The Mafia Queen ELizabeth

A/N- Welcome lovelies, I hope you like this book, there are a few discrepancies which I'd correct, but if you're in a hurry, note that Mila is Annie and also Hannah, so you don't get confused. If there's any other thing you're confused about, I'll be in the comment section.. Xoxox lovelies.

Tiara

Sign it.

Just sign the paper.

"It's perfect, Tiara. Absolutely stunning. I can already envision it hanging in my dining room." Mr. Jackson said, bypassing the pen I had handed him and pulling his own out of his shirt pocket.

Then sign it already!

As I sat across the table from him, I tried to will the pen to move with my mind. Everything was settled; I only needed his signature to seal the deal. We were so close, if only he would hurry up and sign the damn thing.

Since deciding to branch out on my own and open the gallery, this would be my first sale of my work. So far, we'd been surviving off the profit from other artists and photographers we housed, but this one would be mine. It felt like so much more than a sale to me. It was the validation that I had done the right thing. That taking this chance and following my dreams was the right move-despite the protests I had received from nearly everyone in my life. It proved that I could do it, and that people liked my work. That maybe, just maybe, I was good at this.

The particular painting he was purchasing was like a child to me, and as anxious as I was to make the sale, it would be hard to let it go. For months, I had slaved away at it, tweaking and reworking it over and over again. No matter how many hours I put into it, it never looked done to me. Even as it hung in the gallery for the viewing tonight, it still rubbed me the wrong way. It wasn't my best, and that was why it surprised me it was my first piece to go. Mr. Jackson, however, had fallen in love with it and, for the steep price of thirteen thousand dollars, it was now his.

My breath hitched as I watched the pen sweep across the bottom of the paper with his signature.

He'd signed it. He'd done it. He'd bought my painting.

"Well, Tiara, I am certain this won't be the last of our deals. I look forward to seeing what else you come up with. Who knows? I might be in the market for another Tiara Ross original." He shot me a wink and slid the check across the table.

Thirteen thousand dollars. My hands nearly shook as I picked it up and held it in my hands. I had never possessed that kind of money before. When I graduated with my degree in art history, neither my mother nor I ever thought I would have a career that would generate this kind of income. This was completely surreal, and I kept waiting for someone to jump out from behind a corner and tell me it was all one big prank.

Not wanting to appear as overwhelmed as I was, I gave Mr. Jackson a confident smile and stood up, smoothing my dress out.

"I'm so glad it's going home with you, Mr. Jackson. It's been a pleasure working with you." Over the last few months, we have become good friends. He'd visited the gallery frequently, and would thoughtfully study every piece we had on display. He appreciated art of any kind, but for whatever reason, it was my work that he was drawn to. I spent hours letting him pick my brain, talking about how each piece came to fruition. Whenever he was in, he always insisted on coming back to look at what I was currently working on. A lot of times, clients didn't care about the backstory behind a piece, but that seemed to be what Mr. Jackson loved the most. And as an art collector, his interest in my work was flattering.

"It was a pleasure working with you as well, and I appreciate all the time you spent with me. It means so much more knowing where your vision came from." He said. "Now, please, go enjoy the rest of your evening. It seems I'm not the only fan of your work."

I followed him out into the gallery. Tonight, we were having a special viewing of some of our newer pieces, and it attracted quite the crowd. Live piano music filled the space and champagne and appetizers were being survived by the tray. A few of our resident artists had shown up to talk with potential clients, and so far, everything was going well. This was exactly the type of event I envisioned when we rented this space, and seeing it in action was indescribable. The night had barely started, and I was already walking on clouds.

My best friend and business partner, Jane, was flitting from one group to the next, handing them brochures with our featured pieces and answering any questions that they had. Her energy was contagious, and she had a special way of getting everyone around her excited about whatever she was excited about. She was so good at the personal aspect of this, and we made a good team. Business had flourished over the last few months, and if things went well tonight, we'd be well on our way to becoming one of the most successful up-and-coming galleries in all of New York.

