Too Devious to Tame (The Giovanni Clan) (6 page)

She whimpered and clung to him, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to set her away from him again.

"No one is going to kill you, while you're under my protection. But I warn you, you cross me again, and I will personally pull the trigger."

Chapter Six

Jemima nervously twisted the heavy engagement ring 'round her finger. It looked beautiful next to the wide platinum band Giorgio had also given her. His expression had been unreadable, but he'd insisted on placing the rings on her fingers himself. The warmth of his hand had heated her frozen digits, and he'd simply stood looking down on her, until Alfonso's repeated throat clearing had broken the moment.

She shot another glance toward Giorgio's closed off profile now, grateful for the seat belt holding her in place.  Giorgio was taking the twisting corners of the Tuscan countryside far too fast. The engine of his sports car screamed at the rough handling as yet mores stones kicked up underneath them. Tires screeched across the dusty ditch, missing it by mere inches.

"If you're trying to get us killed, keep driving like that." Jemima spat the words out with far more conviction then she felt. Her stomach once again hit her boots, as the sports car took flight over the crest of the hill. It came down on the other side with a bone-crunching jar. Jemima's still healing ribs protested at the rough handling, and she couldn't quite stop the moan escaping at the sharp pain shooting up her sides.

The soft Italian curse, followed by the large hand cupping her chin, caught her by surprise, as did the roughly uttered apology. "
Scusi
, I forgot. Are you okay?"

His slate-grey eyes drew together in concern, and his gaze rested on her for a heart-stopping few seconds, before he returned his attention back to the road. Jemima's heart beat an interesting staccato inside of her, and she struggled to draw air into her lungs. That look alone had been enough for her to soak the scrap of material masquerading as underwear. She squirmed a little at the thought of Giorgio having been the one to pick out her clothes. Back then he'd loved buying underwear for her, and she had been stunned to discover that the wardrobes in the guest room she was staying in had held all of her old clothes, and quite a few new ones. That he hadn't just thrown them out had reduced her to tears again. He'd always been a deeply complicated and passionate man. She'd had no chance of understanding him back then, and she wasn't sure she stood any chance of it now. Back then, his intensity had frightened her, and had driven her into the arms of one of his rivals. She shuddered and pressed her lips together to stop the moan from escaping. There was still a big black hole in her memories, but she remembered her betrayal in glorious Technicolor detail.

The fact that she hadn't been able to go through with it after all, had meant nothing in the end. Giorgio had caught her putting the family wine recipes back into the safe, and he hadn't listened to a word she had said in her defense. Luc had played them both. He'd black-mailed her into stealing from her husband, so he wouldn't tell Giorgio about the affair they'd had, but he'd told Giorgio anyway.

Maybe if she'd had confessed all back then, Giorgio might have believed her. At the time, all he could see had been her betrayal, and unable to deal with her guilt, she'd stolen away like a thief in the night, determined to put the whole business behind her. She'd thought that by never registering the marriage in the UK when she returned, it would have been null and void.

But as Giorgio had informed her only this morning, the marriage was very much valid. The tiny chapel they'd used had the authority to marry couples under the law as well as in the eyes of the church. Besides, even without that, she should have known that Giorgio would not push for a divorce. The Giovanni were steeped in tradition. One simply didn't divorce in the Giovanni. Giorgio's cousin Marco had been the remarkable exception, and she flinched anew as she remembered her part in that man's life. Posing as her sister Elise to get the job as a nanny to stay under the radar—of what or who exactly, she still couldn't remember—had not been one of her finest moments. Why had she done that? Had the old Jemima sought the family protection subconsciously? Whom had she been hiding from, even then?

Jemima suppressed a sigh. Thinking like this was futile. She couldn't change the past, only the future. A future marred by uncertainty, until the black holes in her memory slotted into place like the elusive last pieces of the puzzle you never could find, when you needed them.

Jemima told her silly heart to behave and willed her breathing to slow down, all too conscious of the man next to her, and she resumed twisting her rings. Tears rose at all the issues those beautiful rings represented—issues that created a divide as huge as the Grand Canyon between them.

When Giorgio had picked the ring up off the floor again after that astonishing kiss and statement, two days ago now, Jemima's heart had stopped for a few beats at the sheer pain she had glimpsed in his eyes. Then the shutters had come down so fast and so hard, she had not been able to reach him at all. Her murmured apology had bounced off his tightly set shoulders.

"Save the bull for someone who cares," had been his only response, and an icy hand had clamped itself around her heart. He'd kept himself away from her, pleading workload, and he'd certainly spent an extraordinary amount of time in heated, tense discussions on the phone to God only knew who.

Security had doubled again, and Alfonso literally had not left her side. Even now he was following them in his own car, trailing them far too closely for her liking. He wasn't the only one either. A car with Giorgio's men had left five minutes before them, and another one was following behind Alfonso. It all made Jemima feel very uneasy. Why all this trouble for her? What did she know that was so goddamn important?

She'd sought refuge in her painting. The pictures that emerged had made her cry and laugh in equal measures. Her mother and Elise had featured prominently in them, and more and more frequently, the mysterious man. Scenes of her childhood, long forgotten days of happiness, followed by depths of despair. But try as she might, the only more recent images her subconscious could muster had been approaching headlights, gunfire, and blood. Jumbled, terrifying images she could not make sense of, but which left her gasping for breath. Terror had overwhelmed her, until Alfonso had taken the paintbrush out of her hand with a murmured, "Enough." The imposing guard had frowned down on her.

