Surrender: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 2

  To my shock and dismay, the image wakes a queer feeling in my belly... and puts a pulsing between my legs. I find the sensation to be unsettling. I decide to walk.

  These are my last few minutes of freedom. Since we are technically not on their family’s turf, I figure Nicholas’ escort duties have not yet begun. The Village can’t be far. Adrianna’s mentioned some of the names of the shops that they own. Bachman’s Jewelers rings in my mind. I’ll ask around if need be. I cross my arms over my chest and start in the direction Dante and Adrianna just disappeared.

  I’ve made it half a block when I feel a strong grip around my upper arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Let go of me.” I tug my arm away but it’s no use. I notice a few straggling Bachmans eyeing us curiously as they climb aboard their rides. I hate causing a scene. It’s the British in my blood. I lower my voice. “Please.”

  “You’re not walking.” Nicholas’ gaze burns into mine. Challenging me. The endearing dimples are nowhere to be found. His dark brow narrows. “You’re coming with me.”

  He’s scaring me. But I don’t back down. “I go to Columbia—I live in this city. I think I can manage to find my way around.”

  “We aren’t on a college campus, sweetheart. There are things lurking around the corners of these streets that you don’t want to know about. And it’s my job to protect you during your stay. Let’s get one thing straight. If you aren’t with Adrianna, then you’re with me.”

  “I was told you were to escort me within the Village. We aren’t in the Village.”

  “Escort you to, and within.”

  “This is so over the top. Just give me the address and I’ll find it on my own. When I get there if you must accompany me, then fine. But not a moment sooner.”

  “Regardless of your thoughts, regardless of your feelings, until you step foot back on that campus, you are under my care. Understood?” His grip is tightening to the point of discomfort, leaving me wondering if I’ll have fingertip-shaped bruises in the morning. He’s staring me down in a way that makes my knees weak.

  I pull away. “There’s no need for this—”

  “It’s not your call.” His jaw is set like stone. He’s not going to relent. This man is a Neanderthal. I just need to appease his caveman ways till we get in the walls of the Village and I can be with Adrianna.

  It causes me physical pain but I manage to whisper the words, “I understand.”

  “That’s better.”

  I wait for him to release my arm.

  He doesn’t. Just moves his hold to my elbow, guiding me back toward the motorcycle.

  “You don’t have to hold me hostage like this. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He finally lets me go. His brow knits as if he’s trying to suss me out. “Tell me. How often do you make if off campus?”

  “I... get around.” I literally never leave the grounds. But no need to make him smugger than he already is.

  “Is that so?”

  I shrug. Try to set my tone to match the steely edge of his. “You don’t need to know anything about me. Once we get to the Village I’ll be with Adri and out of your hair.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s infuriating.

  His brows knit even closer together. “We don’t have visitors other than at weddings. I’m surprised Rockland even gave his okay for this. He does have an immensely soft spot for Adrianna—possibly the only soft spot in his body. It was generous of him to allow you to come. Respect his orders.”

  “Orders? Isn’t that a bit of a formal term for a family? Makes you sound more like a military—”

  “I get the feeling you confuse being an independent woman with one who does what she wants, regardless of her personal safety. Don’t mistake the two. Don’t leave my side. Is that understood?”

  “Do I have another option?”

  “I suggest you answer me with a little more clarity and respect.” His eyes bore into mine.

  It’s not a suggestion.

  It’s a command.

  “Err... um...”

  He grows visibly impatient waiting for my response. The disarming dimples misled me. This man is dangerous.

  I swallow, hard. Heat builds in my chest. I sense he’ll not wait much longer before he takes matters into his own hands and makes my decision for me. One quick glance out of the side of my eye lets me know the others are still watching. I don’t want this to escalate any further. I give him a nod, and whisper, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good girl.” Only two little words but somehow, they turn my world on end.

  I’ve never called a man my age sir in my entire life. And I’ve never had one call me good girl.

  I feel as if I’ve lost myself. I’ve been with the Bachmans less than an hour and I’m not feeling one bit like the Hannah Burns who got on that bus.

  My bag’s been strapped to the back of the motorcycle. He takes a seat on the beast of a thing. Hands me the red helmet. I take it from him. Put in on. It’s heavier than I anticipated.

  “Hop on.”

  The motorcycle is big and powerful-looking. I’ve never ridden one before. My heart is hammering in my chest. I look from the bike to the driver.

  He’s waiting, watching me. Sensing my hesitation, his stony features soften. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

  His blue eyes gaze at me in a way that calms yet excites me. Why is he having this effect on me? He’s attractive—that’s a scientific fact. But his exterior isn’t what has sweat building on my palms. It’s him. The way he takes control yet balances it with care.

  What has Adrianna told me about these men on our late-night phone calls? That they were... doms? Was that the word she used? I’ve studied Latin and know the origins of most words. I have no trouble tracing dom to dominant, a word derived from the Latin dominus.

  Which means lord or master.

  He will be neither to me. Despite the reaction from my body, my brain reminds me I’ve only got to tolerate his ways until we get behind the walls of that Village. I can do this.