It had been born out of humble beginnings, though, and that was what made nights like tonight so difficult to wrap my mind around. I met Jane when we were both in school at USC in California, and we were literal opposites in our personalities to our appearances. With her messy blonde hair and icy blue eyes, she was whimsical and quirky and had chosen an art degree because it required the least amount of science classes. She was only dependable to those she loved, and the girl wouldn't know the concept of a schedule if I hit her over the head with it. I, on the other hand, lived and died by my planner, and had been obsessed with painting for as long as I could remember. She was impulsive, and I always thought about the consequences. I was a people pleaser, and Jane always told it like it was. We were good for each other, and when we talked about making the move out to New York, it was an easy choice.

It hadn't been easy, though. New York was tough to survive at any rate, but this industry was even more cutthroat than most. We'd go weeks with barely a customer or two, and as rent spiked, we agonized over whether we'd even be able to keep the door open at all. We'd fought hard, though, and tonight was proof that those days were behind us.

"Thank you again, Tiara. I will see you again soon." Mr. Jackson leaned down and kissed my cheek before disappearing out the front door.

Before I could get my bearings, Jane appeared out of thin air, throwing her arms around me and squeezing so tightly I thought she might break my neck. "Oh my god, Titi. You did it! Your first painting!"

"Can you believe it?" I couldn't help but smile. This had been my dream all of my life. "It still doesn't feel real. I thought I was going to have a heart attack before he signed it."

"Well, get used to it! It's just the beginning." Jane grinned, grabbing two small glasses from a tray and handing one to me.

"Is this champagne?" It suspiciously smelt like something stronger.

"God, no." She scoffed. "It's tequila! But I can get you some champagne as a chaser."

"This seems like a terrible idea."

"Tequila is never a terrible idea." Jane rolled her eyes.

As another server passed by, I grabbed a glass of wine and put the shot glass of tequila on his tray.

"I think I better take it slow tonight. I already feel so nervous I could puke right here."

"Fine." Jane conceded. "But once all of this is over, we're going to celebrate the right way."

Jane disappeared as quickly as she came, and I stood at the back of the gallery and scanned the growing crowd. I recognized a few of the faces, but most of them were new. The front door opened and the crisp, fall New York City air hit from across the room. I glanced up, watching as four men came inside.

Just with their presence, they commanded the attention of everyone in the room, and several people were stealing glances and whispering amongst themselves. Everything about them was intimidating, from their dark hair and partially hidden tattoos to the heaviness of the air they carried, and their perfectly tailored suits looked wildly out of place here.

One of them seemed to be the leader, and he moved through the room with a confidence so loud it was deafening. He seemed oblivious to the attention he was drawing like it was just an ordinary day for him. The attention didn't seem to bother him one bit. He enjoyed it. The other men followed him from painting to painting before eventually breaking off and browsing on their own. Eventually, the infatuation wore off, and everyone else went back to their conversations.

The tallest man had his back to me and had been standing in front of one of my paintings for several minutes with an undeterred stare. For a brief second, I thought about going over to see if I could answer any of his questions, but Jane interrupted me.

"That's Leandro Diaz." She pointed over my shoulder at the man who had been standing at my painting. "He's one of the biggest real estate investors in the entire city. He looks like an Italian Hercules."

"The cartoon?" I held in my laughter, pressing the wineglass to my lips. I had never been one to get giddy or love-struck over a boy. That was another glaring difference between Jane and I. She was always quick to fall in love, and unfortunately, just as quick to get her heart broken.

She rolled her eyes, slapping my shoulder.

"Why don't you go give him the brochure?" I suggested, nudging her forward.

"Right. I should do that." She had been dying for an excuse to go talk to them, and I had given her one.

I took another sip of my wine, enjoying the show as she introduced herself, handing a brochure to the first man, and another who had now joined him. She was talking a hundred miles an hour, pointing toward the painting and then turning toward me.

