Fallen Angel, Part 1: Fallen Angel Series - A Mafia Romance Read online

  Fallen Angel

  Part One - A Mafia Romance

  Tracie Podger

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Letter from Brooke

  About the Author

  Also Available…

  Tracie Podger

  Copyright 2012 © Tracie Podger

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents, either, are products of the author’s imagination or they are used factiously. Any reference to actual locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, to include, by not exclusive to audio or visual recordings of any description without permission from the copyright owner.

  Acknowledgments

  My heartfelt thanks to the best beta readers a girl could want, Karen Shenton. Alison Parkins and Rebecca Sherwin- your input is invaluable.

  Thank you to Margreet Asslebergs from Rebel Edit & Design for yet another wonderful cover, this makes our ninth collaboration!

  I’d also like to give a huge thank you to my editor, Karen Hrdlicka, and proofreader, Joanne Thompson.

  A big hug goes to the ladies in my team. These ladies give up their time to support and promote my books. Alison ‘Awesome’ Parkins, Karen Shenton, Karen Atkinson-Lingham, Marina Marinova, Ann Batty, Fran Brisland, Elaine Turner, Kerry-Ann Bell and Louise White – otherwise known as the Twisted Angels.

  To all the wonderful bloggers that have been involved in promoting my books and joining tours, thank you and I appreciate your support. There are too many to name individually – you know who you are.

  If you wish to keep up to date with information on this series and future releases - and have the chance to enter monthly competitions, feel free to sign up for my newsletter. You can find the details on my web site:

  www.TraciePodger.com

  Evelyn is an important character in the Fallen Angel series and she has her own novella! Would you like a free copy? Sign up for my newsletter and you’ll be able to download a copy…

  http://eepurl.com/clbNTP

  Chapter One

  It was in a small room in an office block in Washington, DC, that my life changed, forever.

  Sam, my best friend, was sitting at his desk, occupied by a call. Whilst waiting, I headed to the kitchen; some coffee was needed to get me over the jet lag I was feeling.

  It was the oddest thing; I simply felt someone behind me, and my heart quickened in fear. There had been no sound, no footsteps, or the noise of the door opening. My hands gripped the counter before I slowly turned around. I found myself looking into the darkest eyes I had ever seen, the blackness took my breath away. It took all my strength to draw my eyes away to look at his face and then he smiled, unblinking at me. He was so close, I could feel his breath, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe.

  He was tall, over six feet and powerfully built. His shoulders were well defined in his suit. His black hair was cropped short at the sides, slightly longer and spiked on top. He had a little stubble around a strong jawline and a slight crook to his nose. If anyone could be described as perfect, it was that man.

  I guessed him to be in his thirties with just the right amount of laughter lines around his eyes to soften the intensity of him, slightly. As he looked at me, his eyes seemed to grow darker. I felt a heat creep up my neck and my stomach knotted. The air around me felt charged and sparked with electricity and yet he did not say one word.

  “There you are,” I heard. “I’ve been looking for you, are you ready to go?”

  I looked over to Sam and found my mouth so dry I couldn’t speak, so just nodded. He slowly turned to Sam.

  “Oh, good evening, Mr. Stone. I didn’t realise you were working late,” Sam stammered.

  “Always, Sam. Now, introduce me to your friend,” he replied, his voice was low and commanding.

  “Brooke, this is Mr. Stone, owner of Vassago. Mr. Stone, my friend from England, Brooke Stiles. She arrived this morning, to stay with me.”

  Mr. Stone turned back to me, a slow smile crept across his face, and he held his hand out. I took it and as his hand closed around mine, images flooded my brain, too fast to be able to see any one of them, but it unnerved me greatly.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Stiles. I look forward to seeing more of you,” he said, as his dark eyes bored straight through me.

  “Umm, pleased to meet you too, Mr. Stone,” I replied.

  With that, he let go of my hand, nodded to Sam, and walked away. Finally, I let out the breath I was holding and felt my legs start to shake. Glancing up at Sam, he was smiling with a quizzical look on his face.

  “Wow, what just happened there?” Sam asked.

  “Oh my God, Sam, I don’t know. I came to make some coffee and just felt someone behind me, I turned and there he was, just staring at me,” I replied.

  “Come on, honey, let’s go searching. I’m starving and you can tell me all about it.”

  Ever since I could remember, I’ve felt like I was searching for something. There was something missing from my life, a piece of a jigsaw to fit before I was complete. I’d tried to explain it to Sam many times, but I had no idea what it was I was looking for. It became our joke, instead of saying let’s go out, it was let’s go searching.

  We linked arms and left the building, Sam led the way. We planned to meet his boyfriend, Scott, for a meal before jet lag finally took hold of me. The restaurant was lovely, the food good, but I felt so unsettled. I couldn’t place what was wrong with me and putting it down to the journey, I tried to enjoy my evening with my two favourite guys.

