Grieved Loss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 3)

by Adelaide Forrest

  "I want to explore you this time," I whispered, dragging my lips down his neck in a smooth glide until they brushed over the scruff of his jaw. As soon as my lips were close enough to his, he turned his head and captured them in a fierce kiss that left my mouth feeling bruised. One hand clasped around the back of my head, he tried to contain me, tried to hold me where he wanted me. I could feel the way, with every stroke of his tongue on mine, he tried to seduce me back into the mindless puddle he usually forced me into. But I was determined to take what I wanted, to finally get my mouth on him and a much closer look at the piercing I was normally too shy to inspect.

  When he finally released my mouth, I slid my body down his so that my lips touched his chest, so that my tongue dragged over his collarbone, and I felt his heart beating against my mouth. I would have sworn it beat in time with mine, that we were so connected that even our biology recognized us for what we were.

  Two halves of a whole. Husband and wife.

  Like the darkness in his soul called to the light in mine.

  By the time my tongue danced around the bar piercing through his nipple, he jolted, grinding his hips up against mine. I repeated it on the other side quickly as his hands tightened around me, as if it took all his control not to put an end to my fun and just take what he wanted. I abandoned my play, determined to get more of it later when there was time, and he wasn't ready to fuck me yet.

  I could do all I wanted to him once I'd drained him dry.

  My tongue dipped into his belly button, sliding out to glide through the faint happy trail that led to his cock. I took it in hand, squeezing and pumping once as I shifted my weight down. Once I knelt between his legs, I positioned it perfectly, staring at the single barbell just below the head on the underside of his shaft.

  It somehow suited him, like I couldn't imagine him without it, even though I knew there had been a day when it wasn't there. Tentatively, I leaned forward and ran my tongue over it, feeling the warm metal against me as he groaned. Glancing up to find Ryker staring down at me, I was suddenly filled with apprehension. I'd never enjoyed giving head, only done it out of obligation, and found that I wanted to make Ryker feel good. I wanted to make him as mindless as he made me.

  I just didn’t know how.

  So, with a swallow of my nerves, I ducked my head down and wrapped my lips around the head, sucking as hard as I could. When he groaned again, I drew away in shock. Our eyes connected briefly, and when I realized it had been a groan of pleasure and not disappointment, I did it again, sliding my mouth down as far as it could go. It wasn't much, not given the length and girth that Ryker had.

  I suspected it would take someone far more practiced than I to do anything impressive when it came to giving him head, but maybe I would get there one day. My hand wrapped around the base, holding him where I wanted him and working the length I couldn't reach while I glided my mouth up and down on him.

  His hips shifted, his moan of "Sunshine," echoing in my ears as I strove to bring him right to the edge.

  I knew I'd succeeded when he grabbed under my arms and hauled me up the bed so suddenly that I released him with a wet pop. "Hey! I wasn't done," I protested, giggling when he rolled me to my stomach and his weight came down on my back.

  "You’re done," he growled, bringing a hand down on my ass in a playful swat. His fingers went between my legs, finding me wet and ready. I'd never thought it could be pleasurable to give him pleasure, but when he nudged my clit, I felt like I might go off from the light touch. "So fucking wet. You like sucking my cock, Tesoro?"

  "Yes," I gasped as he lifted my ass. With my legs splayed wide around his and my ass tilted up, he guided himself to my entrance and pushed inside me. The stretch to take him always bordered on painful, but once my body relaxed and accepted his intrusion there was something about it that felt complete.

  Like I was right where I belonged.

  "Ryke!" I cried when he finally bottomed out inside me. He leaned forward, so that the heat of his body hovered just over mine where I was plastered to the bed. His hips moved, driving his length in and out of me in slow, smooth glides that struck against the end of me with every single thrust.

  "Whose pussy is this?" he asked, and I fought the urge to smile. Even with a ring on my finger, even married and with his last name, he still had the insane urge to hear me admit I was his.