The two men turned toward me as well, and my eyes locked with the one who had been standing there the longest. This was the first time I was getting a good look at him, and I immediately felt unarmed. His eyes were as dark as his hair and felt like they were piercing right through me. Even from across the room, I could feel the intensity in his stare, and a fiery blush blanketed my cheeks. His attention was unwavering, and it only made me feel uncomfortable. Why did it seem like he was already angry with me?

Wanting to escape the tense moment, I turned toward another group of women and immersed myself in their conversation.

"Oh Titi, this is just to die for." One of our regular clients beamed as I walked towards them.

"Isn't it lovely Maria Corsen? This is from one of our new artists. She is so..." I started to delve right into my speech when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whirled around to find Jane standing right behind me.

"Titi, those men over there. They're interested in your painting." Her tone was giddy. She moved in between Maria Corsen and me, not giving me much of a choice."I'd be happy to tell you about this one, Maria Corsen."

Reluctantly, I headed toward the group.

Leandro Diaz. All I knew about him was what Jane had just told me, and why he was in our gallery, enamored by a painting of mine, was a complete mystery. When I got to him, he was in the same position he'd been in since he got here - his brow furrowed with focus as he stared at my painting.

"Hello," I said, touching his back gently so I wouldn't startle him.

So much for that. He spun around, jerking away from my touch and immediately putting his hand on his hip. Was that the outline of a gun? His sudden movement made me jump, and I dropped my wine glass, shattering it and sending the crimson liquid all over the both of us.

"Fuck!" He hissed, tearing his suit jacket off before the wine could seep into his shirt.

"Leandro?" One of the other men said.

"I'm fine, Beanie." He held his hand up.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to... Here, let me take that for you." I started reaching for his jacket, unsure of what to even say. So much for getting another sale.

"I said I was fine." He set the jacket down on a nearby cocktail table, the tone of his voice unnerving me even more. As he rolled up his sleeves, intricate black tattoos peeked out from beneath them. The paper-thin shirt was tight over his bulging muscles, and the first few buttons were undone at the neck. A dark five o'clock shadow covered the sharpness of his jawline as our eyes met. There was the slightest hint of Italian accent dripping from that deep, husky voice, and a veil of dark mystery clouded his eyes. He gave me a smug smirk, having caught me checking him out. There was just enough ambiguity in his smile that I wasn't sure if he was about to kiss me or kill me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as he held my gaze, refusing to be the one to look away.

"You're the artist?" He gestured to the painting, breaking through the awkwardness mounting between us and cutting right to the chase.

"Um, I, uh..." What was wrong with me? Had I suddenly forgotten how to speak?

"The painting. Is it yours?" He repeated. This time there was an edge of annoyance to the question. Could I blame the guy? I had doused him in wine and somehow lost the ability to form sentences within seconds of meeting him.

"Yes, I am," I said, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. This was a disaster. "I'm Tiara. It's nice to..."

"Have you been there?" He cut me off sharply.

When I didn't answer immediately, he grew even more agitated.

"The door in your painting. It belongs to a house in Italy. Have you been there?"

"Oh, no, it's not of anywhere in particular. Just from my imagination, I guess."

He studied my face, trying to determine if I was telling the truth or not.

"I'll take it." He said, turning away from me and fixing his eyes on it again.

"You'll what?" Had I heard him right?

"Settle with her." He said towards Beanie. "I'll be waiting in the car." He started walking out the door without another glance or word to me. Was this happening? This had been the most awkward interaction of my life and now he was buying a painting from me?

Beanie pulled out a checkbook and pen from his pocket.

"Miss?" Beanie said, trying to get my attention. I couldn't take my eyes off the other man walking out the door. "Who do I make the check out to?"

I blinked, coming back to reality. "Uh, to Tiara Ross."

He scribbled the checkout and then handed it to me. We hadn't even discussed the price yet, so I took the check with a bit of confusion. When I reached the amount line, my heart nearly stopped. Thirty thousand dollars. He had just handed me a check for thirty thousand dollars. My chest tightened, and I could feel the blood drain out of my face. That was over double the sticker price on the painting.

