by Roxie Wilde
She shook her head, dark curls tossing over each shoulder in turn. “You’re an idiot, Cris. I almost caught a bullet! If Giorno hadn’t been there —”
Cristian’s slap echoed throughout the room. The rest of the men grew silent, the small talk and chatter dying away in the aftermath of him striking his sister.
“Dad’s not around to protect you anymore Frankie, so you better learn some fucking respect, alright? I’m in charge now.”
She snorted, eyes flashing.
“Big talk. If you were a real man, if you were a real Moretti, you’d have challenged me yourself instead of getting your Russian dogs to do your dirty work for you.”
I’d made my way to the far side of the room from the door, keeping low behind the stacks of crates. The rest of the Russians were so enraptured by the tableau in front of them that it was all too easy to get an advantageous position.
Now I just had to wait for the perfect moment. I trusted Frankie would give it to me. I’d spent more than five minutes with her — I knew how infuriating she could be.
“Come on, Cristian. I beat you up when we were kids. I’ll do it again. Let’s go a few rounds, let your new friends judge who the next head of the Moretti’s should be.
Cristian was already shaking his head, tapping his temple.
“Use your brain, little sister, for once in your life. I am already in charge. Anyone who supported you is dead. I’m all you have left.”
“Not true. I have Giorno.”
He smirked at that, a grin that had my fingers itching on the trigger.
“Not for long, you don’t.”
“I like her,” rumbled one muscle-bound guard, a big grin splitting his round face.
“No one is paying you for your opinions, Ivan.”
The moment came and went like a bolt of lightning. Cristian turned away from Frankie to address Ivan, the guards all craning around to watch. No one had a gun trained on her for the first time since I’d crept into the room.
My bullets caught the four sitting around Frankie first, drilling into hearts and minds. Cristian was blinded as the spray of blood from Ivan’s forehead hit him in the face, and by the time he had blinked his eyes clear, I was in his face, the smoking barrel of one pistol one inch from his nose.
“Giorno, stop.”
I eased my finger off the trigger at the sound of Frankie’s voice. There was a cold harshness to her tone. Imperative, authoritative. She sounded every inch Stefano Moretti’s daughter right then. The daughter of the Wolf.
She stood up slowly, taking her time while Cristian cowered, his eyes full of tears and Russian blood.
“Please. Frankie, I did it all for you. Don’t you see? We can be together now that Dad’s gone, please, I —”
She held one hand out to me, palm up. I handed her my other gun, keeping one trained on Cristian until she put the barrel of hers between his lips.
“I know you meant well, Cristian. That’s why I won’t ask Giorno to kill you for me.”
I watched them both, the sole witness to the end of this domestic dispute. Frankie — no, Francesca’s face was a mask every bit as cold and perfect as the one she had worn at the party. There was a spot of color on one cheek from where Cristian had struck her, but it did nothing to detract from her beauty.
Her eyes were hard. Distant. She had the look of judge, jury and executioner.
Cristian’s eyes widened as he met hers, his hands coming up to grasp at the gun in his mouth, but he was too late.
Her finger squeezed the trigger.
I put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she looked down at her brother’s corpse.
“You did what you had to do, Francesca. You didn’t make the choices that led here. He did.”
She nodded once, a small movement.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
The ride home was quiet. I didn’t know what to say. Everything I thought of, every topic of conversation seemed inappropriate or somehow not important enough.
There are no courses in assassin school about consoling grieving fiancees. Real or otherwise.
Frankie, for her part, seemed content to stare out the window.
It was a short trip back to her high-rise building. Even the infamous Los Angeles traffic had dispersed by four in the morning. She didn’t seem surprised that I knew where she lived, despite it not being a matter of record.
“Do you want me to come up?”
She gave me a small nod, the faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“That’s the worst proposition I’ve ever received, you know.”
I gave her an encouraging grin. It was a weak attempt at humor, but any signs of life were better than the cold statue that had ridden home in the passenger seat of my car.
The elevator ride was just as silent as the car ride had been
“Do you want me to come up?”
She gave me a small nod, the faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“That’s the worst proposition I’ve ever received, you know.”
I gave her an encouraging grin. It was a weak attempt at humor, but any signs of life were better than the cold statue that had ridden home in the passenger seat of my BMW.
The elevator ride was just as silent as the car ride had been
Francesca had the entire penthouse to herself, I knew. She didn’t ask me to follow her, but I did anyway.
“It’s ok, Giorno. I can take a shower by myself. I’m not in the mood for company at the moment.”
I nodded. “I’ll just wait in your place.”
She rolled her eyes, hefting the gun. My gun.
“I’ll be fine.”
I shook my head.
“I already made a huge mistake letting you out of my sight once tonight. I’m not about to do it again, not ever. I thought I’d lost you for good and I—”
Frankie looked at me then, really looked at me. She must have seen half the hurt I had felt, the bewildering sense of loss I’d had.
