Beautiful Assassin by Skyla Madi
“My bankcards are at home.”
Stefan reaches out for me, lightly cupping my face in his warm hands, and I become hyperaware of the searing heat that burns across the back of my neck, sending an electrical current shooting down my spine.
“I know they are.”
“I don’t feel comfortable—” He kisses me on the mouth, catching me off-guard.
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes and then we’ll go.”
Stefan saunters from the kitchen and disappears. Sometime later he re-emerges, wearing a white button-up shirt that moulds perfectly to his well-defined chest and is tucked into tailored black slacks. Does he have to work today? Is that why he’s dressed so formally?
“You’re dressed to kill.”
He smirks—actually, it’s more of a corner lip twitch—and it sends my tummy flipping. “I see what you did there.”
I slowly slide myself off of the stool and Stefan watches me closely, in case I hurt myself. “You’re not going to kill me and dump me in the bush somewhere, are you?”
“Not today,” he teases, pushing his long fingers through his hair, taming the wild tufts that were displaced by sleep. “Ready to go?”
I nod, despite the fact I both look and feel like shit. Without a word, I follow Stefan through the house. He slows his stride for me and I can tell it plays on his patience. Eventually, we slip into the garage through a side door in the hall at the front of the house, and I’m overwhelmed by the smell of fuel and rubber, but not as overwhelmed as I am by the four black cars in front of me. He owns them all? They’re all wonderful, but what’s the point?
“We’ll take the R8,” he says, pointing toward the beautiful black Audi.
I gawk at it. It’s sleek and gorgeous, but it’ll draw way too much attention. “It’s not too…much?”
Stefan feigns insult. “Never.”
I step around the R8 and move toward the big four-wheeled drive. “What about this big one?”
“No. Where we’re going, the streets are too small for a truck like that.”
“Okay.” I peer around the truck at the sedan. “And that one?”
“That one’s scratched up.” Leaning against the R8, he taps his fingers on the roof. “Courtesy of your fiancé.”
My heart stops cold and a clammy moisture forms across my palms. “You saw him?”
He analyses me for a little while before nodding. “Yesterday.”
Dread hurls through me and Stefan’s stare is anything but playful. “How is he?”
His lip twitches in disgust. “It seems I was wrong. He’s going mad looking for you.”
I gulp. Shit. Will he find me here? Can he find me here? Oh my gosh. I push my fingers through my hair and turn away from Stefan. This is a disaster. If he comes here, if he finds me here, living in the house of his enemy—of the man that killed his brother and his uncles—he’d never forgive me. He’d kill me.
Panic sears through me. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I bet he knows. I bet he knows I’m with Stefan. My hands begins to tremble as panic rises in the pit of my stomach.
Warm, strong arms wrap around me, catching me off guard. I release my hair as Stefan pulls me against him and holds me as tight as he can without causing me pain. He holds me as if I’m his lover, as if we’ve been doing this forever, and it’s comforting in the strangest of ways.
“He won’t find you here,” he tells me, and his voice, the way he keeps it so level and calm, is incredibly convincing.
“How do you know?”
“I want you to trust me. Can you do that?”
I turn my head, brushing my cheek against Stefan’s nose. Is this crazy? I need someone here to tell me that this is crazy. I can’t put my trust in Stefan Valentino. He’s a hitman hired to kill me. Not to mention the fact I don’t even know the guy. My mother would have a goddamn heart attack if she knew about this.
Despite that, despite all of my rational thoughts and my level of education, I say, “I…I trust you,” like an idiot.
“You are safe here. Safer than you’ve ever been in your life, all right?”
And I believe him. I don’t know why, but I do.
***
We drive for just over an hour, but it’s enough to make my ass sore. Gone is the smooth motorway as we make our way down a service road before turning off into a sleepy little town in Sydney’s hinterland. I don’t tell Stefan, but I know exactly where we are.
Somersby.
