Page 27

27

Andre

S eeing my beautiful wife bent over and panting in pleasure in our bed nearly has me bawling like a baby.

I know she’s doing it for me, but I’m so damn happy she felt safe enough to allow me to remain behind her the whole time.

Even after the last of our shudders is long gone, she kneels underneath me, watching our reflection as I move her hair to trail kisses across her shoulders.

God, I love her.

Not the sex or the intimacy I’ve only felt with my wife, but her courage to face her fears, to let me try to ease the burdens of them and her shitty day with her dying mother.

“Thank you.” I place my lips on her spine while I’m still kneeling behind and buried inside her. “Are you okay? Do you want me to move?”

“It felt good, having you so deep.” She tugs our hands from between her legs to her stomach. “No wonder you were so fucking insistent…”

“This was for you, not me,” I assure her as I pull my sated dick out.

“Right,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

“Did I love it? Hell yes. But I told you I’m more than fine with missionary or you riding me. I wanted you this way for your sake.”

“Why?”

Fisting her hair into a makeshift ponytail, I turn her head so she can see my face, the real one, not the reflection. “Because you’re absolutely fearless. I don’t like the thought of anything or anyone taking that strength away from you.”

She stares at me silently for so long I brace myself for her to lash out. Instead, Stella grabs onto my arm as if to keep me from pulling it away. “Twelve years ago, I got so fucked up I had no idea who the man was inside me.”

“Baby,” I whisper.

But she doesn’t stop there. “Most of what I remember is him behind me, restraining my hands behind my back so hard I couldn’t move them. That’s the reason I threw wine in your face a few weeks ago when you grabbed my wrist…”

Of course, I remember that day. It was right after Izaiah went “missing,” and we were at the Rovina residence. I asked her how she was doing. She started to walk away without answering me, and I reached for her hand to try to stop her. As if I thought she owed me her time or a few words, when she didn’t owe me a damn thing.

“I’m so sorry, Stella. I won’t ever do that to you again,” I promise.

“I blamed myself for being so careless until a few months ago when I started seeing Annie. She helped me accept it wasn’t my fault. That it should always be my decision. Even if I’m lying naked and unconscious in a bed with a man on top of me, that it still should only be my decision to let him fuck me. And if not, it’s…rape. And there’s nothing that can excuse it away.”

Jesus.

While I had a bad feeling it was something like that, I’m still so fucking enraged hearing about her trauma that I can’t speak. And I need to say something. I don’t want to say the wrong thing.

“What’s his name?” I grit out from between my tightly clenched teeth.

Stella shakes her head and purses her lips, refusing to tell me.

“Is the son of a bitch still alive?”

“No. I killed him.” Her eyes hold mine without hesitation or regret.

“Good girl,” I whisper in her ear before placing a kiss on her neck and pulling her closer to me.

Some of the tension leaves Stella’s body as she sinks against me, and then she laughs. “Annie doesn’t know about that part. I never brought it up because that choice didn’t make me lose a single night’s sleep.”

“There’s no reason it should. That’s one of the things I love about you. You’re venomous when you need to be. It’ll be what helps me sleep at night when I’m locked up.”

“Locked up?” Stella exclaims, turning around to look me in the eye while kneeling in front of me.

“For the gun charges. I told you about them. There was a clause in our agreement.”

“Oh.”

“The guys and I had a meeting with our attorneys this afternoon.”

“What did the attorneys say?”

“They’re not optimistic about our chances at trial.”

“You really think you’ll have to serve a prison sentence for gun charges? There’s nothing you or the mighty boss of bosses can do to get you out of it?”

Taking her left hand and looking at the wedding band and diamond engagement ring, I tell the truth. “Tristan’s been trying to figure out a less lethal way out of the charges, but we’re running out of time on hoping for some miracle.”

“How long?” she asks. “How long would you be in prison?”

“Somewhere between thirty-six and forty-two months.”

“That’s three years!”

“I know it is, baby.” I smirk.

“This isn’t funny, Andre,” Stella huffs when she jerks her hand from mine and crosses her arms over her bare chest.

“No, it’s not. I’m going to lose my license and three years with you. Before the wedding, I was fairly sure you wouldn’t be the type to wait around for me or show up for conjugal visits.”

