Amico: Dominant Love, #1

INTRODUCTION

This book contains passages in Italian. For quick reference, the translation has been added in italics either before and/or after the Italian phrase.

This book also includes dark subject matter, violence, language and light BDSM. Reader discretion is advised.

PROLOGUE

MIA

ONE MONTH AGO

My heart beats increase with each step I take towards the front of the house. Questions I know I need to ask myself creep on the verge of my subconscious, but I force my mind to the here and now. My hands shake. My knees wobble. My steps, calculated and timid, threaten to ruin me with each foot I put in front of the other. 

Mary? I call out my mother by name as I reach the slightly ajar front door. I hear my voice crack as I suddenly let myself realize the inner voice that knows more than I am willing to admit right now. 

I locked the front door when I left? Didn’t I? 

I always lock the front door. I check it twice. I know that. There is no way someone could get in without a key. 

A key!

I look to the front entryway table as I make my way into the foyer and let my eyes search the inside of the glass tray that always sits there, a classy way for the upper-middle class to discard the junk they no longer want to carry around in their pockets. 

Mrs. Bates? I call out the housekeeper’s name as my fingers trace through the contents of the tray and I already know that what they are searching for they won’t find. Collin? Daniella? 

A breeze blows through an empty window across the hallway in the expansive front parlor. My eyes look up just as the curtain sways eerily in the darkness and my breath catches in my throat. 

We never leave the windows open. Especially not at this time of year; even more, not with the threat of weather we’ve been watching for the last two days. A huge system bringing with it monsoons Vegas hasn’t seen in years. And yet…

I turn suddenly as my eyes scan around the entryway before quickly turning once more on my heels and making sure no one followed me in through the front door. The front door was open when I know for a fact either I, the housekeeper, Collin, or his girlfriend Daniella, would have closed it knowing my mother’s fragile condition since my father went missing. 

Daniella is my closest friend. Collin, he’s one of my father’s work associates, although more my age than his, I’ve found it odd the last few weeks that he insisted on stopping by every night to check on us. He never seemed to care much when my father was around, so why now? Even when Daniella and I would spend nights out at the club, days at the mall or salon, Collin never mixed his work life with his personal life. A fact Daniella told me they fought over often since she refused to end our friendship. And although it hasn’t bothered me before now that he took a bizarre interest in my family since my father’s disappearance, I suddenly feel myself start to worry about his intentions as I turn back towards the dark house and take another step in the direction of something I fear I’d rather not face. 

Hushed whispers catch my attention from down the hallway towards the kitchen area. My head quickly turns in their direction, but I can’t tell if it is a man and woman’s voice, or just the mans. Lightly, I start to step across the tile and tell myself to breathe, slowly, quietly, as I feel for the .38 in my purse. 

I thought you said it was taken care of? I hear a man’s voice whisper, low and angrily, as my right footsteps on broken glass and I curse under my breath. Stopping my movement, I lean up against the nearest wall, place my hand on the barrel of my Smith & Wesson, hold my breath, and wait to see if they heard me. It’s quiet for a moment, too quiet, but then another voice slices through the silence and my eyes grow wide.

"Non preoccuparti, Mrs. Bates, our housekeeper says. There shouldn’t be any issue. Va bene così."

My Italian is limited but I can tell by the tone in their voices whatever it is they are talking about is not meant to be overheard, especially by me. My back slides against the wall as I make my way closer to where they are, my hand on my pistol when I suddenly remember it’s not loaded. Are you fricking kidding me? I roll my eyes as I reach for my purse, grab into the holster compartment, and search out three bullets. As quietly as I can, I start to pull back the barrel of the gun when I hear, And the notebook? Where is it?

The man’s voice. I know it but I can’t place it. I’ve heard it before, coming through phone lines, through the wall of very important meetings happening on the other side. A shiver runs down my spine as I struggle with my memory, tracing every word that was spoken before those encounters with my father hoping that I remember a name, something, anything to help me if I need it later when I undoubtedly call the police. 

It wasn’t there, I hear our traitor of a housekeeper whisper. I searched everywhere and there was nothing. 

Suddenly, a crash sounds against the wall of the room they are whispering in the same second someone reaches out and grabs my arm at my right. As quiet as I have tried to be, I let out a blood-curdling scream and jump off the wall, my Smith & Wesson slipping from my hand along with the three bullets and dropping at my feet. 

Collin? I look past him in the darkness and see Daniella, concern lacing her features as Collin shakes my arm and brings my attention back to him in the shadows. 

Mia! What is going on here? Are you OK? Where is Mary?

