Free The Italian by Lisa Marie Rice Page A

sex. At dinner.”
    “You sure?”
    He sniffed the napkin again. “Oh yeah.”
    “Good.” The connection was broken.
    Fine. He didn’t want to talk. The most important thing about the information was the package he’d find inside his mailbox. An envelope stuffed with €100 notes. Last time it had been €10,000. This time it would be more, because it was information about a weakness.
    Judge Stefano Leone had a weakness, and it would be used—and when it was, the package would be much, much bigger.

Chapter Six
     
    The next day, Stefano hit the mat so hard he lost his breath for a second. Just the second Buzzanca needed to nail his hand to the mat. Buzzanca kneeled on his wrist, grinding. Stefano could feel his bones bending.
    “You let your guard down.” Buzzanca kneeled harder. “Stop thinking with your fucking dick, you moron.”
    “Christ, Buzzanca,” Stefano growled. “Off.”
    Buzzanca leapt up as if he were on springs then circled on the balls of his feet. “Two out of three.”
    Stefano had won the first round by sheer chance. Normally he and Buzzanca pulled their punches, but not today. This was supposed to be exercise, damn it. A way for him to keep in shape and blow off steam. It wasn’t warfare, though Buzzanca was making it just that. He was mad and showing it.
    They circled each other, Buzzanca’s dark eyes alight with an intense focus. “You asshole,” he growled.
    Stefano sighed. “Come on, Buzzanca. Spit it out.”
    Buzzanca kicked and Stefano pulled away at the last possible second, feeling the wind of the powerful motion ruffle his gi. If the kick had landed, Stefano would have been knocked out.
    “She’s trouble.” Buzzanca’s head lowered like a bull’s. It wasn’t good form and it showed animal rage. “She’s trouble with a cunt.”
    Stefano felt his own rage rise, swift and sudden and surprising.
    He didn’t do rage. He was calm and steadfast—and if Buzzanca called Jamie a cunt again he’d rip his fucking head off.
    They circled each other now, heads down, eyes locked. “Stay out of my business.” Stefano hardly recognized his own voice, guttural and vicious.
    “She is my business, you stupid asshole,” Buzzanca spat. “You’re endangering your own life and our lives for a fuck. She’s pretty but she’s not worth—”
    Stefano charged, silent and deadly. Forget form. Fuck form. He was sheer, raw power, and in a second Buzzanca was on the mat with Stefano’s arm across his throat, pressing. Hard. He pressed harder and Buzzanca started turning blue.
    Buzzanca didn’t even try to resist, he just stared up at Stefano, whose panting was loud in the room.
    The other men—who always enjoyed their sparring—had fallen silent. Suddenly there was something in the room that had never been there before. Stefano put his nose to Buzzanca’s and spoke low, so no one else could hear.
    “You listen to me, you son of a bitch. You go home to your wife every single fucking night. You have kids, you have nieces and nephews. You go to the beach on weekends. You have a fucking life . I have lived in a cage for three years. I have barely seen the sun in those three years. So don’t you fucking talk to me about trouble.”
    Buzzanca refused to beg. One slap of his palm on the mat and Stefano would reflexively ease up, but Buzzanca was too proud to relent. “I like that woman. I more than like her. She makes me feel alive. She reminds me why I do what I do. So leave her alone and back the fuck off !”
    The man nodded under Stefano’s arm and Stefano sprang up, ashamed of himself. Sort of. Buzzanca climbed to his feet, unsteady. They stood watching each other, two friends, now adversaries…
    Buzzanca stuck out his hand and Stefano grasped it.
    Now friends again.
    Stefano nodded sharply. “Okay, back to the office. We have a trip to plan.”
    * * * * *
     
    “Pack a bag.”
    Saturday morning Jamie opened an eye and checked the time. Eight thirty a.m. “I’m sorry? And good