  His hands go to the grips. He tilts his head back. “Get on.”

  It’s his final request. I take a deep breath. Adjust my helmet, clicking the strap beneath my chin. He reaches up, double checks the latch to be sure it’s locked in. As he does, his fingertips brush my skin.

  With shaky limbs, I board the motorcycle, climbing behind him, trying not to touch him as I do. My modest display is over as soon as I feel the first rumble of the engine. With a terrified shriek, I throw my arms around him, gripping him tightly and scooting as close to him as possible.

  Which makes him laugh.

  Which, despite my annoyance, makes me laugh. The engine roars and we take off. We are flying through the air speeding down the streets of the city. Weaving in and out of traffic. I cling to him as if my life depends on it. I pin my body to his, my breasts press against his back. It’s not lost on me that while riding on the back of her cycle, Adrianna looked like a model in an advert for French cigarettes. I fear I look as if I’m a terrified baby monkey clinging to its father’s back as it swings through the jungle trees for the first time.

  His muscles flex and ripple beneath me as we drive. My arms tighten around his flat, hard belly. The thrill of the experience, the skill of his driving, the flexing of his muscles—it has my senses turned up. My body electrified.

  Between my legs there’s a hot, pulsing throb. Instantly flooding me with shame. I tell myself I can’t help what I feel—it’s biology. Just a simple chemical reaction. A product of having my body so close to his.

  My private thoughts are interrupted by Nicholas’ words. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Oh!” Embarrassed, I loosen my grip.

  “Thanks. Try to relax, sweetheart. Enjoy the ride.”

  He’s called me sweetheart again. Does he mean it as a term of endearment or is this more of his patriarchal tendencies? As my life is currently in his hands, I decide
not to ask.

  I do as he says. Take a deep breath. Watch the world go by. The streets become posher with every block. We drive by sidewalk cafés, boutiques, art galleries. The buildings become more uniform. Tall, proud, and meticulously maintained. Brownstones that boast elegantly scripted signs, proudly stating the names of the businesses. I read them as we go by. Daughtry Clothiers, Clara’s Children’s Boutique, Barbells Gym. Curious tall black gates rise between each of the shops, small black boxes buried in the stone walls beside them. We pass the gold swirling letters of Bachman’s Jewelers.

  I never would have found this place on my own. I offer an olive branch. “Are we in the Village now?”

  “These are the outer buildings.” He slows to a crawl. Pulls in front of the gate that’s attached to the jewelry store. Reaches up and presses his thumb against the box. The gate slides to the right, disappearing into the wall. Revealing another gate. Another box. He pulls up further. Waits until the gate is closed behind us. Turns over his shoulder and flashes me a smile. Presses his thumb against this black box and says, “This is the Village.”

  We leave the alley and pull onto a cobblestone path. There’s a whir and a clank as the gate rolls shut behind us. The Village is beautiful and quaint, quite like a storybook. Couples stroll down the sidewalk, hand in hand. Bistro tables dot a central town square where people sit drinking wine, nibbling food, chatting.

  The streets are lined with rows of three-story homes. Each one decorated with its own personality. A turquoise door here, black shutters and flowerboxes there. I glance over my shoulder. Behind us, the buildings rise like an enormous privacy fence. It’s a hidden world. “I can’t believe this exists.”

  “You’re very lucky to be here. Adrianna and Rockland must trust you with their lives?” It’s a statement but he asks it as a question.

  It irks me that his tone hints he does not trust me. That he is not particularly fond of my being here. “They treated me like family when I only had my father. I’d never do anything to hurt them.”

  “Good to know.” There’s an awkward silence. A moment later, he offers what seems like his own olive branch. “We have a little time to kill. You want the tour?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The streets we drive down are numbered—one through seven. Each of the streets are lined with rows of homes. Nick says, “All of the houses have identical layouts but couldn’t be more differently decorated. Mine is kind of lacking compared to others. You know—being a bachelor and all.”

  So, he’s single. Not that that matters to me. Does it? “Mine’s stuffed to the gills.”

  “First floor, laundry and kitchen. On the second floor, to the left is the living room. To the right, an office. Or in my case a room with an empty desk. The entire third floor is a master bedroom. There are windows in all the rooms, both on the western- and eastern-facing sides of the homes. Huge windows, open to the back garden as well as the street. They used to be kept bare, but Rockland’s insisted on curtains being hung.”

  I squeak out, “You mean you could see in? Even into the... bedrooms?”

  “Yup.”

  I stare up at the huge, spotless windows imagining couples, the intimate part of their lives on display. I clear my throat, changing the subject. “How long has the Village been here?”

  “A long time. Bachmans began buying up the land in the late eighteen hundreds. Once the entire block had been purchased, they slowly built the businesses on the streets, forming the square behind them. The backs of the buildings have no windows looking into the Village. It took a long time and once the businesses were in place, forming this fortress, they built homes.”

  So this place had been around for ages. Crazy. The Bachmans are more powerful than Adrianna let on. “How long has Rockland been here? When Adrianna first left Italy, she’d followed him to a place she called... I can’t think of the name of it.”

  “The Parish.”

  “That’s right. Where is that?”

