by RuNyx .
No, this wasn't supposed to happen. Not again. Never again.
Swallowing down her confused emotions, she spoke quietly. "Let me go."
His nose nuzzled against her head, inhaling deeply. "I told you we have unfinished business."
"I don't care," she grit out, her teeth clenched against all the sensations overwhelming her inside and out.
There was a second of silence before he spoke.
"We've never lied to each other, Ms. Vitalio. Let's not start now," he murmured in that deep voice of his, the whiskey and sin rolling over her skin like a lover's caress, making her want to roll back her eyes and lean against him.
Her jaw clenched.
She turned her head again and bit him on that bicep. Again.
Before she could do more, he turned her around and pulled her flush against his body. Her heaving breasts pressed against his chest, his erection nudged against her belly, arms around her almost in the intimate hold of a lover rather than a foe. His magnificent blue eyes bore into hers with an intensity that both startled and somehow reassured her.
He didn't say another word, not for a long time, just looked at her with that singular focus, his jaw tight, his skin warm against hers, his breath fanning over her face. His lips hovered just an inch from hers, that musky scent of his surrounding them in a deadly cocoon.
He slowly brought up his right hand and gripped her jaw in his palm, his fingers and thumb on her cheeks, not painfully but firmly. Tilting her head all the way back as her heart pounded in her chest, the two conflicted sides of her fighting inside herself about the small space between their mouths. Her hands trembled beside her as she clenched them into fists to control the shaking of her body.
"Mind that mouth of yours, wildcat," he spoke softly, lethally, erotically in the space between their lips, the movement almost making them touch. Almost. His voice dropped lower, his eyes glued to hers. "It makes me want to reciprocate. And you don't want my mouth anywhere near you, remember?"
Morana felt her heart thud, her chest rise and fall rapidly. "It wasn't a damn kiss. I bit you."
One side of his lips quirked up even as his eyes heated. "Doesn't matter. I get my mouth on you, and you'll never be the same."
He leaned closer, impossibly closer, his lips right there, right there, but still far away, his hand on her face keeping her from moving both forward and back.
"Choose wisely, Ms. Vitalio."
Before Morana could blink, he smoothly took a step back and let go of her face, inclining his head towards the open elevator, waiting for her to move without saying another word.
In that moment, when he stepped back and gave her the space to choose, between so, so many things, Morana realized that no matter how much she wanted to escape, she could not. She was so entwined into the mess she had created, she wouldn't have been able to go away for long without her conscience poking her. She was so curious, so lured by whatever this bizarre thing between them was, this thing that made her feel safe for the first time in her life even as he promised to kill her, that she could not leave.
She couldn't run.
He wouldn't let her.
Morana gulped and took the step, slowly walking towards the elevator, aware of his vigilant presence behind her, telling her silently that he wouldn't let her go. Not yet. And for some asinine reason, it thrilled her. She wondered if she'd sent him the message subconsciously because she'd been aware of this. Had she?
She didn't know.
That was exactly why Tristan Caine scared her so much. Not because he was killing her – the ‘her’ she had known her entire life.
She admitted the truth to herself as she stepped into the elevator that would take her up again beside him.
Tristan Caine terrified her, but it wasn't because of the death he was bringing her slowly, the death he would bring her one day, the death he raised in her.
No.
It was the life.
‘The more you know, the less you do.’
Morana remembered reading that quote somewhere a long time ago. The words had stuck to her brain, but she’d never truly understood it. Being a certified genius, she'd always believed knowledge was the ultimate power. It was her thirst for knowledge which had made her bold enough to step out of her defined norms, time and again. It was this very belief that had led her into putting in everything she had and making those codes she'd come to dread so much.
Knowledge was power, but in the wrong hands, it was a weapon.
The Alliance had ended twenty years ago. Twenty-two, to be precise.
Two days after her laughable escape attempt, two days of living inside the guest room like an actual guest and not someone despised, the seething mess of Morana's emotions were finally calm.
For the first time in a long, long time, Morana felt in control. She felt she was seeing things clearly and logically again, not letting her emotions run roughshod over her in raging waves. Whether that was because she'd come to face and accept some facts about herself or because Tristan Caine had been largely absent from his own house doing god-knew-what for the two days, Morana just knew her cool, composed head was back and she was grateful. She didn't like feeling off-kilter, uncontrolled by her own body.
And though his absence and lack of pursuit did confuse her to some extent, she'd learned not to put too much thought into what he did or didn't do. The fact was, she was the daughter of Gabriel Vitalio who'd never returned to her prison of a home after leaving. She was taking refuge in the enemy's camp instead. The fact was, that the said enemy had punched her father in full view of his people in his territory and refused to return back to his own when summoned. The fact was, knowing her father, she was getting antsy because he hadn't reacted to any of it.
That wasn't like him. Her father made statements; he retaliated in a way that set examples. To let Tristan Caine get away with something like this wasn't in his DNA. That was why Morana was a little worried, this silence from her father more unnerving than anything else, like the calm before the storm. And in their world, a storm could mean anything from a dead body to a street war. It wasn’t a soothing thought.
