The Don's Enforcer Page 3

  "Mama says I should wear red," she whispered. "But red doesn't go with pink boots."

  "You can wear red lingerie occasionally and go barefoot," he suggested. "I'll even buy you red panties you can hide under your clothes."

  She sniffled, an endearing noise.

  What the fuck? He was enjoying listening to her sniffle?

  Danny was about to untuck the towel and distract himself from his own strange impulses when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He released her, but only one arm. He kept the other on her hip as she pivoted to look at the closet. She chose a black long-sleeve t-shirt dress and pulled it over her head, dropping the towel as she did so and denying him a second look at her body. "Bra," he growled, pointing at her nipples poking through the fabric. "No one sees that except me."

  Lucia frowned at him and slipped past him as he read the update from Frankie. The man had been one of the two guards sent to look after Rosalia on the night Jimmy had met his bride. They were the ones who had discovered Ricardo Dinapoli was beating her, and they'd stopped it without attracting the attention of the local law enforcement. Jack had already been promoted as Rosalia's primary bodyguard for his role in the rescue, and they'd been looking for a way to test Frankie and see if he had the same ambitious hard-working personality as Jack. Serving as the point person on this crisis was an excellent way of testing Frankie's dedication and intelligence, given he'd already passed the loyalty-while-violent-crimes-were-committed qualification.

  Even as Danny read, he kept an eye on Lucia. She went to a dresser and donned panties and wiggled a strapless bra up over her hips, out of his sight. He wanted to curse at her, but Frankie's message meant they really didn't have time to continue the game she was playing with him. He didn't even argue when she sat down and rolled heavy tights up her legs and hips. She followed that with her little white cardigan, now unbuttoned, and went back to the closet.

  She came out wearing pink suede snow boots lined with fur. They had little bows at the back of her calves.

  "Damn it," he groused. "Do you ever not look fucking adorable?"

  Lucia raised a brow. "Do you ever not curse when you speak to women?" she asked blandly.

  He sighed. "A double standard from the woman who used the word 'fucking' three times in 10 seconds less than five minutes ago." Danny waved his phone at her, and tried against all his inclinations to explain. "Frankie and our investigative team have already found out about the art heist and attempted import that your parents disrupted. The perps are Albanian and not mobbed, so it'll be harder for us to dissuade them. We can't use diplomacy to get them to leave you alone, as I'd hoped. I'm not terribly surprised. Even though the shipment came from Italy, the import-export company is a known Albanian outfit with warehouses in Italy where the sculptures were probably stashed for the last two years, since they were stolen, waiting for any increased scrutiny to die down."

  Lucia gaped at him. It was a funny look, one he wanted to laugh at. But she asked the obvious question anyway. "Are you telling me you are in the mob?"

  He raised a brow. "I'm telling my future wife that I'm one of the two fucking underbosses of the crime family of upper New York. We don't use Jimmy's last name, just the family. And we use la famiglia to refer to those Jimmy considers blood: Nonna, Jimmy, Rosalia, Max, Mario, Margot and myself. And now you'll be in that circle, too." He shrugged. "It's going to come up, florzhina. By day I might be the Chief Security Officer for Oswego Corp, but by night I sometimes have to take care of some nasty shit. You won't have to worry about that, though." He waved a hand. "Pack a bag so you have a few changes of clothes."

  She shook her head, almost as if she was confused. "What? No! I have to be here when my parents get home."

  "We're going to meet them," he told her. "They won't be as disturbed if you are there, because they'll know you're safe. And you can introduce me to them before I stash you somewhere safe, where no fucking lowlife can peek in through your windows."

  Lucia narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh fuck no," she said.

  THREE

  Lucia didn't understand it, but somehow Danny Cuba – a half-Italian, half-Brazilian boy from the streets of the lakeside town of Oswego, New York – convinced her aristocratic, high-brow mother and academic father that Lucia would be safer under his watch than theirs. She suspected they were so upset that they weren't thinking clearly, and presumed she'd be safer away from them. They believed themselves to be the primary targets of the Albanian criminals, but Lucia wasn't entirely convinced. The stalkers who had followed her in New York hadn't been trailing her parents. Who would trust a mob boss with the job of looking after their twenty-year-old daughter? It was putting the baby chick right into the fox den.

