Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

In the Air

“Will you tell me about your family?” Callie’s southern voice was softer than normal, like she was asking for a truce between the little back-and-forth war.

I stared at her sitting across from me, knowing I needed to pour water, not gasoline, onto the fire between us to make the rest of the flight comfortable. But my damn mouth seemed to enjoy getting me in the same kind of trouble hers did, because I sarcastically remarked, “I thought you already did research on me.”

Unbuckling and squirming a bit as if her ass hurt from the sting of my palm that’d only swatted her in my head, she brought her knee to her chest like a shield. No, sweetheart, that won’t save you from me. Only I could save her from me, which was why I needed to keep my distance somehow.

“Can’t really know a person, like really know them, from a simple online search.” Since she’d come back at my vinegar with sugar, I opted to not be a dick in response.

“How about we trade biographies, then? I should know a little more about you if we’re going to sell the marriage idea to your old man.”

Her nose wrinkled in repugnance. “First, you should know I call him The Asshole.” She used air quotes to describe dear old Dad, which was another cute thing for her to do that was fucking with me.

But I didn’t fall for cute. Well, to be fair, I didn’t fall at all.

“Noted.” My attention guiltily fell to my palm, knowing I’d never set a hand on this woman, not even if she begged. Not even a slap on that ass of hers. Okay, fuck, maybe if she begged. “And secondly?” I cleared my throat, trying to pull my head from the gutter, where hers had been earlier in her bedroom. Well, I was enough of an arrogant asshole to assume she’d imagined my cock in her mouth as a way to shut her up when I’d nearly said as much. The blush on her cheeks had told me she’d wanted that to happen, too.

“Secondly, I don’t think we have to play pretend that we had some love-at-first-sight thing.” She ran her hands through her wild, messy hair. “We only need to ensure he believes you’re the better choice than Rocco, right?”

Fair enough. Plus playing pretend will lead to sex. I could feel it in my bones, and I couldn’t let that happen. You’re an assignment. “So that means we don’t need to swap details about ourselves, then.”

She waved her finger like I was her student. Fuck if I’d ever had a teacher like her growing up. “I still want details.”

“Fine,” I relented. Giving in to a woman wasn’t my normal go-to reaction. “What do you want to know about my family?” I didn’t talk about myself, not unless I was paying my therapist $400 an hour to do it. Even then, she did most of the talking. I had issues. What could I say?

“Well.” Dropping both feet to the floor, she gripped her thighs. “I’m worried I’ll scare you off with any too-forward questions.”

“Yeah, I might jump from the jet without a chute if you try and dig too deeply. I do frighten easily.”

The smile she gave me was worth every second of my smartassery. Fuck my life. I will not have sex with you.

“Have you ever jumped from a plane?” No lip-chewing this time. Just a kill-me-now swipe of her tongue along the seam of her mouth. “Wait. Army Ranger. You probably did.”

I nodded. “Back to my family.” I’d rather talk about them than myself, including my time in the military.

“Okay.” She unbuttoned her jean jacket and removed it.

Yes, great idea. Because so help me, this woman in a tank top with tits like hers would destroy my focus.

“You okay?” she whispered, reading me perfectly.

“Not even a little bit,” I snapped out, which was not what I’d wanted to say, dammit. “I’m just not a fan of . . . sharing.”

“Listen, if you don’t want to—”

“It’s fine.” My shoulders drew together, my back muscles tense. “I have an older brother. Constantine. Well, not much older. I’ll be forty next month, and he’s just north of that number.” I looked out the little window; we were well above the clouds now. “Even though our father is very much in our life, Constantine still takes on that role. He’s a good man.” I swallowed. “And my younger brother, Enzo, is a chef in Charlotte. He’s married to the love of his life. Adopted his wife’s daughter, Chiara. And they have twins on the way.” My eyes fell closed when I thought about the fact I now only had one sister. “Isabella, although everyone but Hudson calls her Izzy, is the youngest. She’s spunky, opinionated, has horrible taste in men, and now works with us at our side gig.”

“And who’s Hudson?”

I hadn’t realized I’d even dropped his name. “Navy SEAL. Best friend to Constantine. Former FBI. Now owns a bar and also works with us.” I went ahead and finished the painful part before she could ask. “And you already know about Bianca, Enzo’s twin sister. She was murdered, and it was connected to my mother’s side of the family.” And here’s a little bit of news you won’t like. “My mother’s family . . . they’re mafia. But no connection to the DiMaggios.” I’d made sure. Not that I would have sex with Callie, but I had to ensure there was zero chance we were even remotely related before this plan went through.

“That’s—”

“Why I don’t like sharing.” I filled my cheeks with air, giving her a clear sign I was frustrated and not able to hide it, then let the breath go. “Your turn. How’d you wind up growing up in Nashville?”

“Well.” She squirmed in her seat again, when what she needed to do was squirm on my lap, get my cock hard again to distract me from my dark past with sex.