She gave me a half-smile, one corner of her expressive mouth quirking up almost to her dimple.
“I tell you what. You can wait out here, or you can go get showered in your room and join me for dinner.”
I met her eyes, brow furrowing in the beginnings of a frown.
“I told you, I’m not about to—”
“I’ll be wearing just the towel to dinner.”
“So, where’s my room, then?”
She laughed then, and I couldn’t help but join her. I had thought for a moment during the car ride, that she might never laugh again. She had looked so solemn, so serious.
Really, I should have known better. This amazing woman had far too much joy inside of her to ever let it be crushed. She gave me a shove as I turned to the room she’d pointed out, getting me on my way. I didn’t mind her hands on me in any way.
Still, I kept my shower brief. Just long enough for the pink water to run clear.
Just enough to rinse the blood off my hands.
I gave myself a once over in the mirror, turning to examine the Romano family tattoo that covered my back and shoulders. It danced under the play of my muscles, the huge wings of the bird of prey on it stretching, seeming to flutter.
Family left it’s marks on all of us, in the end.
The sound of glass shattering had me out of the guest bathroom and wrenching open the door to Frankie’s room within seconds. I’d left my pistol within arm's reach for a reason. Somewhere in my mind, I had never come down from that cliff of fight or flight. The primal part of me was still waiting for this shoe to drop.
There were no signs of anyone else, but the bathroom door was ajar, the water still running. I eased it open with one hand, Sig Sauer at the ready.
The floor was soaked in blood.
No, not blood. Wine. I saw the ruins of the glass amidst the pool of red, glanced over at the girl in the shower.
Frankie was crouched, sitting on
the tiles. Hugging her knees to her chest, distant look on her face as she rocked, quietly sobbing.
I made my way across the floor, stepping gingerly, mindful of the glass. The water was cool, bordering on cold, and I could see her shivering under the spray. Not knowing what to do for her, not knowing exactly what was wrong but suspecting it was bordering on everything, I did the only thing I could think of.
Slipping into the shower, I pressed my back against the wall and slid down next to her. She curled up against me, sliding under one arm; burrowed against my chest. I rubbed her clammy skin, holding her tightly. I gave her something to cling to.
An anchor in the storm.
Reaching up behind my head, I twisted warmth back into the water.
“Better?”
I felt her nod against my chest. Smiling softly, I rested my chin on top of her head, holding her.
I shifted my weight, and she clutched at my chest.
“Stay.”
Her voice was strained, straining. Strung out. I tightened my grip on her, nodding.
At some point, her tears dried. I thought she would drift off to sleep in my arms, but as always, Frankie surprised me. Her hands stopped clutching at me like she was drowning, and started exploring the lines of my body. It was soft and slow — at first, I thought she was just moving around, shifting to be comfortable.
Then she pressed her lips against my nipple, and I realized exactly what was happening. I pulled my head off hers, glancing down to see her looking up at me with the hungriest expression I’d ever seen on her gorgeous features.
“Frankie, I—”
She shook her head, one finger coming up to press against my lips. The other busied itself undoing the tight knot of my towel, exposing my wet skin to her famished gaze. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, indenting the soft pink flesh so hard it turned white.
She lavished attention on me, her hands and mouth kissing and touching their way along the hard lines and planes of my body. I kept myself in shape for work, not pleasure, but she seemed to enjoy the hardness of my body.
One part, in particular, was growing harder by the second. She shifted against me, grinding against my cock as it pressed against her stomach. Her tongue explored the tight indent of my belly button, tracing the lines of my abs as she worked her way down me.
I groaned as the soft flesh of her breasts dragged across the sensitive head of my cock. The sound made her pause in her descent down my body, and I saw the corners of her mouth curl in a devilish grin.
She pushed her tits together around the thick shaft of my dick, squeezing her curves tight for me. Groaning, I reached down to tangle my hands in her wet curls. She looked up at me, catching my eyes and giving me a wink before pressing the head of my cock between her pouty lips.
The contrast between the two sensations was absolutely stunning. The soft flesh of her breasts was a gentle squeeze, the barest of frictions around me. It was like her very curves were kissing my shaft gently, teasing me. Her mouth was hungrily devouring me though, sucking greedily and loudly at the sensitive tip of my dick until I had to pull her away from me. She shook my hands off of her and took me deeply then, threatening to make me come right then and there in the tight confines of her throat.
My hands found her hair again, wrenching her away. Her eyes were sparkling, mischief alight in them like a fire. That sense of playfulness that I’d first fallen for was back, the flames of lust burning away all of her sorrow and sadness, kindling her into the raging bonfire of a woman that owned me now, heart and soul.
She was even more beautiful naked and wet than I had pictured her being. I showed my appreciation by returning her favor, worshipping her every curve with my mouth. My tongue ghosted along her skin, tasting every inch of her. She writhed and moaned, then hissed out a breath as I placed my mouth over her hot, wet cunt.
