by S. M. Soto
“Get out. All of you.” He addresses the nude women on the stage, and they scramble, the sound of their platforms clanking as they run. We can distinctly hear the flurry backstage as they warn the others. All trying to get out of here in one piece.
“Got a lot of nerve comin’ in here while Sergei is out on business. You think you got the drop or what, Sabella?”
I can practically feel Creed’s taunting smirk from here. They’re not going to even know what hit them.
Creed slowly roams his gaze around the expanse of the club, and I do the same, taking stock of all the weapons trained on him. On us. If this doesn’t go our way, our chances of making it out alive are zilch.
“You heard from Sergei at all lately, Viktor?”
Viktor’s lips thin around his cig, and his eyes narrow. He darts his gaze from Creed to the duffel in Giovanni’s hands, seeming to put two and two together.
“Where is he?” he growls, tossing his cigarette onto the floor. His chest heaves with anger, the tension rolls off his body in waves. He doesn’t want to believe what he already knows.
Creed ignores his question, directing his next statement at all of them. “I’m going to give you all a chance to make a decision. You can either fall in line, or you can continue this need to be on top and rule, following in Grigori’s footsteps—if that’s the case, rest assured, you all will die a slow and painful death. Every one of you, including your families. There will be no more foolish plans of taking over. Of getting rid of the Sabella’s so you can run Chicago. It’s either I let you live, and you play by my rules, or I kill you. Simple.”
Everyone is silent as they process his words. Likely weighing the pros and cons of defying him. They’ve already tried it once, and it’s gotten them nowhere. Hell, half their members were killed that night at the warehouse. They know the stakes. And Creed knows it too.
To drive his point home, he motions to Giovanni who steps forward, tossing the duffle onto the floor at Creed’s feet. The bag thuds heavily onto the floor. Everyone looks down at it, trying to figure out what’s inside.
He bends, unzipping the bag, and the stench is rancid. Creed reaches inside and the first thing he pulls out is a severed head, his fingers wound tightly in the hair. He raises it for them to see and more than half of the men blanch at the sight of the severed head of Grigori’s son, Sergei. He takes a threatening step forward, and everyone else moves back a step, everyone except Viktor. He’s angry. His nostrils are flaring, and his chest is heaving as he tries to contain the rage. My gaze darts down to his hand, his fingers tightening along the handle of his gun.
Creed tosses the head at Viktor’s feet, inching closer. “We have an understanding?”
Viktor’s pale skin flushes red, boiling with anger. I see the moment he decides to shoot. His lips curl into a snarl, baring his crooked teeth, and he raises his Berretta. Only Creed is faster. Expecting the move from Viktor. Creed deftly slips out his Desert Eagle, firing off a single shot that blows straight through Viktor’s hand. The gun drops to the floor, his men scramble and Creed steps forward. With the bottom of his shoe, Creed kicks in Viktor’s leg, his kneecap snaps inward and he drops to the ground with a wail of pain. His arm is leaking blood from the bullet wound. Creed knocks him back with his foot, resting it on his chest as he looks down at him.
“You still have a chance here, Viktor. What’s it going to be?”
“Fuck. You,” he chokes out against the weight of Creed’s foot. “This isn’t over.”
Creed leans down, pressing the barrel of his Desert Eagle against the side of his head. “Yeah, Viktor, it is.”
A pop echoes through the strip joint, Viktor’s flesh and brains splattering across the tiled floors. Creed pushes to his feet and turns back toward us. He wipes the flesh and blood from his face and starts leaving. We all take that as our cue. He made his point, whoever doesn’t listen after that is a lost cause.
The Ghost was done playing games. Done keeping quiet. He really was becoming the King of Chicago. And what was even more terrifying? The fact that my sister would be there alongside him.