"Miss Ross? Is everything okay? Is the painting more than that? I can write another check, just tell me..." Beanie said with a confused expression.

"Um, no. This... This is too much." I smiled nervously, handing him back the check.

"This is what my boss told me to pay for it." He refused to take it from me.

"I understand, but... But this is more than double what it is worth."

"I think you underestimate yourself, Miss Ross." Beanie smiled. "Keep the money. If Leandro says that's what it's worth, that's what it's worth. We'll be back tomorrow to pick it up."

"Great." I smiled, trying to make light of the situation. "I'll make sure the wine is locked up."

"I think that would be a great idea." Beanie chuckled, and then he left as well. Almost as quickly as they came, the four men had disappeared, and I was standing stunned in a room full of people. I couldn't wrap my mind around what had just happened.

The rest of the night went by in a blur.

"Tonight was such a success!" Jane busied herself picking up a few empty glasses that were left around the gallery.

"It was amazing." I agreed, although I'm sure my feet wouldn't. I had had these heels on for way too long and was looking forward to sinking into a bubble bath the second I got home.

"Hey, do you mind locking up? I am going to meet Vincent for a few drinks." She looked at me with pleading eyes.

"Vincent's the lawyer, right? Sure." I said, trying to remember if she had ever mentioned a guy named Vincent to me before. I was pretty sure she hadn't. She went through men so fast I couldn't keep up if I tried.

"No, Kenny was the lawyer. Vincent is a chef!" Jane grinned, grabbing her purse and coat. "You're the best. And tomorrow, we're going out to celebrate your TWO sales. By the way, what did they end up paying you for that?"

"Oh, I gave them a good price." I lied. I didn't know why I felt like I couldn't tell Jane what had happened, but I felt so weird about it I still didn't want to admit it out loud.

"Good. Well, see you tomorrow." She said, kissing my cheek. "Text me when you're home."

"Be safe tonight," I yelled after her and heard the front door close behind her.

I finished up some of the cleaning and was about to leave when I heard a crash coming from our back room.

"Hello?" I called, thinking it was one of our clients who we didn't realize was still in the bathroom.

No one answered, and I hesitantly made my way toward the noise. The hallway was dark, and my heels made a loud clicking sound as I walked. If I wanted to be sneaky, I was failing miserably.

Suddenly, I felt a gloved hand slip over my mouth and pull me back against something. Someone rather.

"Mmmm." My screams were muffled as I struggled against whoever it was. My strength was no match for him. After slamming me into the wall, I felt his arm press hard against my throat.

"Hello, Tiara." A voice growled. How did he know my name?

"What do you want?" I whimpered, trying to catch my breath. "We don't have any cash here..."

A wicked smile spread across the man's face.

"Sweetheart, I got what I came here for." He spat. "You."

I raised my knee, connecting with him right in his crotch. He winced and loosened his grip for a split second, allowing me to break free and sprint to the front of the store as quickly as I could.

His footsteps boomed from behind me as I rolled my ankle right out of my shoe. These God damn heals. I took it off and threw it behind me, praying it would connect with him and buy me a few more seconds.

Arms wrapped around my waist and jerked me backward. Another man had come out of the shadows. He threw me to the ground and my head hit the floor with a thud. I cried out in pain. "You little bitch." He seethed, hitting my cheek with the butt of his gun. I winced in pain, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

The sound of my dress ripping caught me off guard, and I was terrified as the realization of what was about to happen hit me. He grabbed my wrists roughly and held them above my head.

"Are you fucking crazy? He said he wanted her untouched." The other man came out of the shadows. I had never seen either of them before and had no clue what they would want with me.

"I won't leave any marks." The man on top of me smirked as tears poured out of my eyes. I was sure this was it. I was going to die right here, on the gallery floor. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to speed up the process.

"Get off of her." Damn it, how many of them were there?