  Nevertheless, her parents had agreed. They were 'temporarily re-located', to Danny's condominium in downtown Oswego, near Danny's office – corporate headquarters. They'd be under guard and have a driver to and from work, in addition to the numerous people Danny had positioned in their house and on their street. Danny's minions arrived with suitcases filled with a variety of clothing from her parents' closet.

  Since Lucia had outright refused to pack anything before Danny escorted her to his car and took her to see her parents, Danny told her she'd have to go without – or wear what she could find in his closet. Lucia's temper had nearly boiled over at that suggestion. After leaving her parents in the condominium's expansive living room with their laptops and dinner delivered from the bar on the corner, Danny put her in the passenger seat of a luxury Infiniti coupe with the seats already heated, handed her a steaming cup of mocha delivered by another of the endless supply of men and women who served his every whim and headed east out of town.

  Lucia was honest enough to admit that extravagant luxury made it hard for her to argue too much.

  "There's a lot of decorating to do before Christmas," he told her.

  She frowned at him, wondering how he'd known how she took her coffee. "You haven't put up a tree?" she asked.

  "There's two weeks to Christmas," he replied, shrugging. "I'm sure you can handle it. I'll have a tree cut and brought in. Dad never put up an artificial one, not during my lifetime."

  Lucia frowned at him. "Are you telling me that I have to do your Christmas decorating?" she asked incredulously.

  "You have other plans?" he asked bluntly. "You can't deny you have skills when it comes to color and organized chaos. The housekeeper comes in Mondays & Thursdays. Gardener on Fridays. Pool and spa company on Tuesdays. Grocery delivery on Wednesday and Saturday. Starting tonight they'll be guards on the property twenty-four-seven to back me up, or to look after you when I can't be here. Not much to occupy your time unless you want to start decorating one of the bedrooms as a nursery. Or are you planning to keep me home in bed during the days?"

  Lucia had to bite hard on her lip to keep from throwing her delicious coffee in his face. She refrained so that she didn't stain the beautiful interior on the car, which qualified as a work of art. Even so, her fingernails dug into the thick paper warmer.

  Just on principle, Lucia decided she wouldn't put up a single string of lights.

  Even so, when he turned into the long drive and the house came into view, she gasped. "This is your house?" she asked, then cursed herself for the stupidity of the question.

  Danny didn't mock her. "My parents bought the farm when they married, it came with the land," he explained. "He promised her that he'd renovate it, turn it into a home of which she could be proud. Then I was born and just a few years later, she got sick. After my mother died, it was his primary outlet, almost an altar to her memory. He was determined to keep his promise. Over the years, I believe he rebuilt it from the foundation to the roof and every wall, floorboard and piece of railing in between. As far as I knew, he never looked at another woman, but he spent every weekend and many evenings laboring over the smallest details. Then eighteen months ago, he sat me down and told me he had finished the house. He wanted to have a party and invite my friends, so we did. The n
ext day, at breakfast, Dad told me had stage IV pancreatic cancer. He'd been consulting doctors for a month by that point. He lived another three months. So fifteen months ago, this wonderful legacy became mine. It took me six months or so to sort through his belongings, replace the rugs and furniture and paint, and to make it my home. It's too far sometimes – the condo is more convenient – but I can't just sell it or abandon it, either."

  Lucia stared at the house. To say it was a farmhouse did not adequately describe the vision before her. It had the traditional white exterior with black shutters and two chimneys, and a wrap-around porch on a brick base. It was, she thought, a perfect traditional American home – over-sized, welcoming and stately where it sat on a large lawn. The driveway wound to the side and split into two directions. Danny followed it to the left to a side-entry garage, instead of veering to the right and off to a picturesque red barn a hundred yards away. As he pulled into the garage, she sighted a patio and pool behind the house, flanked on the far side by a well-kept greenhouse.

