by Renee Rose
Silly, silly ovaries. Stop dropping eggs. We’re not hooking up with this guy. Definitely not having his babies.
Still, I find myself locked in his gaze, mirroring that amused, secret smile he wears.
The elevator opens and I snap back to reality. “I can find my own way home. Thank you, Gio.”
“Nah. I’m driving you home, angel. No arguments.”
No arguments. He’s bossy as hell. Which also shouldn’t be a turn-on.
“I live with my grandparents,” I blurt, in case he’s thinking I’m going to have sex with him when we get home.
Amusement flickers over his face. He opens my door for me.
“I don’t want them to know about this,” I tell him.
He goes still. “All right,” he says slowly.
I climb into the seat to keep from saying more, not wanting to offend him. And I know by now that he does ruffle, despite the casual debonair attitude he wears so well.
He walks around and gets in the driver side. “You didn’t sign over the cafe. You’re just cooking food.”
“I know, but they wouldn’t like it,” I admit.
“They have a problem with me?” he demands.
Dammit. He took offense. I can’t help but admire his directness, though. He’s a man accustomed to getting to the bottom of things. Apparently not just with his fists.
“Not with you, specifically,” I hedge. Which is true. “But I didn’t tell them I was going to you for the money. They’d be worried about accruing debt to the Tacones again.”
“It’s not the Tacones, it’s me,” Gio says, like that clears everything up. “The Family doesn’t own the marker. I won’t put it in our books, okay? It’s just between you and me.”
I’m wet again. I don’t know why his willingness to extend kindness to me has such an effect, but it does.
“So, you won’t tell my grandparents?”
“Nah.”
“Promise?”
“Lo prometto.” He takes a hand off the wheel and holds it up like he’s swearing to a judge. His sexy black SUV darts through traffic, his driving prowess no less impressive than everything else he does.
I sit back in the comfortable leather seat and allow myself to believe everything’s going to be all right.
To believe I can trust Gio Tacone and that I didn’t just sign my soul over to the devil.
Chapter 3
Gio
“You look different,” my older brother Paolo says to me. We’re at my ma’s house for Sunday dinner. Our oldest brother Junior and his new wife Desiree are in the kitchen making dinner because Ma’s getting too old to cook for all of us. Plus, she’s holding Junior and Desiree’s baby, Santo Tacone the III, making a crazy fuss over him.
There’s still a touch of wonder in the baby thing for all of us. Junior lost his toddler in a drowning accident ten years ago and shut down emotionally. Until this year, we hadn’t had another child in the family. Now we have five, if you count my sister’s two Russian stepchildren and Desiree’s son Jasper.
“You look like the same stronzo,” I say to Paolo. As the brother just two years older than me, he thinks his job in life is to bust my balls.
What the fuck does he mean I look different?
He’s staring at me avidly, like my nose is in a new place or something.
“What?”
“I don’t know. You look better. More like yourself.”
It’s Marissa.
I want to deny the whisper of truth. I already know I’m attaching way too much importance to this girl.
She happens to be the unfortunate female stuck in a loop of my nightmares. And she also happens to owe me thirty grand, which she’ll be paying back in a way that I’m far too excited about. But whatever. As long as I don’t assign meaning to it, I should be happy anything has me excited.
So, I guess Paolo’s right. I’m more myself.
Except I don’t know who the fuck myself even is anymore.
I keep that existential malaise to myself, though. The last thing I need is Junior or Paolo messing with my life to try to fix me.
Italian families. They’re way too fucking interfering.
I head over to my ma’s piano and sit down and play Get Lucky by Daft Punk. I know Jasper will recognize it. He runs over and stands beside me to listen.
“Play it again, Uncle Gio,” he demands when I finish.
“No, it’s time to eat,” Desiree tells him. She raises her voice to call all of us. “Dinner’s ready.”
I watch her bustle around, pouring water into everyone’s glasses. She has this capable way of serving without being the slightest bit servile. A spitfire Puerto Rican American, she was our mother’s in-home nurse before Junior kidnapped her to nurse me back to the land of the living. She was the only nurse my mother didn’t steamroll and she’s easily won all our respect and love.
Junior carries in a casserole dish of stuffed baked ziti and sets it on the table before sitting in our father’s chair at the head.
Desiree takes baby Santo from my mother’s arms and sits him on her lap, where he starts grabbing things from the table. She scoots breakables away and hands him a spoon. “Gio, you look good.”
“See?” Paolo says. “That’s what I told him. What happened? You get laid?”
“Paolo,” Ma scolds. “There are children present and you’re sitting at my dinner table.”
“Sorry, Ma.”
But now the whole table’s looking at me. “I’m feeling good, that’s all.” I wave off the attention. Our mother never knew about me getting shot, so I’m purposely vague.
“Good. That’s good.” A trace of worry is in Junior’s gaze. There’s a lot of shit I could blame him for, but not taking me to the hospital when I got shot isn’t one of them. He doesn’t need that on his conscience. I know he did what he had to do to protect all of us. And I lived.
If anything, I resent that he’s moved on. He shut down the Family business to settle down with Desiree. And I’m left holding my dick.