"What the hell are you doing here?" The man on top of me said.

"I said get off of her." Why did I recognize that voice?

"Listen, man..." A gunshot rang through the gallery. Oh my god, I was going to die.

When I didn't feel any pain, I realized I wasn't the one who had been shot. My attacker had. He slumped forward, and a warm feeling blanketed my chest. I thought I was going to be sick as his blood seeped into my the fabric of my dress. Scrambling out from under him, I backed towards the wall, now able to look around me. Beanie? What was he doing here?

"Damn it, Jermaine!" Beanie hissed towards the door. Another one of the men from earlier was standing there. "I had it covered."

"Didn't look like," Jermaine smirked, walking in.

My whimpering grew louder, and they turned to me, suddenly realizing I was still there. I was frozen with fear.

"Shit." Beanie rushed towards me.

"What are you..." I said with terror. Was he going to kill me, too? They had just killed the man attacking me, and I was thankful for that, but was I safe with them?

"Listen to me," He said, grabbing my arm roughly. "Get behind that couch. Do not move. There are more of his men in the back. Stay right the fuck here and I will be back. Got it?"

What choice did I have?

Beanie and Jermaine disappeared towards the back of the gallery and more gunshots echoed off the walls. The terror felt like it was going to consume me and the only thing I could think to do was run. Sliding my other heel off, I peered into the hallway. Gunshots were still ringing, but I couldn't see anyone.

I spun around and ran out the front door. The harsh air hit my tear-stained cheeks, and the pavement was cold on my feet. I ran as fast as I could, looking back quickly to make sure no one was following me. When I turned around, I ran smack into something.

Two powerful arms came around me, forcing something over my nose as I sucked in a sharp breath. Oh no. No, no, no, this could not be happening. Pain seared up my nose and into my throat and lungs, and I could feel myself getting dizzy. Desperate for air, I started coughing as the world around me got hazy. My legs gave out and my body fell limp into my captor's arms, and for a brief second, I recognized him. Another one of Leandro's men.

"Should have listened to Beanie." He shook his head.

That was the last thing I saw before everything went black.

Leandro

All I had wanted was for them to bring home my jacket. After the artist had spilled her wine all over me, I left it sitting on a cocktail table and had walked out without it. I could have just left it, but it was a Brioni and one of my favorite coats. So I had sent Beanie, Jermaine and Pedro to get it for me, and instead of coming back with the jacket, they came back with an unconscious and beaten woman, a harrowing story of an altercation with one of our rival's men, and no goddamn jacket.

Dios mio, I should have just cut my losses on that one and had them stay home.

Even in her bruised and bloody state, I recognized the unconscious girl as the artist from the gallery whose painting I had bought. She had a nasty gash on her forehead and I could tell by the patterned imprint it came from the butt of a gun. Her dark chocolate hair was matted with dried blood, and the lacy black dress she was wearing had been torn in several places. It was clear what my men had walked in on. Not only did Sudan's foot soldiers intend to kidnap her, they were about to assault her as well. And if my men hadn't gotten there right when they had, they might have succeeded.

I was intrigued by her earlier in the evening, but even more so now that she was lying on my couch, recovering from a mafia hit, and I didn't have the slightest clue who she was or how she got herself tangled up in Sudan's web. The only logical explanation was that she was working with him. It's the only thing that made sense. She had to be one of his women. Maybe that was why he was there tonight. Maybe he had gotten wind of our intentions to use the gallery as a shipping site and wanted to beat us to it. Maybe this girl got in their way, and he intended to make her pay for it with her life.

I rubbed my temples, turning my attention away from the girl lying out on my couch, and toward the fucking three stooges standing in front of me. Part of me was irritated that they intervened, but by the looks of the woman, they had no choice. They looked a little worse for the wear themselves, which meant the fight at the gallery had been a doozy. Beanie had a nice shiner forming underneath his right eye, and Jermaine's lip was swollen and bloody, but they were more unnerved than anything. For the most part, they were okay, and no one had been hit, which was lucky for Sudan. If one of my men had been severely injured, we'd be in a very different position right now-ready to launch an all-out war.