  The damn man was determined to seduce her, one way or another. If it wasn't with his dick, it was with his car and his house.

  He raced around the car, holding the door as she climbed out and looked around. Beside the car was one of the four-wheel-drive over-sized black SUVs that characterized wealthy men. Beyond that was a 3rd bay with a small car under a tarp and a selection of large tools and cabinets that Lucia knew constituted a small workshop. On the back wall of the garage was a glass door that led onto the front porch and to their side was another door that she assumed led to a mud room.

  Danny took her in by the front door. Five minutes inside and Lucia was ready to cry.

  The entire damn house was a work of art. Inside the front door was a library of beautiful cherry furniture, book-lined walls and a gorgeous ceiling. The room functioned as Danny's study, but Lucia could see herself curled in one of the leather wing chairs. That was followed by a luxurious dining room, grand staircase, large lodge-sized grand room with a fireplace and a massive, modern kitchen with bar that looked over a family room and breakfast nook.

  Danny strode directly to the refrigerator and pulled out an aluminum casserole pan covered with foil. He turned on the oven to pre-heat it and set it on the stove, then retrieved two wine glasses from a cabinet and a bottle of Amarone, all of which he set on the counter in front of Lucia. "You drink wine?" he asked. "Might as well enjoy some tonight."

  She did, taking the glass he poured and sipping the rich flavor. "This is good," she observed, looking carefully at the bottle. "And aging."

  "Dad bought several cases a year from the year he met Mama. I've kept up the practice. We generally keep it at least five years, and that's after the five years it is stored after bottling, so it's a ten-to-fifteen-year wine."

  Lucia looked around the room. "So your father did all this?"

  He nodded. "I'll show you the bedroom later, and I believe there is a room or two upstairs that would be appropriate for a studio-and-study for you. One overlooks the pool, and the other is simply a bedroom but has a secret giant walk-in-closet almost the length of the three-car garage that could be set up to store and dry your canvases. There's also a room that would be appropriate as a guest room for your parents, if they decide to return to New Jersey after this temporary crisis is over. You'll have to decide which would be a better studio and which would be a better playroom for the kids."

  "Bribing me and giving me alcohol won't turn me into a subservient little housewife," Lucia observed, still clenching her glass. She took another sip, then asked, "You know you're breaking the law, right? Providing alcohol to me?"

  Danny shrugged negligently, patently uncaring. "What about getting you pregnant? Will the bribing or the alcohol help with that?" Danny set down his wine glass and put the waiting foil pan in the oven. He turned back to her.

  She shook her head. "I want to finish my education," she said, biting her lip, suddenly serious. "I was studying art history, intending to work in a museum to support myself. If my mother is an expert in Italian sculpture and loves the process of carving marble herself, then I actually want to restore paintings – not just create them."

  He tipped his head, listening to her. "Is that right? Seems to me you can still do that and be my wife, at the same time."

  "You're willing to let your wife spend the next five years at NYU without you?" Lucia dared, raising a brow. "Even starting out in the business requires a master's degree."

  "Fuck, no," he said, striding across the room. Lucia shuddered when his hands hit her hips. Her glass clattered on the granite countertop. Heat flooded her as he ran one hand up her torso, over a breast, and cupped her jaw, lifting her and forcing her to meet his eyes. "For right this moment, just think about this," he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Just like before, his presence was enough to seduce her. The masculine scent of him flooded her mind, the husky rasp of his voice reverberated in her ears, and the taste of him and warm wine on his tongue as it rubbed against hers filled her mouth. He clasped her bottom in his hands and squeezed, causing arousal to surge in her, readying her insides for his cock. Danny released her, but slid his hands higher above her thighs, hitting the bare skin of her back beneath the dress, the heat of his palms making her eyes fly open. She met the deep blue of his and couldn't contain aroused cry that escaped her as he lifted his mouth from hers.

