by Rye Hart
“We were clueless children, Julia. You knew from the beginning my rightful place was where I’m sitting now.”
“Not when we were talking at two in the morning and you were professing your love to me. You serenaded me with lies about running off and being together. Lies I clung to. Lies that kept me going during the years we were apart. During the months I was pregnant. During the sleepless nights with Matteo and the screaming and the teething and the diapers and the constant fear that someone would make him a target.”
I looked around to see if anyone was listening.
“We’re safe,” Romeo said coolly. “I made certain you were looked after all those years we were apart.”
And that was when I became painfully aware of the position I had been put in. Not only was I with Romeo, but I was also with his goons. Men employed to protect him.
“What do you mean I was safe all those years?” I asked.
“I had to be certain of your safety. I had eyes and ears on you,” he said flatly.
“You mean you spied on me.” I said. “What now? Are your men going to stop me if I try to leave?”
“You’re free to go whenever you want,” he said. “But I am going to see my son.”
“Not as long as you’re the head of the Martine family, you won’t.”
“You can’t keep me from him any longer. I have as much right to that boy as you do.”
“That ‘boy’ is a privilege,” I said. “And you lost it when you thought you could delve into the bloodied affairs of the family business and still keep your hands clean enough to stroke your son’s cheek.”
His eyes were icy. The warmth of his blue embers faded into a dim light I’d only seen one other time. I rolled my shoulders back and prepared myself for a fight. I wasn’t sitting here one more second than I needed to. This man wasn’t going to lay a hand on my son, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to demand to see him out of some right of being a sperm donor.
I felt foolish for agreeing to meet up with Romeo. I should have known the discussion would go south. I’d foolishly hoped that Romeo hadn’t known about his son but it was wishful thinking. Even so, I could never agree to his request to meet Matteo.
He had made his decision. He knew how I felt about getting out. He knew that was my goal.
He had made his choice, and it was time for me to make mine.
I stood from the booth and watched as six men stood up around me. My eyes locked hard on Romeo’s face and he held up his hand, signaling his air-headed assholes to stand down.
“I thought you said I was free to go.”
“You know how they operate,” Romeo said.
I scoffed and shook my head as I backed away from the table.
“Are you sure you aren’t hungry?”
“No, this whole conversation has ruined my appetite,” I said.
“Pity. I was hoping to bask in your beauty a bit longer.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”
“So you’ve decided that we have no future together then?”
I made the mistake of looking into his eyes and felt my knees growing weak again. I reached for my purse and clutched it tightly to me, allowing the feeling of the material to root me into reality.
It didn’t matter how I felt.
What I thought.
What I thought could be between us.
It shattered my heart that Romeo had chosen this lifestyle instead of me. He may have watched over us all these years but he hadn’t come after me or his son before now. The strong, family oriented alpha male hadn’t whisked us away from this dangerous life. And now he was enmeshed in it.
And that meant I had to protect Matteo from his own father.
“I will see my son,” he said again. “I have a right to be in his life.”
Without thinking, I loomed over Romeo until my shadow was covering his face. Close enough to feel the heat of his body emanating toward me. Close enough to be reminded of the reason why I’d succumbed to him in the first place.
Close enough to smell the cologne he hadn’t changed in over six years.
“Over my dead body,” I said.
CHAPTER 2
ROMEO
She’s one fucking woman.
I closed my eyes as I leaned back in bed, my mind replaying that moment.
How she loomed over me.
How her hazel eyes grew deep with protective anger.
How her words stung me to my core. I couldn’t show weakness in front of my bodyguards. I had to keep up appearances as best as I could, but I’d wanted to reach out to her and spin her around, take her into my arms, plant my lips upon hers, and show her I was still the man she remembered.
The man she had dreamed about.
The man who craved to the core of my being to live free of darkness and gloom.
I didn’t want the position. When my father died I had to step up. I was weeks away from making my move to go find Julia. For years, I’d held her memory in my mind. For months, I’d wondered why she left me. Why she skipped town without a word and never came back. And it wasn’t until I used my father’s resources to track her down that I figured out why.
Her father sent her away because people knew about us, but he kept her away because she had gotten pregnant.
Out of duty, I took the position. But I swore to my family things would be different, that I would make things different. The streets of New York had seen enough death and anger and destruction. What everyone needed was for our two families to work together. I was determined to creep us out of the grasp of the federal authorities and become a legitimate operation, a family that protected the streets we loved instead of keeping it in this vice grip of fear and blood.
That was my dream.
An era of peace.