Sudan was the head of the Jordan family, and what he wanted with a tiny gallery in Manhattan was beyond me. He had ruled over the syndicate for years, but he was an adequate leader at best. His group had been no match for our ranks, but he certainly liked to be a constant thorn in my side. Never a genuine threat, but always an annoyance. They were traffickers, the very Scum of the Earth in my line of work, and I had been itching for the right circumstance to eradicate him for the last few months. This would have given me my opening, and I was almost disappointed.

I paced back and forth in front of them, trying to figure out what to do. Their prints would be all over that gallery, not to mention a slug from Jermaine's gun inside a dead body. It wouldn't be traceable, but it still was a risk. Still, the cops were the least of my worries. I had one of Sudan's workers in my bedroom, three more of his dead soldiers currently being disposed of, and there was no doubt he'd be crafting his vengeance. I needed answers. "Someone better start explaining."

Beanie, my second in command, spoke first.

"We went back for the jacket. The front door was unlocked, and we heard a woman screaming. When I got inside, one of Sudan's men was crouching down on top of her, and she was fighting and struggling against him. He ripped her dress nearly off and pistol-whipped her so bad blood was already pooling around her head. I told the bastard to get off of her, but he didn't listen. He recognized us and knew exactly who we were. They would have killed her just to spite us."

My eyes fell back to the woman as he spoke. She didn't look like any sex worker I had ever seen. No old bruises, no ligature marks. Even more surprising, she didn't have the signature feather tattoo all of Sudan's women were forced to get - a brand of sorts. Was it possible he had just hired her? Maybe specifically for this job? I turned my attention back to Beanie, who was sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. He was steadfast, always my voice of reason, but this had even rocked him.

"He wasn't budging, so I shot him," Jermaine said proudly. He was the newest of the three men in my group, and he was desperate to prove his loyalty. In his mind, killing a member of a rival family would do just that. In my mind, though, the bastard who was attacking her had gotten off easy. If any of mine had put a woman, any woman, in a compromising situation like that, forcing himself on her, I would have locked them in the tombs and tortured them for days. I would have plucked every single tooth out of his mouth and made him swallow them. Burned every inch of his body with my cigar and sliced him up like a fucking bait fish. After that, I would toss him into the run with my dogs. They loved the smell of blood and would devour him in mere seconds. Violence against women was something I didn't tolerate, not from my men and certainly not from my enemies. It wasn't a traditional philosophy, and the complete opposite of the leaders who came before me, but it was how I was running things. Women who worked in my organization were always respected and free to come and go as they pleased. We didn't own them. They were here because they wanted to be.

"And where were you while all of this was going on?" I asked Pedro.

"I was outside in the car. Once I heard all the shooting, I went inside but ran into sleeping beauty on the way." He nodded towards the girl.

Sleeping beauty, she certainly was. The girl hadn't so much as twitched from her slumber since they brought her here. I had even checked to be sure she was breathing. "And then you gave her enough chloroform to knock out an elephant."

"It was the only way I could get her to calm down or to come with us." He jumped on the defensive. "She had just watched us murder a man. We were in her gallery all night. She easily could have identified us all to the police."

He had a point. If they had just let her go, we wouldn't have been able to cover this up, and we'd still be in the dark about why Sudan wanted her to begin with. I folded my arms across my chest in deep thought. "Clean up is in the process?"

"It is. I made sure of it before we left." Beanie said. "We stole a few paintings to make it look like a botched robbery. Left two bodies so they would think a third man got greedy and killed his partners."

It had been his idea to scope out the gallery in the first place as a cover to import our product. We shipped gun parts in by the thousands each week, and it would certainly expedite the process if we could get them into the country and distribute them through a business that already had all their clearances. Art came from all over the world and it would be a cakewalk to smuggle our guns through a line like that. No one would bat an eye. Not that we would be running the product through it now.

