Page 28 of Made Monster (Curse Made #2)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alessandrio
I f anyone told me two months ago I would stand beside and lust after a Dolmino, I would have spat on them. Yet here I fucking am on the front steps of another mansion, dressed in a suit and holding the hand of the enemy’s sister. She touched me. Her fingers caressing my cheek unnerved me. It wasn’t a touch based on her attempt to help me, it was an unguarded moment. Curiosity or something more? It was so fucking gentle, so unlike a Dolmino. The reminder of who she is, is like having ice water poured down my back,a rude awakening and reminder that she is still the enemy. Yet my sides still tingleswhere her fingers laced through the fur and tugged as if to pull me closer.
Don’t go there. We were able to avoid each other expertly for the entire day today. It wasn’t until Donatella arrived under Emilio’s orders to prepare her for this party that I finally knocked on her door and saw one weary eye through the crack. And when we greeted the old Greco housekeeper, there was so much distance between us you would think we were in two separate states. However, I couldn’t ignore the way I found my eyes drawn to Olivia, or the way they seemed to feast on her with the hunger of a starving man who’s tempted to eat but refuses. When she emerged an hour later, dressed in a floral pink silk dress that hugged her lithe body, I froze. Her face alone could start a Mafia war, with her pretty bow mouth, high cheekbones and those pale eyes and long lashes. When she moved into the room, I had to busy myself, pouring her another drink to stop myself from staring. Then on the highway toward tonight's party, my eyes kept sliding between the road and her naked thigh beside the centre console, fingers itching to touch her.
“You are particularly icy tonight, fiancée,” I drawl as we ascend the steps into an empty entrance hall of another massive mansion.
“You have no bruises or swelling,” she replies quietly.
I stop, forcing her to pause as well, and turn to face her.
“Oh. Did you want to soothe them some more with your sweet touch?” Right string pulled.
Her eyes widen, gaze falling to the buttons of my white shirt, and pink stains form on her cheekbones.
“The curse has one perk—advanced healing.” That draws her eyes back up. “Now, I know you are disappointed that my bruises are gone and you can’t soothe them again.” Her eyes darken. I bite down on the urge to smile and continue. “However, we have a job to do and a room full of people to convince that we are madly in love, so direct that energy into the rest of me and stop acting like an ice princess.”
That small kindling in her eyes becomes a blazing bonfire and I can’t help but mentally clap myself on the back.
“You are so right,” Olivia replies, her voice softening into something entirely carnal as she steps closer.
A stone rises in my throat at her boldness, her eyes wide with false innocence as her hand meets my abs beneath my shirt. I see a flicker of something in that look as she leans in, and the urge to lower my head to hers is so strong it’s my turn to stiffen beneath her touch. A sure smile pulls at the corners of that lush mouth and my cock twinges with the desire to fill it.
“Let’s not disappoint them,” she croons, dragging a delicate finger down the ridges of my stomach.
The sound that begins in my chest pauses her finger’s descent and her eyes meet mine, hesitation floating across the smugness.
“Play with fire, little one, and you might find that it consumes you,” I growl low and watch her visibly shiver.
She stabs me in the ribs with that finger before pushing past me, grabbing my hand as she goes. I follow, watching appreciatively at the sway of her hips, her hand wrapped around mine. Leaving the hall, we emerge into a room full of glamorous show ponies. This time, however, the men offer their welcome, and I catch the eye of a few women who boldly meet my gaze. My fiancée, however, seems to be the reverse. I catch a few men’s appreciative gazes landing on her, so I tug her back to me, flinging an arm over her shoulders as if to shield her from all the attention. Instead of stiffening, she curls into my side, arm reaching around my waist, and I am forced to acknowledge how fucking good she feels.
We pass the Outfit and De Luca offers me a slick smile of knowing that makes my hand close into a fist with the urge to plant it in his face. His eyes slide to Olivia and darken, and I force myself to scan their group, searching, but find no Galdano amongst their little troupe. Motherfucker better not be here tonight. When I see a pair of curving horns over the top of the crowd across the room, something in my chest eases and I steer Olivia toward my family. My brother’s gaze rakes over us as we emerge into their pocket of space before raising a brow in question at me. I slide my arm off Olivia’s shoulders, feeling bereft as I move away, and Lucia swoops in to fill my spot.
“What?” I hiss, pulling up next to my brother.
“You guys look good together.” I snort at that.
“This isn’t a fucking fairytale brother,” I reply, watching Lucia hand Olivia a glass of wine. “The monster doesn’t get the girl.”