Julia had looked spectacular. Her hazel eyes, speckled with flakes of gray and yellow, were as beautiful as I remembered. Her long brown hair with those luscious red streaks made her tan skin glow. Soft. Supple, with curves that had blossomed as she had become a woman and mother. The dress she wore clung to her breasts and nipped in at her waist before flaring over a pair of hips that had my cock pressing against my pants all through dinner.
But her strength.
Where the hell had that come from?
She used to be so mild; even-tempered and quiet. Her voice had been a soft whisper in the wind compared to the forcefulness she used at dinner. I remembered her as a fragile dove, but what I got was a winged eagle, with talons bared, ready to fling whatever got in her way into the air to die a lonely, heartbroken death.
She looked so fucking good.
Our time together as teenagers had been fleeting; a few months at the most before we were found out. And my favorite memories of us were when we snuck out in the middle of the night. We’d joyride around the city and find mischief to get ourselves into.
Late night walks in the park and horror movies that made her jump into my lap.
Fuck. My cock was getting hard thinking about it.
I stepped out of my bed. Removing my clothes, I crossed my bedroom and made my way to my shower. Not even bothering with the hot water, I cranked the cold all the way and stepped underneath the massive rainwater spray. The cold water fell onto my skin like needles, but I didn’t care to warm it up. I needed the cold and the sobering effect it provided.
Instinctively, my hand drifted down to my massive erection. I closed my eyes and conjured her memory.
Her soft skin grinding against mine in the backseat of my fucking car.
It was my favorite moment with her. Out of all the times we’d snuck out, and all the times I’d buried myself deep into her wet pussy, that was my favorite.
Because it was the first time she told me she loved me.
And by my count, it was the night we had conceived Matteo.
Her hair fluttered around her shoulders as I slammed into her. She jumped, her tits bouncing in my face as her pussy soaked my cock with its juices. I wrapped my hand
tighter around myself. Stroking my thick dick and bucking my hips into my hand.
Even the memory of her could drive me wild.
A drop of precum breached the tip and I coated my skin with it. Fuck, I missed Julia’s mouth. I’d taught her how to take me. How to slide me all the way back and time her breaths with my thrusts. I’d loved fisting my hand into her hair and fucking her throat. Commanding her movements and watching those wide hazel eyes look up at me with tears in them. She would cling to my thighs, digging her nails into the backs of them, leaving marks.
Marks I’d sit on the next day and grin at.
“Julia. Fuck.”
I stroked my cock faster as my hips moved. I could hear her voice in my ear. Chanting my name and panting shallowly as her ass jiggled against my hips. That was my favorite way to take her. I loved watching her ass bounce for me. I had dreams of taking that virginal hole of hers. Of eating her pussy and teasing her to urgent heights before stuffing myself between her cheeks and filling her pussy with my fingers. I squeezed my eyes shut as my legs began to tremble and I felt my balls curling into my body, readying my cock for its creamy end as I pressed my forehead on my shower wall.
“Julia. Shit. So tight for me. Oh, fuck.”
Before I knew it, my balls were tight, and my body felt like it was dangling from a precipice. I held onto the wall in front of me and kept Julia’s face front and center in my mind as I sped up my movements until my body finally erupted with one of the strongest orgasms I’d ever had.
I pressed my hips into my hand one last time before my balls shot electricity up my dick.
Then, I heard it.
The softest voice on a whispered wind.
I love you, Romeo.
Once I was done, and she was still in my thoughts, I stood under the cold water waiting for my breath to return to normal.
“Romeo? You in there?”
Antony knocking on my door pierced through my fantasy.
“Mom wants to speak with you,” Antony said.
“At eight in the morning?”
“Get your ass downstairs.”
“Remember who you’re talking to,” I said with a growl.
I shut off my shower, toweled myself off and padded to my closet. If I was upstairs, I could relax. But downstairs? That was business. No one was ever downstairs without being dressed for company, and I was pissed that I had to rifle through my damn suits at eight in the morning in the middle of the fucking week. I pulled on some boxers and a pair of black pants before reaching for another shirt. I chose a pale yellow button-down and tucked it in, then reached for one of my father’s more expensive watches.
I wasn’t getting dressed to the nines, but I was sure as hell going to project confidence in case work came trudging through the front door.
I went downstairs. The smell of breakfast infiltrated my nostrils. Mom was in the kitchen, per usual, cooking up a damn storm for a fucking army. She was whirling around the kitchen, cooking toast and frying bacon and scrambling eggs. Pads of butter melted on the toast already on the table, and Antony was pouring freshly-squeezed orange juice the chef had left in the fridge.
“You know I hire a chef so you don’t have to do these things, right?” I asked.
“Your chef doesn’t come until ten in the morning. Who eats breakfast so late?” my mother asked.