And I don’t know what the fuck Paolo’s doing. I think he’s still running a side business on his own, which none of us ever mention.
But I guess we’re free to do that. We’re grown men with millions of dollars each, thanks to the Family’s investment in Nico’s casino.
“Gio and Paolo, when are you going to give me grandchildren?” Ma starts in.
“Don’t count on it,” Paolo says. “Not from me, anyway. But who knows, maybe Gio will give up his playboy ways now.”
“What do you mean now?” Ma says.
Junior shoots Paolo a warning look.
Paolo plays it off with a shrug. “Now that four of our siblings have taken the fall.”
“The fall? Real nice, Paolo,” Desiree shoots from across the table with an eye roll. She hands him the basket of bread, though, which he was trying to reach.
I don’t desire a wife and kids.
At least I never did. Even watching my brothers and sister find love didn’t change that for me. Although it did add to my inner crisis. Like, why the fuck don’t I want that?
Shouldn’t I want it?
The only thing is, I’m suddenly picturing Marissa here at this table. She’d be serving her gourmet food, giving Paolo shit right along with Desiree.
What would she look like pregnant?
I shake my head, blinking. Trying to push away the goddess-gorgeous image I have of her in a flowing white gown, hair tumbling over her shoulder and a swollen belly.
I must be fucking nuts.
She’s not the missing meaning in my life. I need to stop assigning that kind of bullshit importance to her.
She’s a barely legal chef who owes me money.
End of story.
Marissa
I take Lilah’s arm and tug her into the walk-in with me. “Arnie grabbed my boob and I didn’t have the damn fork on me. Actually, he honked it, like a sixth grader who wants to get kneed in the balls.”
“Did
you? Knee him in the balls?”
I groan, slumping. “I actually tried, but he was too quick. Who do you think I should tell? Henry or Michael?” Michael is the owner. He’s pretty hands-off with the kitchen, leaving all the hiring, firing and management to Henry and Arnie.
“Maybe Michael. He’s the one with a liability here. You know what you should do? Go home tonight and then call him tomorrow before anyone’s here. That way Arnie and Henry won’t see you going over their heads.”
Arnie pokes his head in the walk-in, then grins and saunters in with a broad grin. “What’s going on, girls? I thought you’d already gone home.”
“We’re just leaving.” I push forcibly past him, feeling Lilah right behind me. We grab our jackets and head out. Ugh.
“Call tomorrow,” Lilah says firmly as we part ways. “Promise?”
“Yeah,” I say, although I still haven’t made up my mind. I like this job so much, I’m not sure I want to risk fucking things up. Besides, Arnie’s not a real danger. He’s an annoyance, not a rapist.
At least I hope.
I walk toward the train station.
At first, I don’t notice the car that pulls out, but when it drives slowly beside me and the window comes down, I look over. Only because of my thoughts about Arnie, I imagine for a minute it might be him.
But that’s dumb. It’s a beautiful black SUV. One I recognize immediately.
Gio’s.
I stop.
“Get in the car.”
My heart’s still beating fast. I can’t decide if it’s because this looks like the start of every deadly mafia scene I’ve ever seen in the movies or if it’s because of what Gio does to my body.
Either way, I’m not getting in. I start walking again. “No, thanks.”
I sense Gio’s annoyance through the open window as he eases off the brake and follows me.
“Marissa. I’m gonna drive you home. That’s all. Get in the fucking car.”
I stop again. “What are you even doing here?”
We’d exchanged a few texts about which night I’m coming to his place and the details. He asked where I work and I told him. It definitely wasn’t an invitation.
“I was trying out the food. Wanted to see where you worked.”
I raise my brows. “We closed an hour ago.”
“Yeah. I was at the bar having a drink. Now I’m leaving, and I see you walking alone. I don’t like it.”
I’m not sure I buy his story. Feels to me like he was sitting in his car waiting for me. It’s a little scary, considering his profession.
“I walk alone every night, Gio. I’m fine.” I turn my collar up against the fall chill and walk on.
“Marissa.” His voice bites out, sharp with command. He’s a man used to getting his way. Used to having his orders obeyed. The sound of his voice does something to me, even though I don’t want to let him have power over me. “Get in the fucking car.”
“I’m good, Gio.” I try to keep my voice light.
“You know I can make you, right?”
That does something unexpected to me. My reaction isn’t fear. It’s heat. Liquid lava pooling between my legs. A clenching in my pussy.
I turn to face him for the first time. “You’d probably like that.”
The annoyance on his face morphs into a twisted smirk—the one that melts panties across the city. “You might, too, angel. Wanna try?”
My face grows warm, but tingles spread across my skin. “What are you going to do?” My voice sounds ridiculously husky.
His grin widens. “Get in the car before I smack your ass pink.”
My ass clenches and tingles in response, the memory of his spanks at his apartment rushing back.
He’s definitely not the butt-pat type like Arnie. He’s at the opposite end of harassment. The kind you want to experience again and again.
I pull open the door and climb inside. Whether it’s because I’m not willing to find out if he’d follow through or because I want him to, I’m not sure.