But his questioning is cut off by the sounds of the back door slamming shut and a loud engine roaring to life on the other side of the house. He looks up in the direction of the noise and immediately takes off down the hallway, pulling his automatic from his side. Letting out the breath I was holding, I only notice the tremble in my hands as Daniella takes a step closer and grabs out to them. 

Mia, she demands as anxiety builds between the two of us. Where is Mary?

I look down at my hands, at the gun on the floor, and try and push through the fog that is settling in my brain. The questions circling around and clouding every other thought I have. 

The door, why was it open? Who was that man and how did he know Mrs. Bates? A notebook, what notebook? And why does Daniella suddenly seem to care about the well-being of my mother? My mother, my father, the two people we always swear I’d be better off without.

I hear footsteps behind me and turn just as Collin reaches my side. They’re gone, he says, more to Daniella than me, as he places his gun back in the holster under his arm. I look between the two of them, an unspoken secret hanging between us all, but neither of them looks as if they will tell me what it is. 

Mary? Daniella questions again, as I glance back to meet her stare. Her eyes are filled with concern that trickles through my subconscious and settles in the pit of my stomach. Without fully thinking, I push past them into the living room and quickly make my way to the dining room. No one. Glancing behind me, I plead with their stares to tell me what is going on since it seems they know way more than I do, but they just continue to stand there, frozen, void of being able to muster up any kind of help. 

Stalking back through the room and out into the hallway, I come to stand in front of the massive doors to my father’s office. I pause, taking a moment, a calm before the storm so to say, before opening the doors and peering inside. I don’t know why, but it is almost as if something inside me knows what I will find and I can’t force myself to face it. My hands shake, and my body shivers as the doors slowly push open, almost as if on their own. I glance around the room and notice nothing amiss. That’s odd. Taking a step inside, I hear Daniella and Collin approach as I slowly begin to move about the room. 

Turning back around to meet their stare, a dumbfounded look comes over my face as I lift my arms as if to say now what? As hard as it is to see in the darkness, I would bet money no one is here, I can feel it. But as Daniella and Collin enter the room, and I see Daniella’s eyes fall to the floor behind me, a panicked expression comes over her face and I turn quickly to see what she is looking at. 

The curtain to the window behind my father’s desk moves slightly from a breeze floating in from outside. Another open window? What is going on here? My eyes fall, tracing the fabric to the floor where I notice what my friend did mere seconds before. Blood. Pools of it. Drenching the carpet and seeming to still flow from whatever possible life source it is coming from. 

Quickly, I round the desk and stumble as I take a step back from the scene I feared. My hand hits an empty bottle of liquor on the desk as I grab out to balance my footing and a sob escapes my lips. No! I whisper, as Daniella reaches my side and I see Collin quickly knells to the floor by my mother. He rolls her off her stomach, my father’s pistol falling from her hand. My eyes trace back to hers, wide open, as if in shock. Her mouth hangs in a startled expression. 

No! I shout louder, as Daniella tries to pull me close to comfort me. I look down and notice Collin brush his fingers against my mother’s neck seconds before he glances up at the two of us with a sorrowful look on his face. 

I can’t take anymore. Not now! I push past Daniella and run from the room, her yells to come back assault me as I hear Collin whisper for her to let me go, for now. I make it upstairs and halfway down the hallway before tears threaten to break. Why? I am not sure. I hated her. Hated him. I should be glad that they are gone. But as much as I despised my mother, as much as I hated my father, I know I could never wish such an end on either one of them. 

Entering my room, I slam the door quickly and lock it as the first tear falls down my cheek. Why? I hear my mind whisper. Why?

Crossing the room, anger soon fills me inside and I let it take over as I grab items off my desk and fling them to the floor in rage. With a yell, I curse them both, my mother, and my father, and grab the desk drawer ripping it from its hinges and slinging it to the floor before falling to my knees. 

When I do, an object catches my attention. Something pushed to the back of the inside of the desk and now pulled slightly into the light. My curiosity gets the better of me as I stoop lower to see it better and attempt to pull it free. 

Mia! I hear Daniella say as she taps on the door to my room just as I am successful in retrieving the object. 

A notebook. Is this… the notebook?

I look behind me in fear. My mind is relentless at asking one question. Why? It’s all I hear as I study the door to my room, hear my friend’s insistent knocking, and then look back down at the object in my hand. 

Why was that man here with Mrs. Bates? And Why did Collin and Daniella show up concerned about my mother? More than that, why did Mary take her own life? And why is everything telling me it all comes down to this little black book that I suddenly hold in my hands?

If the man and Mrs. Bates want it, odds are Collin and Daniella know about it too. Which means I have to hide it until I get answers. Answers no one wants to tell me, but answers I’ll make sure and find out, no matter what it costs.