Maybe I’m the problem, not her. I was the one running hot and cold when it came to her, and she simply mirrored my behavior. And now my therapist had to be taking over my thoughts, because I couldn’t possibly have psychoanalyzed myself like that, given my current state.

“My aunt was living in Nashville at the time I was born, so I grew up there,” she finally went on, as if knowing my simmering thoughts needed a moment to settle first.

“You don’t call your aunt Mom.” I wasn’t sure why I’d pointed that out, but . . .

“My mother told Tia she didn’t want me to call Tia that. She said Tia could raise me, but she still saw herself as my mother, even though I never did.”

“Did your mother visit?”

She held up her palm and wiggled her fingers. “Maybe five times since I was born. Never long enough for me to get to know her, which probably made it easier when she’d take off again.”

“Oh.” Yeah, that was my brilliant response. I was a work in progress on the showing-emotions thing when it came to anyone outside my family. Not that this woman ever needed a front-row seat to my emotions or the chaos in my mind. Assignment. A job. The marriage would be a means to an end. Why in the hell did I need to keep reminding myself of that?

Her hand went to her lap, and she fidgeted with the silver ring on her right hand, spinning it around. “When my mother died in an accident last year, my aunt took me to the funeral in Stockholm. It was my first time out of the country, but my grandparents were born and raised in Sweden, and Christie—my, uh, mother—had said when it was her time, she wanted to be buried in the same cemetery as her parents.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She surrendered a little shrug. “Armani recognized my aunt, then he looked at me, and it was game over. He remembered when my mother left him as his mistress thirty years ago. She wasn’t going to have me, but Aunt Tia couldn’t have kids and begged her to let her raise me. And after I was born, she ran right back into that man’s arms. Well, she was with him whenever her band wasn’t traveling Europe. She was a singer.”

“Is that why you never pursued music professionally? You didn’t want to be like her?”

“A little bit, yeah. But in my twenties, it felt like there was a piece of me missing, and I finally gave in to my passion. I devoured anything and everything I could music-related and never looked back.” She let go of her ring and gripped the chair’s arms. “But yeah, Armani forced me to get bloodwork after the funeral, and that was when I discovered why she really abandoned me.”

“And he’s been the bane of your existence ever since.”

“Yup, and this is the first time I’ve talked about this with anyone other than Aunt Tia.”

“How’d your aunt handle the aftermath of Armani finding out?”

“I used to tease my aunt for being so paranoid my whole life. No listed number. No social media, either. Turns out, she was trying to protect us from Armani and not just worried Big Brother was listening in. Once the cat was out of the bag—God, I hate that saying—she blamed herself for taking me to the funeral and dug in her heels even deeper on the whole paranoid and overprotective thing.”

“So what changed?” Because something must’ve, or she wouldn’t be on a cruise now.

“She said she had a plan for before Armani tried to force my hand at marriage. Some former military guys she knew in Kentucky who’d help out, and she wouldn’t tell me how.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I forced her to take the dream trip she’d been planning for forever, reminding her I had time and protection—whether I wanted protection or not.”

The more I heard, the more I liked her aunt.

“Just sounds so strange when I say everything aloud. Like how can this be my life?”

“I ask myself that almost every day about my own,” I slipped and admitted.

“You do?” Her brows lifted in surprise.

I shifted in my seat, shocked at how candid I’d been with her. “Maybe we should talk about something else now instead?” My suggestion came out a bit rough, probably more like a demand. “I think you should know about Rocco Barone. Why he’s so dangerous.” I needed to focus on the mission. “In case you have any doubts about me as who you should marry, you should—”

“I don’t want to get married, and I’ll do my best not to let that happen.”

“Ditto,” I rasped, eyes meeting hers again. “But Rocco, you should know about him anyway.” She nodded, and I took that as my cue to give her the CliffsNotes version that was inside the envelope I’d given her, which she’d yet to read. “Rocco’s family is in the business of war. They’re hired by everyone from corporations to terrorist groups to create conflicts in certain regions.”

“I teach history, so I can guess why.”

“War is a profitable business for some.” And that was the messy truth. “It can also create instability and a power vacuum, and there’s usually someone looking to fill that space, and they’re willing to do what it takes to get that power. Rocco’s father has been in this business since the 1980s. Rocco is being groomed to take over, but he’s a sadistic son of a bitch and takes pleasure in being the one to help create conflict. There’s no man, woman, or child that will stand in his way from completion of a job.”

Her eyelashes fluttered closed at the truth, but she needed to hear it.

“His family is Italian, but no one knows where they currently live. Heavily protected. Always moving around. But an alliance through marriage with the oldest mafia group in Italy, and well, all of Europe, would make them truly unstoppable. So there are many reasons this man cannot become your husband. Not to mention the fact he’d take you off the grid.”

“Well, you said you won’t let that happen, so I guess it’s time I start trusting you to keep your word.”