Dangerous...

Another movement outside the windows caught her attention. Only the movement hadn’t come from outside, had it? Rather she’d caught the reflection of someone moving behind her in the glass.

Gia’s heart lodged in her throat as she helplessly watched a masked man wearing gloves reach above her and then stretch a thin wire cord around her neck.

She moved her right hand up in time to fit it between her neck and the wire before her assailant pulled. Still, she coughed from the sudden, intense pressure even as she kicked at his feet and legs. But she was no match for his height and strength. The strong smell of onions filled her nose as he leaned closer to her ear.

“A lady mob boss. You should be glad that you lasted as long as you did, Giovanna. Your father would have been proud.”

The voice was unfamiliar to her. Then again, many of the voices that now filled her father’s house fell into the same category. Where once she could have foretold someone’s arrival by his or her footfalls, now the sound of the house settling kept her up at night.

With good reason, she realized.

She watched her own reflection in the glass. Blood drained from her face and the cord felt dangerously close to severing her fingers as she tried to pull it away, serving only to pull it tighter to the unprotected part of her neck.

Gia kicked out, aiming for the doors, desperately trying to attract the attention of the guard outside. Her bare foot hit a lower pane of glass and the door rattled. She tried again, but found herself jerked out of reach by her assailant.

Death. It had been a way of life for her growing up. Forget that every now and again the house had been the gathering place when someone in the family caught a bullet with his name on it. There were also the more personal deaths. First, there had been the loss of her mother when she was but a girl. And then her paternal grandmother, who had spoken only Italian and had essentially raised her and her brothers until her own death when Gia was seventeen.

But somehow she’d never considered that her own death would take place here. And that it should happen in such a way that she should bear witness to it seemed especially disheartening. She tried to penetrate the mask of the man holding her, catch a glimpse of his eyes, the shape of his jaw, even though the attempt was futile at best. She knew that within a matter of seconds she’d begin to lose consciousness, and soon after that her heart would stop beating due to lack of oxygen.

Still, she searched for a way to fend off her attacker.

It was then she grew aware that when he’d jerked her back from the doors, he’d moved her closer to a side table where a brass lamp sat. She shifted her free hand from around her neck and reached for the light, coughing when he pulled harder on the cord and then reaching again. Her fingertips slid against the cold metal but she couldn’t seem to get a grip around the wide base.

The room began to blacken. She slowly blinked, her arm falling to her side.

That was when she caught another reflection in the doors. That of a man coming up behind her attacker.

Luca…

LONG MINUTES LATER, Gia sat against the sofa cushions of the library, her fingers at her raw throat, staring at the man who had appeared out of nowhere and had seen to her attacker with the efficiency of a paramilitary trooper. At least until the last minute when the masked man had landed a punch that set Luca back on his heels and gotten away despite the armed guards who were supposed to be protecting the house and its inhabitants.

Finally, Luca finished talking to the head of the guard detail, who apologized over and over again, and then he closed the library doors,

turning to face Gia.

“What are you doing here?”

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she was being openly antagonistic toward the man who had just saved her life. Actually, she’d been rude to him pretty much since she’d returned to Long Island. It probably had something to do with the fact that when it came to Luca, it was better to avoid the past than to confront it head- on.

He crossed to a concealed bar, pushed the door to spring it open and poured two glasses of whiskey. He walked toward the couch and handed her one.

He considered her over the rim of his glass as he drank. “I should think your first words to me would be ‘thank you.’”

Gia dropped her gaze, the contents of her own glass blazing a trail down her throat. “For all I know, you could have been in on it with him.”

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Is that what you think?”

She shrugged and then put her glass down on the end table nearest her. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Facts speak louder than words. And the fact is that I said good-night to you over an hour ago.”

Luca stood staring at her for a long moment, then retrieved something lying on the floor near the door. She realized it was the file of papers he’d had her sign earlier. “I got all the way back to my place before realizing I’d forgotten these.”

Gia looked from his hands to his face. “So I should count myself lucky then, shouldn’t I?”

He didn’t appear to know how to respond so he said nothing. Instead, he moved to sit on the couch next to her.

“Did you get a look at him?” he asked.

“He was wearing a mask.”

“That doesn’t mean you might not have recognized him.”

“I didn’t.” Her gaze was steady. “Did you recognize him?”

“No,” he said easily. “Did he say anything?”

“What was there to say? Beyond ‘see you in hell’?”

But he had said something, hadn’t he? She put her hand to her temple and rested her elbow against the back of the couch. “Wait. He did say something…” She swallowed hard. “He called me Giovanna and said that I was lucky to have lived as long as I had.”

