by Faye Byrd
With an exaggerated sigh, she stands and strolls over, kissing my cheek. “Be more careful.” Her fingers go for my chin, grasping it between them. “You could always take over as charity head and leave this viciousness behind.”
I shake my head, effectively snatching my chin away. “Mother, you know this argument is just that—a fucking argument. And frankly, I’m not up to it at the moment. I feel like shit.”
She bristles visibly but holds her tongue. With a shrewd head to toe glance over me, she huffs and turns, leaving me in fucking peace. I drop my head back against the chair with a sigh.
“What the fuck, Pop?”
His voice is exasperated when he speaks. “She was here, and this was concerning.”
Doc waves his hands over me. “What we talking?”
“Knife cut to my left shoulder blade,” I reply, already sitting forward, trying to peel my shirt up some, but the goddamn pain intensifies tenfold. “Cazzo di Budda!”
As I’m writhing in pain, Pop stands and takes one big swipe across his desk, clearing everything that’s on top of it. My eyes jump to his at the sudden noise of all his shit crashing to the floor.
“What the fuck?”
He motions to the flat wooden surface. “With the way you’re acting, I think we need a makeshift worktable. Get over here.”
I stand and lean over the desk until my entire upper body lies across it with my back on display. The next thing I know, two motherfuckers are working on me. Pop is sliding a pair of scissors up the back of the pansy-ass yellow Polo, and Doc is already looking for a vein.
“I’m gonna hook you up with some antibiotics, and do you want a painkiller, too?” Doc asks as he gets a pouch of solution out of his bag.
“Tylenol?”
He makes a whistling sound as he looks over my wound. “It’s actually sealed up nice. But it looks as if some fibers from your shirt are caught in there, which is most likely causing the infection. Super Glue?”
“Had to improvise,” I say, the pain reminding me that shrugging is out of the fucking question.
“I’m gonna have to reopen it, clean it, and reseal it—with surgical glue this time.” He lifts a smartass brow in my direction. “Think you can handle the pain? The antibiotics will start helping with the infection almost instantly, but the soreness will be much better by tomorrow night.”
“Can’t you fucking numb the skin or some shit?” I ask, not liking the idea of toughing it out with nothing at all.
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Well let’s do that and the antibiotics.”
Doc gets to work as Pop settles in his chair behind the desk. “I was surprised to hear Maria was anywhere around Pedro.” He reaches down and grabs a cigar and his Zippo from the floor. “I thought she’d be retired to a cushy villa somewhere.”
I snort. “Well, you thought wrong. That crazy old bat was out for blood. Simone blood.”
The Boss lights his cigar, his face pensive as he takes a couple puffs, releasing the smoke off to the side—thank fuck. “Interesting,” he finally utters, and that’s it—that’s the only fucking thing he says.
I file that away to ponder when I’m not in so much pain. From the corner of my eye, I notice Doc jab a needle into the port of my IV. “What’s that?” I ask, because the antibiotic is already being administered.
“Relax, Dante. It’s just Ibuprofen. I know ya didn’t want anything heavy, but it'll help while not fucking with ya head. Like Tylenol.” He shrugs and digs into his bag, setting out a few supplies.
When his gloved hands move toward my back, I brace myself for the blinding pain to follow—and it comes. It’s not quite as forceful as earlier, but still enough to make me clench my fucking jaw and let out a low groan. The whole process carries on in just that manner. Low groans and grunts along with tense muscles and the occasional “fuck” here and there—well, more than occasional, but that’s just me.
What’s interesting, though, is by the time he’s done, I actually feel a little better. Sure, my shoulder is throbbing like my goddamn cock does when I watch Piper dance—only it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. But my head is less foggy than it was when I first arrived.
Pop never does expand on the Maria incident, and frankly, I’m too ready to get home to give a fuck enough to ask. I will ask, though. It’ll just have to be another day. I leave his office, only to smile when Lorenzo’s waiting on the other side of the door, holding up an old Polo he must’ve grabbed from my room.
