Hearts On Fire (The Santiago Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  “I thought I’d broken us. The way I acted…”

  “Hush. You can’t damage perfection.” Angling her head to look at me, I blind her with my certainty. Only when I’m reassured of her acceptance do I rock back on heels and start to remove my clothes.

  “Offer still stands,” I say, once I’m naked and standing next to the bed. “Which part of you shall I corrupt first?”

  She glances at my erection and then back to my face. Hesitantly, slides her fingers between her legs to cup her pussy. “Here.”

  I’m gripped by an urge to flip her over and pound her ass into the mattress instead, but there isn't a place for my darkness in this bedroom. Not after earlier.

  “Are you wet?” I say, fisting myself. “Are you ready for me?”

  “Always.” She parts her legs and I can feel my dick throbbing when I see what’s beckoning to me. Her cunt is Valhalla. Glory and happiness are hers to bestow.

  I cover her with a sense that I’m coming home. Skin-on-skin. Hot, sweet breath on my face. Her soft curves are an antidote to all my hard edges.

  “Dante, there’s something I need to tell you,” I hear her whisper as I rise up on my elbows.

  “Not now.” I slant my mouth across hers, kissing all her words away. I need her light to face the long dark night ahead.

  She curls her arms around my neck as I sink slowly into her, clinging to my self-control as her velvety warmth sucks me deeper into her body. Her soft gasps mingle with the pressure at the base of my spine and I groan in pleasure as I bury myself to the hilt, until I’m completing both of us.

  “Fuck, I’m going to come so hard tonight,” I rasp.

  “Then fill me up with your love, Dante. I want it all.”

  We move as one, with me thrusting and grinding, and her welcoming and encouraging. It’s a hard, faultless rhythm. Her legs are winched around my waist, her hands buried in my hair and tugging me closer.

  Her soft cries fill the room and I can feel her coming already. Her pussy is pulsing around my dick and she’s ripping my biceps to shit with her nails. I keep it steady as she fights to get her breath back, driving us both on to an even greater pleasure. She hasn't said the words but I know that this is what she needs from me. This is what she deserves.

  Whatever is haunting her, we’ll find a way to exorcize it together.

  16

  Dante

  “This is unexpected,” says Petrov as I glide into the terrace chair opposite him and toss my sunglasses onto the white tablecloth like an unspoken challenge. “And here was I thinking that the Iron Curtain had dropped for good.”

  “For such a short man, you speak a lot of shit,” I say mildly, leaning back to appreciate the sprawl of neoclassical architecture, the sparse trees and the swell of tourists in their colourful raincoats as they mill about the steps of the National Monument before seeking out their sundowners. The terraces are busier than usual for this time of the year. Beams of light broke through the heavy cloud cover a couple of hours ago and the resultant dusk is chilly, yet unthreatening. Rather like the six snipers that I’ve already clocked on the rooftops around me. Petrov wasn’t taking any chances.

  “What I lack in stature, I make up for in other more, ah, stimulating ways,” he counters. “How is your new wife? This is quite the place to bring her for your honeymoon. Did you buy her a new Glock as a wedding present too?”

  “Living dangerously, Petrov?” My tone isn’t quite so mild anymore. “I’d appreciate it if you didn't mention her again, not unless you’d like all these tourists to witness their first slaughter along with their Van Goghs.”

  He barks with laughter, the lines in his handsome face vanishing to accommodate his reaction. The Russian must be in his sixties but years of money and good living have decelerated the aging process for him. “She really is your better half, isn’t she? Is it true you stole her away from America like a dark fairy-tale? Did you break her spirit to make her fall in love with you so deeply?”

  She’s not a half of anything, dickhead. She’s my whole fucking universe.

  “Keep talking Petrov,” I tell him. “My snipers are aimed at your fucking head too.”

  “Is that where your shadow is? I read what happened in Afghanistan all those years ago. No wonder Grayson is so loyal to you. Is it true that–?”

  “He and thirty of my men are approximately ten seconds away from making acquaintances with yours so cut the bullshit. Where’s that cunt, Viktor?”

