Dirty Lies Read online

  I flopped back to my side, facing away from Luca. With a snore, he rolled over so we were back-to-back. In all the nights we had stayed together, he'd never snored this deeply.

  Where was my phone? Oh, right. My bag was near the nightstand. I got out of bed and went for my purse, fishing the phone out and quickly checking my email. Sighing softly out of my nose, I decided to take the phone into the bathroom and check Facebook too. Maybe I'd run a bath to try to calm down. Surely that wouldn't wake Luca. The bathroom and bedroom were so huge, they were practically in different ZIP codes.

  I flicked on the flashlight of the smartphone so I could see in the dark bedroom. Glancing at the nightstand, I shone the light toward it, and…Uomo di Sangue. The image of the underlined words and the book title popped into my head, and on impulse, I grabbed the book.

  Luca didn't stir. I tucked the book under my arm and tiptoed across the room, using my cell to light the way. Once inside the bathroom, I locked the door and ran the hot water for the big Jacuzzi tub. I doubted if Luca would wake from his slumber anytime soon.

  Setting the book on the sink, I lowered the lid on the toilet seat and plopped down. First, I checked Facebook and liked a few posts, then re-tweeted a few news stories. I was numbing my hurt, complicated emotions with the safety and security of my phone, and it felt like shit.

  Reaching over, I picked up the book from its place on the sink and flipped through, wondering if there were any pictures inside or if I would understand any Italian. Turning the hardback over in my hands, I ran my palm down the smooth front. It was thick and about four-hundred pages. The cover had a photo of an Italian-language newspaper splattered in blood.

  Of course none of it was in English, but I figured out a few things instantly. The words "Mafia" and "Camorra" featured prominently on the book's summary. I pondered whether it was a fiction or a nonfiction book. Something told me it was a true story. It looked interesting too. Maybe there was an English language version I could order online.

  In place of the author's name, it had a single word, Anonimo. I suspected that meant Anonymous, and I pulled up an Italian-to-English translation website on my phone that confirmed my assumption.

  My eyes scanned the foreign words as I opened the front cover. I flipped to the inside of the black flap. All in Italian.

  Tapping the name of the book into Google, I found a bunch of Italian entries and one English-language review in The Guardian in London. It was from a year ago.

  "Uomo di Sangue—Man of Blood—is a frightening and true story about a Mafia boss in Naples, Italy."

  Oh, interesting. Maybe Luca was in the book. Or maybe his family was in the book. Or, if he was really a graduate student, maybe his research was in the book. But didn't he study only fictional Mafia types? Curious, I flipped to see if there was a table of contents or index. There was, but the Rossi name wasn't listed. I returned to my smartphone and scrolled with my thumb to read:

  It's rare that a work of narrative non-fiction would have such an impact on one country. This extraordinary book would be a sure winner for many journalism awards in the United States, but the anonymous Italian journalist who wrote this stunning and heartbreaking true story of a Mafia boss's impact on a city and country probably won't get an award for his work. He will be lucky if he doesn't get a bullet to the head. This is a frightening and detailed account of how the Mafia has influenced every facet of Italian life.

  Wow. It sounded like an amazing piece of reporting.

  I rose and checked my bathwater, wiping my wet finger on my bare leg. I sank to the crisp marble floor of the bathroom, my back resting against the side of the tub.

  It's rumored that the anonymous author who wrote this book had previously worked for Il Mattino, Naples's largest newspaper, and later ran a popular Italian news blog, Politica Italiana. English-speaking audiences wouldn't likely know of the site's popularity, but think of Wikileaks, Edward Snowden, Woodward and Bernstein, and you get a taste of what was accomplished. The wunderkind behind the blog and the book was rumored to be a young man from a wealthy Naples family.

  The journalist sounded brilliant. Why had I never heard of him, or at least of his work if he remained anonymous? I was so ignorant. I needed to read more about Italy—and the rest of the world.

  My frown became even more severe as I continued to devour the article. It said the book's author went deep in his reporting to find out little known details of one Mafia boss, going undercover, becoming friends with underworld criminals and hanging out with Mafia members. He'd even witnessed a Mafia massacre. Impressive work, tough work, the kind of stuff I could only dream of.

  Thinking about whether it would be feasible or safe for a female journalist to report like that, I reached back and checked the water again. The tub was almost full and the water scalding. I shut off the tap and scanned more of the review, wanting to read until the water cooled. The faucet dripped, and steam rose into the air.

  Following the release of this book, the author suffered a great personal tragedy, allegedly retribution from the Camorra for revealing so many details about the crime boss. It's also rumored the author had to flee Italy and is on the run. It's even possible he's not alive.

  What?

  Heart racing, I flipped to the book's publication date then did a quick calculation. The book was published two months before Luca's parents were killed.

  "Oh my God," I whispered out loud. Closing my eyes, I breathed in rapid, shallow breaths. My heartbeat whooshed in my ears. I sat like that for countless moments, wondering what the hell to do. What to think. What to feel.

  Luca was the journalist. What other possibility could there be?

  No. Don't let your imagination run wild. Okay, the author is from Naples. So what if Luca reads a lot about the Camorra? And what about his travels in the past year? What does that prove, really?