“The man of this house does.”
“Then tell him to get his ass out of bed and get downstairs at a proper time.”
Antony chuckled as he sat back in his chair. He propped his feet on the kitchen table as he sucked down his juice. I shot him a look, and he gave me his little shit-eating grin.
A spatula flew through the air and smacked Anthony on the forehead.
“Get your nasty feet off the kitchen table. What did I raise? Animals?”
I threw my head back and laughed as I reached for the pot of coffee on the table.
“I take it you slept well, Mom?” I asked.
“That new mattress you bought is way too firm,” she said.
“And yet you have the energy of five bulls.”
“I usually have the energy of seven,” she said.
“Good morning,” I said as I walked over and kissed her cheek.
“That’s more like it,” she said.
When my father died, Antony and I moved in with my mother to look after her, make sure she was okay. My mother was full-blooded Italian. Most of her extended family was still back in Sicily. My father flew her out two times a year to see them, but I was hoping to up that to four. She was getting older, and her family was dying off faster than we all anticipated. She was one of nine children, but only four remained.
And with my father gone, I could see the toll all this death was taking on her.
“I have your ticket purchased for Sicily,” I said.
“I’m not supposed to go for another few months,” my mother said.
“Romeo and I talked,” Antony said. “We think you should go see them in a couple of weeks.”
“And when were the two of you going to tell me this?” she asked.
“When we were shoving you through customs with your suitcase thrown across the line,” I said with a grin.
“I swear I’ve raised a pack of animals. You want to know why I want grandchildren before I die?”
“So you can take a second stab at raising children who aren’t animals?” Antony asked.
“I’ve got more spatulas,” my mother said.
I sipped on my coffee and watched as my brother blew my mother a kiss.
I wanted more than anything to tell her about Matteo. I’d been very discreet with the resources I’d used to track Julia down. To keep tabs on my son. I knew it would make my mother’s world to have a grandson. I knew she wanted her and my father’s house filled with the comforting sounds of children’s laughter. It was on the tip of my tongue. Swirling around in the darkness of my coffee. I helped my mother carry everything to the table so we could sit down to eat, and as I swallowed the last of my coffee, I swallowed the urge to tell her.
It wasn’t enough to tell her about him.
I wanted to be able to introduce her to him.
“It was time for you to get out of bed. You sleep too late. Both of you,” my mother admonished, while she spooned eggs onto her plate.
“I lead a hard life,” Antony said with a mocking sigh.
“Your brother’s life is harder,” my mother said.
She wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t fair of her to hold my brother to that standard.
“Mom, Antony works hard. And mostly during the evenings. Give him a break.”
“And if he wasn’t working during the evenings, Romeo, he could be dating.”
“You mean giving you grandchildren?” I asked.
“That, too. But when he’s married. That’s how this family operates.”
“That’s why I wrap it,” Antony said.
A spoon went flying at my brother’s head.
“Watch that mouth of yours,” my mother said. “No wonder women don’t stick around with you.”
“Not my fault they can’t handle the animal inside,” Antony said as he laughed.
“You two are hopeless,” she said.
“Hopelessly in love with you, Mom,” I said with a smile.
She put her hand on my shoulder and massaged it, communicating all the love in the world. That was what she did. She was as hard as they came when raising us. No tears. Harsh punishments. She was heavy-handed with the spankings. But when she put her hand on our shoulder and looked down into our eyes, we knew. All the words she never said because of the hard life she’d lived alongside Father, and all the things she had to keep silent on because my father had done this family a disservice, had marred her. Scarred her like it had all of us.
But that one gesture reassured me that she was there.
Our mother.
Strong. Mature. Dominant. Protective. A guiding light in our family.
Julia had re
minded me of her last night.
“Now you boys eat up,” Mom said. “You’ve got long days ahead of you.”
“Yep. A long day of napping before my shift starts at seven,” Antony said.
“I have to get out of here within the hour,” I said.
“See? Ten o’clock is useless for a chef,” my mother said.
I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my eggs before I felt my mother looming over me.
“Did you roll your eyes at me?” she asked.
Antony chuckled and shook his head as I wiped my mouth off with my napkin.
“Never,” I said with a grin. “I love you too much.”
“Uh-huh. Eat. You’re a big boy. Nourish yourself.”
And I did as ordered as Antony shot me a look.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Not here.”
I furrowed my brow and squinted my eyes as Antony got up from the table.
“Thank you for breakfast, Mom. But it’s time I take a shower.”
“Good. You stink,” she said.
“Love you too, Mom.”
“And grab a biscuit to go! I made too many of them.”