“Thought you might need this,” he says, passing it over.
I take it with a nod and slip it over my head, spewing only a few grunts and curses. “One more ride as Antonio, thank fucking God.” I roll my fucking eyes, ready to be in my own home, dressed in my own clothes right the fuck now.
“When we get back to Simone Place, you just head on up to the penthouse. I’ll make sure Antonio’s stuff is taken care of and then check on you in a bit,” he says as we make our way back toward the Mercedes.
After settling in the passenger seat, I shake my head. “You know that’s not how it works. I need to finish the trip as Antonio.”
His voice is stern when he responds. “Not this time. I said I’ll take care of it, and I will.” He’s quiet for a second, seeing if I’ll argue, but I don’t. I want to be back in my own skin so fucking bad that I’m willing to risk it this once. “Besides, there’s nothing like walking into your home after a trip like the one you’ve just had. You can thank me later.” He gives me a weird little side-eye, but what-the-fuck-ever.
He’s right. Just this once.
“My gloves and hat are in my luggage. Make sure they’re incinerated.”
The rest of the ride is spent in silence, and I’ve never been so fucking relieved to pull into my parking garage as I am when we finally fucking do. These fucking contacts are starting to dry my eyes, and this mass of gunk on my hair makes my head feel ten fucking times heavier than it is.
“Thanks, Lorenzo. You’re a life saver,” I offer as I pull open the door and step my achy-ass body from the car.
He chuckles and mumbles something under his breath I don’t quite catch, but that’s o-fucking-kay. I can verbally spar with him another day.
The ride up the elevator is more soothing than it has ever been, mostly because I’m so goddamn desperate to be Dante Simone again. The ding is like music to my fucking ears. And the sight that greets me when the doors open is heart-stoppingly beautiful—and pissed, too.
I smile because I can’t fucking hold it back.
“Piper.”
ELEVEN
MONSTER INSIDE ME
Her posture is tense as she stands with her hand propped on her hip, but as she takes me in, her head tilts and her stance softens. Her eyes jump to the fucking clump on top of my head before moving down to settle on my fake blue ones.
There’s an imperceptible widening, but she contains it nicely. “Dante,” she says with a brow lift.
“Not quite.” My cheeks hurt I’m smiling so goddamn wide, and my fingers are tingling as they anticipate the feel of her skin. “But I will be soon.”
She takes a step backward for each one I take forward, frustrating me to hell and back. I’ve been to hell and back. Coming home to her standing in my penthouse was never even a thought, but now that she is, I just want to fucking touch her—and change clothes—but one urge overrides the other.
I take a larger step, coming to a stop just a foot in front of her. When she moves to shuffle back, I reach out and grab her arm. “Please don’t.” My voice is strained due to the energy that courses between us. “I need something good right now.”
She pauses, her dark eyes more open and inviting than they were when I first arrived. “Why do you look like that?”
My eyes fall closed at the fucking reminder—Antonio Fucking Mancini—a pain in my ass this go round. I release my tight grip on her arm and run my hand up to her shoulder as I take a step closer. That energy from earlier zaps at my palm, but it a
lso arcs to fill the small space between our bodies.
“I’ve been away,” I hedge, hoping it’s enough for her, but the slight narrowing of her eyes tells me that it’s a fucking no. “For business.” I lift a brow to accentuate my meaning.
It takes a couple seconds, but realization dawns and a tiny bit more of her attitude fades the fuck away. My hand trails from her shoulder down her back to the small dip at her waist, pulling her even closer. Now there’re only inches between us, and it feels fucking glorious.
My eyes automatically jump to her mouth when it opens. “It’s been days,” she says, and her tongue peeks out to wet her lips, driving me fucking mad.
“I’m sorry, Piper.” I don’t know if I’m sorry for leaving without telling her—because I fucking am—or if I’m apologizing for what I’m about to do. But either way, I am sorry.
