11. Chapter Eleven

I lean on the east side of the clubhouse building, staring at Dante’s text, viciously grinding on sugar-free gums and wishing like hell for a smoke. The last time I had a nicotine craving this bad was three years ago right after I stopped smoking. Not even before my bloodiest battles have I been this fucking stressed out.

He’s a Fed, Nico. Special Agent Quinn. Undercover- organized crime

Un-fucking-believable. Sophie was telling the truth. I knew she was, but damn, a part of me wished like hell she was lying.

Truth be told, I already suspected there was something off about that Cade fucker the moment I overheard him warning Sophie off me. But this! How many surprises does that woman have up her sleeve?

I remember the look in her eyes when I took Pietro’s call. Dante had been calling me all night. He’d sent this text hours ago, but I was too wrapped up in Sophie and her family to read it. But Pietro, I couldn’t ignore Pietro because his soldiers were on sentry duty to this very spot. His snipers were positioned at this location and observing from a distance.

Dread unfurls in my belly as I dial Dante’s number, still somehow hoping like hell he’s got his info mixed up, although I know Dante hardly goes wrong with these things.

“You dropped off the planet for two solid hours, fratello,” he drawls as soon as he picks up. “Just give the clear, and Pietro’s men will drop it down.”

“Right now?” I ask inanely.

Dante’s silence tells me what he thinks of my question. He knows me well, and my ethos is to eliminate every appearance of a threat without hesitation and deal with the fallout after. And the protocol for this degree of fuck up is massive damage, like a fire or an explosion.

“Fratello, we’ve already lost precious time trying to reach you. Pietro’s man has the drop on Quinn right now, and he also has a crew on standby to deal with his fed friends—should they decide to visit tonight.”

Why are these men so fucking efficient?I took an unplanned trip and not only do they have the location surrounded, they’re prepared for a massacre.

When I remain silent, Dante continues. “I hear it’s an old building, with illegal circuit overloads. A fire hazard and a disaster waiting to happen. One alone should do it.”

One explosion, he means.

Fuck.

I can hear the screams and moans punctuating the ongoing events of Mud Night, the drunken shuffling around the yard, and the arguments all the way back in the common room. Sophie is somewhere around here. Maybe catching up with the father she hasn’t seen in four years.

Or snickering with Cade fucking Quinn.

“Pietro’s man says there’s some kind of rowdy activity there,” Dante pushes as though he senses my hesitation. “Sounds like the perfect timing.”

“Yes.” A public orgy seems to be the ideal cover we need to strike. Just like it is the perfect guise for the feds Cade might have tipped off, to casually ‘check out’ what the commotion is all about, ending with my arrest off Chicago turf.

I can always sort my way around the local police crew but not the fucking feds. Especially not out here on the West Coast.

“Nico, what’s the hold-up?” Dante’s voice is low and urgent. Questioning. He doesn’t get my hesitation, considering the magnitude of the threat.

I snap out of it. “Nothing. Tell Pietro’s men to stand by. Once I’m out, drop it.”

“Sweet. And how long’s it going to take to pull your pants on?” Now that we’re back on track, his tone is relaxed and playful again.

“Five minutes, ten tops.”

“Awesome.”

“And Dante?”

“Sì, fratello?”

“Take no prisoners. Leave no questions asked,” I say, already feeling the flames of the lifelong hell I’m consigning myself to licking at my feet.

“Copy that.”

Eight hours later, I’m airborne, heading back to Chicago, still staring at my reply to Dante’s last text, the same reply I’ve had to all the other six he sent me.

Wait.

Sophie sits across from me, once again dressed in her prim skirt and tucked in shirt, her hair up in a severe bun, amber eyes hurt and angry. At least, that’s how I’m sure they’d look once she spares me a glance. Not that I need her to; those eyes are the reason why I still haven’t given the signal. The reason why I couldn’t leave the clubhouse yesterday. And the reason Cade Quinn is still alive.

Sophie Kellan is the reason why there’s no news of an accidental fire explosion rocking the sleepy San Diego county town.

It’s one thing to wage a mob war, and one or two innocent people get caught up in the crossfire. It’s quite another to wipe out an entire MC club in a bid to cover the assassination of one federal agent.

And all because I wouldn’t man up and kill this pesky woman.

As soon as the captain gives the heads-up for landing, and she senses signals returning to her phone, Sophie makes a call, speaking slowly. Even her voice is subdued. It’s as if the sparrow is back in its cage, and the woman who came undone under me hours ago has disappeared.

“You can go ahead and fill in the time slots, Eva, I’m coming home a day earlier than I anticipated.”

No, you’re not.

She taps her foot nervously, gazing out of the window as she continues speaking. She looks like a woman scrubbed clean of her past.

A past that’s braided into her being and tattooed onto her skin. I glance at the bandage on her hand—the hand she keeps tucked under the other one, like she’s hiding it. While in Harmony she let her instincts drive her. Something tells me she’s shoved that woman beneath this veneer.

