by A. Zavarelli
He watches me as I walk into his bathroom. I don’t know how to distract him from the fact that I know he has a massive stash of first aid supplies in here. I rifled through them earlier, wondering why he needed so many. Now I know.
I grab everything I think I might use and carry it back to the side table. Then I head for his dresser, where I saw a decanter and a glass. I don’t know what’s in it, but hopefully, it’s strong.
He watches me as I bring it to him, opening the decanter and pouring him a large glass. Suspicion lingers in his eyes as if he knows my intentions somehow, so I do the only thing I can to reassure him. I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip first before handing it over to him.
He takes it reluctantly, and I kneel in front of him, undoing the top button of his shirt. His free hand stills mine, and when I look up, our faces are so close his breath is warm against my lips.
“You should go back to your room.”
I narrow my eyes and shake my head. We’re locked in a war of wills, and there’s still a part of me that thinks he’ll insist, but his hand slowly falls away from mine. He tosses back his drink, his throat working in a way I never knew could be so … erotic.
I force myself to focus on the task at hand, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and helping him out of it. I saw his chest before in the pool area and the sauna, but it feels more intimate up close. My eyes are drawn to the round scars scattered across the broad expanse of muscle and bone. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until my fingers are touching the raised flesh, examining them with equal parts curiosity and sadness.
Again, he stills my hand, his eyes boring into mine, like he’s trying to say those are off-limits. I nod at him apologetically, moving on to take stock of his other wounds. He has more bruising on his side, as well as some minor cuts and scrapes. The biggest thing is the gash on his bicep, where it looks like he was stabbed with something.
I’m oddly relieved to find that most of the blood on him isn’t his. I’m also slightly terrified. This is the confirmation I needed that Alessio is, in fact, a killer. It’s in his nature. I can tell by his demeanor this isn’t the first time he’s come home bloodied and bruised, and it won’t be the last. Today, it’s someone else’s blood, but tomorrow, it could be mine.
I peek up at him and make a gesture of a writing instrument. He grimaces as he pulls out the drawer of the bedside table and hands a notepad and pen to me. I make a point to ask him what any sane person would in my situation.
What happened?
He’s quiet when I set down the notepad and retrieve an alcohol wipe. I tear it open and start to clean his arm first, wiping away the blood. I have to repeat the process, discarding the used wipes into a pile on the table. He watches me, and I don’t know if he’s going to answer me, but finally, he does.
“What do you think happened, Natalia?”
I pause to look at him. There’s an emotion I can’t quite identify on his face. This feels like a test, and I know playing stupid won’t do me any favors. I can’t unsee this, and he wants to know what I plan to do about it.
I discard the wipe in my hand and retrieve the notepad again. I think you killed someone, and it isn’t the first time. I think maybe it’s your job for the mafia.
He reads my response, his face unmoving. “Does that scare you?”
There’s a softness to his voice I didn’t expect. Almost as if he doesn’t want me to say yes. I don’t think he wants me to be scared of him, but how could I not be?
Who are the people you kill? I write. Are they bad? Or do you even know them? Are they women? Children?
He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “So many questions.”
The room falls silent, and I know he’s considering what I said. It feels too intense to look at him right now, so I give him space to think as I continue cleaning his arm.
“You shouldn’t have been in here,” he says quietly. “Now, I’ll never be able to let you go.”
I stop and reach for the pen and paper, hesitating before I write my answer. Maybe I don’t want you to.
For a moment, everything else falls away. I don’t know if it’s an honest confession, but right now, it feels like one. Alessio’s gaze burns into mine, the fire warming me from a place nobody has ever touched before. I think I want to taste him for real, and that scares me. The longer we stare at each other this way, the more doubt I have.
I tear my eyes away from him to focus on the paper. You’re going to need stitches.
Alessio surprises me by reaching out, his fingers grazing my chin before he tips it up, so I’m looking at him again. “The men who meet with me deserve what they get, but to answer your question, no. Never women and children.”
I release a shaky breath and nod. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I believe him. Still, I know it doesn’t change a thing. Just because he hasn’t yet doesn’t mean he won’t. He warned me. He’s still warning me. Everything about his energy right now is screaming that he’s a threat. I just can’t decide if it’s to my life or my heart.
He releases me gradually like he doesn’t want to, and I resume my cleaning. Once I have his arm washed, I refill his glass and hand it to him before reaching for the suture kit. Alessio swallows his drink and sets it aside while I prepare by re-sanitizing my hands and opening each sterilized pack carefully. His gaze never wavers from me, even as I apply the tissue forceps and drive the needle through his skin.
“It’s not the mafia.”
I glance up at him in question.
“You said the mafia,” he explains. “It’s not. The mafia is child’s play, Natalia. You should know that before you get any ideas in your head about betraying my trust.”
I shake my head to say I wouldn’t.
“We make our own rules. We have our own government. We’re everywhere. Politicians, law enforcement, federal bureaus. There’s no escaping us.”
I let that sink in, but I didn’t need him to tell me that. I learned it the hard way already.
“I can keep you safe,” he continues. “As long as you don’t cross me.”