  I had missed Sam so much, we’d been best friends since we were five years old. I remembered that I’d cried and clung to him at the airport when he’d left the UK. Thank God for email and Facebook, a cheap way to keep in contact. It had been wonderful to hear about Sam settle into the Washington life and to see his relationship with Scott bloom. More importantly, it was great to see his career take off at Vassago Corp, one of the largest property development companies in the USA.

  Sam told Scott that we had bumped into Mr. Stone in the kitchen and Scott wanted the details. It seemed Mr. Stone was a bit of an enigma, closeted away in his penthouse office. He would be seen wandering around occasionally and the most people would receive would be a nod and maybe a smile.

  “Oh, Scott, it was so strange. One minute I was there on my own making coffee and next, I just felt him behind me. The hair on my arms stood to attention. I didn’t hear him come into the room at all. But bloody hell, Scott, looking in his eyes is like staring straight at the devil himself,” I told him.

  The memory provoked a shiver. “I’ve never felt anything so intense in all my life.”

  “Honey, pray, tell us more?” Sam asked, dramatically.

  “Well, I don’t know how to explain it. It was like he just absorbed me, he didn’t speak words but his eyes spoke volumes,” I said.

  We finished our meal and stifling a yawn, we made the short walk back to the apartment. The guys lived in Columbia Heights, not far from the Tivol
i Theatre, a wonderful, diverse area of DC. It was full of restaurants and colourful bars. After walking out of a ten-year relationship back home, Sam, and a holiday in America, was just what I needed.

  That night I dreamed of Mr. Stone, or to be more precise, I dreamed of his eyes, how dangerous and alluring they were at the same time. What puzzled me was that I wanted to see him again. The thing that disturbed me, the thing I had not told Sam or Scott was the feeling of familiarity I felt. I knew that man yet I’d never met him before. Something deep inside me confirmed what I felt—I really did know that man.

  I woke late the following morning, my body clock still adjusting to the time difference, and stiff from sleeping in a strange bed. Sam had already left for work. I knew that he hadn’t been able to get much time off during my visit, but I didn’t mind. I enjoyed my own company and it would give me time to think about my situation back home. It was only a couple of weeks prior that I’d ended the relationship with Michael and needed to get my head together. Being with my best friend as well as having some time on my own, would help me do that. More so, what I needed was a gym. Pounding away on the treadmill was my way of getting rid of all the stress that had been building for the past couple of years. I sent a text to Sam asking if there was a local gym I could use.

  Sam called me straight back.

  “Honey, there’s a gym in the basement of my office, I’ll call reception and get you a pass. Maybe I’ll meet you.”

  It sounded like a good plan to me, so I packed my gym kit and made my way to his office. I signed in with security and was given a pass and instructions of where to go.

  I knew Sam was on the tenth floor and there appeared to be at least another three above that. Having to stop once to ask for directions, I eventually found the changing rooms and put on my workout gear. A mile run would clear my stuffy head and loosen my limbs. I liked to keep fit and the solitude of running alone gave me time to think.

  I entered the gym. Sam hadn’t arrived and focusing on the treadmills, without catching anyone’s eye, I made my way over. There were a couple of people already there, getting a lunchtime workout. I plugged in my iPod and started with a gentle jog, increasing the speed until I was at a comfortable run. The treadmills faced a wall of mirrors, something I normally hated. I didn’t like to look at myself sweaty and panting.

  However, looking in those mirrors I was able to scan the room. There was a range of high tech equipment, running, rowing, and weights, and in the far corner a boxing ring. Surrounding it were punch bags and speedballs. Kickboxing was something I had learned to do so I watched as a couple of guys warmed up, ready for a workout. I noticed him straight away of course. Although his back was facing me, I knew it was him. Stone, in shorts and a vest top, his hands bandaged, and his hair already slick with sweat. His bulging arms glistened and his vest had stuck to his back. I stumbled a little, losing my step and slowed down the treadmill. I’d taken a machine in the far corner in the hope of not being noticed by anyone and was glad of that.

  I watched as he pounded the punch bag, he obviously knew what he was doing. He looked every much the professional boxer. He skipped around while his friend held the bag steady, only just though. He hit the bag with such force his friend would stumble a little having to correct himself quickly as another succession of punches found its target. They carried that on for a little while and then I watched him stop and raise his vest to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

  He had the most amazing body. His stomach was taut, muscular, and when he turned around his whole back was covered in one large tattoo. It looked like an angel, a body with wings. I glanced around; I noticed several other women and saw that all eyes were on him.

  I tried to concentrate on my run, closing my eyes briefly so as to not be distracted by the image of him. I was out of luck; he was imprinted behind my eyelids. Hearing him laugh, a low throaty noise, I watched as he climbed into the ring. A third, older man, laced their gloves and the two friends boxed, pounding away, and making me wince.

  They laughed, taunted each other and I found that I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Luckily at no time had he looked my way, so focused on what he was doing and I managed to get through my run. The machine beeped telling me that my mile was up and it started to slow, to warm down, and come to a stop. I leaned forward on the rails and steadied my breathing. I doubted my rapid heartbeat was just because of my run, I suspected it was also the effect of watching Stone.

