"Is it safe to assume that you'll deal with him for me?" she asked, slamming around in her kitchen. There wasn't a food item in sight, so she wasn't cooking. I realized quickly that she was scrubbing the cabinets, as though she didn't already keep them immaculate for her blog. I, perhaps wisely, refrained from commenting. Next to me, Scar's lips quirked at the sight of the leopard gecko clinging to her shirt. She'd probably forgotten the poor thing was there, jostling him around in her cleaning frenzy. I sighed, stepping up to her and holding out a hand. It surprised me when the thing was more than happy to abandon Ivory in favor of the safety my hand offered. She stopped cleaning finally, glancing down at her lizard and pouting at him. "I'm so sorry, Smaugy," she cooed, taking it from my hand and bringing him to his tank while she whispered to him. "I forgot you were there, baby." She set him in the tank, and I fought the urge to laugh as the lizard glared at her.
Who could have known a lizard would have so much personality?
"I'll take care of it," I answered finally, like she'd been asking. We both knew I'd handle it. "From now on, you don't answer your own door," I said, and she leveled me with a glare. "Scar will be in the house with you, except for when he feels it necessary to check outside the house. You stay with him at all times. You do not drive yourself anywhere. You do not walk anywhere alone. He is always on you, understood?"
"That cannot be necessary—" she started to argue, breaking off when she saw the serious expression on my face. "I think you're being a little extreme over a bit of jealousy, Teo," she whispered.
My heart broke, hating that I would need to crush a bit of that remaining innocence in her. "He's not a good man, Angel. I've seen what's left of women after he's finished with them, and he's looking to pawn them off on the next asshole who wants to use them. He is not a man you want anywhere near you, and now he's fixated. I will make sure he gets over you real quick, but in the meantime, I need you to do your part and stay with Scar."
"He sells them?" She whispered, her voice cracking. "Like prostitutes?"
"Sex trafficking." She swallowed, nodding slowly as she closed her eyes in pain. I knew what question would be next; it was the only logical path her mind could take while she was still so in the dark about who I was and what I did. "You said he was a rival. Do you sell people too?"
"No," I said firmly, and even though it was true, the bitter stain of a lie twisted my insides. I ran women, but they were all paid for their services and chose to be there. It was a very different crime than what Adrian did.
I just couldn't be certain Ivory would see it that way when the time came.
"Okay," she nodded, relief making her chest swell with the inhale of breath she took.
"One day, you'll understand everything I do, Angel," I sighed, drawing her into my arms. "Just not today." She nodded, not even bothering to argue, and I knew that the reality of the threat Adrian posed to her was settling in. "You'll stay with Scar?"
"Yes." She nodded enthusiastically, and I felt my face harden at the bit of fear I'd put in my woman because of this piece of shit's determination to fuck with me. When I drew away, Ivory's eyes glanced down at my arms, where I knew my shirt sleeves were rolled up, ready to bloody Adrian for what he'd done. I had abandoned my suit jacket in my haste to get to Ivory, left behind in my office. I was only grateful I'd had the foresight to leave my gun in the car.
She didn’t need to see that yet.
"Is that—" she started, and I knew she'd ask about the tattoo on my left forearm.
"I'll see you later. Stay with Scar," I ordered, nodding at the other man as I fled the house.
It was not the right moment to explain the tattoo I'd gotten the same day I broke her heart.
✽✽✽
Adrian's home was a stone monstrosity right in the middle of the city. A complete and total attention-grabbing statement, like the man thought owning a home in it meant he owned the city.
He didn't, because it was mine.
I strolled up to the door, gun tucked in hand and not caring who saw me. This city was mine, and there wasn't a person in it who was stupid enough to fuck with me when I meant business.
Not a person except for Adrian Ricci. The stupid fuck.
Even his security didn't dare shoot me, not without direct word from their boss. Even in the unlikely event they killed me, my men would revolt, and the city would descend into complete and utter chaos. No one wanted that.