I don’t hold back, even though I probably should. I’m not even myself right now, but I can’t be bothered to fucking care. She’s everything I never hoped would be waiting in my home, and I don’t have the strength to resist her lure.
My lips make a soft pass, and when she doesn’t slap me, I attempt it again. This time, my tongue dances along the seam that’s keeping me from invading her entirely. A soft sigh escapes, and I take advantage, thrusting my tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers. And goddamn, just like every other time we’ve been in this position, she’s all fucking in. Her hands grip at me fiercely, while a fucking primal battle rages between us.
It isn’t until she wraps her hands under my arms and claws at my back, her fists tightening in the material of my shirt, that we run into a fucking problem. Well, I’m the goddamn problem—I jerk away, yelping like a little bitch. She stands there panting and staring at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
“Fuck!” I curse to mask the pain. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I stumble my way toward the sofa, ridiculously pissed at myself for getting sliced by a crazy old hag. I almost flop down, until images of my cock spurting cum all over it stops me—that motherfucker has to be burned.
I make a last-minute move toward my chair, causing even more pain to shoot down my chest and arm. I land with the right side of my fucking face crammed into the back while gripping my left arm, just fucking praying that the ache will lessen to only a throb.
“Dante, what is it?” Piper’s voice is panicked as she loiters near the chair, unsure whether to approach or not.
“Goddammit.” I breathe through the pain, pushing that shit down as much as I possibly can. “Just give me a minute,” I finally pant.
I don’t see where she goes because my eyes are fucking squinted as I work to overcome the burn, beat it the fuck back, get control of the misery that is my body right this moment. I’m not sure how long it takes, but fucking finally it begins to lessen, and I’m able to slow my erratic breaths. My eyes open, and I lift my head.
At first, I don’t see her, which sends its own surge through me—panic—it almost hurts just as goddamn bad. But as I swivel my head, her form fills my periphery, and then I’m looking at her completely.
She’s huddled on my sofa—the fucking cum-stained one—wringing her hands and casting me wary glances. “Piper,” I say on a fucking sigh, positioning myself in an upright position and shifting to one side as much as I’m able. “Come here.” I tilt my head to the vacant arm of my chair—the right fucking side, of course.
She’s so timid in her approach that a swell of guilt blooms in my gut. I was so desperate to have her in my arms, and then to invade her so thoroughly she’d give in, that I pushed my ailments aside. I pulled her into a situation she had no chance of winning because I wasn’t physically ready for her response.
My head lolls back, and I widen my arm in invitation for her fantastic ass to cuddle into the crook. “Please sit. It won’t hurt.”
Her expression is dubious, but it doesn’t stop her from gently perching on the arm of the chair, where I immediately close my arm around her and lean my head against her back.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, mostly because I’m too busy inhaling the scent of her laundry detergent. “We should probably talk.”
“What happened?” she asks as she twists so she can pin me with inquisitive eyes, but she’s not being bitchy like you’d expect. She’s truly concerned.
“Fuck, Piper,” I say, her goddamn eyes hypnotizing me with our faces this close together. “I’m not sure what I should say, hell, what I can even say. It’s fucking complicated, and I’m not sure you really even want to know.”
She lifts her arm but pauses, eyeing my shoulder. “Am I going to hurt you again?”
“As long as you stick to the right, it should be okay,” I reply, and she props her arm across my shoulder.
Her fingers brush the mass on my head, and her eyes spark with amusement as they flick to mine and then back to my head. The hard glob prevents me from enjoying her touch, and it pisses me the fuck off. Slowly, she works her fingertips between the dry clumps, finally reaching my scalp. I fucking sigh it feels so goddamn good.
Absently, she strokes back and forth as she gathers her thoughts. She’s cute as fuck, looking all contemplative and shit. “Let’s talk about what we can, then. You’re hurt. Where exactly?”