Christiano used to bring me here all the time when we first started dating. He pretended to like small towns, trees, and waterfalls to make me happy. He hates them. He hates the beach too.
People stare at the R8 as Stefan drives along the main road and I hide my face behind a curtain of my hair. Is now a bad time to bring up the fact people here know exactly who Christiano Russo is? Gabriella frequents a plant nursery here, Marco has a business deal with the gentleman who runs the pub at the end of this strip, and Christiano donated the money to build a new water wheel for the town as a birthday gift to me, and he wants to buy the hideaway cabins just a few kilometres north.
Stefan pulls up outside an interesting alternative clothing store. I don’t tease him for it. Normal clothing stores are scarce here. He turns off the car, unclips his seatbelt, and exits the car.
As he circles the front of the vehicle, I unclick my own seatbelt and chew the inside of my lip. What if someone recognises me? What if—oh, no. What if Christiano is here?
Stefan opens my door and extends his hand to me. I glance at his open palm and then at his face.
“Fifteen minutes, Cammie,” he promises. “Fifteen minutes of your time and then we’ll go.”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. What’s the worst that can happen in fifteen minutes? I go in. I get clothes. I come back. That’s all.
Inhaling, I place my hand in his and he helps me out of the car. We walk hand in hand into the shop and, thankfully, there’s only one person at the counter and no one browsing the racks.
The young guy’s eyebrows lift when he sees me and he leans against the counter, his ill-fitting fluorescent green shirt pooling beneath him.
Oh, God. I look as bad as I thought I did.
“Good afternoon,” he greets us, scratching at his short, brown goatee. “You’ve seen better days, haven’t you?”
Stefan’s fingers tighten around mine and I quickly stroke him with my thumb.
“Is it that obvious?” I say, smiling politely.
“Fuck, yeah. What—”
“We’re here to shop, not to chat,” Stefan snaps, pointing to the other side of the room. He glances down at me. “Women’s clothing is over there. Get whatever you want.”
I follow his direction without protest and cross the store floor to the far side, by the change rooms. Behind me, Stefan watches the cashier, his intense eyes never relenting before finally turning away. I flick through the racks while Stefan sits on an armchair by the wall, texting furiously and ignoring his phone whenever it does ring. Despite this store not being a place I’d usually shop at, I find some pretty gems and all of them are made from soft, flowy fabrics which won’t irritate my cuts.
Happy, Stefan takes the clothes from me and dumps them on the counter.
“So what happened to you?” The cashier leans in, grabbing an item of clothing, a light pink knee-length summer dress. “Car accident? Rehab?”
Heat rushes my body and pools in my cheeks. I knew it was a bad idea to come out like this. “Um…”
“Turn around, Cammie,” Stefan says calmly, his eyes flashing dangerously at the young man.
I frown. “You want me to—”
“Yes.”
“Okay…” Cautiously, I turn around and—WHAM!
Whipping back to Stefan, I gasp at the sight of him holding the guy down by his ridiculous man bun, forcing him hard against the countertop. Blood pours from his nose and leaks across the dark oak surface.
“Apologise,” Stefan demand
I reach out and touch Stefan’s arm. “Stefan…”
He tightens his grip and the guy hisses through his teeth.
“I’m sorry! Jesus Christ. I’m sorry!”
Stefan peers at me, looking for some kind of approval. I nod my head desperately, and he lets the guy go with a rough shove. I avert my stare, not wanting to look the poor cashier in the face. Was he rude? Yes. Does he deserve what he got? No.
“Now you’re going to complete her purchase.” Stefan reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “And if you get blood on anything, I will kill you.”
I turn away from them as they proceed with the purchase. The air is tense and frazzled, filling me with anxiety. I bite my nails. If only I had some Xanax to take the edge off.
Before long, I hear the receipt as it’s printed out of the EFTPOS machine and I turn around as the guy hands Stefan the bag of clothes.
“You’ll have to ice your nose for a little while…” I tell him and Stefan takes my bicep in his warm, large hands.