The door opened before I could knock, and I shoved it wide and shouldered the butler out of my way. "Where is he?"
"Mr. Bellandi, perhaps—"
I pointed my gun at his forehead, staring down at him with glacial eyes that showed just how little I would care if I shot him dead. "Where the fuck is Adrian?"
"Office at the end of the hall," the man whimpered. "Could you perhaps holster your weapon? There's no reason this needs to be a violent affair.”
"I disagree." I stormed through the wood-paneled halls, a deception on Adrian's part to try to convince his business associates of the illusion that he came from old money.
Like them. Like me.
But Adrian Ricci was nothing but a motivated thug who thought because he made money on the backs of others suffering, that somehow entitled him to the luxuries that the old bloods enjoyed.
But we all knew the truth.
He was nothing. He lived as nothing, and one day, he would die as nothing.
I shoved his office door open, wondering how pretty his classical cream painted walls would look covered in his blood. "Matteo," he said, standing with a smile, even while I leveled my gun at him. "Come now, whatever it is you think I've done—"
"Stay the fuck away from my woman. I thought I made myself very clear that she does not exist for you."
"Ah, I see Ivory told you about my little gift then. How very disappointing," he sighed. "Really though, Matteo. Can you blame me? All is fair in love and war, and the woman is positively enchanting. Such fire!" he exclaimed. "I wonder what she'll be like when she's broken. How pretty those eyes will look when they're vacant. Like a beautiful, little doll."
I crossed the distance between us in favor of shoving Adrian up against the wall with my arm to his throat. "You will never touch her."
He grinned up at me, a direct challenge in his gaze. Drawing back my hand that held my gun, I used it to break his nose. "Fuck," he groaned, smiling again through blood-soaked teeth.
"Mr. Ricci?" one guard who'd undoubtedly followed me in asked from the door.
"It's all right, Jesse," Adrian assured him. "Matteo and I are just having a difference of opinion. Women. That trap between their legs makes all of us go a little crazy, isn't that right?" With a snarl, I repeated the strike, leaving no part of Adrian's face unbloodied. When my gun pressed against the underside of his chin, I knew that killing him would be the best thing for Ivory. I may not walk away, but she'd be safe regardless, and the calm in his eyes even as they swelled up told me he wouldn't be leaving her alone without my forcing it. Lowering the gun, I fired it into his right hand, the same one that had touched Ivory without her permission.
"Touch her again, and I'll shoot your dick off next time. You won't have much need of my woman without it."
He roared out a laugh, swaying when I released my hold on his throat and sucking in a full, unhindered breath. "I always knew I liked you, Bellandi!" he called as I turned and strode out of his office and home without another word.
I dialed Scar as soon as I was in my car. "She doesn't leave your sight if she's out of that house. Understood?"
"Yes, Boss. I guess it didn't go well."
That was an understatement.
Fifteen
Ivory
After Matteo left, I tried to ignore Scar's presence in favor of cooking. When he realized he was making me uncomfortable, an audience I hadn't asked for, he'd excused himself to go give himself a tour of the house, muttering something about needing to be prepared and know where everything was located.
Bec
ause that wasn't ominous.
I set to rolling out the dough, letting myself smash it a little thinner than I normally might have for sticky buns. I needed the outlet, and I'd just use this batch to test out the flavor for this replication. I rolled them mindlessly, shoving them in the oven.
I never left my kitchen a mess. It was one of the few things that had stuck with me from culinary school and my subsequent days working in a restaurant. I rebelled nearly every other way, because if I wasn't an actual chef than who gave a poop? But with cleaning my kitchen, I was a neurotic.
So, when I went to flop into a chair at my breakfast nook, I knew I was shaken even before my trembling hands touched my face. I lost track of how long I sat there, lost track of everything around me. It wasn't until the doorbell rang that I jolted out of my stupor, glancing at it nervously. When I was about to stand, Scar appeared from the hallway and shook his head at me. I remembered that I wasn't allowed to answer my door and flopped back into my seat in a sort of empty frustration. I picked a point on my wall, staring at it in fascination when I found the slightest of cracks in the paint. "It's Mr. Bradley. Would you like me to open the door?" Scar asked lightly. I nodded at him, hearing Duke's voice the moment it opened.
