On Thin Ice (19 page)

In the end, Vito let her go.

Gabrielle picked up the phone and dialed, wondering what she would do if the number was no longer in service. If it were only herself, she would take the consequences, but she couldn’t allow anything to happen to Devlin, and she knew of no other way to protect him.

“
Sì
.”

Fourteen years since she’d heard his voice. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard before she spoke.
“Papà,
it’s me, Gabriela.”

There was a silence so intense, she thought she might break. But it was the voice on the other end of the line that broke. “Gabriela?
E tu? Vero?”

“Yes.” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away.
“Sì, Papà.”

“Are you coming home?”

The hope in his voice choked her with emotion. “I can’t.” Her fingers tightened on the receiver. “You know I can’t.”

“I’ve missed you, Gabriela. Every day of my life. Are you happy?”

She thought of Devlin and what might have been. Devlin and what could never be, not after she told him the truth. “I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

“You have only to ask. You know that.”

“It’s Franco. There’s a man I—Franco has threatened to kill someone I know. I want you to stop him.”

Vito cursed. “It will be taken care of. I warned him to stay away from you.”

“I wondered—at first I thought you had sent him.”

“No, Gabriela, I swore to you I would not. Have I not kept my word?”

“Yes.” Her throat was clogged with sorrow and useless tears. It took a moment before she could speak again. “Don’t kill him. Promise you won’t kill him. Just make him leave, and make sure he doesn’t hurt . . . anyone.”

“Why do you care if he dies, Gabriela?”

“I don’t want his blood on my hands.” And that was why she hadn’t told her father the truth about that night fourteen years before. She wanted no murders staining her soul.

“This man Franco has threatened. Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Will you marry him?”

“No.” Her eyes closed, and opened. “It isn’t going to work out like that.”

“Are you certain?”

Dead sure. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your pain. There’s nothing I can do for you about that, but I’ll take care of Franco. Remember I love you.”

“Thank you.” Hot tears slid down her cheeks. “I love you too,
Papà.”
She cradled the receiver, buried her head in her hands, and wept for the father she’d loved. The father she still loved.

Eventually, her tears slowed. Gabrielle knew she’d made the only possible decision she could make. She couldn’t live the life Vito had chosen; she had to live her own. Any contact, given those circumstances, was dangerous to them both. If she couldn’t live in his world, she couldn’t risk any association with it. And the path she’d chosen had been the right one for her. She knew that, was at peace with that. If only her path could have included her father. But it never could.

And now the truth faced her with another pain. She wiped the last tears away, drew in a shuddering breath, and resolved to face her present. She would find a way to tell Devlin she was Gabriela Donati, daughter of Vito Donati, once the most powerful Mafia don in the country.

“But you’re going to tell me,” he murmured. His hands on her arms, he pushed her away from him to look at her.

His eyes were dark gray and compassionate. As if she could tell him anything, and he would understand. But would he? How would he look at her when he knew? With hate? Disgust? Could he forgive her? No, she knew the answer to that.

Didn’t they deserve one last time? One more time before the truth wrecked everything they might have had? Was it so wrong of her to want that? So wrong to take it?

“Before we talk—” Her voice stuttered, stumbled. Drawing in a deep breath, she started again. “There’s something I want, before we talk.”

“What?” He asked the question softly, still gazing into her eyes.

“Tonight. I want tonight with you.”

He frowned. “Meaning what?”

“No past.” Leaning into him, she kissed his mouth. “No future,” she whispered, leaving his mouth to trace kisses along his jaw. “Only the present. Right now, right here.”

His expression hardened, his tone grew harsher as he drew away from her again. “I didn’t come here for sex, Gabrielle. I came to hear the truth. The truth about you and Franco Sabatino.”

“And I’ll tell you. But not . . . not tonight. Please, Devlin, can’t we have this last night?” Their gazes met, held. “You,” she said huskily. “Me. One last night.” If she had to live in hell for the rest of her life, she wanted a slice of heaven to take with her. Was one final night, a final good-bye too much to ask for?

One last night, Devlin thought, staring at her. Was the truth so bad? Gabrielle obviously thought so. Would it hurt to give her, and himself, this night? More important, could he refuse her?

His silence became his assent. Her mouth traced a moist, fiery path down his neck to his chest as her fingers unbuttoned his shirt. Her tongue flicked over one of his nipples, then the other, gently rasping, her teeth nipping until he groaned with pleasure. Her hands glided over his skin, learning him, caressing him, sending tremors of excitement rippling through his body. If he was going to stop her, it had to be soon.