I WAKE TO THE SENSATION of a soft touch along my forehead. Groaning against the throbbing pain in my hip and my head, I force myself to shift on the bed and peel my eyes open. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my blurry gaze, and when I do, I smile. There, leaning down over me is Creed. Part of his face is hidden, the shadows in the room blocking him from my sight. It doesn’t matter though. I’ve traced the planes of his face a million times. I know where that sharp, angular jaw is, that’s dusted with just the right amount of scruff. My hands tingle with the urge to run my fingers over his plump lips, his bottom larger than the top, just begging to be smoothed over mine. His bright gray eyes stare down at me so intently, I feel the stirrings in my core.
“Hi.”
Unable to help myself, I reach out, caressing his cheek with my hand. Enjoying the stubble that grazes my palm. His skin is hot to the touch. His scent is emanating around the room, and I inhale a deep breath just to breathe him in. I haven’t seen him in a few days, and when I saw him out there today, I hated myself for what I allowed to happen because I was stupid. It’s a mistake I refuse to make again.
He smirks.
“Il mio amore.” He caresses my hand that’s on his cheek with his and trails his fingertips down my arm, the pads dancing along my flesh, causing goosebumps to pebble over my skin. A shudder runs through my body.
He doesn’t stop touching and I relish in the feel of his warm skin on mine. He smells delicious, like spice and something else that is inherently Creed. He looks cleaner too, like he’s showered after everything that has happened today. It reminds me that I’m still the only one who hasn’t showered. I fell asleep for a while, I don’t doubt that’s why no one bothered me about it.
Since being pregnant, I’ve noticed my sense of smell is heightened. Whereas most days I can’t handle certain smells, because they make me feel nauseous. When I’m with Creed, if possible, I love his smell even more during pregnancy than I did before. It’s so inherently him. It’s like being wrapped in the safety of his arms. It’s home and everything I love.
“I missed you so much,” I breathe, dying to feel his lips on mine. As if knowing what I need, he leans in and softly presses his mouth against mine. The softness and gentleness of it is so at odds with this hard, violent man, it makes my insides flutter. I try to pull him down toward me, but he pulls away. My brows crease and I frown.
“You showered without me.” I pout out my lower lip, and it makes Creed laugh.
He shakes his head back and forth as he looks down at me. “You needed to rest.”
“I feel pretty well rested now.” I try going for light humor, but as soon as the words leave my lips, the light expression on Creed’s face tightens. The barely there wrinkles around his eyes deepen and I know things are about to get serious.
“What you did today was stupid, Sophia.”
I heave a deep tired sigh. Hating that he’s right. I look down at the blankets pulled over my body, resting halfway over my baby bump. My eyes burn with unshed tears as I toy with a wayward string on the blanket. It’s the only string out of place in this perfect house. I can’t even bring myself to look up at him, because he’s right. It was incredibly stupid. Anything could’ve happened to our baby. Hell, Matteo was shot because of me.
That’s not even counting all the other men who died today, on both sides. Sure, the men Finlay had there working for him were sent to do bad things, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t someone’s son. Someone’s family. And now they’re gone.
“I know,” I choke out, my chin quivering with emotion. “I just…I-I—” a sob tumbles past my lips and I feel the bed dip beneath Creed’s weight as he perches next to me, blowing out a gruff breath.
“Come here,” he says with a softness in his tone that’s reserved solely for me. Creed pulls me into his arms, and I press my face into his chest, letting the tears flow.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I just wanted to get fresh air. And I know it was stupid. God, it was so stupid. I got so many people killed. I got your father shot, I just…”
Creed tightens his arms around me, and I breathe in his scent, trying to hone his strength as my own to calm myself down. The snugness of his arms, my head resting against his firm chest, all of it has me getting lost in him.
He presses his lips to my ear. “I get it, Sophia. I get wanting to have freedom after everything that has happened. I get that being cooped up reminds you of memories you’d much rather forget, but I’m doing everything I can to keep you guys safe. I can’t lose you or him. I can’t.” He rests his hand along my stomach and warmth surges through my veins at how much love he has for our son already.
How could I be so stupid and risk losing this? Risk messing this up?