I sighed deeply, scratching my jaw. "And do we know how they knew we were going to be there?"

Beanie glanced at Jermaine, hesitating to answer. "I don't think this was about us, Leandro."

Jermaine hadn't even gotten his sentence out before I burst out laughing at his insinuation. "You mean to tell me that two mafia families showing up at the same gallery function on the same night was just one big coincidence?"

I had been doing this long enough to know that there was no such thing as coincidences in my line of work.

"No. We think they were after her." Beanie said.

Of course, they were, but why would they go to so much trouble for this girl? Not only was it irrational, but it was also irresponsible to attack so blatantly for a random girl. Sudan found his women by the dozen, and even if she had run away, he wouldn't have gone to such extravagant means to find her. If it was a real hit, he would have done it himself and it would have occurred much quieter. Sudan was sloppy, but he never would have made the mistake of sending inexperienced runners just to collect a runaway and cause such a scene.

I approached her slowly, trying to process what little information I had. Sudan's men had come after this girl. A faction of the Italian Mafia wanted her. Wanted her badly enough to fight my men to the death for her. Who the hell was she and what had she done to get herself mixed up in all of this?

"What did you say her name was?"

"Tiara," Beanie answered. "Tiara Ross."

With her dark hair and even darker eyes, she was far from Sudan's type. He liked blondes with eyes as blue as the ocean. Most of the girls he kept looked dull and lifeless after having been in Sudan's trap for far too long. Hopeless and tired. Tiara hadn't seemed that way when I met her tonight. She was vivacious and bubbly, albeit a tad bit shy. There was a light in her eyes not yet dimmed by the Mafia world. She was different, she must be special to him. "What does he want with you, Tesoro?" I whispered, crouching down to her level.

Blood was dried in long streaks down her soft pink cheeks, and that cut needed a good cleaning and a few stitches. The ripped lace of her dress left most of her body exposed, and my eyes drifted to the fresh bruises decorating her rib cage as it rose and then fell with each breath. When they first brought her home, her face was frozen in a scowl, but now it was relaxing slightly. She was stunning, even marked by those imbeciles.

I sat down on the couch where her body curved just enough for me to fit. Warmth exuded from her, drawing me in even closer. I began unbuttoning the crisp dress shirt I had changed into, amused with the memory of her being so flustered by me she spilled her wine. Once it was off and I was left in just my undershirt, I ripped the dress the rest of the way and peeled it off of her.

"Leandro, what are you..." My actions obviously confused Beanie. I hadn't said a word to anyone in several minutes, memorized by the girl in front of me. And it wasn't just because she was beautiful. She mystified me. Whatever she was hiding, wherever she came from, I would make it my mission to find out. I didn't like puzzles I couldn't solve, and right now, that was what Tiara was for me.

"I'm putting some clothes on her. She's lying half-naked. Do you have a problem with that?" His insinuation that I would do anything to further violate this woman, no matter who she was, was insulting.

Slipping my arm under her waist, I lifted her towards me. She was lighter than a feather as I laid her against my shoulder. She was still completely knocked out, but hopefully, the chloroform would wear off soon. I wrapped my shirt around her and gently slipped her arms into the sleeves. When I had laid her back down against the cashmere of the couch, I buttoned the front up so her bra and panties were now completely covered. Almost in thanks, her lips parted and a soft moan escaped, and then she was still again.

Beanie brought a wet hand towel over and pressed it to her cheek, softly wiping away the blood and cleaning out her cut. He sucked a breath in sharply. "They did a number on her."

I nodded in agreement. The bastards got what was coming to them. I was proud of my men regardless of what kind of battle with Sudan this would drag us into.

"She'll need stitches." Beanie winced once all the blood was gone. "I'll get her fixed up while she is still out."

He stood and motioned towards Jermaine and Pedro, who followed him out of the room.

"Beanie?" I called after him suddenly.

He turned back to me.

"Find out everything you can about her."