LUCA_Her Ruthless Don Read online

  So, following my gut, I hired Diamond on a trial basis the very next day, and a year later, I still consider it one of the best decisions I’ve ever made for my career. Talk about a diamond in the rough. If I so much as sniff something rotten—like say, a judge that comes back with a custody decision in favor of my client’s estranged husband way too fast—I point her in the direction of the bad smell and she roots it out.

  “I think I might have to give you a raise,” I tell her as I dig into the bag of cronuts. I can’t say as a medical certainty that the baby growing inside of me is the reason I suddenly just have to have a couple of the delicious baked treats every morning, but he kicks when the fresh smell hits my nose.

  “Because of you, Mrs. Galeson might get full custody of her kids back before my six-month appointment,” I tell Diamond with my mouth full.

  “I don’t need a raise, but if you really want to thank me—”

  “Still not naming the baby Diamond.”

  The clacking stops, and she whines, “C’mon why not?”

  “First of all, it’s a boy.”

  “Sexist much? You name a boy Diamond, and bet he’ll grow up to be a rapper.”

  “Second of all, I don’t want him to grow up to be a rapper.”

  “Aw, that’s cold, Amber! You out here, acting like you for the people, but behind closed doors you siddity AF.”

  Before I can defend myself against being called uppity by a woman I suspect might have several colors worth of extensions in her hair, my earpiece buzzes.

  “Call from…Naima Almonte,” its electronic voice informs me.

  Nai…. Probably calling to chastise me. Again. “Amber, why are you at the office so early?” … or… “sixty hour work weeks aren’t good for you or the baby”…. or…“you’re going to have to figure out some kind of balance after this child is born.”

  Ever since she offered to co-parent this baby, she’s been nagging at me to slow down.

  I answer the call anyway.

  “Hey Nai, we still on for nanny interviews this weekend?” I ask, trying to distract her from whatever lecture she’s got planned for me this morning.

  But instead of taking my bait, Naima says, “Um, Amber…hi…” her voice shaking, “I have a visitor. He was just sitting here when I came into the kitchen. And he…” she audibly swallows…“has a gun.”

  24

  Here’s That Rainy Day

  I jump out the Lyft and run up the stairs of the duplex Naima lives in alone, now that her parents have returned to Hispaniola for their retirement years. But rather than relish finally being able to live alone at the age of thirty-six, Naima has missed her parents terribly. The plan for me to give up my apartment in Astoria and move in with her in Jackson Heights a couple months before the baby was born had seemed perfect after I found out I was pregnant. But now I’m cursing myself for getting Naima involved in any of this in any way.

  This is all my fault, I think as I climb her familiar stairs, two at a time.

  Thank goodness, she got one of those braille keyboard locks for her parents a couple years ago. I punch in the code, and the deadbolt turns with an electronic whir, granting me entrance.

  “Nai!” I call out as soon as I’m inside.

  “In the kitchen!” her voice calls back. I can tell she’s fighting to keep her voice level, but I still clearly hear the fear.

  I’ve been to this house so many times, I don’t even need my stick. And though sighted, Naima still keeps all the walkways as clean and clear as she did when she lived here with her parents. So it’s a straight shot to the kitchen, with nothing to trip over.

  “Heya, Amber,” a voice says as soon as I enter the doorless kitchen.

  Not Luca’s. This one is deeper, grimmer. But I’ve heard it before, I’m just not sure where…

  And instead of waiting for me to return his greeting he says, “Just so we’re all on the same page, I’ve got a gun pointed at your friend’s head. From what I’ve heard, you two are real close. Like sisters. So, I’m imagining that’s not a good picture in your head right now, is it?”

  “No, I don’t like that picture,” I mumble, swallowing down my fear for Naima, in order to direct my gaze at the voice, just like Diamond told me to do with the special pair of sunglasses she outfitted me with back at my Astoria office.

  “Didn’t think you would. Why don’t you sit down, answer a few questions for me.”

