"She needs cousins," Matteo joked, but his words echoed the thoughts I'd had in the kitchen.
"I'm working on it. As soon as Samara's ready, she'll have one." Matteo grinned, and I felt my lips tip up into an answering smile. After so many years of wanting Samara and knowing she was beyond my reach, that it wouldn't be safe to make her mine with my father's threats hanging over my head, it seemed completely unreal to know that she was finally so close to being mine.
Ryker cleared his throat. "I'm happy for you. You know that," the man said gruffly, scratching the back of his head as if he wasn't prepared for the celebrations. Still stuck waiting for Calla to grieve her loss, I knew the two of us getting our women had to be bittersweet. He'd given Calla a year, and he still had over four months left on that sentence to wait before he claimed her. "But I want to get down to what we're doing with Walsh." His eyes glittered, and all I felt in the face of his vengeance for Samara was grateful.
I knew Ryker, even if he was unofficially family. He was family. He wanted to make Walsh suffer nearly as badly as I did.
"He's mine," I snarled, the beast rising to the surface in the face of someone else taking that vengeance from me. I'd allowed Connor to marry Samara against my better judgement. Given him the most precious gift in this world, and he'd hurt her. He'd hurt her worse than I could have ever imagined him capable of.
"I can help," Ryker argued, crossing his arms over his chest. He was shorter than me, only slightly, but his body mass made my leaner definition seem pathetic. He and Enzo should have sparred more often, because the result was always terrifying.
"You can," I agreed. "I want you to find him for me. Samara needs me right now, and I don't like being away from her. God knows you're a stalker, so you should have no problem tracking him down. Campbell lost all trace of him; he has been asking around but isn't getting anywhere. I hope you have better luck."
I dropped down in my favorite seat in the office as Ryker stalked to the door. "I'll find him," he grunted. "Can't promise he won't be bloody when you get there, but I'll find the fuck."
"That's fine, just make sure he's still breathing. I think I'll have to get creative with my punishments for him," I sighed.
"We know anyone who's gay?" Ryker asked Matteo, and Matteo grinned at him cruelly.
"I have someone in mind."
"Then I say we give him a taste of his own medicine," Ryker said.
“I don’t give a shit how you do it, but when you find him you make sure he fucking suffers for what he did to my girl,” Don ordered, and the more harsh tone of his voice would have been unexpected under any other circumstances. But not when talking about the man who’d hurt Samara. The man on his own was peaceful, not a violent bone in his body, despite his attachment to us, but for Samara he’d have dismembered Connor himself.
I chuckled, because this office was the only place I could give in to such thoughts and not be judged for them. Worse yet, could act on them without consequences from any of the other guys. "How's Calla?" I asked.
The smile slipped off Ryker's face. "She's getting there," he said, and he slipped out the door.
"I can't decide if I feel bad for Calla and the kids, or if I'm happy she has someone to love her like that," I admitted.
Donatello laughed. "Have you ever met her?"
"No," I admitted. "You?"
"Yeah. Once, bumped into her ex at the store with her one time. Ryker's got his hands full with that one."
"Hellcat," Matteo grinned, confirming Don's words.
I only hoped she didn't wear off on Samara when the time came for them to meet.
Fifteen
Samara
Lino tossed the shrimp into the pan with the buttery scampi sauce. Just the smell of it made my mouth water, even if the chef hadn't been the sexiest man I'd ever seen. He had a shirt on, something that seemed a little like a travesty, but the sight of his grey sweats hanging off his ass and the snug black t-shirt fitted to his shoulders was almost as good.
Almost.
The black apron he donned was always the icing on the cake though, but I didn't dare comment. I'd learned a long time ago not to question the apron, something I didn't think he felt comfortable enough to wear in front of anyone else. Though, I'd never heard of him cooking dinner for anyone before. I'd heard tales of him cooking with Ivory, but given that happened at the Bellandi estate, I doubted he risked the hit to his reputation by wearing an apron.