CHAPTER 1

MIA

PRESENT DAY

Staring into my Tom Collins, I mix the slightly yellow liquid around with my straw and let out a sigh. The loud sound of laughter breaks me from my thoughts and has me turning my head in its direction.

Great! Frat boys and their frat boy ways. The very last thing I wanted to encounter tonight.

Rolling my eyes, I pick up my drink and swivel around in the opposite direction of the group of irritating, but damn it if I hate to admit, very good-looking Italian boys to my left.

Whatever they are going on and on about in their native tongue can’t be any good, because the one language that does bypass all barriers is the laughter of boys being boys - instead of the men they should be acting like instead.

Cia bellezza, posso offrirti da bere? I hear someone say next to me. Entirely believing they are speaking to someone else, I pay no attention and take another sip of my now slightly warm nightcap in this tiny hotel bar and wonder why I ever left my room in the first place.

But the man at my left continues. Se non vuoi bere, posso darti qualco’altro per bagnarti I appetito?

This time, I can’t help but turn to see just who this individual is speaking to and I’m shocked to find him staring back into my eyes intent on me answering his last two questions.

Excuse me? I ask, dumbfounded and slightly disturbed that he would continue pestering a woman who obviously doesn’t seem like she wants to be bothered at all. I look past him and see his frat friends staring at the two of us and smiling.

The Rat Pack, no doubt, but as my irritation grows, I find my eyes focus on the group more diligently for the first time tonight and suddenly realize they are not as young as I thought. Closer to my age in fact, and possibly even a little older. Someone in the back quickly catches my attention as our eyes lock and all the breath in my body leaves me.

Dark hair, darker blue eyes, tall, a gorgeous smile and dressed to kill. His three-piece suit looks like it was tailored just for him. His cufflinks flash in the lights of the bar, pulling my attention away from his entirely too handsome face for just a brief second before I look up again and get lost in his gaze. 

Must be gay. 

There is no way a man like that could walk this earth and be straight. Not anymore at least.

A sort of familiar connection suddenly jolts through both of us as he quickly gives me a shy look which totally throws me and doesn’t fit his demeanor at all, before he turns his attention back to the man at my side. The man who is still standing too close and wanting me to answer him when I have no clue in hell what he is saying.

A stern glare graces the gorgeous man’s features and I wonder just what he might be thinking. If they are friends, then why the hateful look? Maybe they are lovers and I am the brunt of their joke. Regardless, there is a whole lot about this country I haven’t got the first clue about.

The man at my side speaks again. Ah, un Americano…. and then proceeds to continue in his native tongue, making me lost and my anger skyrocket.

Tired from my flight, edgy from what I left behind, and entirely lost trying to make my way in a foreign country I never saw myself in, makes this guy’s mission push me over the edge.

That does it! I set down my glass and straighten my stance just as I see his drop-dead gorgeous friend start to make his way over from behind his fellow laughing idiots. He starts stalking towards us and God, just his mere presence takes my breath away. I stop what I am doing and forget my train of thought as I watch all six-foot-five of him come closer.

His fit upper body strains his tailored suit. His once tied tie hangs loosely around his neck, giving him an air of being relaxed, and laid back, when the control radiating off him effortlessly shows he is anything but carefree. I watch as he shoves his large hands in his pockets and looks towards the floor as he comes up behind his friend. 

Is this gentleman bothering you, Miss? He asks in his sexy as hell Italian accent.

I came here not wanting attention. I only wanted one drink, maybe two, to wipe away the sting of everything that still haunts me. I planned to wallow in my loneliness without any distractions. That is until sexy, tall, brooding, muscles for days Italian dream just knocked me off my feet leaving me no free breath to take to try and formulate a coherent response.

My mouth hangs open and I suddenly realize how stupid I must look. Shaking my head, I finally close my gaping mouth and wide eyes attempting to regain some composure, hell, maybe even the slightest train of thought so I don’t seem so school-girlish. When I open them, they lock with his dark slate blue ones and I realize I am screwed as the feeling inside to be closer to him suddenly begins to overtake me again.

No, I uh…. he stares at me for a beat before flashing me a panty-dropping grin which does only one thing, makes my insides suddenly begin to quake uncontrollably. He’s irresistible. Overpowering. I don’t stand a chance, and I know it. I mean, yes! But nothing I can’t handle, I manage, finally finding my voice before silently kicking myself because I know I just gave him an excuse to walk away, and hell if I want him to take it. At least not yet that is.

He turns to his friend and says something in Italian. The prick from earlier gets irritated and starts to fight back. Voices raise and the wannabe frat boy throws his hands up in the air at the man whose presence is suddenly making my mouth dry, my heart race, and my train of thought cloudy with no hope to clear it. I back up slightly at the flying gesture and bump my hip against the bar top. Without breaking composure, the gorgeous stranger reaches out and steadies me in my heels, flashing me a heart-throbbing smile, before he goes back to his conversation without any hesitation.