I finish suturing the wound and set the tools aside before I write my response.
I understand.
He’s looking at me like I don’t, like I’m too calm. Am I too at ease with this entire situation? I suppose that’s something I didn’t consider. The old me would have panicked. She would have cried and felt helpless, but I’m not her anymore. That girl died a long time ago.
I grab another alcohol wipe and lean up to clean his neck. As I do, the warmth of his body penetrates mine. Somehow, even covered in blood, he still smells good. When I finish with his neck, I start to dab at the cut on his forehead, but he reaches up to stop me.
Our eyes clash, and my pulse quickens when I notice him staring at my lace-covered breasts.
“You never told me why you were in here,” he murmurs.
I don’t have a good answer for that. He’ll know I’m lying if I try to make an excuse now. The only thing to do is go for it. This was my plan all along, but it feels different now. It feels less like I’m manipulating him and more like it’s happening naturally.
My gaze flicks to his lips, and I lean forward between his parted legs, feeling the length of his erection stabbing against my body. He sucks in a sharp breath, and his grip on my hand loosens as I slowly crawl up onto his lap, hitching up my nightgown so I can straddle him.
He’s staring at me like he doesn’t know whether to toss me off or kiss me. I choose for him, grabbing his face between my palms and bringing my lips to his. His initial reaction is to freeze, which isn’t what I’d expect, but I kiss him anyway because I’ve already come this far. A soft groan rumbles from his throat when I force his head back, sliding my fingers through his hair.
The tension in his body begins to dissipate as his lips move against mine. It’s cautious at first, perhaps uncertain, but after just a few moments, his appetite is unleashed. He deepens the kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth with a growl as his hands star
t to grope my body. It starts at my breasts, pawing and squeezing before he dips his palm beneath the material to graze my nipple. I startle at the jolt of electricity it produces, leaning into his touch to beg for more. He rewards me with another animalistic sound, using his other hand to grab my hip and roll my pelvis against his cock. It’s hot and huge beneath me, and the nerves I thought I might feel are absent. In their place is a need I’ve never felt before. A need for connection. A need for him inside of me.
Alessio picks me up and carries me to the bed with little effort, his lips breaking away from mine as he lays me down on his pillow. For a second, he stares down at me, a vein pulsing in his neck, eyes dark and hot. I think maybe he’s reconsidering, but then he slides his palms up my thighs, spreading me apart for him to see.
I’m vulnerable like this, and my first instinct is to close my legs, but I don’t. When I notice the expression on his face … the undeniable thirst, I know I’ve got him exactly where I want him. He reaches down and touches me like he can’t stop himself. He feels the ungodly amount of wetness there, and his eyes snap to mine, and all bets are off.
“Fucking Christ,” he mutters on a ragged breath.
His fingers slide through my arousal, and I arch into him, squirming against the bed as he slips one inside of me. For a few long moments, he just watches my reaction to him, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible to hide, and I couldn’t pretend to respond any differently right now even if I wanted to. My chest heaves with every breath, drawing his eyes to the hard nipples scraping against the chemise. I’m aching, desperate for more when he leans over me and drags down the silk covering my breast, exposing me to him. For a full minute, he just stares at me, his eyes moving over the sensitive, swollen flesh like he’s memorizing the way I look in this moment. I can tell he’s at war with himself in his mind, even as his finger moves inside of me. He wants more, but something is holding him back.
I look up at him pleadingly, arching my body in offer. His eyes lock with mine, and then flare as a flame stirs inside of him. Slowly, he surrenders, dipping his head toward my breast. The scruff on his jaw scrapes against the tender flesh as he rubs against me, bringing every nerve in my body to attention. But when his mouth latches onto my nipple, it feels like liquid heroin in my veins.
Oh, God. I did not expect it to be … so intense.
I curl my hands into his hair, breathing him in as he rocks his pelvis against me. He stuffs another finger inside of me, fucking me while the length of his erection jars against my clit. I don’t have to look down to know I’m soaking his pants, and I don’t know why he’s not taking them off, but I’m too dazed to give it much thought. His teeth graze my nipple, and I hiss as pleasure rolls through me, blindsiding me with its power.
I want to call out his name. I want to beg him for more, but it’s all coming too fast. He’s rocking against me, branding my flesh with his lips and his teeth. I’m greedy for every touch. Every kiss. Every shudder. The more I respond, the harder he thrusts. His neck muscles strain as he bites back the sounds of his rough approval and I just want to freeze this moment. I want to memorize that drunken bliss on his face as he abandons himself to me.
Inevitably, I’m lost to his control far too soon. Blinding light flashes behind my eyes as my body begins to convulse, the orgasm tearing through me violently. His grip on me tightens, his breath skittering across my nipple as my liberation tips him over the edge. He growls, a low painful sound as his body jerks against mine.
I’m breathless, shaking, and dumbfounded when I glance down and see he never even unbuckled his belt, and then it occurs to me. This was my opportunity. It was right there. All I had to do was reach beneath the pillow, take that knife, and plunge it into his neck.
One glance at his face when he drags himself up, hovering over me with as much uncertainty and torment as I feel, I know that I can’t. I can’t fucking do it because I don’t want to.
