Chapter 22

CHIARA

W e returned to the gallery the following morning for a typical day’s work.

I was unable to shake off a growing unease from my poor sleep the night before.

Throughout the car ride and even as I unlocked the front door of the show space, Rio’s eyes were sweeping the area, his instincts sharp and alert, as always.

As soon as we entered, he swept the room, ensuring nothing seemed out of place.

‘All good?’ I asked him.

He nodded. ‘Appears we’re safe. No sign of anyone following us,’ he rasped.

Thank fuck. Since the funeral, no shady figures lurked, not in the street outside my home nor its shadows.

I felt a slight sense of relief but knew it was only temporary. We weren’t out of the woods yet. The numerous voicemails and texts from Claudio and Nicco Barbieri were a testament to why I was feeling off.

I’d begun receiving them the night before.

Incessant, angry, pushy.

The first lot from Claudio.

The second set was from his contact, Nicco.

Cold, harsh, grating, with hints of what he intended to do to me, to us, if we didn’t meet the target loan repayment date.

As Rio inspected the gallery’s back rooms in my office, I double-checked the schedule for the subsequent installment.

I had a week to deposit the required sum.

Was that enough time to sell another painting prior to the deadline?

Fighting off panic, I made a few more calls and received several more promises of commissions and outright sales of three of my stored works.

Rio found me in the middle of one of the conversations.

He gave me a keen, narrowed look as he settled on the lounge chair in my office, working through his emails on his laptop.

I sat back with some relief. The promised cash would be in my bank by Monday, allowing me two days to transfer the Barbieri amount.

‘ Stai bene ?’ he murmured, flicking a glance at me.

Once more, I got a hit of his sheer raw manliness, his muscled presence crowding my workspace, giving off menace in his dark pants and turtleneck.

‘With you here, I’m very OK,’ I reassured him, my utterance husky with appreciation laced with my never-ending desire for him.

He caught onto my drift and smirked, eyes heating and icing up at the same time, raking themselves over me.

I shivered as my clit pulsed.

‘Stop,’ I scolded him, fighting off the rush of need.

‘You stop,’ he rasped, eyes dropping to my blouse, where I knew my nipples were stark against the silk material.

I escaped him, finding chores galore in the show spaces.

Away from his devastating presence, I spent the morning moving around the gallery, dusting, straightening a frame, and adjusting a sculpture.

Since my assistant Lucia had the day off, I also vacuumed the place, readying it for the expected foot traffic the following day.

Suitably calmer, I returned to my office, where Rio smirked at me.

I ignored him, moving on to admin and emails while he continued with his.

We worked in quiet harmony, on occasion sharing heated glances that promised pleasure later.

At one point, leaning over a small print of a canvas I was considering from a new artist, my stomach growled.

Rio glanced up, his pale eyes glittering. ‘Someone’s hungry.’

I tilted my head at him and shot him a coy smile. ‘Am I now?’

He surged to his feet, heat-seeking, and in seconds, our lips melded, his arms tucking tight into me as we hungrily ate each other’s mouths out.

Desire ratcheted through me even as he lifted off, his eyes glazed with lust.

He dipped his nose to brush mine. ‘Woman, you’ve got me strung out. You’re the one exception to my rules, to what I thought I knew.’

‘And you’ll never know anyone like me,’ I added with a smile. ‘Too wild for the ordinary, too wise for the reckless.’

His expression clouded over as if recalling a bad memory. ‘That is true,’ he murmured.

I sensed his passion cooling as he stepped away, his eyes stormy, as if he were keeping something from me.

Unwilling to engage in what seemed like a minefield, I nodded.

‘I’m going to grab us some lunch,’ he rasped, stepping away. ‘At the trattoria next door. I’ll always have eyes on the front door.’

His voice was quiet but firm, and his eyes searched mine for any sign of concern. I smiled at him, brushing my hand against his arm in reassurance.

‘ Grazie , bello ,’ I murmured, my gaze lingering on him longer than usual.