"What the Hell are you still doing here?" he asked.
Scar grunted; the sound oddly devoid of inflection. While he might have looked like a hard man, he'd been nothing other than polite and even warm to me. He seemed oddly capable of anticipating and dealing with my moods, like I was more than a nuisance his boss ordered him to watch over until he finished playing with me.
"Christ, Ivory," Duke said, striding past me and pulling my oven open. He cursed, hunting for a potholder and dropping the sticky buns on the stove top with another curse. "What were those supposed to be?"
"Sticky buns," I whispered.
"Well, they're burnt buns now." I must have forgotten to set the timer. He came to stand in front of me, after the beep of my oven turning off filled the too quiet space. "You all right?" he asked, kneeling so that his face filled my vision. I nodded, smiling at him slightly. Duke's hands rested on my bare thighs just above my knees, feeling too warm against my cool skin. "You're freezing," he whispered.
"Ms. Torres, I'm afraid I have to suggest that Mr. Bellandi won't appreciate Mr. Bradley's hands on you," Scar input, raising a brow at me. I glanced down at Duke's hands, confusion settling over me.
"He's my friend," I said, and Scar sighed and nodded. His expression communicated that he still didn't believe it would be something that Matteo would tolerate, but in that moment I couldn't have cared. Duke didn't appear to either, instead taking to rubbing his rough, artist's hands over my cold skin to warm me up. "I'm fine," I reassured him.
"This really has you freaked out," he whispered. "Why don't you come stay with me?"
Scar's face pinched into annoyance, but I took care of it when I answered Duke. "I think I'm safer here. This isn't the guy you can protect me from."
"What the Hell has he got you wrapped up in?" Duke hissed, and my eyes darted over his shoulder to find Matteo standing in the doorway. I hadn't heard the door open, and Matteo held a key in his hand. A key to my house, I presumed, though how he'd gotten it was beyond me.
"Take your hands off her," Matteo ordered, and Duke stood up quickly, turning to face Matteo for the first time since high school, I realized. Duke's attractive features that lent toward the boy next door all grown up were no match for the savage beauty that was Matteo Bellandi. He still didn't have a suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows hastily, and a few splatters of red dotted the chest of his white shirt. He looked like a criminal which I was suspecting he was more and more with every day that passed. Ice-blue eyes glittered as he glared at Duke, sizing him up and finding him lacking.
"You don't get to come in here after twelve fucking years and put her in danger. She deserves better than you'll ever be able to give her, Bellandi," Duke hissed, all the vehemence he'd built up in the years of watching me fade into half a life wrapped up in that tone.
Matteo smirked at him, the blue eyes I loved to watch warm for me glittering hard and cruel gems. "You still haven't made a move, huh?" he asked Duke, who froze solid in front of me. I turned my head to look at Duke, wincing when his shoulders sagged. The reality of what I hadn't seen struck me when he turned a sad glance my way.
"You broke her. I keep waiting for her to be ready for a relationship, but it never fucking happens, because of what you did to her," he spat at Matteo, confirming the truth that shook me to my core. "I love her enough to wait. Even for twelve years."
"Duke?" I whispered, staring up at him. He turned to me, looking down at me with a grimace.
"This isn't how I wanted you to find out."
I backed away a step, just knowing I needed space. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Would it have mattered?" he hissed. "You've always been so wrapped up in him, that you never even saw me."
I winced again, hating that he was angry at me when he hadn't bothered to be honest. "Don't," Matteo growled. "You do not get to upset her because you were too much of a coward to make a move."
"Matteo!" I gasped, hating that he would be so cruel in a moment that was probably critical to my ability to maintain a friendship with Duke.
"Fuck you," Duke hissed, striding for the door. He paused, looking back at me with nothing but sadness. "Call me if you decide you want to be more than just a fleeting fancy for Matteo Bellandi."