  "Say yes," he insisted, not looking away.

  Instead of saying it aloud, however, Lucia leaned forward and licked the salty collarbone at the base of his neck, then bit down gently.

  It was enough consent for Danny, who shoved down her tights and lifted her onto the cold counter, dragging her dress out of the way as he settled her on the cold stone. Before she was quite cognizant of his actions, her sweater hit the floor and he was pushing her dress up and over her head.

  The disappearance of her dress left her in the tight tube bra, panties, and her tights shoved to her knees. But the moment of self-consciousness was ripped away when Danny moved his hands to cup her breasts in his hands and thumbed her nipples through the stretchy lace.

  She couldn't contain the whimper, or stop her head from falling back as she stretched into his hands, arching her back. He released the globes to shove the material down, then replaced his hands on her bare skin. Her whimper became a tremulous cry.

  Lucia wanted this man's hands on her. She couldn't deny it. She didn't understand the sizzle of awareness and electricity that crackled between them, but in those moments when he was touching her, she could think of nothing but him. She didn't object when he pushed her panties aside and slid a long finger inside her, pumping in and out until her hips met each thrust with a rhythmic motion she couldn't control. "Come for me, florzhina," he crooned against her ear, biting it gently as she rotated. His teeth caught the lobe of her ear and pulled as she went off like she was using a damned rocket vibrator in the dark of her bedroom.

  Afterward, he slipped her tunic dress over her head and carried her to the family room sofa. He wrapped her in a warm quilt and she stayed there quietly. When he came back, he carried a warm washcloth. Lucia started to struggle, but Danny kissed her and instead of pushing him away, she clutched his shoulders and held the taste of him inside her mouth instead. By the time he let her mouth go, the hot terrycloth had soothed her and he wiped off all the excess juices on her thigh as he pulled it away. After he tucked the quilt around her again, he started a fire. She watched him crouch by the wooden logs, already in place, and start the blaze.

  Lucia wanted to argue, but it was so much easier to lie still and let him take care of everything. So that's what she did. Before she was quite recovered, he picked her up from the chair and carried her into the breakfast room, which clearly functioned as an informal dining space. Large windows on two sides looked out onto the lawns and into a screened porch. He placed her in one of the green velvet armchairs that normally would have sat at each end of the 6-seat table. Now they were side-by-side
, with two white china place settings perfectly set out and lasagna steaming in the foil pan.

  Lucia ate, recognizing Nonna's lasagna. When they finished, she helped Danny clean up the few dishes, loading them in the dishwasher as he took out the trash. When he returned, trapping her between his body and the counter and wrapping his arms around her waist, she still didn't argue, but leaned into him.

  "Give me a chance," he said, phrasing it more as a demand than a request. "I heard you, about finishing school, about how you want that. I want you. So you'll give me a chance to make everything – all of it – possible."

  Shaking a bit, Lucia stayed quiet. She couldn't just agree, just let him take over her life and direct it, could she?

  He groaned and lifted her into his arms. "Time for the rest of the tour, florhinza," he said.

  "Upstairs?" she asked, raising a brow.

  "No, my bed," he answered.

  Late the next morning, Lucia woke up sticky. The bed was thankfully empty. Besides stripping her of the quilt and fucking her into exhausted oblivion as soon as they'd hit the sheets, Danny had fucked her three more times, the last one in the early pre-dawn before he'd growled in her ear about getting up to work. She'd heard a shower turn on somewhere before she'd collapsed back into exhausted slumber.

  If he had that sort of stamina every day, she was going to die from overuse and they'd have to own seven sets of bedding, because she was not washing his sheets every day.

  The skin on her inner thighs and labia was chafed. In a spectacular bathroom with white subway tile on the wall and a stained-glass enclosure for the shower, Lucia washed carefully. After that, she carefully combed out her hair and brushed her teeth from the emergency kit in her handbag. Then she searched the white wooden linen cabinet and the sink cabinets below both sinks, looking for lotion.