‘I’ll be back in a few,’ he assured me, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

Then he turned and left the gallery, taking a short walk down the street to a café serving the fresh Mediterranean fare he knew I liked.

Minutes later, I stood by one of my pieces, a modern canvas with splashes of yellow and gold that I crafted over months, still mulling the curious and sudden shutting down and icing out in Rio’s manner.

I sensed something he was keeping from me but I couldn’t figure it out for the love of me. But he was holding out.

The gallery’s back door creaked open, a subtle sound lost in the room’s stillness. Absorbed in arranging a display, I didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.

A shadow loomed behind me.

I froze, pulse quickening as my hands stilled over the artwork I’d been tweaking.

Slowly, I turned to face him and jumped at the sight of a man, his black suit blending into the dim light. He was taller than me, lean, with a thin face and a sinister smirk playing on his lips.

One second, I was adjusting a pedestal; the next, he was there, his silhouette long and menacing against the whitewashed walls.

Even though he wore stylish clothes off a Milan runway, instinct told me this was no wealthy art collector.

His slicked-back hair and pure menace in his eyes signaled otherwise.

Heart pounding, I took a step back. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘I’m surprised you’ve not done your research on your most influential client, Miss Tirone. Nicco Barbieri is my name.’

His eyes, dark and dangerous, locked onto mine, and a chill ran down my spine.

‘Chiara,’ he drawled, his voice as slick as oil, ‘you’ve been avoiding me. Not taking my calls, not answering my texts. You’ve forced me to see you in person.’

I swallowed hard, throat drying up. ‘You need to stop demanding early payment. We had an agreement, or rather, you forged one with Claudio. I’m keeping to the installment dates as agreed!’

Nicco ignored my question, stepping closer until the scent of his sharp and overbearing cologne filled the air between us.

Before I could back away, he reached out, his hand gripping my arm with bruising force. His smile turned cruel.

‘I set the schedule. I also get to blow it all to high water if I wish,’ he hissed, dragging me roughly toward the wall, his grip tightening as he shoved me back against one of my paintings.

The glass frame behind me rattled with the impact, the edges pressing into my shoulders.

I gasped, pain flashing through my body as I tried to push him away, but his clutch was like iron, trapped in his punishing grasp.

‘You think you can play games with me? Hide behind your art and pretend like your brother’s debts don’t exist?’ Nicco’s voice lowered, becoming more menacing with each word. ‘That money is mine, Chiara. You’re going to pay, one way or another.’

My heart pounded in my chest. Nicco was a Barbieri scion, a big name in Rome’s underworld.

He was not used to being thwarted by a minor player like us, Tirones. Our cache and power had diminished over the years, making us small fry compared to him.

I’d every reason to fear the man to my bones.

‘If you change the remittance date,’ I managed, voice shaking but defiant. ‘You need to speak with Claudio.’

Nicco laughed—a cold, harsh sound that cut through the air. ‘Why should I, if I can go direct?’

He leaned in closer, his lips near my ear, his breath hot and suffocating. ‘Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.’

Stepping back with a smug grin, he slid a hand behind my skull, then, with sudden ruthlessness, slammed my head once more against the glass.

This time, it shattered.

I cried out as shards fell off, sliced my skin as they fell, and smashed on the floor.

The mean lines on Nicco’s face deepened as the man exulted, his meaty hand gripping my arm, shoving me back again.

I tried to push him away. He had me pinned.

‘Bitch,’ he crowed. ‘You’ve got nothing on me. I eat women like you for breakfast.’

Blood dripped as I stood trembling in rage, still pressed against the glass, his face so close that the wet steam from his mouth fell on me.

‘Ah, Chiara,’ he growled, dripping with condescension. ‘So beautiful. How many hits would it take to destroy that face?’

My pulse quickened. I attempted to back away, but his fists only tightened. ‘Your brother and I had a deal. And we expect you to honor it.’

My stomach twisted at the mention of my freakin’ fratello .

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. ‘I’m not my sibling, Nicco. I’ve released the money per the schedule. I can’t make any more appear as if by magic. So stop hounding me. The repayments will follow the agreed plan. Whether you like it or not.’