She left out the part about how her father would have been proud. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t so sure her father would have been proud. She had not yet avenged his death, she couldn’t even keep herself safe.

Besides, he’d never approve of his daughter following in his footsteps. He’d always tried to keep everything involving the family business well away from her. She suspected part of the reason was the sexist double standard to which most men from the old country subscribed. Being a mobster was a man’s job. Not a woman’s.

Mostly, he probably wanted to protect his only daughter.

She recalled another old-country man with whom she’d had an unnerving visit just that morning. Could Vincenzo Tamburo have been behind the attempt on her life?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay here,” Luca said.

Gia looked at him. “Where would you have me go? My place in Manhattan?”

She’d meant the suggestion as a half-assed attempt at a joke. But Luca wasn’t laughing. Neither was she, for that matter.

Fact was, he was probably right. She’d known she’d pinned a target to herself when she’d vowed revenge against those responsible for the hit against her father and brother. She’d only thought that so long as she stuck to the house, and stayed away from the windows, she wouldn’t be that much at risk.

Mistake number one.

Her gaze dropped to the stern lines of Luca’s mouth. And if she wasn’t careful, she might give herself over to mistake number two.

A knock at the door and then it opened.

“Miss Gia?”

She sat up a little straighter. “Come in, Vito.”

The older Italian entered and stood, taking in the couple on the couch. “I just got word on what happened.”

Luca got to his feet to face him. “Aren’t you in charge of security, Vito?”

Gia winced. “Luca…”

“No, no, he’s right, Miss Gia. I am in charge of security. And there’s no excuse for what happened tonight.” He looked at the red mark around her neck. “I can only thank God that no more damage was done.”

“What did happen tonight?” Luca continued.

Gia sighed, suddenly feeling like she hadn’t slept for days. “That’s enough, Luca. Thank you…for stopping by.” He hiked a brow at her purposeful understatement of his activities. “But I’ll be fine now that Vito’s here.”

Luca looked between her and the old Italian. Then he finally said, “If you’re sure.”

“It won’t happen again,” Vito said. “I stake my life on it.”

Gia spread her hands palm up as if to say, “See.”

Truth was, though, she didn’t trust herself where Luca was concerned. In light of all that had happened not just that night, but over the past five weeks, she might be tempted to give in to that soft spot inside her that yearned to curl up in his embrace and take whatever he might have to offer by way of comfort…and sex.

But considering what had happened the last time she’d given herself over to fundamental urges…she looked everywhere but at Luca’s questioning gaze.

“Vito will see you out,” Gia said.

5

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Luca’s words still resonated with Gia. She’d decided to take her morning break in her brother Lorenzo’s room and since he was in a deep sleep, she didn’t have much else to do than think.

The old bedroom was unusually quiet. The first item on her agenda was to open the heavy curtains so that her brother might see that it was daylight and regain some sense of the passage of time. More than a month’s worth that he’d lost and could never regain.

Still, the heavily paneled room felt dark.

Gia let her gaze fall over Lorenzo’s face and still form under the blanket. The doctor had been concerned about dehydration so he’d ordered an intravenous feeding tube be inserted a week ago. The stand and bag were on the other side of the bed and was a reminder of why it was so important to pull Lorenzo closer to her rather than let him drift ever nearer to her father and Mario.

Immediately following his emergency surgery to remove two bullets from his lower spine, he’d been placed in a drug-induced coma to allow his body to heal.

The problem was that Lorenzo seemed completely content to remain there, despite her pleas for him to return to some semblance of normalcy.

She needed him.

One of his three full-time nurses came into the room with fresh linens.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here, Miss Gia.” She began backing out.

She gestured for her to come in. “That’s okay. I was just about to leave anyway.”

The nurse smiled, placed the linens on a rich red oak nightstand and then left the room again.

Gia stared at her brother’s impassive face. So handsome. Their father used to like to joke that he didn’t look like anyone on the Trainello side of the family and that it was a good thing he was the spitting image of his mother or else he’d have to have him tested to make sure he was of his blood. A broad forehead, smooth dark brows, a slightly hooked nose and strong jawline and tousled glossy dark brown hair that shone almost black against the whiteness of his pillowcase. Growing up, Gia had had her share of friends who had sought out her company in the hopes of a chance to get closer to her older brother.

Which was one of the reasons why the thirty-year- old wasn’t married yet. Why should he marry now, he said, when he was enjoying playing a field that widened every time he turned around?

Now he lay alone in a room that was too dark, wallowing in the darkness of his own mind.

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