I clutch onto Creed and burrow into his hold. He slips into bed beside me and cradles my body into his, never once taking his hand off my swollen belly. It’s a protective hold but also one filled with love. I feel it.
It’s possessive.
As if on cue, a laugh tumbles past my lips when I feel the sharp kick of movement in my stomach. Creed feels it too because he exhales a sharp breath. It would never cease to amaze me, seeing what our baby does to him. The first time he felt our son kick was a moment similar to this. Us laying together in bed before falling asleep. Creed kept rubbing in circles, telling me about his mother.
“She hated the finer things. I remember that. That was just something that came in the package with my father, with the entire famiglia. I think it reminded her of her family and what they were willing to do to have money. To secure their place in the Chicago famiglia. I don’t think she ever truly forgave her father for signing her life away to another man—another family—like she was property.
“Sometimes before bed, she’d come into my room and lay with me, just like this. She’d tell me stories about her childhood. She’d skim over the darker details and I think even then, I knew she didn’t have a great childhood. I know in a way, she always wanted to give me the life she never had. It was just hard to do when you’re married to a man like Matteo. Sometimes, she’d just come in to hold me and when she thought I was asleep, she’d pray. She’d pray over me in Italian, begging God to have mercy on all of our souls. To keep me safe in this life. To protect her husband. When she was alive, she was always very religious. Sunday mass every weekend. Confession every Saturday, because she knew there was always something for her to confess, whether it be for her sake or Matteo’s. After she died, we kept up with it, made a tradition out of it with the famiglia. Father John at St. Mary’s knew all of us by name. He wasn’t dumb, he knew exactly why we were there and what we all did for a living, but he still welcomed us in with open arms. After my mother died, I remember he used to tell me God always has a bigger plan. There’s a grand scheme that always seems to get lost in translation while we’re grieving. Didn’t understand what the fuck that meant.”
I laugh. Picturing the confusion on a young Creed’s face. “What he said…did it ever start to make sense?”
“No. It didn’t. Haven’t thought much about Father John in years. Since the last time I stepped foot in St. Mary’s, in fact.”
I rest my palm along his face, drawing his eyes up, away from my swollen belly up to me. I caress his cheek, and he does the same to my stomach. “I’m so sorry, Creed. I wish I could’ve met her. I wish she could be here for this,” I say, nodding down to our baby boy. “But you gotta know she’s with you every day. Maybe there isn’t some grand, elaborate reason for God’s plan, or maybe there is. Whatever the truth of divinity is, your mother is always with you.”
“I know,” he says, staring at me so intently, I feel his gaze searing through my chest, breathing fire into my soul. The intimacy of it has me leaning into him and pressing my lips against his. One of his hands slides around my neck and he deepens the kiss, his lips firm yet smooth in their intent. Suddenly, I feel a sharp kick in my stomach then another. Creed must feel it too because he jerks back, his eyes widening on his other hand still encased around my belly. A goofy smile spreads across my face as I watch his reaction. I’ve noticed a fluttering in my stomach and I each time I feel it, it only gets stronger and stronger and this? These are full on kicks.
“Is that…?”
“The baby?” I finish for him with a blinding smile. “Yeah.”
Creed leans down rubbing his hands along my stomach. He bends down, lifting the loose satin shirt and presses his lips against my skin.
It’s one of those moments I commit to memory, wanting to remember every last second. Down to what was said, what we wore, the look in his eyes. Every second of it, I want to keep forever.
Looking down at my belly, a grin tugs at the corners of Creed’s mouth and he starts rubbing in soothing circles. Our little guy starts going stir crazy, kicking up a storm. Creed chuckles and leans down.
“I think he agrees with his dad.”
A megawatt grin spreads across my face. I rest my hand along his cheek and smile at Creed as he gently leans his face against my belly. So much warmth and happiness fill my chest, I can hardly contain it.