The words sounded braver than I felt, each scraping out of my throat.

His expression darkened, his smile fading as he stepped forward again, reaching for me.

His grip was like iron, his fingers digging into my arm, making me wince. I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him.

‘I am a Barbieri, bitch. I can do anything the fuck I want. You don’t want to cross us, Chiara. Trust me, it won’t end well for you.’

‘Release the funds, Chiara!’ he roared through the gallery thick with fury.

My legs were heavy like they were about to give out beneath me.

My breath caught in my throat. Nicco’s grip loosened, and I took the chance to pull my arm free, stumbling back. He straightened his suit and half turned from me, playing with his cuffs as if nothing had happened.

He glanced at me, then raised his hand to slap me.

I was done.

I reached for my skirt, yanked it up, and pulled on the sheathe hidden against my stocking.

Pulling out a blade, very aware of its mortal potential, I ducked his hand, slashing at his upper and lower extremities.

My strikes, driven with enraged power, were so hard, the edge so honed, that it sliced with a squelching sound through cheek and jaw.

Blood spurted as he roared in agony, clapping his hand on his torn face.

The weapon clattered to the floor.

He swiveled to me to reach for me, and I pounced.

Grabbing his arm, I twisted it until the heel of his hand pointed toward the ceiling. Then I pivoted, placing my right shoulder under his elbow.

Could I go all the way? I asked myself as Nicco dug his fingers into my throat.

Fuckin’ hell yeah.

I yanked his hand down.

‘ Cazzo ,’ he screamed.

His hand was not broken, but I’d given it a major wrench.

Finish this, I thought, pushing my fear aside. Spinning around to face him, I punched him twice in the nose.

Crimson gushed.

While he was off balance, I kicked him between his legs, and he howled, bending over to protect his jewels, crumpling to one knee.

My blood hummed and sizzled as I danced out of one heel, picked it up, and used it to hit him in the head.

His weak attempts to block me only fueled my frenzy.

He fell with a heavy thud to the ground. I stopped, breathing heavily.

Nicco was still.

Terrified he was dead, I knelt beside him and felt for a pulse.

A strong throb met my fingertips.

The relief that coursed through me vanished when Nicco clutched my neck and squeezed.

‘You bitch -.’

Panic bubbled up, but I fought it, trying to find a way out.

With a mighty thump, his entire body canted sideways as a force slammed hard into him, and he fell to the floor.

In his place was a second shadow.

Rio.

Looming like a dark nemesis swallowing up the light in my gallery.

His eyes were cold, sharp, enraged.

He glared with deep disgust at the man scrambling away from him like a rat in a sewer.

I slid on the ground until my spine hit the wall, hand on my throbbing neck, gasping for air.

Rio leaned in over the Barbieri scion, head tilted, his tone even more menacing. ‘ Bastardo ! If you ever attempt to put your fuckin’ paws on my woman, I’ll tear each digit off with a pair of pliers. Cut them up, shove them down your throat, and sit back while you choke on them. Is that clear?’

My man’s face was hard, his growl dangerous, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Nicco’s shocked eyes locked on Rio, but he reached somewhere inside his dark soul and found a measure of defiance.

He gave Rio a scornful glare, his lip curling in a mocking smirk. ‘Well, well, what do we have here?’ he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. ‘Who’s this, Chiara? Your bodyguard? Or some pretty boy playing hero?’

Rio didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.

He stepped forward and, without warning, unleashed a roundhouse kick at the half-risen man.

It sent Nicco flat to the ground.

The men let out a roar as agony went through him from the bone-crunching hit to his ribs.

Rio switched stance fast and stood over Nicco. He placed one of his Dior Derby black patent calfskin loafers on Nicco’s chest, his thick thighs powering his press down on the screaming man.

I swear I heard a rib crack.

Nicco howled even louder.

‘Quiet now, don’t want to rouse the neighbors,’ Rio growled.

Nicco took a few gulps of oxygen, flinching and groaning through the pain each time.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Nicco whispered, hands scrabbling at Rio’s foot.