  “Enjoying the sights as well, by all accounts. Just not in this country.” He grimaces and glances upward to confirm my threat for himself. “It’s regrettable that it’s come to this…mistrust between us, Dante.”

  And on that note. “You have a leak,” I state bluntly.

  “We have a leak,” he clarifies. “And I’m well aware of it, thank you.”

  “How’s your son?”

  “I thought we were keeping family out of it?” The smile vanishes, leaving nothing but a bitter hoarfrost. “Are you implying that Roman is the leak?”

  “I make it a habit not to trust bent Agents of any description.”

  “Roman isn't corrupt,” he says silkily. “He’s selective with where his loyalties lie, namely me and my interests. You could do with a couple of insiders on your payroll, Dante. I call them my insurance policies and pay my premiums accordingly.”

  “Like I said, I don't pander to those on the take.” I wave my hand at him dismissively. “Your brother has a leak too.”

  “Oh?”

  Now I’ve got the old bastard’s interest. I let the waiter take the drinks order before I reel off the name and address of the venue for tonight’s auction.

  Petrov stills. “How did you come by this information?”

  “We were fed the same dirty intel from Sevastien. What were you planning to do?” I ask him curiously. “Rescue the girl, and then hold her as some kind of leverage over me?”

  He shrugs. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  At least he’s not bothering to deny it but I still want to reach across the table and snap his neck like a twig. Too bad I need his men.

  “We’re walking into a trap, Petrov. He knows our camp is divided. He’s planning to use it to his advantage and take us both down.”

  “I see. Are you suggesting another truce?” He reads between the lines straightaway. I underestimate this man at my peril.

  “Call it whatever you want to, Petrov. I couldn’t give a fuck. I just need your firepower.”

  “Then I’ll settle for temporary ignorance.” He calmly checks his watch. “We have two hours, if that. What are you proposing?”

  “Total annihilation.”

  Petrov chuckles again. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Is there any structure to your murder, or shall I tell my men to expect total carnage?”

  “Have your exit plan on standby. We’ll need to get out of the country fast. Your men will be following my command. In exchange, I’ll gift you Sevastien with a big, red bow on the top of his head. He’ll be missing a few parts of his anatomy, but I’ll keep him alive for the climax.”

  Petrov’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Vengeance is ours to savor together, Dante. Why not fire that bullet yourself? Why deny yourself that pleasure?”

  “I’ll be having my fun beforehand.” I’m saving the worst for Eve’s father.

  He considers me for a movement, and then nods. “We have ourselves a deal. There’s still the small matter of Morocco…”

  “Sevastien will talk. I’ll find out what he’s planning.”

  “So sure of your methods,” he murmurs, sounding impressed. “Then again, you wear your crooked crown with pride.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  There’s another pause as our drinks are delivered to the table. Vodka for him. Bourbon for me. The choice of thieves and killers.

  He takes a sip and winces. It’s clearly not to his satisfaction. “Since we’re in a sharing mood, I have something
for you too.” He reaches under his chair and tosses a brown envelope onto the table.”

  “What’s that?” I grit out, slamming my gaze into his.

  “The kind of fuel that will lend a dangerous edge to tonight’s proceedings,” he says carefully. “I advise you to open it in private.”

  “Why? Is it anthrax?” I’m losing patience, and fast.

  Petrov glares at me. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t want you as my enemy. We’d cause too much damage to each other, and as much as you’re longing to go off and live in your ivory tower with your beautiful ivory bride, we’re both trapped in this game. There is no redemption for us, but we can use our talents and resources for the benefit of others.”

  “Impressive speech, Petrov, but it still doesn’t explain what’s in the envelope.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, shaking his head at me. He leans forward to rest his arms on the table. It looks like he’s bracing himself, but for what? My reaction? “Roman tracked down another attendee from the party in Bal Harbour. His interrogation was a bloody, protracted affair, as you can imagine. Viktor is almost as skilled as you in that department.”

  “Go on,” I say coldly.