“I’m sorry, Creed,” I whisper, staring down at him having a moment. Emotion builds in my chest, clawing at my throat. If everything had gone differently today, we wouldn’t be here right now. “I can’t imagine losing this. Whatever it takes, to stay safe, to keep him safe, I’ll do it.”
Picking his head up off my stomach, Creed stares down at me and kisses me. “I know you will, amore.”
While Creed gazes at me with all that affection, I let my tears fall because how could I have been so stupid and risked this?
My fears for our future grip my lungs in a vise, making it hard to breathe.
“He’s not even born yet and I’m already failing him as a mother, Creed.” My chin quivers and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, trying to hold myself together.
His features soften, and he straightens, cupping my face in his palms. He wipes away my stray tears with the pads of his thumbs trying to soothe me.
“Stop it.”
“It’s true.” Another tear glides down my cheek. “What if I’m not going to be a good mother? What if this is a sign of how out of my element I am here?”
“You’re going to make a great mother. Want to know how I know that?”
I nod my head, more tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Because you’re the most incredible, selfless, pure-hearted person I’ve ever met. Your capacity for love and seeing good in others rivals anything I’ve ever seen in my life. This little guy,” he says, dropping one of his hands and rubbing my belly. “He is going to be the luckiest kid in the world. Not only is he going to have the best mother in the world, but he’s going to have a mother who loves him with every fiber of her being. He’s going to have a mother who’s beautiful, inside and out. A mother who sees the good in the world and will protect him from all the bad she’s encountered. From all the evil she knows exists.”
I don’t even bother trying to stop the tears. Not now. “How can you have so much faith in me, especially after what happened?”
He smiles sadly. “Reasons like today are exactly why I have all this faith in you. We’re human, Angel, we make mistakes. From now on, we’ll do whatever we can to keep him and ourselves safe, no matter what.”
Clasping my hand over his that’s resting on my cheek, I caress his skin.
“Thank you,” I whisper. Truly meaning it. Not just for believing in me, but for giving me a gift not many couples get to have, not many women get to experience. He’s given me the entire world and our son isn’t even here yet.
“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, sliding his hands beneath me and lifting me into his arms. Creed carries me into the bathroom like I weigh that of a feather. I should be embarrassed, worried about how heavy I am for him, but I don’t care. I love this. And I thi
nk he loves doing this too.
Gently, he sets me on the toilet and moves around the en suite bathroom seamlessly. He turns on the taps in the bath, digs in the cabinets beneath the marble sink and vanity. With a kit in his hands, he helps me undress and takes my hand, lowering me into the bath. I breathe out a sigh of pleasure once my skin comes in contact with the warm water. My hip is still aching, and my head still feels like it’s swimming, but everything else feels good.
I glance up at Creed as he perches on the edge, a first aid kit nestled in his lap as he looks down, watching me. His gaze is hot, lingering on the swell of my breasts beneath the water, raking all the way down to my legs then back up to my face. His gaze sears into me, branding me as his. Like there was ever any question.
“You can come in, you know,” I offer. The need to feel his skin against mine is all consuming. His bare chest, the rivulets of his abs. I want him. Need him. With a knowing glint in his eyes, Creed’s mouth tugs into a crooked grin and he shakes his head.
“You’re hurt, and I can’t guarantee I can be gentle with you right now.”
My core spasm at the naughty threat in his voice.
“I can handle it.” My voice is husky, and by the tic in his jaw, I know he hears it. Creed leans forward into my personal space and my lids grow heavy with lust. My lips part on instinct like he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he reaches out, caressing my face with such a soft and gentle touch, it completely belies his next words.
“I assure you, you can’t.”
I drop my head back and groan, the stirrings of desire running rampant through my body and core.
“That’s not very nice, Mr. Sabella.”
He grins now, it’s devious, and hell if it doesn’t make me want to jump his bones.
“And I’m not a very nice man.”
Sliding my wet hand up his arm, over the protruding veins, tattoos, and old scars, I glance up at him through my lashes and smile. “To me you are.”