  With a jolt, I suddenly remember where I’ve heard this voice before. At the wedding, standing mostly silent next to a much friendlier pack of cigarettes, who kissed the top of my hand and congratulated me on being a beautiful bride.

  The only reason the brief meeting stuck with me was that Luca had introduced the two men as his cousins—the only family members between us who showed up to celebrate our doomed marriage, and they had sort of strange names. Rock and Stone, identical twins, but nothing alike from what I could tell. Rock was all affable and cheery, but Stone had only spoken a few lines before falling eerily quiet.

  And Stone, I had the feeling, was the one in the room with Naima now. The one with the gun. “You’re Stone… Luca’s cousin, right?” I ask, deliberately stressing all the names for Diamond’s recording back at the office. “What’s a member of the Ferraro crime family doing in my friend’s home, threatening her with a gun.”

  A beat. Then the voice says, “Table’s right in front of you.”

  “You don’t want to do this. And you should know that if anything happens to Naima, the police will be notifi—”

  “No need for threats, Amber,” he says, like I’m a super rude guest. “This is just going to be a little conversation between me, you, and your friend. As long as you’re honest, nobody gets hurt. Now sit down, I’m not looking to get Jackie Channed like that guy that tried to come for you and that Sylvie chick last year.”

  Dammit… so he knows I’ve turned my body into a lethal weapon in the years between my divorce and him showing up in this kitchen. I sit down, pulling the chair as far as possible from the table.

  Only to have Luca’s cousin say, “Scoot your ass all the way in, sweetheart. Far as that baby belly will let you.”

  I stay where I’m at for a mutinous second, testing his boundaries.

  But then, Naima eeps.

  “Sorry, my gun’s so cold, sweetheart,” Stone says, with zero actual remorse in his voice. “See, I came straight here after interviewing your friend’s ex-boyfriend this morning inside a freezer.”

  My own heart goes cold at the mention of Pascoal. Innocent Pascoal…

  I scoot in, but demand, “Is he okay? Did you hurt him?”

  “Not too bad. Probably won’t even have to spend a whole night at the hospital I dropped him at.”

  A rush of anger overtakes my head and before I can stop myself, I’m yelling, “He doesn’t have good insurance, you careless asshole! And now you’ve saddled him with an expensive hospital bill?”

  “Not that expensive. That so-called martial artist turned into a fucking baby when he woke up, tied to a chair inside a freezer. It only took a couple of pistol whips to get him talking.”

  I just shake my head. Hating this thug, almost as much as the man who sent him.

  “Thing is, I’m kind of confused, because this former boyfriend of yours told me the kid you’re carrying ain’t his. He said you two broke up, because he didn’t want to climb on the parent train with ya, and as far as he knows you went ahead with the turkey baster option—at least that’s what I think he said. It was kind of hard to understand him with all that bitch-sobbing.”

  He pauses for my reaction, but this time I manage not to give the bastard anything, except what I hope is a completely blank face behind my recording sunglasses.

  Unfortunately, Naima isn’t receiving my keep your mouth closed mental message. “That’s what I told you, too. Exactly what I told you. She broke up with Pascoal and got IUI. So why are you still here? Why did you ma
ke me call her?”

  “Because he’s cruel and doesn’t care who he hurts,” I answer Naima, between gritted teeth.

  “Because the thing is, we’ve been checking over your friend’s insurance stuff, and we can’t find any record of her receiving any… what do you call ‘em… fertility treatments,” Stone answers Naima like I haven’t spoken. “All we’re seeing are a couple of appointments with her main lady parts doc, and then she starts up with an OB a few weeks later. Would seem to me that if some other doctor knocked her up with a turkey baster, they’d want some kind of follow up.”

  They hacked my insurance records? My stomach drops at how much they found out in less than twelve hours, and how much more they’ll figure out if they manage to get their hands on my actual medical records.

  “So you’re a fertility expert now, along with a thug who goes around threatening people with guns after violating, like, all the HIPPA laws?” Naima asks.

  “No, actually, what I am is confused. Because both you and this Pascoal are claiming one thing, but the paper trail don’t match.”