  “He managed to obtain the name of a club in Bucharest, one of many where my daughter, Natasha, was…held against her will.” He takes another swig of vodka. His hand has started shaking. It tells me everything I need to know about the scope of this man’s grief. “I believe you’re familiar with it? You and Sevastien had an altercation there a month ago.”

  “All I remember about that place is the stench of sick fucks and a headless corpse in the basement. Why so important?”

  Petrov grimaces. “Another room there concealed a different kind of filth. A room with cameras, exclusive access… The place had a reputation. Natasha was barely of age, but many of them weren’t.”

  Jesus. I remember thinking the girls there seemed young. Too young.

  “So you need help shutting the place down? Fine. I’ll send Grayson and a team to do it.”

  “You misunderstand me. Twenty-four hours ago the doors were permanently shut on that establishment. The keys are in that envelope.”

  “What the fuck would I want with a former strip club, Petrov?” This man is making no sense to me. At the same time, I can feel the truth coming down fast, like an expressive elevator straight to hell.

  “We discovered a mass grave in one of the outhouses in the backyard.” His gaze is unflinching. “They were mostly children.”

  “And?” It takes more guts than I ever thought possible to say that.

  “We identified her from dental records that I obtained from Colombia.” No. “You have my deepest condolences, and I offer them as sincerely as a man like me can.” No.

  “How old was she when she died?” I say calmly. I give it to him straight. There’s no hint of my own grief, even though, right now, it’s collapsing my veins like venom.

  “The mortician puts her age at around ten.”

  “And her death?”

  “One side of her skull was crushed. Her neck was broken. It would have been instant. It’s all there in the envelope…”

  I glance at it and then sidle my gaze away. “Tell your men to rendezvous at an empty warehouse near De Wallen in one hour. It’s four hundred yards from the target.” I’m on autopilot. Dictating a mass murder when I’m haemorrhaging on the inside. “I’ll message you the address shortly.”

  Petrov nods. “In the meantime, I’ll notify my contacts at Interpol to delay the response teams.”

  “We enter independently, only two bodyguards each. Your best. He’s expecting us so we need as many guns inside the club as possible. If one of your men hits the girl by accident, I’ll kill him myself. If you try to take her, I’ll kill you. Understood?”

  “And Sevastien? Have you a confirmed sighting?”

  “He’ll be there. He wants to piss on our dead bodies as much as we want to piss on his. I’d stake my life on it.” I’ve already staked my daughter’s for being her fucking father. “I want her body back, Petrov.” Or what’s left of it.

  “Naturally. I’ll arrange for her remains to be shipped to Florida. You can fly her home from there.” He drains the dregs of his vodka and lifts his empty glass to me. “To a conclusive evening.” Pushing his chair back, he rises to his feet. “De Wallen. One hour.”

  I nod as I’m sinking slowly into quicksand. I watch his diminutive figure stride across the square, a gray-haired bullet cutting a swathe through all the tourists and students. He disappears into a side street where there’s an SUV and three men waiting for him.

  Picking up the envelope, I toss some Euros onto the table and make to leave as well. My cell keeps detonating in my pocket. Joseph. He’ll want to know what the hell just went down. I switched my wire off right before Petrov dropped the bomb on me.

  I make it all the way to my own SUV before the contents of my stomach hit the sidewalk.

  17

  Eve

  I can't sleep. I keep tossing and turning in the narrow bed, catching lingering traces of his scent as I do. Missing him. Wanting him. Holding up the wetness between my legs as proof of his love, and cherishing the ache that he’s left inside me.

  Twilight has all but disappeared. It’s been nudged out by his old nemesis, darkness. Dante and his men left four hours ago. Ever since, a menacing premonition has kept me prisoner in this bedroom. I can't shake the feeling that something’s wrong. Really wrong. My flashback, if that’s what it was, has kicked me into a place of fear and uncertainty. I’m too scared to look behind and face the demons lurking there. The present is drenched in blood, and the future? It’s a blank space. I can't see our baby. I can’t envisage our life together anymore, and that scares me more than anything.