We haven’t said a word to each other apart from when I texted her to meet me on the tarmac. A part of me had been hoping she wouldn’t do it, knowing that if she got on this flight, it would be the last thing she ever did.

She ends the call and tucks her phone away in her purse, then goes back to staring out the plane’s window like she’s done the whole time.

Finally, as the plane touches down, she glances at me. “I’m sorry, Nico, This was a terrible mistake. I should never have gone along with the idea in the first place.”

Her voice. The way she says my name. It’s going to haunt me forever.

“You didn’t have a choice in the matter,” I reply. But she’s right; it was a mistake. My mistake. I should never have gotten to know Phoenix. Solid, dependable, hard man. Sophie is his only child.

He’ll never know. She will never be found.

And Phoenix will never report Sophie’s death to the authorities. Instead, he’ll hunt me down. I can deal with that.

She turns to look at me, eyes narrowed. “Even so, my behavior was wildly unprofessional. Not getting involved with clients happens to be one of the rules I agree with.”

Is it sick that she still makes me smile despite the twisting in my gut, despite knowing what’s coming in the next few minutes?

“Which of your behaviors do you think was the most unprofessional, Sparrow?” I drawl.

She goes beet red, and unbelievably, my cock hardens.

She nibbles on her lips and then goes back to looking out the window, but not before I catch a flash of desire and regret warring in her amber eyes. It seems she’s always fighting something—her past and present, the people around her, and her own conscience. Must be fucking tiring.

“I told you, Sophie, I’m not your client. I don’t want therapy.”

Ask me what I want.

When the silence stretches again, she turns from the window, takes a breath as if psyching herself up then looks at me. Really looks, the way only Sophie can. As if she can read a man’s thoughts and intentions.

After a while, she says in a strangely cool voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounded almost…pleading. “You saw where I came from, the kind of blood that runs through my veins.”

“Sì, I saw all that.” Unfortunately, I also saw how much she wants to get away from it. She’s a loose cannon and the last four days of meeting her have thrown me into a tailspin. She’s too unpredictable and too headstrong.

Sophie continues, still in that low, monotonous voice. “Well then, maybe the trip wasn’t a total bust after all. It should be pretty clear that I’m not a threat to you or the Outfit.”

I huff out a derisive laugh which makes her narrow her eyes. I wonder how long it’ll take her to figure out that we’re not in O’Hare airport. Or that she wont be leaving this plane alive.

“You’re not the trusting sort, are you, Nico?” She asks softly, no doubt seeing I don’t agree that she isn’t a threat.

“No.”

“Neither am I,” she says with a heavy sigh. And I don’t trust law enforcement either, so I’m not about to spill my guts in hopes that they’ll save me. The people who raised me taught me that.”

I lean forward, dropping my elbows on my knees. “Except that you’ve done everything in your power to distance yourself from the people who raised you. In the end, this new life of yours means more to you. You cared about Rafe, but you left him to rot because he didn’t fit inside your perfect, new-life box where everything is black and white.”

I regret the words the moment they’re out. Her lips part and her eyes widen and glow with a sheen of tears.

The truth is, I’m angry with myself for trying to look for bullshit ways to circumvent the inevitable. Because silencing Sophie Kellan is inevitable. It’s the only way to guarantee not only Maria’s and Victoria’s safety but also that of my entire organization, without having to look over my shoulders.

And yet, here I am, still hesitating.

The time for hesitation is over. I catch the co-pilot Riccardo’s knowing look and I subtly dip my head, a gesture of assent. I don’t need to glance back to see that Martina, the hostess is armed and ready, holding position at the back galley.

As the plane slows to a stop, Sophie stands. “You’re right,” she says. “I want a new life, something different from what I’ve known. And there’s nothing wrong in me wanting the plain and simple black and white. Goodbye, Nico.”

Fuck.

She turns away and walks down the aisle to the door, waiting patiently for Riccardo to open it.

But he doesn’t open it.

He won’t.

I can feel the holster against my chest beneath my suit jacket. The Glock inside it loaded. Ready.

I stand and call up an image of my parents and Dante, of my capos and their wives and children. I imagine them as I’ve seen other victims of Romano, butchered and broken, their bodies left as warnings to others. This is the future that awaits them if Sophie Kellan’s new life gets the better of her—if I let her new life get the better of her.

I cross the aisle and slowly close the distance between us.

She watches me approach, her hand hovering inches above her right thigh where she keeps her knife.

The look in her eyes tells me she knows what I’m about to do. But she doesn’t cower; she doesn’t even flinch. Even the pulse in her neck isn’t beating madly. One dirty word from me could make her pant, yet she stares down death without skipping a heartbeat.

My heart leaps with a strange but not unpleasant emotion at her unusual courage. Why does this part of Sophie excite me so much?

I stop an arms-length away because I’m not stupid enough to get within stabbing distance of her. In a matter of seconds, it will be over.

“Nico?” Sophie calls in a steady voice.

“Yes?”

I stare, transfixed, as she slowly reaches for her hem, then drags the skirt up higher and higher until the thick clingy material bunches at her waist.