My enforcer kept calm even as his voice dipped to a dangerous timbre. ‘Doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that you leave and never return.’

The room shrank, the air thick with tension.

Nicco raised an eyebrow, rocked by Rio’s audacity. ‘You think you can talk to me like that? Do you even know who I am?’

‘I know exactly who you are,’ Rio replied. ‘And where I have you. Under my fuckin’ heel.’

His growl was steady and deadly.

My man pressed his foot further and slid it up toward the floored man’s neck and bearing down until Nicco choked. ‘I also know you don’t want to make this worse for yourself.’

Nicco’s breath hitched, his chest rattling with a strangled gasp.

Rio stood there, unyielding, his gaze cold and unblinking as Nicco struggled under his weight.

My assailant’s arrogance slipped, and his eyes fluttered as realization kicked in.

It was faint, a fleeting betrayal of his inner terror, but I saw it.

If pushed, Rio would cut off all his air.

The strength in Rio’s stance, the calm violence simmering beneath his steady expression, commanded a reverence even Nicco’s conceit couldn’t defy.

Unable to tear my eyes away, I kept them on the pair, my pulse hammering in my throat, my fists clenched tight at my sides.

This was Nicco Barbieri, the Roman mobster whispered about in back alleys, who left chaos and scars in his wake.

I’d heard he reduced men to shivering wrecks as they cowered at his cruelty or before they died with a bullet in their spine.

Now, he lay trembling beneath the scourge of Rio’s relentless gaze, stripped of the power he had always wielded so ruthlessly.

Rio eased the pressure enough for Nicco to suck in a lungful of air.

For a moment, a glimmer of Nicco’s old smugness flickered back to life. His lips twisted into a sneer, though it was weak, hollow.

His hands, smeared with blood, lifted in a show of submission he would never live down.

‘Fine,’ he rasped, his voice scraping out, raw and strained. ‘I’ll leave.’

His eyes, dark and seething, found me, and the chill in his inflection carved right through me. ‘This isn’t over, Chiara. You still owe us.’

Rio scoffed. ‘She might, and I’ll need to look into it before I let her give you anything, figlio di puttana . If I find the deal was less than wanting, you won’t get a cent; I’ll deliver the message myself, but in the meantime, never harass my woman ever again. Touch her, and you die, porco giuda . Are we clear?’

Nicco nodded, his face red humiliation as he wriggled under Rio’s heel.

So satisfying.

Rio lifted his leather soles off with a suck of his teeth.

Allowing Nicco to scramble off the floor.

The Roman mobster, rattled, shaking, unwieldy, straightened his Milan-tailored suit, closed off the buttons, and stumbled out.

His hurried footsteps, full of unconcealed rage, faded away as he raced to the front entrance as if some invisible force compelled him against his wishes.

The door swung shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Only then did Rio turn to me, his expression softening as he reached out, his hand touching my arm and coming around me, pulling me close to his chest. ‘ Bella , are you OK?’

I nodded, but still, adrenaline coursing through me, my hands trembling as I pushed him from me. ‘I’m OK, I think, but don’t come closer. You’ll get blood on your shirt,’ I whispered.

‘Chiara, amore ,’ he rasped, voice raw with anger and concern. ‘You’re not fine. You’re bleeding from cuts to your face and limbs, and you also have a nasty bruise on your brow.’

He ran hands over my arms that had been bruised where Nicco grabbed me.

Sucking his teeth, he examined the cut on my lip, cheek, and temple that was trickling blood from where I’d been pressed against the glass. ‘I should have been here. I ought to have known better than to leave you alone.’

I glanced up at him, her eyes wide, still shocked. ‘It’s fine. It’s not your fault. But cazzo , you were amazing.’

Rio huffed, shrugging off my compliment. ‘Where did he come from?’

‘The back. I think.’

‘Damn. I had eyes on the front, but the alleyway at the back is a mess, and the ingress there is difficult.’

‘He was desperate.’

‘Seems so.’