As for Lorenzo Maroni, she didn't know how he would react. From what she'd heard of the man, his hands were even dirtier than her father, and Dante had seemed worried about his reaction. But then again, what did she know? Maybe refusing his summons was a normal thing in the Caine-Maroni relationship. If Tristan Caine wasn't worried about it, which she didn't really know if he was, she wouldn't give it much thought either.
Her objective thoughts were focused on two very important things - finding the codes, and end of the Alliance.
Now that she was level-headed and mostly alone in the huge penthouse with the gorgeous view, Morana had a plan. She and the Outfit brothers had been focusing on trying to find the codes and then subsequently destroying them, but from their success so far, it didn't seem very plausible in the near future.
So, she changed the plans and decided she was going to write a new set of codes, and create a software that would completely undo the effects of the original codes the moment they were initialized. Although she wasn't really clear on how she was going to go about it, she knew she had both the capability and the incentive. And since Tristan Caine had been a ghost in his own house, Morana called Dante after waking up to discuss this with him.
As she sat curled on the plush couch in the living room in more clothes that Amara brought for her yesterday, she watched the sunlight dance with the tall peaks of the buildings. It filtered in through the windows and warmed her, warming the entire apartment with its soft glow, Morana let her mind drift to the other thing she needed knowledge about.
The Alliance. Or rather, it’s demise.
The Alliance had been in place for so long, peaceful and beneficial to both the families involved, so why exactly had it ended? What had happened twenty-two years ago that had led to the end of one of the most lucrative associations in mob history? There hadn't been any wars. Morana had r
esearched for those and the last known war between the two families had been more than fifty years ago. It was the end of that war that had created the Alliance. For almost three decades, it had worked well.
So what had happened?
More importantly, what did that have to do with Tristan Caine hating her? How did everyone else know about it? She hadn't even known much about the Alliance, which was surprising considering she'd grown up listening to everything her father and his men had talked about. She’d known of the Outfit and its people through word of mouth. She’d known of the many players around their area through those conversations. So why had she never known of the Alliance? Had they purposely never mentioned it in front of her? Or was she imagining things? Why would her father hide from her the very thing that made his enemy despise her?
Morana picked up her phone and logged into her personalized search engine, continuing reading her old research on the topic quickly. She prayed for some good leads as she combed through the content.
The sound of the elevator opening jolted her from her search, making her hastily lock her phone. She looked up to see Dante’s huge form walk smoothly out the doors, his body in one of those pristine dark suits she’d come to associate with him. Morana tilted her head, considering the man, realizing she’d judged him a little too quickly in the beginning, her own prejudices covering the reality.
Just like Tristan Caine and her, Dante wore a mask on the outside. Being in his company for a few days, seeing the way he had reacted to her bruised body that night, what he’d done despite his misgivings, Morana had warmed to him. Though he was still the enemy, he had been good to her so far. And that was more than she could say for her own father.
Shaking off her thoughts, Morana waved at him and he strode forward to take the chair opposite her, his polite smile in place even though his dark eyes were less guarded than usual. Guess he’d warmed to her too.
“So, what is it you wished to discuss with me, Morana?” he asked in that same cordial tone he’d always used with her.
Morana played with her phone as she asked, already knowing the answer. “Do we have any leads about the codes?”
Dante shook his head. “No. There’s been a situation in Tenebrae, and everyone’s been busy handling that.”
Morana frowned. “That situation with the fake dealers who were pretending to be Outfit?”
“Yes.”
Morana pondered on that for a long moment, the wheels in her head turning rapidly. “Do you think it could be connected?”
Dante’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What could be connected?”
Morana sighed impatiently, leaning forward on her elbows, her mind racing as the dots started to make an odd kind of sense.
“All of this! Don’t you think it’s weird? The timing of it all? Someone pretends to be Mr. Caine and steals the codes from me, taking the extra efforts to frame him should the codes be used. Also, enough to get my attention, which had I not been me would’ve meant the attention of my family. And then someone pretends to be the Outfit where you guys used to do business and takes the profits while framing you for the losses. Really, what are the odds?”
How could she not have seen this before? There was a clear pattern. There was one person or one group doing all of this, one mastermind. But who were they trying to frame - Tristan Caine or the Outfit? Was it personal or was it bigger than that? And how did she figure into all of it?
Dante sat in stunned silence for a whole minute, absorbing what she’d said, the implications of what she’d said going through his head at breakneck speed. She could feel it even though his face refused to betray a thought. He and his blood brother were certainly alike in that regard.
“Could it be your father?” Dante finally broke the silence, asking the most obvious question.
Morana shook her head. “No. Had it been him, he’d have just ordered me to give him the codes and never let the whole Jackson-is-my-boyfriend-thing happen. That would hinder his greater agenda of getting me married to some asshole who wants a pristine, virginal mob bride.”