Fuck.There isn’t a more provocative sight than the wicked-looking dagger strapped to Sophie’s smooth, shapely thigh with a rough leather holster.

I do the most idiotic thing; I take my eyes off her, turn my head, and glance at Riccardo. Sophie doesn’t take the chance to strike, though. She only keeps looking at me.

“Leave us,” I say to Riccardo because sending the man away is suddenly the highest on my list of priorities right now.

Riccardo’s eyes fill with confusion, but he inclines his head, opens the cockpit, steps in, and closes the door behind him.

After Riccardo leaves, I’m left with the reality of how truly fucked I just might be. The fact that I dropped my guard because I couldn’t bear another man’s eyes on Sophie irritates me so much that I draw my gun, cock, and aim.

Sophie isn’t fazed. Still not breaking eye contact, she slowly starts to unbuckle the leather holster. Once it’s loose, she grabs it and throws it at my feet.

Then she smirks, “Don’t say I never gave you anything, Nico Vitelli.”

I pull the trigger.

Only my finger won’t move.

All I see are her mesmerizing amber eyes and that rebellious mouth. That fiery body tucked neatly into a prim suit. Her courage. How her smooth bun clashes with the decadence of her exposed thighs, the hint of ink on her hip, and the tiny scrap of black lace barely covering her sex.

My arm falls to my side, the weight of the Glock suddenly too much to hold up. I disengage the safety and let it slip through my hand. It clatters to the floor, landing right on top of her dagger.

When I look back up at her. She’s no longer smirking. Her eyes are soft and glowing with…relief? Pride? I don’t fucking know, nor do I care because there are more pressing needs.

I close the distance between us, and suddenly my hands seem to be working again because the first thing they do is reach up to get her hair out of that ridiculous bun. Dark silk tresses tumble down and I tangle my fingers in the glorious mass. She says nothing as I shove her against the nearest wall and crush my lips to hers.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a devouring. Anger, frustration, and desire pour out from me. She moans, but her hand comes up to sharply connect with the side of my face in what should feel like a stinging slap, but it doesnt because she’s kissing me back with a hunger that rocks me. She sucks my tongue into her mouth, sinks her teeth into it, then slides her tongue along it in soothing glides.

I groan, grab her ass and pull her flush against me as the kiss becomes something else. A sensual melding of breaths and a series of savage licks and bites.

We’re both moaning at this point, and there’s now also the metallic tang of blood mingled with Sophie’s unique taste. I have no clue whose blood it is, but neither of us seems inclined or able to stop.

When her incessant hard tugs on my hair threaten to leave me with bald spots, I grab her bandaged hand and slam it high above her head, trapping it in mine. Her other hand roams free, though, and her nails score and dig into my shoulder muscles with a delicious sting.

I want to tear off our clothes and fuck her until neither of us can walk away from this monumental mess that we are. My other hand leaves her hair and then trails down her torso, palming her full breast. She jerks when I pinch her nipple, hard.

“Nico!” Breaking the kiss, she cries out my name in a way that drives me insane with lust.

I pinch her taut nub again, then shove my tongue back in her mouth to keep her quiet, while my fingers stroke down her quivering belly and into her crotch. She’s unbelievably wet, exactly as she was last night. I catch the flimsy lace covering her mound and tug sharply, unable to wait to feel her tight heat around my fingers again. This time I won’t stop until she loses her mind. I need to unravel her, the way she’s doing to me.

Three knocks against the cabin wall bring me back to my senses. “Boss?” Riccardo calls.

Shit. I’ve fucking lost it.

I pull away from her, putting a few feet between us, and then I shove my trembling hands into my pockets.

I focus on a point above her shoulder. “You’re right,” I say coldly. “I saw where you came from. So, I know exactly where to find the people who are important to you.”

She retorts without missing a beat, her voice as smooth as ice, “The day you get the drop on Phoenix Kellan is the day hell freezes over.”

If only she knew that her home should be a smoking pile of rubble right now, along with everyone she cares about.

“Who said anything about Phoenix? I meant Mags,” I say, honing in on the tenderness I’d witnessed between the two women. “And I’ll make it slow and painful.”

In the periphery of my vision, I see her composure falter for a fraction of a second. I’ve hit home. I’ve scared her.

And don’t I feel like a fucking asshole for it?

She takes a few steps forward, pressing herself lightly against me as she leans up until her lips are a hair’s breadth from my ear.

“If you try to harm Mags or anyone else who’s important to me,” she snarls, her voice deceptively quiet, “you won’t have to worry about the Reaper Druids coming after you, Nico. I’ll gut you from stem to stern myself,” she grazes her fingers from my cock to my solar plexus.

I fight a smile, marveling at the woman’s steel spine.

“Find your way home and keep your mouth shut. I’m giving you a gift, fiammetta. Don’t make me regret it,” I say, then nod to Riccardo and walk away, through the plane to the bedroom at the back—away from Sophie Kellan, away from what might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

I close the door behind me, pull out my phone, and dial my brother’s number. There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable. I sigh and scrub a hand through my hair as the ringing stops.

“Dante, we have a problem.”