Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(69)

At one point we sit at a tiny café, waiting for espressos. “I already have someone working on connecting you to your last name,” he tells me.

“I know,” I say. “That’s why I didn’t ask. I have that much confidence in you, Kayden. My mother had that kind of faith in my father.”

Our espressos arrive in tiny cups, and on a shared smile we down them. I choke on how strong they are, and he laughs. “That’s why I have a coffeepot at home.” He looks at his new watch, which has a thick black band with a gold face and stirs absolutely no memories. “I want to show you around the neighborhood both before and after dark, so you can see how it changes.”

We pull our coats on and start to get up, when I realize I’ve forgotten something important. “Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Where the hell is my head? I can’t believe I forgot this. Donati called me yesterday while you were gone.”

“How does Donati have your number?” he asks, settling back into his seat.

“It has to be Gallo—so he’s not working to get Gallo off our backs at all.”

“What did he want?”

“He demanded I tell him why you were with Niccolo.”

“And you said?”

I relay the entire conversation. “But what was weird was the way he said that no one turns down Niccolo. It was almost offhanded, and I’m not sure he really meant to say it. I think he did something for Niccolo and was worried you were going to find out what.”

He thrums his fingers on the table. “Donati is a good man. He means well, but he thinks he can play on a field he’s not skilled enough to play on. So somehow he crossed Niccolo, and now he’s indebted to him. He wants out. And as Kevin used to say, a caged man is a stupid man.”

“He was worried about you being with Niccolo, Kayden. So that stupid you’re talking about involves you.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Which means we attack directly.”

“By doing what?”

“We go to Niccolo.”



As we walk down a sidewalk, on our way to meet Niccolo, I ask, “Are you sure it’s smart for me to meet this man? You met with him alone for a reason.”

“We met leader to leader, and established that our boundaries had not been crossed, which ensured that you weren’t caught in the crosshairs. Now, it’s another day and time. As my woman,” he says, “you look him in the eye, and you do not blink.”

“What if he puts me on the spot about the necklace?” I ask as we enter the square with the Spanish Steps directly to our left.

“You’ll handle it. If I didn’t think you could, you wouldn’t be my woman.” He stops in front of double wooden doors, one open and revealing a long hallway. “Now we wait.”

Several horse-drawn carriages sit about three feet away, while cabs line up to our left.

“Will he just walk up and greet us? I mean, how does the head of the Italian mafia have a casual meeting?” At that moment three black sedans pull up in front of the walkway, where I don’t think other cars are allowed.

“I guess I just got my answer,” I murmur, my heart racing.

“He’ll be in the center car,” Kayden tells me, “and the last to exit.”

Sure enough, doors pop open from the sedans at the front and back, and several men in trench coats exit, eyeing the surroundings. “I think they’ve been watching too much TV,” I murmur.

“TV is imitating them, sweetheart, not the other way around.”

One of the men eyes Kayden and inclines his chin.

“Inside,” Kayden instructs, and we step inside the hallway. Almost immediately two of the trench-coated men enter, one motioning someone, Niccolo I assume, forward.

Kayden’s hand settles at my back and a tall, gaunt bald man I guess to be fifty enters the hallway, his pin-striped suit fitted and expensive. The other two men go back outside and shut the double wooden doors behind them.

“Niccolo,” Kayden greets him, and I am shocked at the confirmation that this man is the mafia king who in photos appears younger and more attractive.

“Hello, Hawk,” Niccolo replies, his lips twisting sardonically before his cold, dark stare lands on me, and he shocks me by taking my hand. “Ella. So good to see you, dear. Any woman who holds a gun to Garner Neuville’s head in front of his staff and disgraces him is damn near blood to me.”

I blanch, shocked. “I . . . did what?”

“Ah yes,” he says, folding his arms in front of his chest, flicking his gaze between the two of us. “The amnesia. Such a shame to steal that pleasant memory from you. I was concerned you wouldn’t make it out of his home, let alone his country, alive, but here you are. Without my necklace.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“So I hear.” His eyes harden, and he looks at Kayden. “I’d hoped you’d remedied that problem.”

“If only I could command her to orgasm or to return from amnesia,” Kayden replies dryly, “but I’m not guaranteed either.” He changes the subject. “What do you have on Donati?”

Niccolo’s lips quirk. “Good man. Morals. Conscience. All that good stuff that makes men do stupid things. I have ammunition on him and he knows it, but I do on most people. Why?”