dedicated protector. No matter what his motives were.
But hours of captivity and two beatings had cost him. The men had too much lead time. Before Dante got halfway there, the boat’s motor rumbled to life.
The speedboat rocketed into the night. Dante skidded to a stop. He swung around and frowned, his countenance savage.
They were stranded.
AT SEA ABOARD her rented yacht, Anastasia Catomeris handed more euros to the Greek and Russian than they deserved and then instructed the captain to escort the churlish duo off the vessel. Recommended by a contact as local “professionals,” they had reported for duty big on beef, short on brains.
The timely explosion of Dante and Ariana’s yacht the night before—possibly mob related—had enabled the hired hands to capture her prey. Tasia’s contacts had reported that Dante had been working at a mob dig site near Naples before he absconded with the girl. At first she’d suspected he might be working with the police—or one of her rivals. But her investigation had turned up no evidence of either involvement. He and Ariana must have thought they could escape the Camorra by sailing out of the area. It had taken Tasia time, effort and too much cash to locate the pair. She needed to use caution, because the Camorra would keep searching. The mob hadn’t obtained their reputation by operating like a trade workers union. Dante couldn’t just quit.
She switched on the gas fireplace in the stateroom and swept off her black veil. She was sick of lurking in the shadows. Always dark. Always hidden. Catching a glimpse of her face in the mirror, she proudly tilted her chin. Megaera, the goddess whose name she had borrowed, might have been hideous, but Tasia was still a stunner. She often passed for half her age—her only worthwhile inheritance from Greek peasants.
She sauntered to the bar and filled a crystal flute with champagne. Her hired oafs had returned from their assignment to deposit her captives on the island bloody, bruised and shaken. They had sullenly admitted to an altercation, but assured her Dante and Ariana were unharmed. The fools had better not be lying, because she needed the hostages alive.
For now.
She had planned and plotted and waited for exactly the right moment. Finally, everything was in place to teach the man who had abandoned her and his infant son the ultimate lesson. She had set Elias Stamos, the owner of Liberty Line, on a collision course with ruin. And what better vehicle for Elias to ride to public humiliation than the ship named after his revered late wife, Alexandra’s Dream.
Mike O’Connor and Giorgio Tzekas thought they were being paid, and handsomely, to smuggle artifacts to sell in America. The wily O’Connor acquired the pieces, and the not-so-bright but malleable Tzekas used his position as first officer to help get them aboard Alexandra’s Dream and hide them. However, Tasia had no intention of ferrying the antiquities that far. Once the ship docked in Athens she would plant the final piece with false invoices and then alert the authorities. Elias would be arrested. His sterling reputation as a patron of the Greek arts would crumble, and his patrons would flee. He would deplete his fortune defending himself in court.
If O’Connor and Tzekas played it smart, they’d walk away much richer. If not…She smirked. They couldn’t identify her.
Revenge, as rich and satisfying as caviar. Tasia bit into a cracker heaped with the best Beluga. Mmm. She could hardly wait to revel in the heady taste of vengeance.
Her “job” as a collection consultant for an Athens museum was the perfect cover. She’d been careful with her spending and had Swiss banked a tidy sum from a long, successful career of smuggling artifacts. But it still wasn’t quite enough. After Elias went down, she had one more cache to fence, huge enough to fund the rest of her luxurious life, and then she was done. She would buy her own yacht and sail to the south of France. She would bask in the sun and live in the style for which she had worked her derriere off. And which she deserved after a lifetime of scrimping.
Perhaps she’d even hunt up a new lover. Though her track record was abysmal. Sipping chilled bubbly, Tasia strolled to the chaise beside the crackling fire. What was the saying? Lucky at gambling, unlucky in love.
Wealth never lost its value. Never let her down. Living well was the answer to every problem. The luxury to do whatever you wanted whenever you chose was ultimate power. She didn’t need men…except for the obvious. She’d clawed her way up the slippery slope of success without help from any man.
Sighing, she settled into the cushions. Elias had been the only man she’d never been able to control. Until Dante. The enigmatic man had refused a bribe and stoically taken a beating without a betraying word. Too bad, because the savage Napoletano could be a very worthwhile…investment. That man would never cower at her feet. And she enjoyed an edge of danger, in and out of the bedroom.
Tasia licked a salty morsel of caviar from her lower lip. She’d spared his life because she appreciated beautiful things—and didn’t destroy them without good reason. And because her contact at Interpol couldn’t confirm exactly whose side Dante was on. If she made him disappear, there would be consequences. She needed to know what she might lose before making a decision. Her contact was running a background check on him, and his fate would wait until Tasia received more information.
Ariana, on the other hand…She frowned. Seeing her had stirred softer feelings than Tasia had expected. She was her father’s girl, smart and courageous. Ariana’s intelligence, knowledge of antiques and bitterness toward the police could be useful. As could her mission to redeem Derek’s reputation. Tasia drained her glass. Ariana’s mother had joined Alexandra’s Dream to search for her daughter, and Sadie and Elias had grown close. Ah, the gratification Tasia would gain from recruiting Ms. Bennett and hurting Elias even more. Double the revenge. He would learn the sting of betrayal, firsthand.
Would Ariana cooperate? Tasia abandoned the empty plate and flute on a table and draped a cashmere throw over her legs. As much as she would enjoy working with Derek’s daughter, Tasia couldn’t afford to let sentiment impede her goals. The girl’s future also remained undecided.
For now, the pair would remain trapped on the island…until Tasia decided to fetch them.
She stared into the hungry red flames and her lips curled in a slow smile. Or not.
THIGH-DEEP in the cold surf, Dante flung a universal parting gesture at the fleeing speedboat. Muttering, he splashed back to the woman shivering on the beach. Like him, she was soaked to the skin, bruised and scraped. He’d failed her for the second time in twenty-four hours. Rage made him shake. “Are you all right, Ariana?”
“Yes.” She unsteadily brushed aside a wet tendril of chestnut hair. “Heckle and Jeckle tore out of here like you’d sprouted horns. What’s so scary about being ‘a friend of the friends’?”
After almost six weeks, he had yet to discern if she was a bereaved daughter seeking the truth about her father, or a wily operator attempting to run her own game. In either scenario, if she knew who his friends really were, she would jeopardize his goals. Possibly his life. He scooped up his fallen coat.
“Ah. It’s a ‘don’t mess with the mob’ thing, right?”
He’d known from the moment she’d asked her first question at the dig site that she was not only beautiful, but extremely intelligent. Which made her extremely dangerous. “Sì.”
She planted her hands on her hips. Her eyes—as blue and unpredictable as the Mediterranean Sea—sparked. “Well, why didn’t you yell it sooner?”
He