Pinching his nose between his index and thumb, the cashier gives me a sheepish nod and turns away. I feel terrible as Stefan escorts me from the store, storming with his long, thick legs. I struggle to keep up, and trying causes me unnecessary pain. We make it all of six metres before I grit my teeth and pull from his grip, planting my feet on the footpath.
“Why did you do that?” I snap, rubbing my tender bicep.
“He was being a rude little fuck.”
“No, he wasn’t.” He cuts his eyes at me, forcing me to reconsider my answer. “Okay. Maybe he was a little rude, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“You didn’t have to. I handled it for you.”
“You assaulted him.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Do you think I’m that weak? That I need your help?” I ask. “It’s not like he hurt my feelings.”
“That’s beside the point.” He steps forward. “Nobody is going to talk to you like that as long as I’m around, capito?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t like it, Stefan. Violence is not something I enjoy, and what if he calls the police?” My eyes go wide as my heart stutters, stops, the picks up again at an erratic pace. “Security cameras. What if—”
Stefan rolls his eyes. “You need to relax. There weren’t any cameras. I checked when we walked in.”
How can he be so relaxed about this? If Christiano finds us, then it’s him who will pay the price. I could probably get away with a kidnapping claim, but I’d really have to sell it. What if the guy in the store calls the police? Surely Chris already has them keeping an eye out for me.
“I should have told you before when I realised where we were. The Russos are a very big part of this town.”
I hold my breath, expecting him to blow up. Instead, he nods. “I know. That’s why we’re here.”
“Oh…”
“Oh? You sound disappointed.”
Do I? “No, not at all. I just thought we were…” Stefan tips his head on the slightest angle and I swallow hard. “Hanging out.”
I cringe at the words as they leave my mouth.
“We are.” He smiles at me. “I’m having fun. Are you?”
“Well, I’m definitely not bored,” I say with a nervous chuckle as he takes my hand in his.
“Come on. We have one more stop to make.”
His skin is warm and comforting, and his grip—so tight and protective. Holding hands with Stefan is completely different to holding hands with Christiano. Christiano’s grip was always dry and commanding, like a master holding the leash of his dog. I never strayed too far, or I was tugged back and scolded. To Christiano, I was an accessory, and holding hands with him was a chore.
I test my boundaries with Stefan out of curiosity. Subtly, I move away from him and he loosens his hand. I move further and he allows our hands to slip away, catching my pinky with his. I move closer to him as we approach the car and our palms slip together effortlessly, our fingers entwining. Holding hands with Stefan makes me feel like an equal. My chest inflates as my something swells. I cannot express how long I’ve been waiting to feel like an equal.
I peer sideways at Stefan. His face is neutral, void of any specific emotion. He might not be much different to Christiano on the surface, but deep down I think he’s a different person entirely. Judging by the way he’s treated me this far, I think he’s a gentleman. That, or he really likes me.
Stefan doesn’t notice my test. He keeps his eyes on our surroundings, scanning ahead until we reach the car. He opens the door for me and closes it once I’m clipped in. When he’s seated behind the wheel, he hands me my bag, turns the car on, and pulls out onto the quiet main road.
The drive down the strip to the pub on the end is quiet, and I find myself peeking at Stefan every now and then. He keeps his stare glued to the road, occasionally flicking his attention to his side mirrors. He loves his car. I can tell by the way he smooths his palms over the wheel.
“You can always take a picture, Cammie.” Glancing at me, Stefan’s mouth moulds into a breathtaking smile and I can’t tear my eyes away. “I hear they last longer.”
Ha. “Speaking of which, I tried Googling you.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You tried Googling me?”
“I was curious.”
“And what did you find?”
I shrug. “You’re good at dodging the camera, I’ll give you that.”
A deep laugh rumbles through Stefan’s chest, vibrating the air around me as he indicates and pulls into a parking lot across from the bar. With a gentle squeeze to my thigh, he tells me to hold tight and leaves me sitting in the car with the cool air on high.