“That’s fair,” I agree, nudging my head deeper into her hand. “Don’t stop.” My eyes fall closed as her fingernails scratch against my scalp, but when I forget to fucking speak, she balls her hand into a fist. My eyes jump open. “Okay! Sorry, shit!” She smirks and gets back to work. “It’s my left shoulder. A cut. It wouldn’t be so painful if it weren’t for the small infection that developed before I made it home.”
“Did you go to the hospital?” she asks, those dark eyes once again peering at me with concern.
I give a little head shake—not enough to move away from her fingers, though. “I saw a doctor, if that’s what you’re asking."
“That’s what took so long,” she says absently with a little nod to herself.
I perk up, making sure to follow this little lead. “How long did it take?”
Her lips purse slightly while she considers her response. “Over three hours,” she says as her brows furrow. “But why aren’t you asking me how the fuck I got into your penthouse?”
A loud bark of laughter erupts from my lips, simply because she does her best Dante Simone imitation for the last half of her sentence. “There’s only one possible answer to that question, so I already know. The real question is whether I’ll be thanking him or whacking him for it.”
“Definitely not whacking,” she says, playfully narrowing her eyes.
I lift my hand from where it’s been cupping her delectable ass and bring it up to run the length of her hair. “No, definitely not whacking.”
Instead of responding right away, she just stares. And we’re stuck. The space between us starts to fill with that familiar spark that’s already gotten us in trouble once tonight. It’s so fucking hard to ignore. Instead of backing away, I find myself pushing closer, willing to be consumed by the fire no matter how hot it burns.
Piper allows our lips only the slightest of touches before she gets her shit together and balks, fisting my hair and pulling away. “We’ve already proved that isn’t an option for tonight.”
I lick my dry, kiss-thirsty lips. “What are our options?”
“How about we go back to questions because I do have an important one,” she says, giving me the bitch brow.
Knowing I’m walking into a trap, I give her a nod to continue.
Instead of maintaining her attitude, though, she looks off past my shoulder as she speaks. “I thought, even though you were drunk, that we’d made some progress last time we were together. I even, foolishly I suppose, thought you’d come looking for me … at the very least.” Her eyes jump back to mine, and the hurt I see there is more than a tad bit disturbing. “I can see you’ve been doing whatever it is you do, but would it have hurt to send a text, a phone call, a message at the club, something?”
My heart slams against my ribcage because I felt the same fucking way. I wanted to call her. I just didn’t want my stalker tendencies out in the open, and now it’s caused her to doubt my fucking intentions. Intentions that have only gotten stronger with my time away. Words are goddamn powerful, and it’s time I use them while I’m sober.
I grip the back of her neck and pull her down so we’re brown to blue—fucking Antonio and his icy eyes. “I want you to listen. Just let me talk, okay?”
She nods, but it’s a barely-there action.
“I’m not a good man.” She starts to disagree with a head shake, but I tighten my hold. “No, listen. I do bad things. That won’t ever change, but though drunk, I remember every word we spoke, and it was exactly what you thought.” I flick a finger between the two of us. “This right here. This is something I want. I was serious about that, and I’ll treat you right while we’re together. I swear to it, but you need to recognize going in that it won’t be permanent. I’m not that kind of man.”
I hold her eyes and wait for her response with my heart lodged in my fucking throat. There’s still so much to be worked out that she isn’t aware of, starting with her dad, but this is the biggy—the deal breaker. She can’t think she’ll be the one to change me.
She rolls her eyes and leans back, breaking our intimate cocoon. “Please don’t give me the ‘I’m so awesome, don’t fall in love’ speech. I know what this is. Of the two of us, you’re the one most likely to take that tumble.”
Even though we’re joking, a faint sliver of somberness makes its way through me, but I tamp it down and give her a smirk. That smart-ass mouth never fails to amuse me. “I’ll try to keep myself in check.”
“Yeah. You do that,” she replies all cocky and shit.
Though we’re going into this eyes wide fucking open, I want her to know that she was on my mind. I lose the smirk and cup her jaw. “Calling you was the first thing that came to mind when I learned about this fucking trip, but I wasn’t sure you’d approve of my methods.”