She squealed as she came for the first time on my mouth, and I tasted her greedily, hungrily lapping up every drop that I could. I worshipped her again and again with a ferocious need. Each writhing, shaking climax only drove me to press her harder, to wring every last drop of pleasure out of her pussy that I could get.
Toes curling, back arched off the floor of the shower, I knew I never wanted anyone else again. Francesca was the perfect picture of eroticism, eyes rolled up to show me nothing but white as her nails dug into my shoulders hard enough I thought she might draw blood.
Marking me. Claiming me, just as much as I was claiming her.
There were no words, no tears, and no laughter. Just raw, primal need now. The need in her eyes was tangible, a heavy thing.
My heavy thing was hanging between my legs as I turned her, pressing myself into her in one hard and deep thrust that left us both panting and gasping in need.
Again and again, I thrust into her, driving relentlessly. She pushed back against me, meeting me pound for pound, forcing her pussy back onto my cock just as greedily as she had taken it into her mouth. That endless hunger was what set Frankie apart from everyone else, what drew me to her like a moth to a flame.
Her heat pulled me in tighter, a velvet vice that shifted and rippled around me as I felt her orgasming around me again. She found her voice again, letting out a long and loud cry that felt like it should have shattered all the glass in the room that hadn’t already been broken.
It shattered me as well, the peak of it reaching deep down inside me and wrenching my own climax out of my control. Dragging all of me into her, shattering the self-control I was so very proud of.
I collapsed beside her, panting, gasping, unable to think or move. If the entire Russian mob had descended on us in that moment, I couldn’t have lifted a finger to do a thing about it.
A moment passed, and her eyes fluttered open to meet mine. She was smiling like the cat that swallowed a lot more than the canary. To be fair, she had done just that.
“Is this always your response to life or death situations?”
She laughed, a full-throated sound that somehow managed to stir something inside me despite the fact that I’d just come harder than I ever had before in my life.
“Stick around long enough and maybe you’ll find out, Romano.”
I smacked her ass, earning myself a cute squeal and a mock look of displeasure.
“You know, Frankie, I think I’ll stick around forever.”
Epilogue
Francesca
The sun shone with all the vibrancy of a typical Southern California spring day. The glare of it was offensive in its bright cheerfulness. It was as if the universe itself had conspired to go on without him. Marching forward.
I stayed at the burial sight for a moment after the thickness of the crowd had thinned out, holding on to the deep red rose. My father’s coffin had been lowered, and the crew was waiting at a respectable distance to begin covering it. Back home, dozens of people were waiting, too. Waiting to pay respects, to give condolences.
Making sure the heads of the Romano-Moretti family knew they had been here on the day we buried Il Lupo.
“Goodbye, Daddy. Rest well. I’ll take care of the family for you.”
Bitter tears stung my eyes even as I said it, dropping the flower on top of the pile that covered the gleaming ivory casket.
The hand on my shoulder startled me. I blinked away the wetness in my eyes and turned to see Giorno behind me.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Giorno had turned out to be the only constant in my life. Of course he stayed behind to wait for me. All of this had begun at a funeral— Dio’s funeral. I’d asked him for a partnership then. Little did either of us know just how much of an alliance we were really getting into.
“Frankie,” his voice was soft. It was a tone I knew well, one his men would never recognize. He saved it only for me. “Sometimes, we let family down. Sometimes family lets us down, too. Your father would be proud of you.” His finger found my chin, tilting my face to meet his eyes. “Do you know what they’re calling you?”
My eyebrows k
nit together and I shook my head.
“La Volpe.”
That got a genuine laugh out of me. I could think of worse things to be called than The Fox.
Giorno wound his arm around my shoulder, steering me towards the waiting black limousine. I scowled at the photographers, already camped out near the cemetery entrance. Was nothing sacred?
“Come on, I snuck some cannoli into the back of the car.”
The thought made my stomach lurch. I rested my palm against the front of my black Dior dress. Never completely flat to begin with, I felt the swell beneath my hand and closed my eyes.
Now or never.
“Giorno?”
“Hmm?”
“How do you feel about cubs?”
It took him a second, but he stopped walking just as we reached the open car door.
“Do you mean—”
“I took a test this morning. I have a doctor’s appointment next week, but I’m sure of it, Giorno. I’m pregnant. This family just got bigger.”
His mouth was on mine before I could finish the thought, crushing any lingering doubts, chasing away the pain. We had so far to go, so much to build. But it was going to be ok. We had our own family now, one we had chosen, and that was all that mattered.
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Kiss the Cook
Beating HEARTS
Quick and Dirty Romance by Roxie Wilde:
Buying Curves: (Protective Alpha Male Curvy Gal Book 1)
Riding Curves (Protective Alpha Male Curvy Gal Book 2)
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