  “Okay, not all insurance covers fertility treatments,” Naima answers. “She probably had to pay for it out of pocket. And even if she did, what does that matter? It’s not like this is any business of your cousin or boss or whatever that undeserving ex-husband of hers is to you. Amber hasn’t seen that dude, in, like, five years.”

  Oh God. “Nai…” I start to say.

  “No, no, Amber, this guy is in the wrong. I mean what does it matter how you got pregnant? The fact is you did, and your journey is nobody’s business but yours—”

  Oh Nai… “If you want me to talk, put down the gun and call Luca. Tell him to come here himself, because I’m not dealing with anybody else,” I say, cutting her off before she can take her defense of me any further.

  Now it’s Stone’s turn to test boundaries. The hard click of a gun cocking sounds. And Naima squeaks again. Her temporary fit of fire disappears, and her breath starts coming out in quick, panicked bursts.

  “If you kill her… if you hurt her… then there will be no reason for me not to come after you with full force,” I say, my voice lethal but level. “And I’m pretty sure a physical fight with a pregnant lady wasn’t part of your completely fucked up mission parameters.”

  A beat of silence.

  Then I hear the much more muted click of the gun’s safety sliding back into place.

  A whisper of fabric and the electronic notes of phone buttons being pushed come next. “Yeah… she’s asking for a meeting…. Want me to bring her—”

  He cuts off, listening. “Yeah… yep… got it.”

  I hear another fabric whisper, this one probably the phone being put away, then Stone says, “Alright, sweetheart, you’re coming with me.”

  There’s a sharp metal screech, and Naima cries out, right before what I’m guessing is the back of the chair she was sitting in, makes a dull bang against the kitchen floor.

  Obviously, Stone’s pulled Naima out of her chair. I follow her sharp breaths across the kitchen, and I keep my recording gaze on her as long as I can, all the way up until I hear the open and closing slam of the front door.

  But I’m so completely intent on capturing every moment of Naima’s removal from her own house for Diamond recording back at the office, I don’t hear the opening and closing of the kitchen’s back door. Don’t notice the footsteps of the person coming toward me or smell his cologne.

  Not until it’s too late, and both my earpiece and the sunglasses have been abruptly ripped from my head.

  “Luca? Luca, why are you taking my sunglasses and my phone?” I say, not because I’m really wondering, but because I need Diamond to understand we’ve been made. “Please stop this right now, Luca Jacob Ferraro. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Life is a precious jewel, and you should go home before anyone else gets hurt!” I say, hoping to God Diamond gets that these words are really for her.

  The catch of the coded message is that as far as I know, Diamond doesn’t have a home. She’s never provided me with an actual address or even any reason to believe Diamond is her real name. As far as I know, she’s an offshore bank account that gets my pitiful paycheck transferred into it every other week. So “Life is a precious jewel… you should go home!” is the closest I can come to saying, “Diamond run and hide before they come for you, too,” without completely exposing her to Luca. Because the last thing this situation needs is another innocent person I care about getting dragged into it.

  A door whines open, and I can just imagine the sunglasses being handed off.

  I’ve been training for something like this for five years, and my body tenses with the impulse to immobilize Luca and run to safety. But he’s played this exactly right by taking Naima. I can’t do anything with her life at risk. Plus, there’s the baby to think of now…

  I rub a hand over my belly, vowing silently not for the first time since finding out it was inside of me that I won’t let him anybody or anything hurt him.

  Then the door bangs shut, and then comes the sound of Luca’s expensive shoes striding across cheap flooring. The chair creaks and bangs. I imagine him picking it up and firmly setting it to right, before taking a seat.

  Maintaining a straight gaze while this happens feels like a Herculean feat. Muscle memory dies a hard, hard death, and mine is still hanging on, even though I’ve been blind at this point almost as long as I wasn’t. My eyes instinctively want to follow every sound he makes, the primordial form of bracing against a predator in the bush still firing within the synapses of my modern brain, long after it lost access to my sight center.

