken up sooner. It'll take time to head back." Plus, I have to get dressed for a private party at the St. Chalamet's presidential suite. I'd love to see how this goes down…and I'd love to see Stephano again. Even if only to vex him by gate-crashing his auction.

Matteo steps inside my cabin, and his menacing presence makes me want to shrink, but I pull tall and face him.

"Make it happen," he hisses.

"A couple of things," I say, not giving him an inch. "Promise me this Tasha Armstrong will be safe with you, and that you'll never hurt her."

"What the fuck do you think I am? Of course she's safe with me! Fuck it. Do you take me for some kind of monster?"

"Well—"

"I don't have time for this," he bites out.

"Fine. We'll see how she reacts when she sees you."

I don't know him. But he seems distraught enough that his love declaration could be real. Men in love—Mafia men in particular—can get feral when it comes to their women. If he says he'll protect her, it will be with his life.

"What do you mean by we'll see ?" he asks.

"I'm coming with you. To make sure you're doing what you're telling me you're going to do." Amongst other things…

"Fuck no." He shakes his head. "Stephano will have a fit."

I'd like to see Stephano have a fit.

"I suppose I'll have to watch you have a fit instead, then. I won't tell the captain to hurry back to Cannes unless you allow me to come with you."

And on cue, his face flushes red, his mouth pulling into a stern line. I bet he's counting to ten in his head.

"Fine. Have it your way, but if Stephano tosses you out, don't come cry at my door."

The idea of Stephano's arms around me as he tries to toss me out tugs at my core, where the need he has stirred in me hasn't abated. God, I wish I could think of anything else, but I already know it's futile. Stephano isn't the type I just forget . He's the type that makes me beg for more.

"Great. If I even get a whiff of something dodgier than this shit going down at the St. Chalamet, I'll call Don Trapani's men to come finish you all off."

At this, Matteo rolls his eyes. "There's nothing dodgy going on, Gigi."

"As if selling an unwilling virgin at some hideous auction isn't dodgy enough." And then your bodyguard is riddled with bullet wounds which he didn't give himself. I have so many questions…

"We both heard her: she wanted it."

"Apparently a strategic move on her part, not yours." Tasha Armstrong is a gutsy girl.

"Whatever. That's just semantics now." He sighs. "What else? Are you done now? We need to get going."

"One last thing: you owe me. You owe the Trapanis. And we never forget a debt."

He nods. "No need to remind me. Now I'll walk you to the bridge so you can give the captain your instructions in person since someone killed the fucking WiFi and I can't even make a call."

"I have my own priorities," I say, smiling sweetly at him while ushering him out of the cabin. "I need to get ready for tonight. I love the thrill of an auction-gone-wrong. Don't you?"

I close the door in his face, relishing the fact that, without internet, Matteo is going to sweat and panic a little longer.