He didn’t stop her. Instead, he sank his hands into her thick brown hair, so soft and rich, it flowed over his hands and forearms like strands of dark silk. His fingers pressed against her head as she moved lower, her tongue whirling in patterns across his chest, his abdomen, flicking into his navel as her hands tugged at his belt. In moments, she had the buckle unfastened and his zipper down. When she took him in her hands his mind clouded, an instant away from shutting down entirely. “Gabrielle—” He started to speak, but couldn’t. He could only suck in his breath, barely able to breathe.

“Don’t talk,” she said, her hands and her mouth on him, hot, vibrant, tempting. “Just . . . let me. Let me love you.”

He sensed it was a mistake, but he didn’t stop her. He gave himself up to the warm, sensual magic of her mouth, the erotic sensations that exploded along his skin at her touch. Desire surged hard, pumping through his bloodstream with a furious rhythm.

She knelt in front of him, her mouth leading him into realms he’d never visited before, even though he’d thought himself an experienced man. But there had never been Gabrielle before. Seductive, exciting as it was, he didn’t want to go alone. “Come here,” he said hoarsely, pulling her up so he could kiss her mouth. She allowed him the kiss, but when he would have continued, she shook her head.

“Let me,” she whispered.

“I want you with me.”

“Devlin, let me,” she said again.

Her eyes were a dark jade green and haunted with something he couldn’t name. He gazed at her for a long moment, then put his hands in her hair and watched her neck bend, her head slowly drop.

Later, he led her to the bedroom, and they made love again. And he knew, with each gentle stroke, each lingering caress, each deep, searching kiss, that this was good-bye.

Devlin woke in the early hours
of dawn and listened to Gabrielle’s even breathing, felt the warmth of her naked body curving into his. Her scent stroked his nostrils, imprinting itself in his memory; her skin felt smooth and tempting against his. He glanced down at her and smiled, thinking he’d never known a woman who remained in his mind like she did. A woman who could distract him with a simple smile or a touch.

Or something not so simple, he thought, his smile fading. Like the night before, when he had wanted answers and she had asked for one last night.

And Monday night at her office, he remembered, when they’d been talking about Sabatino’s case. Sabatino was the closest thing Donati had to a son, he remembered telling Gabrielle. And as a memory had struggled to surface, she’d changed the subject with an abrupt question that had instantly set him thinking in an entirely different direction. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d done it.

But now, underneath the soft, erotic swamping of his senses, the half-buried memory that had plagued him afterward crystalized. Like a silent freight train rushing out of the darkness, it slammed into his mind with headlines screaming. Vito Donati. Franco Sabatino. Donati’s daughter, Sabatino’s fiancée, dead in a fall from her second-story window.

Only she wasn’t dead.

Devlin looked at the woman who lay sleeping so innocently beside him. Mafia princess Gabriela Donati was in bed with him. And he’d been suckered by the mistress of manipulation, the Queen of Sharks herself.

Devlin was gone
when Gabrielle woke up. She sensed it even before she opened her eyes to the sunlight filtering in through the venetian blinds. It was fitting, she thought. The night was over. Time to face the music.

An hour later she stood in his office, waiting for him. He came in a few minutes after she arrived, a manila file folder tucked underneath his arm. “A little early, aren’t you, Counselor?” he said. “The meeting with Sid’s not for another half hour.”

She stared at him for a moment before she remembered. “I’d forgotten that. Can we talk?”

“Confession time, is it?” he asked dryly. His sardonic gaze raked her up and down. Taking a seat, he waved his hand at a chair.

Gabrielle locked the door and faced him. His eyes, usually so warm with laughter and affection, were cold and cynical. Reclining in his chair, he waited for her to speak with that flinty gaze pinned on her. Why, she wondered, was he looking at her like that, before she’d said a word?

She crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. This wasn’t her lover of the night before, or even her colleague of the past weeks. Judge and jury sat before her, but she had no miracles to pull out of her repertoire.

“I’ve kept something from you,” she said. “Something important. I’m not who you think I am.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. “No? So tell me,
Gabriela,
who do I think you are?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart all but stopped beating. “What—what did you call me?” Weak-kneed, she sank into a chair.

Devlin opened the manila folder he’d brought into the room and tossed it down in front of her. Page after page of photocopied newspaper articles spilled across his desk. Clippings about Vito Donati, Gabriela Donati, and Franco Sabatino. Reports, speculations regarding Gabriela Donati’s supposed death. There were no photos of her, Vito had seen to that. But Devlin hadn’t needed photos, she knew. The evidence was overwhelming. And totally damning.