RUTHLESS KING

16 PRETTY WOMAN GONE WRONG

Stella
I feel like I’m a freaking curvy, Italian Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman with
the three salesladies hovering around me like flies on shit. Only they’re
offering me champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, and I haven’t
even had to screw Luca.
Which I thoroughly have no intention of ever doing.
Despite the face that kept popping into my head all night and again this
morning. It was only because of his damned shirt. It was seeped in his
spicy, musky scent and I’d woken up horny as hell, my clit throbbing with
images of his perfect naked body seared into my mind.
I’ve been in kind of a dry spell in that department. After Bo, I’d sworn
off men for a while, and after the tension of being kidnapped, I’d
desperately needed some sort of release. It had to be that lethal
combination. There is no other sane reason.
“Stella?” Clara’s voice tears me away from my insane musings.
“Hmm?”
“Is there anything else you’d like to try on?” I stare at the mountain of designer gowns on the chair, the tower of
shoeboxes and the dozens of shopping bags and shake my head. “No, I
think I’m good.” For the rest of my life. There’s no way I’ll use all these
designer clothes in one month even if I changed outfits three times a day.
Clara hands the saleslady the black AMEX, and again I’m floored as
she signs multiple thousands away. I’ve never seen so many zeros on a
receipt.
“God, Luca really is a millionaire, huh?” I mutter to Magda.
“Billionaire actually.”
Holy cannoli.
“The youngest billionaire in all of Manhattan.” Clara beams, pride
flashing across her expressive irises. “When he took over King Industries,
he tripled its market share and quadrupled earnings. His papà would be so
proud.”
My chest tightens at the word. My own father was trash. What kind of
piece of shit sells off his only daughter? I couldn’t even start to unpack that
baggage. If I let myself think, really think about this situation, I’d curl into
the fetal position and just bawl.
Instead, I’ll tuck away all the pain, fear and uncertainty to deal with
later. Right now, survival is key.
“You really look beautiful in all these gowns, Stella.” Magda’s pale eyes
sparkle.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I wanted to hate both of these women, but after spending the entire day
with them, I couldn’t. Magda is sweet and shy, and never says a harsh word,
and Clara with her overprotective, mother-hen routine reminds me of my
mom.
I had to keep telling myself these two ladies worked for Luca, and they
too had a hand in keeping me hostage. Not as much as Mario, who lingered just outside the private fitting room with a gun in the holster beneath his
black jacket, but still.
After the accidental shooting the other day, he never took his eyes off
me.
Once we load up all the shopping bags, each of us carrying three apiece
and Mario toting the rest, we descend onto the busy streets of Fifth Avenue.
The traffic is so bad from rush hour we have to walk up the block to meet
Mickey in the town car by Central Park or we’d be stuck for hours in
gridlock.
“I can’t wait to see you in that blue gown,” says Clara as we weave
through the mob of men and women in sleek business suits. “Luca’s going
to have a heart attack.”
I choke on my spit as I try not to laugh. “I didn’t think he had a heart.”
Clara’s warm gaze turns icy as she regards me. “Luca has a heart of
gold, ragazzina. He might be a ruthless businessman on the outside, but
inside, there is no one better. He doesn’t let many people in, but when he
does, you could never find a more generous man.”
An unexpected wave of guilt rushes over me. The man had just spent
close to ten thousand dollars on me, nearly half of what my father owed
him. Why would he do such a thing? It makes no sense.
My footsteps slow as I attempt to process the insanity that has become
my life in the last forty-eight hours and fall behind the others.
A thick shoulder slams into me, and I’m knocked off-balance. As I try
to right myself a hand weaves between my fingers and wrenches one of the
shopping bags free. “Hey!” I shout as the man reaches for another.
Mario spins around but two men with briefcases dart between us,
rushing to catch a cab. I clench my fingers around the shopping bag handle
and curse at the robber. But damn the asshole is strong. He pulls a gun out
and shoves the barrel into my belly.
“Give me the damned bags,” he hisses. I freeze, fear paralyzing the blood rushing through my veins.
Pocketing the gun, he yanks me forward, and the paper bag breaks. I
lunge to reach for it, but my legs tangle and I go flying across the cement.