I loved it.
As soon as he’d cooked the shrimp to perfection, he tossed the linguine into the pan and finished cooking it in the buttery sauce that I just hoped I didn't dribble all over my super fancy pajamas. I was pure class like that.
If I'd owned a shirt with a clever saying about life needing to have order in the chaos, I'd have a stain on it. That was just me.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, turning around finally and twirling some linguine and shrimp onto my plate. I didn't waste any time picking up my fork and shoving some into my mouth even though it scalded my tongue. The moan that slipped free would have been indecent if I'd been naked.
Hell even dressed it bordered on indecent. Lino raised a brow at me, as if to point out the obvious. "That's hot," he added, crossing his arms over his chest and rinsing the pan out. Then he took his seat at the island next to me, bumping my knee with his pointedly.
"I feel good. I think I could go back to work, maybe tomorrow?" I suggested.
Lino laughed, tentatively twirling his linguine like a gentleman. And here I was eating like the troll from under the bridge. "That's funny."
"Why is that funny?" I turned to him, wanting to stare him down when he pissed me off.
"I can see you’re feeling better," he chuckled, pointing a fork at my face. "The attitude has returned, but your neck is still bruised. How do you plan on explaining that?"
"I'll wear a turtleneck," I said with a shrug.
"No. You will return to work when the bruises are gone and not a day before."
My fork dropped to my plate with a clatter, my glare turning glacial. "And since when are you the boss of me?"
He dropped his own fork, turning a matching glare my way. "Since I got a call in the middle of the night that someone strangled you! That's when. You're playing under my rules now, vita mia. You lost your right to make decisions concerning your safety when you failed to call me the moment he hurt you, the first time."
I winced, whispering his name.
"No. I don't want to hear it, Samara. Do you have any idea what it feels like to know that you kept that from me? I thought we were honest with each other, but I find out you've been lying to me for years. Not telling me that your husband was hurting you?" He scoffed. "I'm trying to be understanding, but I can only take so much. For now, the only way I'll be able to function is if I know you're safe because I control your safety. I suggest you accept that."
I blanched, staring at him in horror. Lino had never pushed beyond my boundaries, he might push me right up to the line, but the moment I pushed back he would find a compromise. For him to push past that line meant I'd really, truly fucked up, and that the consequences hadn't just been mine to bear in the end.
My secrets had hurt him. I couldn't fix that, but I could give a little to help him cope in the aftermath.
"Okay," I whispered. He gazed at me with wide eyes for a moment before turning back to his food. I followed suit, and we fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence until we finished.
Given his mood, I didn't want to push too hard. Even before his outburst Lino had been weird. Ever since he got back from Matteo's house the day before, something in him seemed even more intense. Like he wouldn't let me out of his sight, in spite of the fact that my body was healing. In fact, sometimes I got the impression his sense of urgency stemmed from the healing. Like a clock was ticking down to something, and I had absolutely no clue what.
Or maybe I just didn't want to know, didn't want to think about the fact that he looked at me like I might slip t
hrough his fingers.
How could I, when I'd been wrapped around his finger since childhood?
I wanted to understand. Wanted him to look at me the way I'd always dreamed he might, but it was far better for my health that he didn't. I wasn't ready to be just another one of his mistakes. Above all else, I'd never survive Lino looking at me like I was just another woman. He might not have been mine, but I meant something to him in a way that no other woman did.
As his best friend, I was a permanent fixture in his life, not just yesterday's one-night stand.
After dinner, Lino let me walk to the living room on my own—watching every step like I might step on a landmine. If I hadn't been so stressed about the change in him, I might have found it comical. But just when I reached the couch, when I was ready to plop onto my spot and snuggle up with him, Lino stopped me with a gentle but insistent hand at my waist. I turned to find him staring down at me, something meaningful in his gaze.
Finally giving me something, he let out a massive sigh. "What's wrong?" I asked.