"This is not doing you any good! Giorgio would not want you this upset."

His eyes had been almost kind when she'd shaken her head at him, all the misery apparent in that dejected whisper. "Giorgio doesn't care about me at all."

He'd shaken his head, murmured something in Italian that she hadn't quite caught, and he'd then gone back to his silent watch. His gaze had rested on the latest picture of the mystery man for just a little too long.

"Do you know him? You do, don't you?"

Jemima had felt a brief surge of hope, asking him, but it had been useless. She must have imagined his earlier concern.  Alfonso's eyes had shown absolutely no reaction, and he'd been back to politely ignoring her.

Switching the television on had brought little relief. The news had grim reports about an organized crime war, seemingly happening right now in Tuscany. Only this morning a prominent member of the local government with suspected links to the Mafia had barely escaped a car bomb attack. Police presence was everywhere, and the police chief was urging for calm and for people to be vigilant and report anything unusual to the authorities.
Yeah, as if.
You had to have a death wish to inform on the Mafia. Though this did seem serious.  The news reporter was shown trying to interview a member of the FBI team, which had flown in specifically on the hunt for the financial mastermind behind the scenes.  An American national, believed to be in Tuscany under the protection of the Don.

A Don whom they had been summoned to see, apparently.

Giorgio had come to find her in the garden, after she had switched the news off in disgust. Worry had gnawed at her insides, and her head had thumped in pain with the useless effort to remember anything of worth at all. Why could she not shake the feeling that she was involved in all of this somehow? But that was crazy, surely?

Giorgio's strained voice had done little to reassure her.

"We are leaving in ten minutes. Clara has packed a bag for you."

Her startled eyes had been drawn to the rings he had been twirling around in his large hands. His whole manner had been tense, as though he was warring with himself.

"Why are we leaving? Where are we going?"

Her dread had increased, as he stood there, twirling his mother's ring around and around. It was the first time she had managed to get a good look at him, since that ring had landed between them. He hadn't shaved. The stubble made him look dangerous and sexy at the same time. The shadows under his eyes were testimony to him having slept about as well as she had lately. He was pale under his tan, and when he had finally looked up at her, the steel and determination in his eyes, had made her take a step away from him. Right then, he had indeed looked ready to murder her himself.

"We have been summoned by the Don. You knew this was coming." The gravelly tones had rasped across her consciousness like nails on a chalk board.

"Why? Why does he say jump, and you go how high? What are
you
involved in, Giorgio? Maybe the folks trying to kill me are after you, not me. Has that occurred to you at all?"

His smile had chilled her to the bone.

"You know why. Save the innocent act,
cara.
It doesn't wash."

In two long strides he had covered the distance between them, and with one quick movement had pushed the rings onto her left hand, his expression unreadable, as he cupped her chin to make her look at him. She had lost herself in the intensity of his gaze until Alfonso had cleared his throat.

Giorgio had released her and said, "Wear this for your own protection."

His gaze had dropped briefly to her mouth, when she'd whispered, "Why would I need protection?"

His thumb had caressed her lips almost absentmindedly, before his gaze had collided with hers again.

"Because, if he decides you're of no use to him, at least
that
will mean it will be me whom he orders to kill you,
cara."

He'd let go of her as abruptly as he'd grabbed her, and had left her standing there with his curt order ringing in her ears.

"Five minutes, front door, or I'll send Alfonso to come and get you."

Jemima had had little choice but to follow him, and he hadn't said two words to her since that astonishing conversation in the garden.

She risked another glance at him as they entered the outskirts of a little village, whose name she didn't catch. Giorgio had to slow down to negotiate the little cobbled streets. His whole manner was once again far too alert and on edge.

"What is it?"

Jemima's own anxiety levels rose at the agitation she sensed in him.

"Get down,
now!"

She followed his growled command instinctively, even as one hand pushed her head unrelentingly under the dash board. At the same time Giorgio gunned the engine, and all hell broke loose.

Sudden bullets popped all around them, and Jemima crouched down in the passenger well, Giorgio hastily having released her seat belt, while she held on for dear life. Glass shattered on top of her, as a bullet made contact with the car, slamming into the seat she had occupied moments before.  Giorgio kept driving as though the demons of hell were after him, and Jemima curled into a tight ball. She screwed her eyes shut, clamped her hands over her ears, and it seemed like an eternity before the car lurched to a sudden halt, and she was dragged out of it by strong male arms.

Her wildly flailing fists made contact with the wall of muscle in front of her, but they did diddly squat to halt the man's relentless process toward the car screeching toward them at full speed. Before her terrified brain could process the fact that the Mercedes wasn't going to hit them, and she found her voice to scream, the boot popped open. She was thrown inside, the lid came down with a silent thud, and the car took off at breakneck speed again.

Bile rose in her throat, and sheer terror obliterated every conscious thought as adrenaline swamped every pore in her body.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, who has me now?
Images of Giorgio, as he kicked the wheels of his ruined sports car, and swore furiously, danced in front of her eyes. A horde of thugs armed with machine guns had been bearing down on him, and her heart lurched to a shuddering stop, seconds before the car screeched around a corner too fast. Her head connected with the side of the boot, and blissful darkness descended.

****

Seeing Jemima bundled off in the boot of the Mercedes did little to lift Giorgio's mood. He gave his once pride and joy another vicious kick.
Useless fucking piece of twisted metal
. That had been too damned close. A quick look at the glass covered inside showed no obvious traces of blood. Thank God for small mercies. He would never forgive himself if she had been hurt by that bullet.
Dio Santo.