I dropped into my seat as he left, wondering how the fuck my boring life had gotten so messy.
Sixteen
Ivory
Scar glared at me as we got ready for our morning run. The last week had passed with the same routine, a run in the morning, I went about my day, and then Matteo would show up in time for dinner. We'd either eat at my house and he'd spend the night, or he'd take me out and we'd end up at his. It was almost comfortable, predictable. I couldn't imagine Matteo's life followed that routine too often, but he gave me the distinct impression that he was doing everything he could to lull me into a sense of normalcy after I'd lost Duke.
It wasn't like he was dead or anything, and he'd answer my texts—mostly one-word answers—but the ease of our friendship disappeared. He hadn't dropped by since Matteo outed him, and I couldn't blame him. Not while knowing that at the very least Scar would be at my house with me. He'd been humiliated, his feelings for me revealed by the worst person in his mind. I knew that.
It didn't stop his absence from hurting me. Even Sadie had been mostly absent, likely spending a good deal of time with Duke and encouraging him to channel his emotions into his art rather than a less productive rage.
So in the face of all that, Matteo seemed determined to show me what a relationship with him could look like. I'd stopped fighting his presence, because until they resolved the Adrian issue, he was a necessity. I'd even stopped fighting his power over my body, because I might as well get some great orgasms out of the situation before he packed up and left my life without a trace. Again.
But I did everything possible to remind myself that it was temporary. That Matteo would leave me, and I'd be left to pick up the pieces. My resolve only strengthened with time, the more Matteo chipped away at my armor with his strong presence and made me want things that would never happen. I resolved to find some kind of solution to making him move on sooner than later when it would hurt more but had no idea what that would be.
"You need to vary your routine," Scar pointed out as I opened my front door. He turned with a copy of my house key in hand, locking up behind me.
I'd long since gotten used to everyone having a key to my house. If they'd wanted to hurt me, they would have already. "I like my routine."
"It makes you easier to track, easier to follow. Your predictability makes you an easy target for people who might want to harm you," he grunted, picking up a jog beside me. The massive, hulking man hated running with me, but he did it anyway. He even managed to not slow me down to
o horribly, given the length of his legs and the way one of his strides equaled two of mine.
"You want me to run at a different time of day?" I asked, slowly building my pace. "It wakes me up to start my day. That's the point."
My breathing was steady, my body going to that place of focus that running always brought me to. "At the very least you should change your route. Makes it less predictable."
I considered it. "I don't want to get lost," I admitted. Even though I'd lived in the area for a few years, I didn't venture off the main roads. There was still a distinct possibility that I'd wander somewhere I shouldn't be.
"You'll have me," he grunted, his own breathing far less steady than mine.
"I won't always have you," I huffed a laugh. "You can't spend the rest of your life looking after me. Matteo will need you to do something else, eventually."
"He won't leave you unprotected." We turned the corner, heading up the road that would take us by the park. I could feel his eyes on me, even as I pointedly kept mine fixated on the park next to me. "What exactly do you think this is?"
"What?"
"Your relationship with Matteo. You still think he will walk away?" Under any normal circumstances, I would have been grateful for the interruption that saved me from answering.
Those were not normal circumstances.
My body jolted as I crashed into a man who jogged out of the park entrance. He emitted an "oof," catching me with stabilizing hands on my hips when I nearly fell on my face. "Easy." My body stilled, horror crashing over me when I recognized the voice that spoke from above me. Tilting my head back, I came face to face with what I thought might be Adrian Ricci. In all honesty, it was difficult to tell.
His face was beaten, bruised with a gash through his cheekbone, a split lip, and a bandage over his nose where it had been broken. Two purple bruises surrounded his cruel looking brown eyes. "I—Adrian?" I asked, stepping back far enough that I forced him to release his hold on my hips. One of his hands was wrapped in a bandage as it left my body hesitantly.
Bloodied Hands: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 1) Page 12