His hand reached up, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this moment? And now I can't find the fucking words, no matter how many times I practiced this."
My lip trembled so hard that I bit it. "I don't understand."
"You're divorced, finally," he said.
"So you said."
"You need more time to heal, but you're well on your way," he added.
"You are kind of freaking me out," I laughed.
"You aren't helping." He grinned at me, shaking his head. "I'll be patient. I can let you come around to the idea over time, so long as we're on the same page about where we're headed."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I giggled, tipping my face down to bury it in his chest as my body shook with uncomfortable laughter.
That hand of his snagged my chin, lifting until my eyes found his again. With another breath, he whispered, "Fuck it."
And then his head descended, his lips brushing against mine in a whisper of a kiss. Barely a touch, barely anything. And yet my body hummed to life, my lungs filling with air for what felt like the first time ever.
Like Lino alone could breathe life into me. I pulled back with a gasp, biting my bottom lip as it tingled. His eyes smoldered as he stared down at me, the arm wrapped around my waist refusing to release me. "Little Dove," he whispered.
"Stop. We can't do this," I hissed back, shoving against his chest in a moment of panic. He couldn't cross that line, couldn't lump me in with the others who didn't have him.
I had to have him in the only capacity I could keep him, because the thought of going through my life without him at all was too painful to consider.
"We can, and we are," he announced, curling his hand around to the back of my head. Grabbing a fistful of my hair in his fist, he tipped my head back and claimed my mouth again. The second kiss was harder, more forceful. As his torso pressed into mine, the masculine, clean scent of him filled my lungs. He tilted my head, putting me exactly where he wanted me as more pressure applied to my lips, near the point of bruising.
Gone was my best friend who thought I was amusing. He'd been replaced by a conqueror. He didn't relent, didn't stop. Not until long after I submitted and opened my mouth to his.
The first stroke of his tongue against my lip made my knees tremble, and when he plundered on to drink from me like a starving man, I felt like I might collapse.
No matter my feelings, this was Lino. My friend for as long as I could remember. My rock.
My head swam with the implications of what that kiss would mean until he erased all thought but the way he felt against me as he lifted me off the ground and carted me to the couch. That hand never left my hair, never relented, but I didn't even mind the bite of tenderness that came from my abused neck.
I couldn't mind anything when Lino's lips were on mine.
When he sat down, my legs straddling his hips, I finally tore my mouth from his. I whimpered, touching my forehead to his as I stared down at him in confusion. "Why?" I asked. This was a bad idea. It could only end in disaster, and even though I tried to remind myself of all the consequences this would have, nothing could permeate the haze he’d created in me.
His answer was nothing but a breath that I felt against my over-sensitized lips. "Because you're mine."
I shoved him away again, shaking my head to clear the fog. “This isn’t happening. I can’t be yours.”
“You’ll always be mine, Little Dove,” he murmured, and then he set out to show me, tugging me down to his lips more gently, but taking, nonetheless. I didn't fight the third kiss, just gave him everything he wanted. He smiled against my lips in approval, sliding his tongue against mine in a slow glide that turned me into a puddle in his lap. When he'd finally had his fill, he tucked his face into my neck and let my thoughts dance around inside my head.
He didn't bother to try to talk me through what was happening, but I could feel his smug satisfaction with every trace of his fingers up and down my spine. He soothed me without words but didn't seem interested in offering verbal comfort.
He'd said his piece, and for a man like Lino it was as simple as his declaration implied.
I was his.
✽✽✽
I felt like I walked, okay sat, around, electrocuted like a live-wire after Lino's life-altering declaration the day before. Every part of my body tingled with the need that I felt building inside me, that it had been far too long since I'd gotten any kind of real sex just wasn't helping.
Before Connor's assault, it had been nearly a year since we'd had sex.