Dante’s mouth flattened in a hard line, his eyes dimming slightly. “That’s how this world works, Morana. I wish it didn’t. I’d give anything for it not to, but that’s how it is. You are truly lucky you could escape. Not everyone is.”
Morana looked at him, her heart softening as she remembered what Amara had told her in similar words.
Taking a deep breath before she could respond, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly done with whatever emotion he’d expressed. “Okay, so we have to consider the possibility, which is large, that these are all connected events and not isolated like we had been treating them to be. Thank you for that. Anything else?”
Morana shook off her own gloomy thoughts and inhaled. “Yes. I’m going to write a failsafe software that will prevent any consequences of the original codes since we can’t get it and destroy it. So this software will undo anything that one does once I initialize it.”
Dante raised his eyebrows. “Will it work?”
“In theory, it already does. Writing it is going to be a bit of a job though.”
He nodded. “Great. If that works, we’ll all sleep much better.”
Morana bit her lip, her hands wanting to wring each other for this next part. “But, to write this, I’m going to need my own stuff. My laptop and hard drives, mainly. Which, by the way, is still in my office. In my suite. In my house. Which I left a few nights ago.”
Dante nodded, standing up. “It’ll be handled. Do you need anything else?”
Morana shook her head. “Thank you. I’m good.”
“Good. Call me if you think of anything else.”
With another polite nod to her, he strode out towards the elevators just as the doors opened, and Tristan Caine, in a suit without the tie, walked out, coming to an abrupt stop upon seeing Dante.
So, the ice between them had not cooled since the disastrous lunch. Good to know.
His eyes never moved in her direction from the other man, and Morana forced herself not to move, not to attract his attention, not to allow him to influence her emotions. She liked her level-headed self a lot, thanks very much. And this man made her want to scream like a banshee on crack, which although wasn’t the most enticing imagery, was very appropriate.
It also helped to know that first – he had avoided her for two days – and second – that he usually never addressed her as long as there were other human beings in the room. She didn’t know his policy on cats or puppies so far. So, she was safe from her banshee self for a little while longer, and if all worked the way it had been, he’d be gone and she’d be rational.
“We need to talk, Tristan.”
Not the most inviting of statements. But at least Dante’s even voice cut through the tension between the two men enough to make her look up at them – two tall, broad, handsome men who were as lethal as men could be.
“Yes, we do,” Tristan Caine replied, the warning in his tone clear for her to hear, warning for Dante not to open his mouth with her ears glued to them. As if. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her phone, aware of both men leaving the apartment and getting into the elevator. The doors closed with a soft ‘ding’, and Morana felt the tension she hadn’t been aware of seeping in leave her body on a loud exhale.
So, new codes out of the way till she got her stuff, Morana unlocked her phone and got back to researching the mysterious break of the twenty-two years ago Alliance.
Morana woke up abruptly, disoriented, her neck in an odd position on the back of the couch, her legs numb and curled under her, her hair sprawled all over the place as her hands held her phone, lost somewhere on her lap. She straightened her neck, a dull ache throbbing where she‘d given herself a crick, her eyes going to the gorgeous windows, to see dusk settle across the city in a fiery embrace, losing itself to the dark velvet of the coming night. The twinkling lights of the city and the cool waves of the sea on the opposite side were a cool contrast to her
senses.
This was a view she’d been seeing for the past few nights without fail, these windows becoming a part of her since that rainy night in a way her car was. And yet, she didn’t think she’d ever tire of watching this same thing over and over and over again. It wasn’t just the beauty of it all. It was more than that. It was the memory of what had accompanied this beauty, the memory of a sad, lonely night that hadn’t been so lonely anymore.
Would she have felt the same way about these windows had that memory not been there? Or would they have been like the windows of her own house? Just windows. Yet, every time she looked their way, every time she saw the city, saw the sea, saw the stars and the limitless sky, her breath caught in her throat.
Just as it was at the moment.
She suddenly became aware of her surroundings as sleep drifted further and further away from her mind.
The lights were still off, only the glow from the outside world penetrating inside, seducing the shadows inside, the sound of her own breath lingering around her in the stillness.
But she knew she wasn’t alone.
He was there. Somewhere in the dark. Watching her.
She didn’t know where he was, didn’t turn her head to feel him in those seduced shadows, didn’t do anything but sit still, letting him watch, letting herself thrill in being watched. It was twisted. It was wrong in so many ways. It had never felt so right.
And this, right here, was exactly what she didn’t understand about herself, about them. This need to give and seek attention from each other while loathing it. This thrill that shot through her even as she knew it shouldn’t. This heightened awareness inside every pore of her body as soon as he came into the vicinity.
Had it been like this since that first night in Tenebrae? Or had it happened later? Where had she lost her body, her senses to his? At what point had being watched by someone in the dark from behind become not something threatening but thrilling? And only by him, because Morana knew, was it someone else, she’d be running for the knife.