  I wish I’d told him about the pregnancy. I wish he hadn’t kissed me into submission after I’d finally screwed up the courage to tell him. What if he dies tonight without knowing the truth?

  Rolling over, I hug the pillow to my chest. I need to get a grip. I can't think like that, even for a second. Dante is a killing machine and his team is the best. He’s putting everything on the line to get Anna back safe and to seek justice for his daughter, and I love him all the more for it.

  I can hear his men moving around downstairs. My guards. Ten new Manuels. I lie still and listen to the sound of their rough laughter and heavy boxes being shunted about. Stale cigarette smoke is creeping up the stairs and edging out the dank odor from the forest outside.

  Swinging my legs out of bed, I dress quickly. Back on with the jeans and his huge black sweater that falls all the way to my knees. Pulling on my red Chucks, I scrape my hair back into a ponytail with an elastic band I found in the en suite. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I wince. God, I look about twelve, and my face is so pale I’m practically transparent. One thing’s for sure, pregnancy does not agree with me, and neither does having a husband with the most dangerous job in the world.

  I’m starving again and I need to take my prenatal tablet. I open the door and make my way downstairs. This place is huge, with high vaulted ceilings and acres of wooden parquetry. I didn't appreciate it before with all the soldiers and guns filling up the place. The lights are off and my footsteps echo down the hallway as the moonlight casts spiky shadows of the trees on the walls.

  I’m guided by a faint light and the sound of voices. I hit a dining room with a huge round table taking center stage and pause for a moment in the doorway. There’s a metallic tang in the air, mixed with strong detergent, and a couple of foreign-looking men in black army fatigues with pocketfuls of weapons are trading smokes and bantering over by the window. I can’t tell what they’re saying because they’re speaking in Spanish, but I recognize the word ‘jefe’ a couple of times.

  “Hi,” I say quietly, watching in amusement as they jerk their heads in my direction and scrabble to their feet. It’s like Dante himself has just walked in.

&
nbsp; “Mrs Santiago,” says one in a thick accent that reminds me painfully of Manuel’s. I can't stop thinking about him tonight. “We weren’t expecting to see you.”

  “Ignore me,” I say, waving away his awkward apology. “I only came down for a glass of water and something to eat. Is the kitchen nearby?”

  “Here, let me show you.” He leads me into a room across the hall. “Can I make you something?”

  He’s far too polite to be one of Dante’s recruits. Either that, or he holds him in the same deference as all men do. I’m suspecting the latter.

  I shake my head and smile. “I’m fine, really.” He’s a handsome guy but my heart’s already been locked in a box marked Santiago. I swing my head about, checking out the lay of the land of white cupboards. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “Okay then.” He grins at me, and turns to go.

  “Are you from Colombia too?” I blurt out. I don't want to be by myself tonight. I need distraction.

  He nods cautiously. “Yes, señora.” He steps forward to offer me his hand. “Mateo Sánchez.”

  “Eve Miller, I mean Santiago,” I bluster, taking it and blushing. “I had a friend once, another of Dante’s recruits. From his compound in Africa…? He was my bodyguard for a time.”

  “Manuel Gómez. I know, señora.”

  My stomach twists. “You do?”

  “I never knew him personally but he is much celebrated where I come from.”

  “He is? Why?”

  “Because he saved you, señora,” he explains gently. “The woman who tamed the devil.”

  The woman who tamed the devil?

  I haven't tamed Dante. I’ve made him feel. I’ve made him strive for something other than death. My hand drifts to my stomach again. If he comes back to me tonight, I’ll make him believe in life.

  I’m dreaming of mac n’ cheese. It’s my first proper pregnancy craving and, like I always do, I end up making enough to feed a hundred. I trail back into the dining room to offer some to Dante’s men who bite my hand off for it. For some reason they seem reluctant to eat at the table, so we drag the chairs over to the window and eat on our knees. I’m so grateful for their company that I ignore all the wary looks and awkward pauses. After a few mouthfuls, everyone seems to loosen up.