Page 37 of Bittersweet Endings (Agostino Crime Family #6)

Rocco emerged from behind the idling car, his face eerily clean of blood, as though the violence he’d inflicted had just vanished. His limp was noticeable, but he kept walking towards us.

“Rocco needs to rest,” I said. “Besides, when was the last time you let an audience stop you from taking me?”

Rocco coughed, covering up his laugh and then wincing when he slid behind the wheel of the SUV.

Carmine’s lips twitched. “You’re right,” he said. “An audience doesn’t matter. But tonight? You’re not going anywhere. Not until we’re done.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing at the thought of what that might mean. The dangerous mix of power and desire in his tone made my heart flutter.

We climbed into the SUV. “My apartment, Rocco,” I instructed.

“You trying to get me alone, little doll? Think you can order me around?” Carmine tried to act imposing, but it didn’t hold the same threat as it did before.

“Rocco, you can pull over. Carmine will get out here.” The car quickly came to a stop on the side of the road and I stared at him in challenge. “Even with the tentative peace, probably a little dangerous to leave a Capo all alone on the side of the road. You know, so far away from California.”

I thought he was going to laugh. Instead, Carmine pulled his gun from his waistband and pressed it into the headrest. Daring me to continue.

I sat back confused and huffed for Rocco to pull back onto the road.

“Good girl.” Carmine squeezed my knee.

***

When we arrived at my apartment, Rocco didn’t get out, merely pulled to the curb and nodded as Carmine and I exited the car. He was still lost inside his head. A man possessed as he took them all down, like a rabid dog off his leash. I was surprised I hadn’t seen him gnawing on flesh and bone.

But I was thankful for him.

Carmine and I entered the building, and much like the drive over, we rode the elevator in silence. I unlocked the door to my apartment, and we both stepped inside before it shut behind us with a quiet click. Sealing us in.

No chaos, no bloodshed, no audience. Just us.

Carmine said nothing as he wandered deeper into my apartment, his eyes scanning over the space like he was committing every detail to memory. His fingers trailed along the back of my couch and across the bookshelves. He glanced at the photos on the tables and the walls, pausing to stare.

This was my home. My creation. A place untouched by the violence that festered in my life. And yet, his presence here suddenly made it feel different—almost fragile.

I wasn’t sure why it unsettled me, this man moving through my space so casually, absorbing every part of it like he belonged here. But it did. It felt too intimate in a way that had nothing to do with sex or pain. It made my skin itch .

“That photo you’re holding…” My voice came out weak, as I tried to distract myself with meaningless chatter. “That was taken in Italy. I was just a teenager.”

Carmine didn’t react at first, just kept staring at the picture. Then slowly moved on to look at more of my things.

I kept going. “The books—” I gestured towards the small stack he’d been looking at. “I just finished those last week. I needed something lighter than real life.” A short, nervous laugh slipped out. “Not that anything feels light anymore.”

I shifted on my feet, wishing I hadn’t brought him here. That I’d chosen anywhere else. Because if he kept looking at my world like this, like he was unraveling me piece by piece, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to survive him.

Carmine picked up another photo, studying it with that same quiet intensity, and I forced myself to breathe evenly.

“That one was taken in Philadelphia,” I said, my voice steady despite the way my pulse had started to pick up. “It was a weekend trip. My father had business in Center City and he?—”

I stopped speaking when Carmine took a step closer, holding the photo between two fingers like it was something precious. His gaze flicked over me and it made my skin prickle.

“You’re rambling,” he murmured. “Do I make you nervous, little doll?”

I scoffed, folding my arms over my chest in a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Of course not.”

“Liar.” Dark amusement flickered in his eyes as he took another step, closing the space between us.

Suddenly the air felt thinner, and it was hard to breathe. My body bumped into his chest as he pulled me close.

“I’ve seen, tasted, and explored every part of your naked body. Licked every scar. Discovered every secret.” He tilted my chin up to look him in the eye. “And this, me in your space, this makes you nervous?”

“I-I…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t have a scalpel.”

The smile he gave me was slow, predatory. Something dark and all-consuming, threatening to drown me. It stole the air from my lungs. My pulse hammered against my ribs. My heart threatening to give out.

With excruciating patience, Carmine lifted my arms, peeling away my clothes.

One piece at a time—deliberate, methodical—until nothing remained.

His eyes roamed over me, burning a path across my skin, possessing me.

I felt bare down to my soul. And it had nothing to do with being naked.

He was unraveling me thread by thread, ready to claim what he already considered his.

And I needed to be honest. No matter how much I fought it—us—I knew I belonged to him the moment he picked up my books from that dirty club floor.

Threading his calloused hands in my hair, Carmine tugged. “Tell me you want me.”

Instinct told me to fight him. To not make it easy on him. But I was already naked, and my body was practically howling. His knowing grin made me angry.

“Don’t you fuckin’ get cocky,” I hissed.

“Cursing is unbecoming of a lady, Octavia,” he snarled, placing a hand on my shoulder and forcing me to my knees. “Open that mouth and let’s put it to good use.”