  And as I feel his gaze going over me like a laser beam from across the table, it’s all I can do to keep my eyes still. Face calm. Breath normal, not scared and panting like Naima, who defended me so confidently, because I was too ashamed to tell her about my post-baby shower hookup with Luca. Guilt sickens my stomach at the thought of how scared she must be right now.

  But somehow, I manage to keep my gaze trained in the direction of his seat.

  I can feel him staring back, but he doesn’t talk. And, eventually, I wonder if he’s waiting me out or trying to intimidate me.

  Refusing to play either game, I say, “One weekend a month. One holiday a year.”

  I make my initial offer, then I wait to see how he’ll respond.

  More silence. So long, I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll even respond, when he finally says, “I’ll take that. And everything else.”

  “Everything else?” I repeat, not understanding or liking his counter.

  There’s a calmness in his voice now, but it’s nowhere near Buddha-like. It’s cold and calculated and puts me in mind of a snake waiting to strike. “Is it mine?” he demands.

  My heart freezes at the question, but after a careful breath, I say, “I’ll need you to specifically define ‘everything els—’”

  “Is… it… mine?” he asks again, anger seeping into the solid ice of his voice.

  This time I don’t answer. Just sit there in mutinous silence.

  “You said it wasn’t mine, so now I’m going to need the words. I’m going to need to hear you say out loud, that this boy… this son I’ve just been informed you’re carrying is mine.”

  I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Can barely imagine myself being able to open my mouth.

  “You pleading the fifth?” he asks from across the table. His voice low and dangerous.

  I don’t… I don’t answer.

  And he sighs, before saying, “Naima’s an innocent woman. Like a sister to you. But I don’t care. Make no mistake, I will have her killed if you do not answer my question. And after that, I’ll give this ex of yours a bullet, just for making Stone beat him to find out the kid wasn’t his—”

  Oh God, it’s just as I suspected. There’s nothing left of Jake Ferra in him now. He really is Luca Ferraro. Violent and cruel and willing to do anything to get hi
s way.

  “It’s yours,” I say, unable to bear the threats. Or the thought of anyone suffering like my mother did, because of me.

  A hand slams down, and the table shakes with the action. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  I can no longer control my breath. It shudders out of me, angry and for the first time in a very long while… truly scared.

  But somehow I manage to ask, one more time, “What does ‘everything else’ mean?”

  I hope you super enjoyed the first part of Amber’s and Luca’s epic story. Oh my gosh, what will happen next? Find out in the exciting conclusion of their duet with the full-length emotional romance, AMBER: His to Reclaim. Order it now!

  And don’t forget to check out the first two books in the Ruthless Tycoons series, HOLT: Her Ruthless Billionaire and ZAHIR: Her Ruthless Sheikh—which you can read for free right after the swipe. Mwah! Love ya!

  And thank you so very much for reading the first part of this duet!

  Huge Hugs,

  Theodora Taylor

  P.S. – If you haven’t signed up for my newsletter, it’s the best way to get access to my giveaways, new releases, and sweet treats like FREE preview novellas for my upcoming romances. Don’t miss out. Sign up here: http://theodorataylor.com/sign-up/

  ZAHIR – Her Ruthless Sheikh

  “Prin, wait! Hold up!”

  With only the tiniest fraction of guilt, I pretend not to hear Sylvie call my name as I disappear into the crowd at Holt Calson’s party.

  I love Sylvie. I really do. After 14 years spent exclusively with narcissists and hustlers, there’s a reason I picked a sheltered Jamaican girl as my best friend during our first year at Beaumont, an exclusive Connecticut boarding school. I lived on campus full time, and Sylvie was a day student on full scholarship, and I never cared that she only got into Beaumont because her dad was one of the groundskeepers. She laughs at all my jokes. She listens like nobody’s business. And girl, if you want a study partner—Sylvie’s got you covered. She will keep you on task and encourage you until next thing you know, you’re staring down at a report card stuffed with A-pluses.