Full Exposure

Then adrenaline blasted her system with burning resolve. Improvise. She head-butted her assailant.

He jerked back, swiping a palm over his bloody lip. “Bliad!”

The Greek gave a snide jab about how well Comrade handled the little girl.

The Russian swore. His huge hand circled her throat, cut off her air. His other hand shoved up her camisole. Bucking beneath his weight, she struggled to breathe as the Greek egged him on.

Dante, where are you?

Her vision grayed around the edges. A desperate burst of strength rammed her knee upward, but she merely grazed the target.

The Russian cursed again and flung out his arm to backhand her.

“Figlio di puttana!” Dante’s enraged roar rang out. “Enough!” The Russian was torn off her and went flying across the sand.

She wriggled upright as Dante pivoted and landed a right cross on the Greek’s jaw. Her satisfaction at his look of stunned panic amazed her. Who’s laughing now?

The Russian tackled Dante from behind. Dante battled to his feet, cussing an Italian blue streak and swinging his powerful fists like battering rams.

Fear evaporated Ariana’s satisfaction. Dante was beat up and weakened. No matter how determined, he couldn’t defeat two thugs.

Exhausted, hurting, she wrestled to her feet and stumbled to the rocks. Feeling behind her, she found the sharp boulder Dante had used. Her stomach tightened. The rock was slick and still slightly warm with his blood.

As the men’s combat ripped apart the night, Ariana scraped her ropes on the jagged edge. She didn’t have Dante’s strength, and her efforts were torturous. She forced herself to hurry, to ignore the sting of her wrists.

Finally, her ropes tore. She staggered to the shoreline where the battling men rolled in the surf. Dante fended off the Russian, sending him sprawling on the wet sand. But before Dante could regain his footing, the Greek pushed him underwater, held him down. A tidal wave of fear slammed into Ariana. He was drowning Dante!

Not while she had any say! She dragged an oar from the speedboat. Splashing into the shallows, she swung. The paddle hit the Greek and knocked him off Dante.

Dante surged out of the water and charged the Russian, who was heading for Ariana. “Bastardo!”

The men rolled underwater. Clutching the paddle, she circled the thrashing duo, seeking an opening.

Dante clambered upright, lifting the Russian by the collar, and then froze. He dropped the Russian and leaped at her. Wrapping his arms around her, he swept her beneath the waves.

She lost her hold on the oar. Saltwater flooded her nose and mouth, burned her eyes and stung her cuts. Panicked, she struggled. Why was Dante killing her? She was on his side.

As her head swam and her vision darkened, Dante scooped her up and tossed her behind him. “Stay back!”

Gagging, she wheezed in precious oxygen “Are. You. Insane?” She swiped her forearm across her eyes…and saw that the Greek had been sneaking up behind her, knife drawn. Her heart staggered. Dante had saved her life.

Moonlight glinted on razored metal as the Greek slashed at Dante, who jumped back. The hissing blade nearly sliced his abs.

“Nyet!” the Russian hollered. “No killing or we do not get our money!”

“I do not give a damn,” the Greek snarled. “I will gut them both.”

The furious man swiped with the knife, and Dante swayed in a lethal dance to stay between her and the blade. He scowled at the Greek. “She is under my protection. You don’t want to do that to l’ amico degli amici.”

The innocuous phrase had a curious effect.

“Megaera said nothing…” The Greek froze and his bristly jaw went slack. “Ah. The explosion…I understand now.”

The Russian choked out a dismayed phrase. He shoved Dante, who stumbled into her, submerging them both.

She swallowed another mouthful of brine before they gained their balance. Dante surged out of the water in a combat stance, water streaming off his hard muscles like Poseidon commanding the sea.

She pushed up beside him. The thugs were running toward the speedboat.

“Porca troia!” Dante raced down the sand.

Ariana slogged onto the beach. Thank heaven for such a 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.