  I put my phone on the floor, but the book still rested in my lap. Shaking, I picked it up and thumbed through the pages again, this time stopping on the first chapter. There was a quote at the beginning.

  Chi più sa, meno crede.

  The more one knows, the less one believes.

  Luca's tattoo.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Revelation

  SKYLAR

  I let the book fall to my lap, resting my palms on the cool marble floor. It was an attempt to stop my shaking. It didn't. My whole body quaked.

  Luca. Is. A. Journalist.

  I forced myself to take deep breaths to calm down. Everything—from his reluctance to talk about himself to the way he'd reacted to me during our fight—seemed clear now. It all made sense. His evasiveness, his sadness, his interest in politics, it all came into sharp focus. This was why he refused to talk about his past, or promise me a future. Why he wanted to leave.

  It was glaringly obvious. And irresistibly attractive. I didn't even mind that he'd lied or obscured the truth. He had good reason to. People wanted him dead.

  I zoned out while trying to figure out what to do next. He was probably in danger at this very moment…which meant, I was in danger too. The drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet seemed to go on forever, lulling me into a spiral loop of bleak thoughts.

  Until the knock on the door came. I jumped and gasped.

  "Amore mio. Are you bathing?"

  "Yes! Hi! Luca!"

  In a panic, I crawled over and flushed the toilet. I slipped my phone and the book into my bag and stuffed a towel over the book. With shaking hands, I opened the linen closet and set the bag on a shelf, trying to close the door without a sound.

  Then I wriggled out of my dress and underwear. The only way I could divert attention from my nervousness was my body. He could never resist looking at me when I was naked.

  "One second!"

  How was I going to talk to him like a normal person now that I knew his secret? I took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

  Luca walked into the bathroom. It wasn't as though it was the first time I'd seen him witho
ut clothes, but his body made my heart flutter faster now that I knew his real identity. I bent over the tub to check the water, hoping my bare ass would be enough of a distraction from my quaking legs and arms and the sweat forming on my forehead.

  "Luca," I said, attempting a purr. "You're awake."

  I mustered a seductive look and glanced over my shoulder to find him leaning against the sink, staring at me. He had that familiar hunger in his eyes. Why did he have to look so insanely hot when he was sleepy with his hair rumpled after I'd just discovered he was a crusading journalist wanted by dangerous criminals?

  "I woke up and you weren't next to me, amore mio. I wanted to check if you were okay."

  Because he's worried about my safety…

  I slowly eased into the tub, shivering a little from the feeling of the near-scalding water on my legs and the cool air-conditioned room on my nipples. "Sorry. Couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts going through my head."

  "Why did you lock the door? Were you afraid I was going to interrupt you doing naughty things?"

  His accent was thicker than usual, and he sounded a little groggy from sleep. My eyes drifted down his chest and lower to find he was semi-hard. He wasn't that sleepy, obviously.

  "Oh, um, I always lock the bathroom door." I leaned back, gently splashing water onto my breasts as he watched, grazing my nipples with the heel of my hand. A little smile danced on his lips. I caressed my breasts, pinching my nipples between my thumbs and index fingers while looking at him through my lashes.

  Oh yeah. This was effective. His cock was growing harder.

  "Doing naughty things sounds like an excellent idea." I slipped one hand down my chest into the water. Down my stomach and lower.

  He licked his lips. "I like the way you think."

  I smiled and beckoned to him with my index finger. Of course his naked, hot body could join me here in the tub. Now that I knew his true identity, I knew exactly what I wanted.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Dead Girl

  ANNALISA

  It wasn't hard to break into Skylar's condo, which was on the second-floor and had a window at shoulder height. The American had left it cracked open a couple inches, and I easily slid the glass open, hopped up, and launched myself inside.

  Careless girl.

  Stupid girl.

  Dead girl.

  I'd wait until she came home.

  Skylar wouldn't be back that evening, since she'd driven away from the Iguana with Luca. She'd spend the night with him fucking, but surely he'd drive her home when he was finished. Luca didn't like to sleep next to women—which would of course change once I was back in his life.

  Yes, I'd wait. I had nothing but time. And better to hide here from the cops, who are probably looking for the person who killed Gianni.

  I wandered around Skylar's house, inspecting everything. Her ugly clothes. Her books—at least she had good taste there. I opened the cabinet and found a pack of Oreos.

  While sitting on Skylar's sofa, I ate every last cookie while thinking about her and Luca. Had she discovered Luca liked blowjobs in the morning before he opened his eyes?

  She had so many books about eastern religions. Incense. Photos of a woman who looked like Skylar, only older. Her mother, perhaps? Framed inspirational sayings from various Zen masters in every fucking room.

  So annoyingly twee. I rolled my eyes. Skylar probably drank coconut water and talked about chakras.

  "No Mud, No Lotus," read one framed saying.

  Tears came to my eyes when I realized what was ahead.

  No Blood, No Luca.

  Poor Skylar.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Moonlight

  LUCA

  I flicked off the harsh light so the full moonlight streaming through the skylight in the roof illuminated the bathroom.

  "Too dark?"