  “It’s an island off the coast of Greece. Years ago, Rockland left the Village to branch out. He started the Parish by himself. It grew beyond anything he anticipated—from a small community to a bustling town with white stone mansions on white sand beaches. There were some changes in relationships, a few family dynamics shifted, and he ended up here. Adrianna followed him again and that’s how she ended up with Dante.”

  Insane. A private island? A hidden city? Wasn’t there a third place as well? I rack my brain, remembering the name. “And the Hamlet? She mentioned her friend Paige and the leader before Rockland—what was his name?”

  “The Hamlet is our third little world. It’s a suburb outside of Connecticut. Bronson is the leader there now. It’s where a couple goes if they want to breed.”

  “Breed?” This place is getting stranger with every minute.

  “I’m joking. It’s where you go if you want to have a family. Paige got herself knocked up and tugged Bronson off to the Hamlet—one of the shifts in dynamics I mentioned. That’s when Rockland became the head of the Village.”

  “Families can only live in the Hamlet?”

  “There are families at the Parish as well. Are you keeping up with all this?”

  “Just barely.”

  “There are no children in the Village. It worked out for Rockland and Tess to be running the show here. Rugrats aren’t on their radar.”

  “Does that mean if Dante and Adrianna choose to have children, they will have to move?”

  “Yes. No kids allowed.”

  “Why?”

  “Even though we have three main communities, the Village houses the headquarters for our businesses. Children aren’t... conducive to our way of life here.”

  “How so?”

  “How much has Adrianna shared with you?” There’s a touch of ice in his words, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “About?”

  “The family business?”

  Italians. New York. Incredible wealth.

  Am I riding on the back of a mobster’s motorcycle? Has Adrianna gotten herself tied up in the New York mafia? Surely not. I’m letting my imagination get the best of me. I shrug. Try to make my voice light. “She’s told me... enough.”

  I sense a tightening in his shoulders. His voice is cold, low. “Is that so?”

  His tone flusters me, which angers me. I snap back, “Of course she’s told me about the family business. Why would she bring me here without telling me?” I rack my brain. What do I know? Mostly Adrianna just talks about how much she loves Dante and how hot the sex is between them. Did she mention anything about the family business? They’re shop owners, and I think I recall her saying something about finance or stock trading.

  He sniffs at my statement and changes the subject. “Why weren’t you at the wedding?”

  “I... couldn’t make it.”

  “You couldn’t make it to your best friend’s wedding? Adrianna was really hurt when you said you weren’t coming.”

  A sharp stab pierces my heart. Swallowing hard, I blink back tears. “It just didn’t work out. Can we drop it?”

  “Touchy subject?”

  “Yes—you could say that.”

  “Alright then.”

  “Alright.” I’m over this tension between the two of us. It’s time to get off this bike. I need to find a room. Get a shower. Have a glass of wine with Adrianna and laugh and catch up. “Listen, Nicholas—”

  “You can call me Nick.”

  “Fine. I’ve really enjoyed—”

  “Can I call you Hannie?”

  I groan. How many of them overheard Adri’s embarrassing nickname for me? “No, you may not.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. But you can still call me Nick.”

  “Listen, Nick—I appreciate your showing me around but I’d like to get to Adrianna now if you don’t mind.” There’s a long silence as we cruise by a tall gray building. The words Bachman Enterprises are written in huge letters across the front. This must b
e the headquarters he mentioned. It certainly looks like a respectable office building, confirming they must be into stock trading. Well-to-do bankers with no time for kids. I wait for him to turn back. Head to the rows of homes. Instead, we are driving toward a beautiful grassy meadow. “Nick?”

  “You’ve got an adorable accent. You know that?”

  “Are you trying to change the subject on me?”

  “It’s cute. British chick meets old world Italia meets classic New Yorker. But mostly British.”

  “I’m... eclectic. Can you please turn around now?”

  “It’s very sexy.”

  Cue the blushing. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Can you please take me back?”

  “There’s one thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you wearing perfume?”

  “It’s lotion. I’m not one for cosmetics.”

  “It smells amazing.”

  “Can you please stop changing the subject now?”

  “Yes. But there’s one more thing.”

  “Get on with it... please.”

  “You know how Adrianna can be kind of flighty?”

  “Please—I’ve known her since she was in pigtails. I was her walking, talking agenda when we were in school together. I had to remind her to do her homework. Tell her when her projects were due. She even forgot the school dance, which she was crazy excited about. I showed up at her house to walk with her and she wasn’t even dressed.”

  “Nose stuck in a book?”

  I laugh. “Yes. As per usual.”

  “Sounds like our Adrianna. Unfortunately, her flightiness has caused a little rift in your schedule today.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She had a few things she had to attend to. She felt terrible she wasn’t able to tell you herself. Which means I’m in charge of you till she’s freed up.”

  “How long?” Disappointment creeps heavy into my chest. I lean my head down and try to take a sniff beneath my arm. As far as I can tell I don’t smell like a city bus but I still want a proper wash. “I was really looking forward to hanging out with her. And maybe taking a shower.”

  “No problem. You can take one at my place.”