“Knock, knock.” The bedroom door swings open unexpectedly, startling both of us.
I swing my gaze past Alessio, who’s still between my thighs, to see a woman I don’t recognize standing there. She surveys us, her face souring as I yank at my nightgown, trying to cover myself up.
“Alessio.” She narrows her gaze. “What the hell is going on?”
12
Natalia
“Christ,” Alessio mutters under his breath, dragging his gaze back to mine.
I can’t discern the meaning behind the look on his face. He’s on edge, like he was caught doing something wrong. A surge of irrational jealousy takes hold of me as I glance behind him at the woman who’s currently staring daggers at me. I don’t want to believe she could have any kind of intimate relationship with him, given that she’s at least twenty years older, but nothing is out of the realm of possibility, is it? Why else would she come up here as if she has the right to do so?
“You should go get dressed,” Alessio tells me in a low voice. “Wake Nino up and bring him downstairs.”
I don’t understand what’s happening, but there isn’t time to think about it. I lose the protective shield of his body as he pulls away from me and turns to face the woman. Something seems to pass between them, but I’m not a mind reader, so I don’t have any idea what it is.
A sick, panicky feeling washes over me when I realize they’re both waiting for me to leave, and my knife is still hidden beneath the middle pillow.
Oh, God. This is so bad.
I linger for another moment, trying to figure out what to do, but they’re both staring at me, and there’s no way I can grab it without being noticed. This plan of mine has turned out to be a colossal fuckup. I don’t know when Angelina comes to make Alessio’s bed, but I assume she does. Then, I have no doubt the truth will be discovered. I could be dead before lunchtime. To make matters worse, I think I’m way too reactive to the fact that Alessio is asking me to leave him here with this woman. I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m not entitled to anything from him. But ten minutes ago, his fingers were inside me. His lips were on me. The sounds of pleasure that tore from his throat were mine, and now it’s like none of it even mattered.
There is no graceful way to do the walk of shame past her. I’m in a skimpy nightgown that shows much more than I’d care to admit. She takes note of me as I pass by, her eyes moving over me in sharp disapproval. I maintain a neutral expression, but it isn’t without difficulty.
She is, admittedly, a beautiful woman. She’s tall, shapely, and well dressed. Her blonde hair is styled in a way that highlights her angular cheekbones. Even though I’m sure she’s at least twenty years older than Alessio, I could see how she might appeal to him. In comparison, I feel plain, but I hold my head high as I pass her by because I’m good at faking it.
Once I’m in the hall, however, it’s a different story. I take a deep breath and pause, glancing back over my shoulder. The door is still open, and I think a part of me is waiting to see if she shuts it. I’m desperate to hear what she has to say, but I’m still too close. Reluctantly, I inch toward the staircase as her voice rings out.
“Really, Alessio? Please don’t tell me that’s the nanny. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that old cliché.”
My throat squeezes as I wait for his response.
“It was a mistake,” he answers callously.
Those words are like a hot knife to my chest, and I find myself shrinking back against the wall, humiliated. It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t be this sensitive. If anything, I should feel the same way about what just happened between us.
“You have to get rid of her,” the woman says. “It’s the only way. You can’t let this go on while she’s supposed to be looking after Nino.”
There’s another pause, and I’m still holding my breath, waiting for him to defend me, but he doesn’t. This is the absolute worst-case scenario, and I’m not prepared with a backup plan if he wants to send me packing.
“I can have Marianna here this afternoon—�
��
“No,” he grunts.
I perk up, but I’m not sure whether I’m hopeful or relieved.
“I’m in charge of Nino’s care,” Alessio replies. “I won’t allow my poor decision to interfere with that. He cares for Natalia. It would only hurt him to remove her from his life abruptly.”
“Hurt him?” the woman scoffs, her voice laced with resentment. “He barely knows her.”
“He spends most of his time with her,” Alessio admits regretfully. “He prefers her company, and they have already bonded. Making her leave would be equal to punishing him without merit.”
“I’ll never understand you men,” she sighs. “You have your choice of the most beautiful women in the city at your disposal, women who would do anything you asked of them, yet you choose a shabby, disfigured simpleton out of convenience.”
“Gwen.” His tone is low and dark, a clear warning that softens the blow of her harsh words. “You will treat her with respect while you’re in this house. You may not agree with all my decisions, but you need to trust that I know what’s best for Nino.”
I’m trying to figure out who she is in Nino’s life when she sniffles. I don’t have to see her to know she’s putting on crocodile tears.
“Alessio, you know I only have the utmost respect for you. I’m just looking out for you, and I admit, sometimes I may come across as harsh, but you and I are the same. You are the only person in my life who knows what it’s like to lose everyone they’ve ever loved. To me, you’ll always be like a son.”
“I know,” he answers softly. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, Gwen. You are my family. Nothing will ever change that.”
I can hear her moving, and I wonder if she’s hugging him. But I’m still stuck on what she just said about him losing everyone he’s ever loved.
“It’s too late for me to find happiness,” she says. “But you still can. I truly believe if you’d just give Marianna a chance—”
“I’ll consider it.”