  The sound of softly splashing water echoed as Skylar moved to one side of the tub. "No, it's perfect."

  She was perfect.

  Since I walked into the bathroom, I couldn't tear my gaze off her body.

  I hadn't felt right about making love to her earlier when I knew I was leaving and she didn't. But now that she was aware of my half-assed plans, now that I'd all but bared my soul to her—as much as I could in this situation—maybe she wanted one final night.

  If that was the case…well, I'd take anything she would give. However bittersweet.

  Regardless, I needed her touch. Her kisses. Her nearness.

  I eased into the hot water and she smiled. Her sweetness made my heart ache. And she was so fucking sexy. How could I let her go? I didn't want to. At all.

  My hand caressed the smooth skin of her calf. The tub was so big, we could face each other and stretch our legs.

  "Come closer." I tugged on her calf.

  Moving slowly, she sat in between my legs, her back to me. She swept her long, half-wet hair up, tying it into a messy knot at her nape. Just the tender motion of her doing that sent a current through my body.

  I gently washed the curve of her back and shoulders and kissed her damp neck, pausing to softly lick and bite. My hands slid over her breasts, stomach, and legs, slippery from the soap that smelled like lime and basil.

  She let out little mewl, then turned around and knelt in the water to wash me slowly from my neck to my feet, pausing to brush her lips over mine.

  When she finished, I kissed the palms of her wet hands.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Closer

  SKYLAR

  I climbed into Luca's lap and embraced him.

  "Sky, this is dangerous." The water in the tub softly splashed around us, then calmed.

  I pulled back to look at him, and saw near-agony on his face. "Why?"

  "You're sitting right near my…" He shifted. "I want to be inside you."

  He sounded desperate, and that made my smile grow. Was I evil for smiling? I didn't care.

  "That's what I want too." I leaned forward to kiss him, and for the first time, I was the one to slip my tongue to his instead of the other way around.

  "Are you sure? Even after what I told you? About leaving."

  I rested my hands on his chest and nodded. "This is my choice. I choose you, and us. I know it might be just for tonight, that this is all we'll ever have, but I'm okay with that."

  His hands went to my face, gently cupping my jaw. I shifted back and forth, feeling his hardness against my pubic bone. A groan escaped his lips. We were so close, there in the water.

  "Sky, we need a condom."

  "I know. I'm on the pill too."

  He touched my face as though I were a fragile, ethereal creature. I leaned in, and we kissed, our lips dragging against one another's, scorching and slow.

  Then we paused, foreheads touching, chests heaving, breath blending. The silence in the room, heavy in the air around us, spoke volumes.

  I should have been afraid because the Mafia wanted him. Should have been upset he'd withheld the truth from me so long. Should have gotten up, left, and walked out of his life.

  But I didn't. I couldn't.

  Now, I not only wanted him, but admired him. What he was, all he represented, turned me on. His situation was dangerous. I was stupid for that, I suspected, but other women wanted cops and firemen and soldiers. I wanted Luca.

  The room was darker now. The moon had passed beyond the skylight, but the air seemed clearer and I was more hyper-attuned to everything. I shifted in his lap.

  "Sky, I don't know how much longer I can last like this. Let's continue in bed, please?" he rasped against my mouth.

  I whispered a yes and slid off him.

  When we stepped out of the tub, he grabbed a towel and dried my body with long, soft strokes as he stood dripping wet. We made our way to the bed, and he turned on the light. Instead of feeling exposed or self-conscious, the idea that he could see me as I truly was, naked and needy, was exciting.

  "You said you wanted me to take charge of us, so I will. Total
ly. I want you on top of me."

  He undid the messy, makeshift bun at my nape. I shook my hair free and added, "I don't want you to hold back. I don't want you to be tender. I want you to be primal."

  Nodding, he licked his lips. "You got it."

  He pressed me against the mattress, kissing me hard. I opened my legs wide, ready for him.

  "Touch me," I whispered. "Feel how wet I am because of you."

  His lips remained on mine, a feather-light kiss, as his hand slipped between my legs.

  "I love how responsive you are to me," he said in a gravelly whisper.

  I could only shudder in a breath. Words weren't possible.

  "This? Is this what you want?"

  "Yes…no." Why was his touch so unhurried, so slow? I fluttered my eyelids shut, overwhelmed by the erotic current he sent through my body.

  "No?"

  He rubbed me slower, and that was when I realized he was teasing me. Damn him. Bringing me to the edge of orgasm. Pulling me toward bliss. I made an impatient noise.

  "Patience, Skylar. We'll get there. Open your eyes. Look at me. Watch me make love to you."

  I did, and my breath grew heavy as he licked and tongued and sucked at my breasts.

  At this point, I was unable to hold back how I really felt. If I didn't tell him, I'd probably burst with emotion.

  "I missed you. I could barely sleep, and when I did, I had nightmares."

  He kissed me in response, and murmured, "I missed you too."

  "There wasn't a single waking hour I didn't think about you touching me or kissing me."

  His teeth grazed my neck, and the rhythm of his fingers made my body bloom with pleasure.

  "Every night before I went to bed, I thought about you and your body and your mouth."