“I got Lucia.”
“Only because of a contract.”
“A contract didn’t force her to love me,” he replies, watching his wife intently.
The urge to deny him is on the tip of my tongue. Her love didn’t set us free as it was meant to, and yet when Lucia’s eyes catch on Emilio, it really is truly hard to deny. Now I watch the two women speaking closely, their eyes occasionally finding Emilio and I. The contrast between the two is obvious. Lucia is warmth, her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, face soft with love for my brother when her gaze falls on him. Olivia, on the other hand, is all sharp lines and frosty beauty. The only warmth is the fire that sparks in her eyes when I push the right buttons. I offer her a cocky smile of challenge and watch her own mouth twinge before she rolls those pretty eyes and returns to murmuring to Olivia.
“You are in trouble,” Emilio murmurs.
“What did I do now?”
He lets out another bark of laughter before waving at a man from another group and stepping in his direction.
“You owe my wife an apology. After you have done so, socialize a bit, will you? Spread the word of your engagement and take your fiancée with you,” he says low in parting.
As if in memory, my body twinges with residual pain. A kidney shot doesn’t heal as easily as a few superficial bruises. I move toward Lucia and Olivia before clearing my throat. Apologies have never been my strong suit and both women have stopped to look at me with questioning eyes. Well, fuck.
“I, um. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” I ignore Olivia, whose brow is rising in question, and focus my attention on Lucia. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” Lucia looks as though she is about to stop me but I plough on. “However, I don’t think I am wrong. You are my mistress and it’s my job to protect you. I couldn’t then, but I can now.” And the weight of that guilt still hangs heavy on my shoulders.
Lucia just stares wide eyed at me. The woman beside her is quiet, looking between us as if she is still trying to work out what she’s missing.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lucia finally says. “I don’t blame you.”
No, she wouldn’t, because she is a good person, but I am her capo and I should have anticipated the betrayal. It will sit with me for the rest of my days, seeing Emilio like that, seeing his pain and fear will haunt me. It almost ruined them. He let her go because of his fear of what Riccardo Dolmino would do if he got his hands on her again.
With nothing more to say, I reach for Olivia’s hand and pull her in close. “We have a party to work,” I tell her and tug her into the crowd, leaving Lucia with Lorenzo, his wife, and our made men.
“What are you trying to protect her from?” Olivia questions as we part the crowd.
“You,” I reply, leading her through the ample space those around us have made.
It’s hard finding a welcoming group amongst a room full of snakes and leeches. Mafia men love power. They respect men whose violent reputations exceed them, but will wear masks to hide their fear and distrust. My past has been written in blood. Most of these men have felt my wrath, or have felt its effects through a chain reaction. No one makes a move in this community without repercussions; everything is cause and effect. Some just hate me because I have touched something that they thought that was theirs. So as I work my way through them, I note how smiles don’t reach the eyes, hands hesitate, thinking better of reaching out to shake my own. I don’t even offer my hand, but keep it rested on my stony fiancée’s hip. When the conversation becomes monotonous, I find my fingers sliding over the silk, caressing and toying with the curve. I feel her eyes on me in those moments and turn my head to stare down into that liquid metal gaze. The urge to drop my mouth down and claim those pink lips fills me with a sense of foreboding. I am truly fucked.
“Alessandrio?” A soft voice tugs on the strings of my memory, and I tear my gaze away from the woman beside me.
I should have expected this moment, and yet it hits me like a punch to the gut. Carla Agosti is still as beautiful as the last time I saw her. When was it? A year and a half ago? Diamond clips hold back her loose dark brown hair, and she wears a deep red velvet dress that accentuates her curvy body. She stares up at me wearily, eyes hesitantly sliding over my face, searching for my old features until they find my horns and widen.
“Carla.” I breathe and she smiles softly.
“I was wondering if you had forgotten,” she says sadly.
“Hello,” my fiancée says, tugging at Carla’s attention. “I’m Olivia Dolmino, Alessandrio’s fiancée.”
There is a tone to her voice that piques my interest. Her head is down and I long to tilt it back to see into her face to identify what she is thinking. But she reaches out a hand to the woman before us. Shaking hands isn’t a thing done amongst women, but Carla takes it nonetheless. Never did I think the woman I was courting over a year ago would be standing before me now as I introduce my fiancée— fake fiancée —to the world.