  I wondered if it would ever stop. If he'd ever stop being so disbelieving that this was our reality.

  That I was his.

  He thrust harder, making me shriek beneath him when his hand wrapped around my waist to stroke my clit. "Answer me, Calla."

  "Yours. It's your pussy," I whispered, grinding myself down on him as he made love to me.

  "That's right. It's mine. You're mine, wife," he growled, and I went careening over the edge into my orgasm with the deep sound of his words. He followed me over, and I knew from the heat that flooded me that we'd forgotten a condom again.

  But I didn't have the energy to fight about it. I was just as responsible, should have realized and reminded him.

  We'd worry about it another day.

  As we came down from our orgasms and he pulled out of me, he seemed to realize what he'd forgotten too. He waited for my protest, waited for the verbal lashing I was sure he expected. But there was just nothing.

  Nothing but us mattered in that moment.

  Nothing mattered but the way he drew me into his arms and kissed me.

  "You're mine too," I whispered as I rested my head on his chest. I'd need to get up and clean myself up, but I just needed a few minutes to catch my breath.

  "That's right, Sunshine. Only yours."

  I stretched up, running my fingers over the scar through his eyebrow and wondering what happened. I wouldn’t ruin the mood or risk ending our day on a note where he shut me out, but the day would come when I needed answers.

  I had a feeling the scar was part of the puzzle.

  Thirty-Eight

  Calla

  I did not appreciate being woken up. Not in the slightest. I should have been sleeping until noon, not up and going to some mysterious appointment at ten in the morning.

  Even the chai in my hand couldn't appease the annoyed monster that crept up my throat. Ryker was far too amused in the driver's seat, and I glared at him. "You could have left me sleeping while you did whatever this is."

  "Nah, I needed my Sunshine with me today. Trust me," he chuckled. I wanted to kick him, but even if we hadn't been in the car, that would have taken effort, and I was too tired for that shit.

  "Then the least you could have done was let me sleep last night."

  He looked at me like I'd lost my marbles. "I didn't see you complaining when you were bent over the arm of the couch."

  I flushed, but never stopped my efforts to stare him down. "I might have if I'd known you'd wake me up by nine."

  "Calla," he chuckled, shaking his head. I waited for him to continue, but there was nothing else to follow. Just my name said like a benediction. We were on the outskirts of the city limits, and there wasn't much around except for a few bars and restaurants. None were overly nice, but none were sketchy either. Ryker pulled up into an empty spot, and he hopped out of the car. With it being mid-morning on a Sunday, the streets were empty as everyone either went to church or slept or just enjoyed their days at home. I wished I was one of them, snuggled up tight in bed. As much as I missed the kids, I could have easily slept until noon, eaten lunch, and then picked them up from Dad.

  Such was the exhaustion after a wedding night, I supposed.

  My eyes strayed to the pair of rings on my finger while I waited for Ryker to get the door for me. While he hadn't made it a rule by any means, I knew that in public places where there could be dangers associated with the Bellandis, he preferred that I wait for him to open my door. It was an easy enough concession to make, since it cost me nothing aside from a few moments of time.

  When the door finally opened, Ryker stared down at me w
ith eyes full of both excitement and dread. It did not give me good feelings about what we were doing, but I put my hand in his anyway. Choosing to trust that he wouldn't push too hard, that he wouldn't take advantage of me since I'd given him everything he'd asked for.

  But as the car door closed behind me, he guided me to the very last building I'd expected.

  The name was simple, etched on the sign up top with a tattoo gun drawing out the letters.

  Ink.

  "Are you getting a new tattoo?" I asked, running my thumb over the one and only tattoo I had. The arrow on my right wrist had been a spur-of-the-moment decision after Chad died, my symbol that life would propel me into something amazing, but that it’d had to pull me back first. As much as I loved having my tattoo, I couldn't help but feel a little regret over it.

  Not when life had propelled me forward into a new life as a mob wife. Did that qualify as something amazing?