I hit the ground with a smack, my forehead bouncing off the concrete
and all the air squeezes from my lungs. The rough cement bites into my
cheek, and I let out a little squeal. My beautiful clothes scatter across the
sidewalk as the thief grabs what he can before darting into the thick mob.
Mario drops the remaining shopping bags and races after the ladrone,
but the guy already has a block on him. Clara and Magda rush to my side,
clearing a space around me. My head is already starting to pound.
“Are you okay?” Magda kneels on the ground and offers me a hand.
“Oh Madonna, your face.” Clara’s pinched expression says it all.
I sit up and gently raise my hand to my cheek, then the knot on my
forehead, and I wince. My fingers come back sticky with blood and dirt.
Some random guy in a navy suit bends down with his cell in hand. “I
saw the whole thing, are you okay? I called 911, they should be here any
minute now.”
I nod numbly. A prickle of heat burns the corners of my eyes. Which
makes no sense. I was sold to a mobster, and I didn’t cry, and now this
would break me?
I bring my knees to my chest and curl into a ball. I’m vaguely aware of
Magda gathering the remaining sparkling gowns from the sidewalk.
“Here, bella.” Clara bends down beside me, clutching a Duane Reade
bag. She presses ice to my forehead then opens a bottle of peroxide and
cotton balls. “This will sting a little, but it will disinfect the cut.” How she’d
bought all the necessary first aid supplies so quickly was beyond me. Did I
black out? How long had I been sitting on the ground?
The thunder of approaching footfalls jerks me from the haze. Strong
hands cradle my face, and penetrating eyes meet mine. “Stellina, stai bene?
Are you okay?” Stellina. That voice reaches deep inside me, and that nickname pierces
through to my very soul. It’s the second time Luca has called me that.
He snatches the cotton ball from Clara’s fingers and gently dabs it
across the scrape. I hiss as the peroxide burns my skin. His lips pucker, and
he blows a cool breath over the wound. Goosebumps ripple across my arms,
and a tremor races up my spine. The depth of emotion surging beneath the
dark surface steals the remaining air from my lungs. I’m trapped in his
piercing gaze, and I just want to lose myself in the endless abyss.
“Where did you come from?” I mumble.
“My office is nearby. I was grabbing a coffee ….”
Nearby? Park Avenue is two long streets away. Even if he’d sprinted it
should’ve taken him longer to get here.
Mario appears over Luca’s shoulder, drawing my eyes away from those
mesmerizing midnight globes. “Sorry, capo, I lost him.”
Luca hisses out a curse and spears the man with a withering glare. “Get
with Tony and find out who that lowlife scum was immediately. No one
touches what’s mine and lives.” His eyes meet mine for an impossibly long
moment before jerking back to Mario. “And I’ll deal with you later.”
Another tremor surges across my body at the violence in his tone. I’m
tempted to remind him that I don’t actually belong to him, but the scolding
dies on my tongue.
Luca’s arm snakes around my shoulders, the other beneath my thighs. I
gasp as he lifts me off the ground and cradles me against his chest. His
warmth seeps into me, immediately stilling the ragged thrumming of my
heart. He winces slightly and shifts to carry the bulk of my weight on his
uninjured side, making it seem effortless.
“I can walk, you know,” I mutter half-heartedly.
“I know. That doesn’t mean you should.”
That spicy pepper, musky scent envelops me, and an odd sense of home
warms my insides. I haven’t felt anything like it in years, not since Mom and Vinny …. The hint of a memory stirs, but the images are too fleeting to
grasp. I blindly clutch at my chest, fingers drawing a circle over the inked
hearts. June fifteenth. Two years apart, but I lost them both on the same
damned day.
“Relax, I’ve got you, princess.”
“What about the police?” I mumble.
“No police. I’ll take care of this myself.”
Luca’s long strides lull me with their steady rhythm. I’m suddenly so
tired, my eyelids so heavy, they begin to droop. A scruffy chin tickles my
cheek, then soft lips press against my forehead, or at least I think they do.
But I must have imagined it, because why would the infamous Luca
Valentino kiss me?