I watch the day age on the centre console. Minute after minute ticks by and I grow tired and achy as my meds wear off. Stefan is gone for one hour and five minutes before he finally comes back. I spot him exit the pub from a side door. His thick arms swing as he makes his way back to the car. He doesn’t look happy. I keep my gaze glued to his approaching form, each stomp just as frustrated, just as powerful, as the last. He waits outside the driver door for a few minutes, pacing back and forth, clenching his giant hands and tensing his body. Stilling himself, his chest broadens with an inhale and then relaxes as he blows air out.
I look straight ahead as he opens the door and slips in behind the wheel. He touches the wheel and clenches it in his hands. The air he brings into the car is heavy and electric. One wrong word and he’ll snap, I just know it.
To my surprise, Stefan turns to me. “Do you like waterfalls?”
I blink at him. The way he posed the question was gentle, but his face…his dangerous, volcanic eyes, drawn brows, and pursed lips are filled with rage. “Yes.”
I see it then, when I glance back to his hands, his red, swollen knuckles. Something must have went down.
“Did you get what you wanted?” I ask him, flicking my gaze back to his face.
He nods. “Always.”
Stefan swipes his good hand over his knuckles and I can’t help it. I reach out and press my hand to his wrist, gently grazing the tips of my fingers along the back of his hurt hand. With a soft exhale, he peels his hand from the leather and allows me to inspect it. Guiding it close to my face, I press around his swollen knuckles. Everything feels okay, despite the inflammation. The skin isn’t damaged, the bones aren’t broken or displaced, and he doesn’t wince or pull his hand back when I touch it. Going off this examination, I’d say it’s nothing a cold compress won’t fix.
I lower my head and press my lips to his knuckles. His fingers twitch in mine, the bone moving under my lips. I pull back and let him go. I don’t know why I felt compelled to do that, but I did. Our gazes lock and a hint of pleasure flares in his dark eyes. In an instant, something changes between us. It’s the air. It’s the way our breath clashes together and the way
For a long time I thought I was broken. Christiano wore me down. The pills I took wore me down. Hell, every aspect of my life was wearing me down. It wasn’t until Stefan snuck into my life that I started feeling again.
Excitement.
Fear.
Arousal.
All of it. I can’t go back to feeling nothing. I can’t go back to Christiano or to my apartment. I want to run away. I want to go to Mexico and live there. How’s Barbados this time of the year? Or Alaska? Would Stefan come with me?
“You’re beautiful, you know that?”
My heart sinks. That’s a familiar statement…God, it’s so much nicer without the expletive. Embarrassment warms my cheeks under his gaze. I glance down at my hospital gown. “I don’t feel beautiful.”
“You are.” He glances out the window. “You could wear a burlap sack and still make my insides twist.”
I smile at him as warm, good vibes radiate from my chest. I turn to look out the window.
I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
∞ Stefan Valentino ∞
I pull out onto the main road and drive toward Somersby Falls.
My hand fucking aches. I knew it would when I made the decision to punch Nix in the face for disrespecting me. He’s a big fucker, bigger than me. Eventually, after my fist destroyed his nose, he agreed to close the deal with Marco Russo or I’d burn his bar, and his mother’s place to the ground. I told him my name was Victor Diello and that I was a very important member of the South Sydney Scorpion’s. Elementary stuff, really, but he bought it. If things go the way I expect them to, I bet the first thing Nix did when I left was get on the phone to Christiano and tell him all about it. It won’t be long before the Russos receive Tony’s severed head, wrapped in a Scorpion’s bandana and all the blame falls to them. If I’m lucky, they’ll get the blame for taking Cammie too, and then I get her all to myself.
I glance sideways at her. She watches the trees whip by, her large, pretty eyes flittering around excitedly. Fuck. I want her all to myself so bad. With minimal effort, she turns me on and I’m forced to exist in absolute torture because I can’t touch her the way I so desperately want to touch her…