  With the way Ryker made me feel, maybe. If I could ever really look past who he was and what he did.

  "Yes," he said, and his voice went soft. "And so are you."

  I laughed, thinking for sure he had to be joking, but when he guided me into the nearly empty tattoo shop, I felt panic well in my chest. Two tattoo artists stood behind the counter, smiling at us while they bent over something and conferred on it.

  "Ryker," the man said, stepping around and slapping Ryker on the back of the shoulder with a familiarity that meant he knew my husband well. "Long time no see. This must be Calla."

  "It's nice to meet you," I murmured, attempting to tug my hand free from Ryker's hold to shake his hand. He refused, holding me hostage. Whether it was because he didn't want me to touch the other man or because he was afraid I'd run, I didn't know. Either could be true of Ryker.

  "We've got your designs ready and waiting. I have to say, Ada has outdone herself with yours. It's stunning." He complimented the woman behind me, and she shrugged her shoulders with an eye roll.

  With ebony hair that fell to her butt, she stepped around the counter and took my hand. "Let's get the outline on you and see if you like it."

  "I'm not getting a tattoo," I laughed. "I'm sorry to waste your time, and I'm sure Ryker will pay you for the time you spent on the design, but I didn't agree to this, and I'm not putting something permanent on my skin just because he demands it."

  She chuckled, casting her eyes over to Ryker before tugging me back behind the counter, anyway. "Do you know who owns this place?" she asked.

  I sighed, disbelief filling me. Of course, he would have taken me to a place where I had little to no ability to convince people I didn't want a tattoo. "Matteo Bellandi?"

  "We do all the ink for everyone in the family," she said, picking up the tracing paper that was on a little platform on the counter and taking it into the back room. I sat in the chair, waiting and trying to debate what choice I had while she washed her hands and slid gloves on. I zoned out through the process, feeling her apply the stencil to the skin on the outside of my left forearm only vaguely. "Take a look," she ordered, and I stood to move to the mirror at the edge of the room.

  Disbelief and fury washed over me.

  "I do not fucking think so!" I yelled, and the other man who worked in the shop let out a roar of laughter from the adjacent room. It didn't matter that the tattoo was stunning, that the unalome that wound up the outer edge of my forearm and led into a lotus flower was gorgeous.

  I was no expert on roman numerals, but I knew Ryker well enough to know that the roman numeral Ada had worked into the unalome was our wedding date. I stormed into the other room, staring down momentarily at the stenciled outline on his bare chest. A tribal sun, worked into the smokey haze that surrounded his existing ink there, and the same roman numeral was worked into the circle of the sun where the sun rays jutted out. It was beautiful, and it might have been sweet if he wasn't trying to force me to tattoo a wedding date on my skin.

  "I am not doing this!" I growled at him, anger flooding me all over again as he stood from his chair and propelled me into the room where the woman waited to tattoo me.

  "You have one for him, and now you'll have one for me," he growled right back, snatching my arm in his and pressing it to the rest where the artist needed me positioned.

  "Ryker!" I shrieked.

  His voice softened momentarily, but there was still a harshness in the intensity of his glare. "I need you to do this for me, Tesoro."

  "I don't want to have to cover up a tattoo if we get divorced! This is ridiculous," I argued. Ada left the room, seeming to sense the danger coming before I did.

  Ryker leaned forward, catching my chin in his hand and holding so firmly that I didn't dare move. "I am a Bellandi man, regardless of what my last name is. There is no divorce in this life, Sunshine. We take the ‘until death’ part of our vows very seriously. So you will sit your pretty ass in that chair, Ada is going to give you the beautiful ink she designed for you, and then we will go get our children. I don’t care how long it takes, because there is no other option that is acceptable to me. Understood?"

  I didn't answer, clenching my jaw as I tried to jerk my head away.

  "Is that understood?"

  "Yes," I spat.

  He released me suddenly, his eyes going more tender as he knelt in front of the chair. "Do you not like the design?"

