She needed to be his friend. She had to show him she wasn’t the selfish, spoiled teenager he’d met on that balcony fifteen years ago. She was worth staying for – Luca, Tom, Grey and Max were worth staying for. She needed to make Jett see that that hideous reminder he’d inked onto his skin was not the truth. And for that to happen, to make Jett see that he couldn’t just run away, what happened in Clarkson’s office could never, ever happen again.
Challenge 7 (Don’t fuck with the ocean – never sleep with a friend).
21
Nella
The judgy face of the Virgin Mary glared at Nella like she knew exactly what was going through her head. The memory of Jett’s hands on her hips, the rough graze of his stubble against her jaw, the leather and pepper scent of him enveloping her, his erection pressing against ...
Friends.They were friends. She had to convince him of that. She had to convinceherselfof that. And friends did not think about each other like that. Especially not in church. And definitely not when they were about to embark on the most ridiculous heist attempt ever conceived of.
A heist where they were literally asking for permission to break in.
‘Antonella?’ Matteo La Marca’s thick Italian accent echoed through the stone walls. Grey’s silhouette emerged beside him and Max followed behind, flanking Ariana La Marca. In Nella’s hazy, sleep-deprived state, they looked like the most bizarre bridal entrance party any church aisle had ever seen.
‘Why is my daughter here?’ Matteo demanded as he knelt before the altar. Nella was pleased to see his hands shaking as he made a gratuitous sign of the cross.
‘She’s twenty-five, Matteo, she’s learnt to walk on her own by now,’ Nella said.
‘I wouldn’t call this comingwillingly.’ Ariana glared at Max, who was staring resolutely off to the right like she was suddenly filled with holy wonder by the painting of the Last Supper.
‘Is there a gun to your head,’ Grey asked, ‘like there was at the gala?’
Ariana flinched at the exact moment an orange arm of sunlight smeared across her face, making her blue eyes sparkle with a contained rage that reminded Nella of sapphires trapped in the prison of a wedding ring.
‘She has no business here,’ Matteo growled, moving towards Nella’s pew. Jett stepped between her and Matteo in a way that should have made her grind her teeth in feminist fury but instead made a small flare spark somewhere near her navel as she watched his shoulders tense under the fabric of his navy T-shirt.
‘My daughter has nothing to do with this.’
‘You’ve defiled her body with your cuore tattoo, haven’t you?’ Grey said, referencing the medieval La Marca ritual of branding their kin with a tattooed heart on their fourteenth birthday instead of purchasing a charm bracelet or an expensive watch like normal families. ‘So you’ve brought her into La Marca business.’
‘Shecan get into the Lake Orta house,’ Nella tested, ‘can’t she?’
Ariana turned her furious eyes on her father. ‘What are they talking about?’ She said it in Italian.
‘You’ve been sniffing around crime scene evidence, I see, Antonella,’ Matteo said in Italian, then, switching back to English, ‘Tell me – did poor Detective Avery know you only let him lick your tight little pussy because you needed to listen to my private conversation with Clarkson Li—’
It was a blur of navy as Jett launched over the pew like an Olympic hurdler towards Matteo. Grey somehow stepped between them, one hand on Jett’s chest, the other held out to Matteo, who wore the same expression as Jesus in the painting nearby –Jesus is Betrayed.
‘Leave it, Jett—’
‘Dad!’ Ariana had the social decorum to pretend to be shocked at her father’s words, though Nella wasn’t sure if Ariana’s objection was more to do with her father referencing another woman’s vagina or the fact that he’d said it in a church.
‘Let him go, Greyson,’ Matteo drawled, his mouth curving up at Jett. ‘The attack dog can’t help himself.’ He turned to Nella as though they shared some sort of understanding.
She gathered all her strength to not hurl theBook of Hymnsby her knee at his surgically altered nose.Hit them where it hurts.It was the only piece of advice she’d taken from her father. Although given to her during a non-contact game of netball that he’d only come to watch because the goal keeper was the daughter of the owner of the brewery he was trying to buy, Nella had fashioned it for her own purposes practising law.
And now.
‘Your dad owns a house in Milan, Lake Orta,’ Nella said to Ariana, who quirked an eyebrow as if to say,And? He also owns three football teams.
‘My lawyer ...’ Nella said, swallowing. ‘My dead lawyer thinks there’s something in that house that will prove my family is the rightful owner of the Barbarani Sangue recipe.’
Ariana’s expression didn’t change, but Nella guessed from the rise and fall of her beige turtleneck sweater dress that her real heart was beating rapidly under the tattooed one on her breastbone.
‘Naturally, your father doesn’t want me to see what’s in that house.’
‘I do not want any Barbarani on my property,’ Matteo snarled. ‘There’s a difference.’