“A pleasure, and congratulations,” Carla replies before her gaze sweeps back to mine. “Could we…” She pauses, shooting a look back at the woman tucked into my side like she belongs there. “Have a little private chat?” Her eyes implore me with that same look that reeled me in once before.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Olivia replies.
“Liv.” The name slips out and her head finally lifts and I can see the war of emotions happening on her face. “Just give us a moment, princess.”
Her teeth worry her bottom lip and I absentmindedly reach down and free it with my thumb. She pulls back, eyes wide as she slips from my grasp and moves away. I watch her slip back into the crowd, the urge to grab her arm and hide her against me once more tugging at me as salacious gazes acknowledge her passing. I take a step after her, but a hand on my arm draws me back.
“Alessandrio.” It’s an effort to drag my gaze away from Olivia’s retreating form as I am suddenly struck by a strong feeling of loss and fear.
“Carla,” I snap impatiently, turning to the woman who rears her head back, brown eyes terrified. “What was it you wanted to chat about?”
She looks around, and I want to laugh. If she wanted anonymity, she should have picked a different man. Carla steps closer, her overpoweringly sweet fragrance fills my nose.
“I…” She stares coyly up at me and I am mystified by how much my body doesn’t react. “I missed you. I thought you would reach out to me. When rumours started about what had happened to you and Emilio, I expected you to…” She pauses and I grind my teeth. “Call.”
“Where is your husband, Carla?”
“He is unwell at the moment. The doctors said he needed bed rest. I came with my parents tonight hoping to run into you.”
The fucking Mafia. Carla is only twenty-five. Her husband, however, is seventy-two and undoubtedly on his deathbed. When we met, she was all coy smiles and soft glances, her hand stroking against mine as we stood chatting at parties. I wanted her. She, however, kept me on a string, promising that when her husband’s time came, she would take me to her bed. Now I could give two shits. Impatiently, I lift my head and scan the crowd, trying to locate a familiar blonde head.
“Do you love her?”
The question throws me off guard, my entire body rebelling at the notion. A no simmers on the tip of my tongue, but it tastes like a lie even more so than the word that slides off my tongue.
“Yes.”
She looks as though I kicked a puppy. A year ago I was her crutch, much like I was other women’s crutch, a tool they used to ease their loneliness in a world thoroughly devoid of romance. Stolen moments, and whispered promises, but I was always just a distraction. Alessandrio Greco, easy as they come. And I let them all use me. In truth, I was used to being used for comfort, long before I could even gain anything from it, but when my mother killed herself, I realized I would never be enough. Something dark slithers around my heart, snuffing out the memories that threaten to overwhelm me. I let Olivia go for this? I turn my head and search the crowd once more and catch sight of a blonde head by the bar on the far side of the room. She isn’t alone, and something powerful and urgent tugs at me.
“Don’t waste my time with nonsense anymore,” I spit, not drawing my eyes away from the two figures at the bar. I let her go for this?
“Alessandrio.” Her voice sounds high and affronted. A hand tries to grab for my arm, but I am already moving.
The crowd parts, and I appreciate this form that strikes both intrigue and fear. No one moves into my path or tries to stop me. I know the set of my shoulders and the laser focus of my gaze stalls anyone even thinking about it. The snarl that would come from my mouth if they did would be nothing but primal and violent. If anyone was questioning if I was more monster than man, they would have their answer.
They fucking look like they belong together. I want to believe it’s the urge to keep her from the enemy that moves me to action, but it’s something baser—oilier that fills me with self doubt. If I were in my human form, I still would look out of place beside her. She is something different even in this room amongst its pomp and glamour; she eclipses everyone else.
“Get your hand off my fiancée.” My words are dripping with malice and the room’s volume seems to falter.
Leonardo De Luca’s hand slides across that pink dress and the urge to rip it from his body has me taking a warning step forward. The beast I am at my core roars, demanding it be heard. Mine. Steely indifferent eyes look up at me and it provokes the thing beneath my skin. I spear her with a warning look, but she only stares back, blatantly challenging. I bare my teeth at her and yet the little viper does nothing but give me that haughty stare. A dark chuckle emanates from my chest as the urge to lash out fills me.
“I meant no offense, Greco,” De Luca interjects, drawing my attention.
I slide my hand over her lower back and curve my arm, pulling her into me—where she belongs.
“I’m done with this now,” I drawl, ignoring his words and looking down at the woman who is practically glaring up at me. The beast inside me demands penance for the injury against its pride, for making me question my worth. “And this dress has been driving me wild.” I drop my head then, taking advantage of her surprise, and brush my lips against that mouth that has been tempting and taunting me.