  "It's beautiful," I muttered reluctantly.

  He sighed, touching my knees with his hands as Ada returned to the room. "I need you to be mine in all ways," he explained, and with the fact that the fight had disappeared from me, he seemed to decide it was safe to return to the tender man I'd convinced myself I'd married. I hated that it was partially a show, that even if that was one side of him, the man who lurked beneath the surface would always take my choice away if it suited his needs.

  "I'm already your wife," I said.

  "If I could tattoo my name on you, I would. Consider this a compromise." He stood, making for the door to go have his own ink done. Ada's face was solemn as she took the seat next to me, positioning my arm the way she needed it.

  "I won't do this without your permission, but—"

  "Just get it over with," I snapped, turning my face away so I didn't have to watch.

  Thirty-Nine

  Calla

  I hid in the bathtub once we'd tucked the kids in, trying to wrap my head around my thoughts. I hated that Ryker had again taken my choice away from me, had violated my body in a way that I could never undo.

  That I couldn’t soak one of my arms only pissed me off all over again.

  A tattoo should have been my choice, and if he'd needed that date on my skin, he could have at least given me the choice of where and how. But it also pissed me off that the tattoo was damn near perfect and that it combined two things I'd contemplated getting a tattoo of and put it in the one place I'd have wanted it.

  So it wasn't that I didn't like the tattoo. The opposite was true, and the roman numerals in the unalome were subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice them unless they really looked. It was done tastefully, and the artwork was stunning. Ada was a very talented artist without a doubt.

  It didn't stop me from feeling like every day I spent with Ryker I drowned a little more.

  Like I was trying to breathe underwater, but I couldn't even bring myself to swim.

  I hated that I enjoyed being with him enough to consider letting him pull me under completely, despite his flaws. He crossed the line often, but he never hurt me. He never made me feel like I was less than him, for all the ways he controlled me, more that he controlled me because I was worth more and it enabled him to either protect me or truly appreciate the fact that I was his.

  So it was with that in mind that I went looking for him after my bath. I knew there were only two places he could be, his gym or the garage working on the Chevelle. As I passed the gym, the distinct lack of noise coming from the door made me make my way to the garage.

  The door was open to the hallway, and I stepped insid
e. Ryker laid under the Chevelle, only his denim-clad legs sticking out as he worked on whatever task he'd assigned himself for the day. As I stepped in, I contemplated what I wanted to say to him and how I could make him understand that I just wanted to feel like I had control in my life. Like he wouldn't just override me if I made a decision he didn't agree with.

  My eyes caught on the folder resting on his tool chest, and the edge of a photo sticking out from it. Curiosity got the better of me, so after a quick glance to confirm he was still under the car, I moved toward it and flipped the folder open despite my misgivings. I half expected there to be bloody photos of a victim of the Bellandi family, but what stared back at me felt somehow infinitely worse.

  A photo of a blond in profile seemed to make my heart stop in my chest. She looked so much like me, with her big blue eyes and wavy hair.

  The distinction was that she was young.

  Probably barely out of high school, if I had to guess, and styled perfectly with flawless makeup and clothes to accentuate the curve of her body.

  I winced, scoffing in disbelief as I pushed that photo out of the way and came to another of the same woman. "What are you doing?" Ryker asked, and I jumped in place as I spun to look at him. He'd slid out from under the Chevelle, eyeing me as if I was the one in the wrong.

  "You married me yesterday and forced a tattoo on me today, and you're already shopping for a younger model?" I asked, glaring at him as I snapped the folder closed. I scoffed, unable to believe how stupid I'd been. How foolish I must have been to believe that he might have cared about me.

  How humiliating.

  He got to his feet, approaching me, and there was a grin on his face as he put a hand on the chests on either side of me and leaned into my space. "Are you jealous, Sunshine?" he whispered, reaching up and fingering a lock of my wet hair before he flung it over my shoulder.