  “Miss Stiles?” I heard.

  I turned to see him standing next to the machine, again he had managed to sneak up on me without a sound, making me start. I looked around and noticed the other women watching me, wondering who I was, I guessed, and why did I get his attention and not them. It was obvious they were not here to workout; their perfectly made up faces and not a bead of sweat on their brows gave them away. Taking my towel, I wiped it across my face conscious that I looked hot and sweaty. I watched a bead of sweat roll from his forehead, cross his temple and I wanted to reach out, trap it with my finger, and taste it. I blinked, rapidly, shocked at the thought.

  “Hello again, Mr. Stone. I was waiting for Sam but I guess he worked through lunch,” I blurted out.

  Why did that man make me feel so uncomfortable?

  “Do you work out here often?” I added, and then realised that was a stupid thing to say.

  His eyebrows shot up and a smirk played on his lips. “Everyday,” he replied.

  I fidgeted, eager to leave. I wanted to get away from that stare.

  “Um, well, I guess I ought to take a shower, nice to meet you again,” I said and scurried away.

  Without looking, I knew he was watching me leave.

  I stood under the shower lost in my thoughts. “How do I know you?” I whispered.

  Once I’d dressed I found my phone and noticed a text from Sam, he would have to work through lunch. He was sorry, an unexpected meeting came up, but he would catch up with me later. I decided to take a walk and leaving my gym bag behind in a locker, I headed off to see some of the sights of Washington.

  I was having a lovely time, that was until the black Range Rover pulled alongside me. It had blacked out windows, chrome finishes, and I had no idea of its occupants. I was standing on the pavement wanting to take a photograph when the car had pulled over. The rear door opened and I stepped back, assuming its occupants wanted to exit and to be honest, was a bit annoyed they had to choose that exact spot.

  I moved slightly away and raised my camera. As I concentrated on the picture I wanted to take, I felt the air around me change; it became dense. Looking to one side, he was there. Stone had exited the car so silently and was standing beside me.

  “Brooke, can you get in the car?” he asked, his hand held the door open.

  I looked at him, stunned. “Excuse me?” I replied, shocked at his request.

  “Can you get in the car, please? I would like to take you to lunch.”

  Lunch? What planet was that man on? How on earth did he know I was there? I wouldn’t flatter myself to think he was following me but I didn’t believe in coincidence. I stood my ground, though he still unnerved me.

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m sure you have better things to do. I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, but I’ve already eaten.”

  I watched a slow smile cross his face and those eyes bore into me. I was rooted to the spot. I got the feeling that Stone was a man not turned down very often. He did, thankfully, seem a little amused by it.

  “No you haven’t, but that’s okay, you don’t want lunch so instead we’ll have dinner.”

  Before I could even reply, he turned, got back into the car and it moved away. In all my thirty years I don’t think anyone had spoken to me that way, demanded my time and attention and made me feel so totally confused. I needed to speak to Sam but he was busy, so I left a message for him to call me back when he could. My tour of the city didn’t seem so appealing anymore.

  Fuck you, Mr. Stone, I thought.

  He
had seriously spoiled my day but somehow I knew I would go to dinner. He intrigued me and I racked my brain to remember how I knew him. As I made my way home, Sam returned my call.

  “Hey honey, I’ve just received a call from Mr. Stone himself, can you believe that? He asked me if we had plans as he wants to take you to dinner tonight.”

  “Jesus, Sam. I went to the gym and he was there, boxing. It was just so embarrassing. He came over, and I’m standing there all red-faced and sweaty. Next thing, I’m on the street, taking a photo and a Range Rover pulls up alongside me. He demands I get in the car, he’s taking me to lunch.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I’d already eaten. I’ve met the man for a couple of minutes and now he wants to take me to lunch.” I then recount the rest of the story about the dinner invitation.

  “What’s up with this man, Sam? There’s something really strange about him.”

  “You know what, I’ve only met him a couple of times and I’ve been here three years. No one really knows that much about him. I mean, he’s often in the society pages but other than that, I don’t know. Exciting though, isn’t it?” he said.

  I wasn’t sure ‘exciting’ was the word I would have chosen. He was very compelling, and attractive of course, but there were undercurrents of such power it was scary. I was reminded of a film, I couldn’t remember the name. Al Pacino played a powerful businessman who turned out to be the devil himself. When I’d arrived back at Sam’s I opened the door and noticed an envelope on the floor. It was hand written, addressed to me, I opened it and took out a small white card.

  Brooke, Dinner, Seven o’clock, I’ll send a car. Robert Stone

  I flopped on the sofa; I needed a beer. So his name was Robert. Somehow I didn’t see him as a Robert; perhaps Damien would have been more appropriate. I wondered if I would just ignore the knock on the door when ‘the car’ arrived. I would go though, because something in the back of my mind niggled at me; a feeling of familiarity. Without realising, I spent an awful amount of time getting ready; making sure my black hair shone and my makeup was perfect. I’d selected a fitted red dress to wear, something bold to give me the confidence I needed.