I can’t help but notice he doesn’t pull his hand away from my side and butterflies dance in my belly as his touch warms my skin. His friend’s eyes glance at where he holds me, and I can’t deny that if it was his friend’s hands on me, I wouldn’t have let them stay this long. But there is something about the way this man holds me. Something about the feel of his skin on mine that makes me stay connected with him, if only for a few moments longer.

Eventually, guy number one gets the hint and backs off. But not before yelling something in Italian that makes the man holding my side laugh before turning and looking at me. His friend has now made his way back to their group and I am left alone with an Italian God that looks like he was perfectly carved out just for me.

Can I buy you a drink? He asks, as he comes a step closer and brushes up against me, his hand still firmly placed on my hip in a dominating, possessive way, that would make me slap him if he were anyone else. But as it is, I long for them to roam, caress every curve of my body and take me places I have never been before.

Why is that, I ask myself silently. How can one encounter, one brief second of his skin on mine, change the direction of my entire night? I glance briefly down at his hand and watch as his fingers tighten, digging slightly into my flesh and letting me know he’s not letting go, not anytime soon. I catch the slightest glimpse of a tattoo on top of his hand when his dress jacket lifts up his arm. Smaller letters and symbols, trail across his right fingers, and my mouth salivates with the need to see more. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and question myself through my hazy brain if that bothers me, his hands on my body if it makes me feel uneasy. Unsafe. But as I glance back up through hooded lashes and my eyes reach his stare, my mouth falls open and I watch, amused, as his eyes dilate and give him away, showing me he is just as affected as I am. We’re both fighting to control the natural impulse inside us to fall, claim, covet - every part of the other as we standstill in a war with our bodies against our conscious telling us to back down. This isn’t natural, it can’t be, but God there’s nothing more logical than giving into the organic familiar instinct that your soul knows another. Is there?

I find myself falling into him, losing my footing slightly as our chests brush up against one another before I try and stand up straight again. But the brief loss of his warm body against mine only does one thing, makes me lean back in like a fiend scrapping at any last bit I can get of him before the night is over. I look into his eyes and get lost in their beautiful blue hue. Heaven help me because the pulsing need between my legs warns me I won’t be able to help myself if he pushes this any further. He brushes my golden hair over my shoulder and traces his fingertips down my arm slowly. My skin prickles from the sensation and I close my eyes seamlessly for a moment, needing to try and find a way to turn off just how this man is making me feel.

Possessed with an unrelenting desire, and something tells me he’d know exactly what to do with it. 

Opening my eyes finally, I stare back at him and smile. He smirks knowingly, a cocky gesture that pushes my brain cells back to work finally, I don’t even know your name. Why would I let you buy me a drink? I say, trying to find my only last hope in not letting any part of my heart get involved when my head knows better.

He grins, Leonardo. That’s it. One word. He’s so sure of himself and everything that it is happening suddenly between us when I feel like I can’t even breathe.

My heart swells and quickens suddenly at his response. The sexy man also has a sexy Italian name. Well hell, I’m a goner. He takes a step closer until he is caging me, he reluctantly releases his grip on my hip and places both of his large hands on either side of me, resting them on the bar top. I glance to my right momentarily and almost groan at how large, how massive, how sexy his hand looks next to me before catching the glimmer of his cufflink in the light.

You know what they say about large hands! Some swear by height. Some shoe sizes. In my experience, a man’s hands give away the question on all of us ladies’ minds. As I take in the size of his palm, the length of his fingers, I quiver knowing this man could do some serious damage to my body if I let him - and God, do I ever so want to let him!

Forcing myself to look back his way, my train of thought eludes me as I am engulfed, suddenly consumed in a man I never expected to meet. A man I suddenly want and need to know - though I don’t understand why. 

All I smell is him. All I feel is him.

His woodsy, manly cologne mixed with expensive Italian leather and the sea air floating in from outside makes my knees weak in a way I have never felt before. He shamelessly leans into me, making his belt brush against my stomach and my breath catch in my throat. He says something, but Lord knows I didn’t hear him as my body remains drunk on one thought alone. 

And you are? He repeats himself seductively. I know I hear the words, I know my mind processes how I should respond, but I am too focused on the way my body reacts to his without even trying. 

I lick my lips and watch as his eyes dart to my tongue. God, as if I needed another reason to feel aroused in his presence he sure as hell just gave me one as I watch him instinctively lick his lips in return. It’s a game, a dance, and I know just what he is doing as my lower stomach clenches and my