Stella blinks at me silently as if she’s in shock. There’s even a hint of sadness in her eyes. More than sadness.

“Creed might figure it out.” I swipe my thumb over her damp cheek. I’m sure the tear is for her sharing her traumatic experience with me and not because I may be going away for years. “A new DA might drop the charges.”

“That’s the plan? Kill the DA, hope the new one is sympathetic? If not, is he going to kill that one too?”

“I don’t know. Creed is desperate to avoid an active sentence since Zara’s pregnant.” Stella’s folded arms drop, and her palm flies to her flat abdomen so fast my brows nearly hit my hairline. “Are you…”

She shakes her head. “It’s too early to know.”

“Right,” I say even though I’m not an expert on women’s cycles. No wonder Creed has been so grouchy lately. Just thinking about leaving Stella with our child growing inside her feels like fucking torture. Trying to look on the bright side and not lose my shit, I tell her, “Well, if you are knocked up, at least you won’t be all alone...”

“Fuck. You,” my wife grits out before shoving her hands against my chest, nearly toppling me off the damn bed. Sliding off the mattress, Stella heads straight for the bathroom in nothing but her sexy boots. God, I already know every time I stroke my cock in prison, it’ll be thinking about fucking her in those damn boots and nothing else.

“Baby, are you seriously mad at me for going to prison?” I scoff at her lovely, retreating backside.

“Yes!” she shouts before slamming the door shut.

Shaking my head, unsure how to navigate these rocky waters, I climb off the bed and pick up our discarded clothing. I check my pants pockets, removing my wallet and keys, then my phone, noticing a list of missed calls and texts from Creed and Tristan that’s so long I have to scroll.

Fuck. I must’ve had it on silent because I didn’t hear it ring or vibrate.

I call Creed back before wasting more time reading messages.

“Where the fuck are you?” he grumbles. “Get to Omerta now.”

“Now?”

“The bosses have called an emergency meeting tonight.”

“Why?”

“To make Bowen the official boss of the Bronx. Weston Bertelli was just assassinated.”

“Fuck,” I mutter before ending the call to make another one.

* * *

Stella

Knuckles rap again on the door, sounding louder than before once I shut the tub faucet off and lean back, trying to relax in the warm, bubbly water.

“Come out, baby. Please,” Andre pleads from the other side.

I ignore him and reach for the nearby towel to dry off my soaking wet face.

I can’t believe he’s going to fucking prison and talks about it so…so nonchalantly!

“I’ve got to head out,” he says, making me sit up in the warm water. “There’s an emergency. Weston Bertelli is dead.”

“Shit,” I mutter. “How?” I call out loud enough for him to hear.

He’s quiet for so long, I wonder if he’s already left. “He was shot by a sniper.”

Oh fuck. “Saint?”

“I just spoke to your brother. He’s fine and on his way to the emergency Council meeting with extra guards and increased security at the house for your mom and sister.”

Good. That’s good , I tell myself as I wrap my arms around my raised knees in the water.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay? Franco and Dino will be outside if you need them,” he informs me. “I…I’ll see you later.”

For some reason, I think Andre was about to say ‘I love you’ before the bastard chickened out.

He obviously doesn’t want me to go with him to the meeting. Not that I could attend it even if I wanted to. Hell, Andre probably has to stand outside the doors where the mob bosses hold their meetings.

Still, I hate sitting here in the tub alone while the water already begins to chill around me.

Tonight, with Andre was…emotionally heavy. I wasn’t completely sure I could go through with it. But I did. And the sex was the most intimate of my life, even though he was behind me. I liked being able to see the desire, the pleasure on his face as he moved within me so damn deep.

Then, he had to go and ruin the moment afterward by bringing up that he was probably headed off to prison soon for three fucking years.

I already fucking miss him when he’s just outside the bathroom door, headed down the street. How will I handle only seeing him during family visitation?

Instead of sitting in a cold pity party, I should get out of the tub to go check on Cami and Mom. But I doubt the pizza boys in the van downstairs would let me get farther than a block before stopping me.

For now, I guess I’ll call home, and if everything is okay, I’ll stay here tonight just to give Andre one less thing to worry about.