I would go crazy with Lino's little touches seeming far more meaningful after the kiss the night before, that precipice of insanity loomed closer than ever. I didn't know what to expect, hadn't known if he'd try to get lucky. But he’d simply gone about his night as if nothing had changed once we'd untangled from each other, getting ready for bed and tugging me against his front to spoon while we slept. Admittedly, the time had probably passed where I needed to sleep in his bed. Not that I ever had, but I hadn't been willing to broach the subject with him before.
I slept better with him than I ever had without.
Now, the thought of going to a guest room seemed like a dangerous topic. So I decided I'd stick my head in the sand and see how it played out. If I got my sleep on, got some cuddles, that didn't mean it had to mean I accepted more. Right?
So when the front door vibrated with the force of someone banging on it when we watched a movie on the couch the next evening, I jolted from my spot on the sofa. The electricity that Lino had sparked in my blood made everything seem more intense, more real, and my reactions felt too extreme given the circumstances. Lino sighed, standing and seeming to steel himself for a fight. "Lino! Open the fucking door!"
I turned horrified eyes to Lino. "Is that my brother?!"
"Yes," he said, striding for the door. I rushed to my feet, chasing after him even though I knew it would not make him happy.
"What is he doing here?"
"I called him," Lino said, not the slightest bit of remorse in his voice or face.
"You what?" He ignored me in favor of continuing to the door, determined to let Yavin come in. "Lino! You can't let him in here."
"No more secrets, Samara. I couldn't keep this from him. You're his baby sister." I stopped in the doorway between the living room and the entryway, pressing my hands to my mouth in horror.
"That wasn't your choice to make," I whispered.
He paused, turning to level me with the intensity of his stare. "Did you miss what happened last night? You're mine, and I told you when it comes to your safety, I'm in charge now. Yavin knowing the truth means he'll be on board and do what I tell him to do to protect you." Without another word for me, he turned and opened the door. Yavin immediately shoved through the gap until he stood in the entryway and stared at me with fury etched onto his face. Lino closed the door behind him quietly, giving Yavin a
moment before he pushed him to interact.
"Is he dead?" Yavin asked finally. He didn't move, didn't even twitch in Lino's direction as he spoke to him. His blue-grey eyes that matched my own stared at my throat, and I instinctively reached up to shield it from the strength of that glare.
"Not yet," Lino answered quietly. "But he will be."
"Lino!" I hissed.
"Good. I want to do it," Yavin argued, turning as if he dared Lino to tell him otherwise.
"You can come, but he's mine." Yavin grunted something back, but I didn't bother to listen.
"What is my life right now?" I turned, striding into the kitchen to find Lino's stash of whiskey. The sound of their footsteps followed, and I had a moment of surprise that they'd even noticed I'd left.
"What are you doing?" Lino asked as I rummaged through the cupboards.
"I am not nearly drunk enough for this conversation," I admitted. Yavin's rough chuckle sounded behind me, as if he couldn't quite suppress it despite his shitty mood. "If you're going to discuss murder, I need to be trashed so I can pretend I was too drunk to remember what you said when the police question me."
"Samara," Yavin chuckled. Finally finding the whiskey, I tore off the cap and sucked back a swig straight from the bottle. Lino stepped up and snatched it from my hands when I went back for more, and I glared at him until Yavin stepped up and pulled me into his chest for a big brother bear hug. "Are you okay? I mean, obviously you're not but—"
"Vin, I'm fine," I groaned. "It sucked, but it's over. I just want to move on."
"Right," Yavin agreed, straightening and pulling back with his moment of sibling affection over. "Are you up to packing your things? You're going to come stay with me until this all dies down."
"Oh," I glanced at Lino, before darting my face down to the floor when he looked at me like he might lose his mind if I gave the wrong answer. "Uhh."
"She's fine with me," Lino grunted. Yavin turned to look at him in suspicion and my eyes darted between the two of them. I couldn't predict how Lino would handle the situation. Would he tell Yavin about our kiss? Would he act like it hadn't happened?
Forgivable Sins: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 2) Page 9