“Not sure if I’m happy you obeyed or disappointed I don’t get to follow through.” He voices my exact thoughts.
I sense heat flush across my chest and up my neck. “I think you’ve seen enough of my ass already,” I say primly.
His chuckle is dark and wicked. “Oh, not nearly, angel. But this is just a ride home. You don’t have to hang on to the seat belt like it’s the only thing keeping you safe from me.”
I steal a sidelong glance at him, devouring his breathtaking beauty for a hot minute.
“How did your cousin’s surgery go?”
“Good. Thank you. She’s recovering like a champ.” Gratitude to Gio warms my chest. Not just for the money, but for his continued interest—helping me at the hospital, asking now. I steal one more glance. “Why are you really here, Gio?”
He shrugs and returns his gaze to the road. After a moment of silence, he says, “Honest truth?”
I twist to face him.
“You want the God’s honest truth?”
My heart picks up speed. I sense something big coming, but can’t imagine what it would be. “Yes.” I sound breathless.
“You’re in my nightmares, angel. The ones where I get shot? Sometimes you get shot, too.”
I stifle a gasp.
“I guess because you were there when it happened. And so now I feel attached to you. And it’s stupid, but sometimes I’m afraid it’s a warning. Like I’m supposed to make sure nothing happens to you.”
I sit in shocked silence, prickles raising the hairs on my arms. Of all the confessions I expected—and I expected zero, but still—it wouldn’t be this one.
“Th-that’s why you came to Milano’s? To check on me?”
He gives a single nod.
“Is that why you loaned me the money?”
He shrugs. “I’m sure I would’ve loaned it anyway. But yeah. It feels more significant.”
I’m stunned.
Gio Tacone is superstitious. Or religious. Or whatever. Which I guess makes sense, considering he had a near-death experience.
It changes everything I feel about the man. Well, maybe not everything, but a lot. His motives aren’t sinister.
And it’s stupid, but knowing he’s assigned meaning to my presence in his nightmares makes me feel special. Knowing he thinks he’s supposed to protect me gives me secret strength.
I reach out and touch his arm. “All this time, I’ve been trying to figure out what you really wanted from me. Why you were being so kind. I thought it might be a trick.”
He shakes his head. “No trick. But don’t go assuming this makes me a nice guy,” he warns, pulling on to my grandparents’ street. “I’m not. I’m just… trying to get rid of the bad dreams.”
I smile softly. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest a therapist instead of following me around, but then I don’t really want that.
I kind of like knowing the playboy Gio Tacone is semi-obsessed with me. At least with keeping me safe.
It’s like I have my own personal superhero. The dark kind who wields a shit ton of power but has done many bad things with it. Or is he actually the supervillain teetering on the edge of redemption?
Either way, I’m so freaking turned on by that.
He pulls up at the curb and I lean over, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Gio. You’re a true prince.”
He snorts. “Watch it, angel. I’ll disabuse you of that notion in seconds flat.”
I grin. It’s a wicked grin. The flirty kind I’ve never worn before. “Can’t wait.”
Oh God, did I say that? Too late to take it back. I close the door on the surprise flaring in his eyes and hustle away to my grandparents’ door.
Gio Tacone. My dark prince.
I freaking love it.
Chapter 4
Gio
I told Marissa to call when she got to the L station. That I’d pick her up so she wasn’t walking alone at night.
And somehow, I knew sh
e wouldn’t.
Whether it’s because she’s stubborn and independent or whether it’s because she’s testing my threat to spank her ass, I’m not sure. I definitely noticed how she turned to hot syrup and got flirty with me when I said it.
Either way, when the doorman calls up to say she’s downstairs, I’m pissed off and turned on all at once. “Send her up,” I tell him and stand in my doorway, arms folded across my chest.
The first thing I see when the elevator doors open is the skirt and heels. Cue the soundtrack: She’s Got Legs. And she definitely knows how to use them.
My cock gets harder than stone as I watch her toss that caramel-colored hair and strut into my apartment.
She brought a crate on a handcart, which I take from her and wheel in after the customary two cheek air kisses.
“I asked you to call me from the station,” I remind her the moment I shut the door.
“I wanted to walk.” She breezes past me into my kitchen, like she knows full well I’ll follow with the groceries. She probably knows I’m watching her ass, too, based on the way she’s swishing it. As soon as we’re in the kitchen I leave the cart and crowd up behind her, pushing her hips up to the granite countertop.
“Angel, you must’ve misunderstood,” I rumble in her ear as I catch both her wrists and pin them behind her back.
She gasps, but says nothing, her quickened breath the evidence of her excitement.
I give her ass a hard slap—punishment hard—and she jerks a bit. “See, in this situation, I’m like your employer. You’re working for me.” Another hard slap, this time on the other cheek.
She shifts on her heels, wobbling slightly.
“When I give you directions, I expect them to be followed, angel.” One more slap. “Or there will be consequences.” I rub the last place I spanked, letting the slippering fabric slide over the luscious curve of her ass.
I reach past her to pull a wooden spoon out of the crock of utensils. I slide it under her nose. “Disobey me again, angel, and the skirt comes off.”