I inhale her gasp of surprise, lavishing in the feel of her breath filling my lungs. Her body tightens, my arm absorbing all her changes as she becomes taut. The urge to fist her dress and pull her closer is so strong, desire to make it an actual kiss and show her exactly who she is playing with, but still another part of me has alarm bells blaring. Too close, too real. Pulling back, I see her eyes are closed, rosy lips parted and a sweet flush on her cheeks. Tearing my eyes away, I catch De Luca in an unguarded moment. His eyes are on her, narrowed and suspicious. When his gaze sweeps to me, I offer him a wicked, knowing smile. Mine— that smile states she’s mine to protect and whatever else he might think I get to do.
Without another moment for formality, I turn, taking her hand, and tug her away from the bar, away from De Luca. People shuffle out of our way as we pass, but my energy is focused on the woman beside me, and the need that has been driving me fucking wild. I breathe easier when we are in the hall again, the silence of the space is almost deafening by comparison to the room we just left. The air around us feels heavy with unspoken words as my paws continue their prowling, her heels uneven behind me. I palm the door open and the chilly night air rushes in. The valet is standing on the gravel smoking, a few sharp curses are tossed into the night before he scurries around the side of the house.
“Stop,” Olivia hisses.
“When we get to the car,” I snap back, ignoring her.
She loses her balance on the steps and I shift to steady her. “Enough Alessandrio.” Her voice is an angry plea, eyes begging.
“Not here,” I snarl low, tugging on her hand again and pulling her in close. Her hand comes up to my waist as I grip her chin. “There are eyes always watching.” I feel the need to kiss her again so strongly that it’s like being lost in a desert without water. I’m so fucking thirsty. I can’t trust myself right now. “Now move your ass, or I will carry you,” I whisper and watch her eyes become cold steel.
When I move again, she doesn’t resist, doesn’t say another word as we cross the darkened driveway to reach my car. I open the door and she slides onto the leather seat, ignoring me even when I slide into the seat beside her. Neither of us says a word as I navigate my car down the long driveway. The silence stretches until we are on the highway heading back toward the city.
“What did you say to Leonardo De Luca?” I can’t hide the anger in my voice. It felt like a betrayal, seeing her stand there with him.
“What did you say to that woman?” Her own anger rises to meet mine.
“She is not a threat, and you will answer my question.”
“Or what? Going to make good on your play room and carve it out of me?”
This fucking woman.
“Do you think this is a game?” I ask incredulously.
She doesn’t answer, and the rest of the drive becomes thick with silence. I grip the steering wheel, watching my furred hands wring the leather as if I am wringing her pretty throat. It feels like an age before I drive down the ramp beneath the hotel and only when I pull the car into its spot do I turn to face the woman beside me. The fluorescent lights of the garage illuminate her, and Olivia is already watching me, her body wound so tight with her own tension. So many questions are at war on her face.
“Ask it.” My voice sounds strangled and her eyes reflect my torment.
“Why did you kiss me?” she breathes, a knot forming between her brows.
“I’d like to say that it was to show that motherfucker you are mine.” Her brow eases. “But I am no liar: in truth, I have wanted to taste that smart mouth for a while now.”
Even in the dim glow, I see a flush bleed across her cheeks. With a shaky hand and breath, she tucks her hair behind her ear. The smell that fills the car has me taking a deep breath through my nose. It’s sweet and heady, and makes my mouth water in response as she rubs her thighs together. The smart mouth in question parts slightly as resignation coats her features. Her eyes slide to my hand resting on the steering wheel and a thrill shoots through me at her darkening gaze. With another soft exhale, she leans forward and wraps her fingers around my wrist, tugging it away from its resting place.
I watch in awe as her pale fingers straighten out each of my own,shivering as she trails a dainty pointer down each of my clawless fingers.
“Your fur is like velvet,” she whispers, not taking her eyes off those fingers.
And I can’t take my own from her face. Unguarded, she’s the most beautiful person I have ever seen. She moves my hand, but my eyes remain locked on her face, watching her eyes widen as my palm meets the warmth of her thigh. I have never hated my fur more as it buffers the feel of her silky skin. A growl begins in my chest, low and menacing.
“You are playing with fire.” I let it out with my words, their rough sound filling the space.
“Maybe I want to be consumed,” she replies, and I feel the shift in her thighs as they part.
I need no more encouragement.