Page 23 of Enemy of Ours #1

“It’s mostly shadows, like shapes of smoke that never stop moving, but I can see the shapes of people moving on the beach and the waves coming towards the shore.

I can see what I’m guessing are rock formations off the cliffs and a mountain far away.

” She remains quiet for a moment before turning towards me and searching for her seatbelt, her hands gliding over the butter-soft leather of the couch.

“It’s as if every direction you gaze at, it’s something different and unique.

I wish I could still paint.” Her voice comes out sad and wistful; my heart squeezes at the pain in her tone.

I want to give her the world, and somehow I’ll have all her dreams come true.

I will do whatever it takes, even if it means threatening, maiming, killing, or shouting at the heavens, to let her know peace.

I stand up and lean over her, grabbing the seatbelt just before she can reach for it.

I buckle her in, tightening the strap with a quick flick of my wrist, loving the soft gasp she lets out as she stares straight ahead at the opening of my collar.

“There. All strapped in. You aren’t going anywhere.” My knuckles graze her hip as I step away, clearing my throat when my voice comes out gravelly as I return to my own seat to buckle in.

“I know how to buckle into my own seat,” she grits out, that beautiful face turning into a scowl as she wraps an arm around Sofia just when the plane hits the runway smoothly.

“Oh, I know. Kitten. I just like tying you up. It’s becoming a hobby of mine. I can’t wait to explore it more with you.” I chuckle darkly, heat in my tone as I imagine her bound and under my mercy, begging.

“Keep dreaming, Messina,” she sasses, her lips twitching as she holds back a smile and starts to unbind her ribbon from around her wrist.

“You don’t need that. Anyone who judges you or looks sideways at you, I’ll torture them until they are choking on their blood at your feet.” She knows I’m referring to the ribbon as she stops sliding the silk between her fingers and turns her head towards me with a blank expression.

“You would kill for me?” she asks curiously, her head tilting to the side.

“I already have. I shot men in a church for you and don’t regret a thing. Who do you think has been helping your brother, Jamie, and taking down the rest of the Irish church?” My voice comes out rough with real fucking rage, as it always does when I replay that night.

“Do you know why I was in that church? Why was I strung up on that cross like a sacrifice?” She unclips her seatbelt, standing up so fast and hovering over me with a furious expression that she doesn’t give me time to answer.

“Because of men like my father. Men like you. Who think they are invincible and can create their own little worlds like a god. I was taken, and this is the result of power-hungry men!” she yells, gesturing to her face, her chest rising and falling rapidly like she ran a marathon.

“I know. I’m sorry, Iris. I’ll be making it up to you every single day for the rest of my life.

You never deserved any of it, the pain or fear.

But I can’t and won’t let you go. Don’t ask me to.

You are mine; get used to it.” My pulse skips a beat as the usual guilt and hunger to destroy her, but in the best possible way, thuds through my veins.

My body screams, Take her, fuck her, protect her.

I’m out of my seat and towering over her, watching her stumble back from the sudden movement, a flicker of fear crossing her features, and I hate that I just put it there.

I don’t say anything else; I give her a wide berth as I round her body so she doesn’t keep looking at me like that.

Without wanting to frighten her, I slowly hand her the long, light coat from the seat beside us so she can cover up her nightgown before we leave the plane.

She hesitates, takes the garment, and I get down on one knee in front of her, which makes a small gasp leave her perfect, pouty lips.

I don’t say a word as I slowly grasp her ankle, my hand gliding up her smooth calf as I slip on a pair of sandals with a small heel on her delicate foot.

I repeat the same process with her other leg, trying to control myself when I feel her shiver.

Goosebumps pebble her skin when the palm of my hand squeezes her calf before releasing her.

My skin feels taut over my bones; the need to keep touching her is becoming harder and harder to fight each day.

I find myself unable to resist leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her leg, my lips gliding over her skin as I whisper the word "Sorry" before withdrawing. It’s a struggle to stop there.

I want to keep going, to devour her, to make her come so hard that the only word leaving her lips is Romeo.

But instead, I let go of her and stand up to my full height before striding towards the exit with stiff shoulders and my usual scowl reserved for everyone but her.

“I hope you enjoyed your flight, Mr. Messina, and welcome home,” the captain says as he heads back into the cockpit, while I nod and climb down the stairs, cursing to myself under my breath.

My shoulders are tight as I hear her exit behind me seconds later, Sofia helping her guide down the stairs, and I don’t move until she makes it safely to the bottom step.

She has a pair of shades covering her face, but in the time it took her to leave the plane, she had already wrapped the silk ribbon around her head to cover her scars.

Fuck.

I know it’s like a security blanket for her, a way to hide from the world, and I probably worsened it.

“Don. The caretakers have cleaned up the estate and made it ready for your use,” Dante, my driver while I’m in Italy on business or pleasure, informs me before turning towards Iris.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Messina. I hope you enjoy the beauty of Italy.

” He greets Iris with a smile on his fucking face as he holds the car door open for her.

I’m completely frozen. A million thoughts are running through my head, and I'm wondering if I should just shoot the motherfucker for opening his big mouth. I don’t care that he’s a second cousin twice removed and wet behind the ears still.

“Excuse me?” Iris's quiet mutter causes sweat to bead at the back of my neck, and her smile, which she had been returning at Dante's greeting, freezes on her face.

“Get in the car, Iris.” My tone comes out dark, almost a growl, and there is no room for her to argue with me as she walks stiffly towards the car with her head held high.

I’m glaring at Dante, who gulps loudly and scrambles to the driver’s side as I hold the door open with a tight fist. She slides into the Dodge Durango SUV and pats the seat next to her for Sofia to hop in.

A space between us is purposely there. Luckily, the car ride isn’t too far from the estate, an hour tops, but I have a feeling it’s going to be spent in silence.

I can see her knuckles white in her lap and a pink blush covering her neck as she sits rigid in her seat.

“You better explain the moment we are alone, or I’ll take that gun from behind your belt and shoot you myself,” she threatens me, a hissing whisper from her side of the car, and damn if that doesn’t get me hard like everything else she does.

How the hell am I going to explain to her that she’s been my wife for almost three years without her knowledge?