Page 22

Chapter 22

Nova

The rage in Massimo is banked. It isn't gone, but it's no longer the nuclear, murderous levels.

Did he just attack one of his men because he thought he hurt me and was responsible for triggering me?

It's unbelievable, and I can't process it right now.

Like always, my world is off-kilter with Massimo. Lessons learned that I always relied on and tactics to survive are being pushed off the cliff and replaced with new ones.

"Princess, don't try to protect him if he touched you."

Not allowing myself to question it, I rise on my toes and pull Massimo's head down. Just as he's done to calm me, I kiss his forehead.

"It wasn't him or any of your men. It's how they're dressed…" I look away, feeling ridiculously stupid.

Who has a trauma reaction and is triggered by how someone is dressed?

Me, that's who.

Weak, stupid, idiot—

Stop. It .

Massimo's massive hand cups my chin—so gentle and careful, so tender —and turns my face back to his. He searches my eyes, and I don't hide from him. I let him see the truth of my words and the well of torment I've lived through.

His thumb caresses along my jawline. "You'll tell me, princess? "

I nod. I'll tell him this, at least. Not because I trust him, but to stop a man from being killed because of me.

Massimo seems to have morphed into a seer, as if he can read my thoughts. Without breaking eye contact with me, he speaks to Gabe. "I want the security footage reviewed to verify Damien or anyone else hasn't hurt her."

"Of course, Mass."

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the guard, whose face is bloody and already starting to bruise, but he's shockingly composed.

"Nova." Massimo's hands fall on my hips with a possessive grip, as if he can't stand my attention on another man.

My heart races, but not from fear.

Is my body really responding to his touch right now?

Questioning my sanity and all my life's choices, I turn back to Massimo. "Your guard didn't hurt me."

That intense heat in his eyes is back—the one when I had been in his arms, and we both humped me against his thick shaft until I climaxed. In the short span of time since waking, I'm flipping between fear and lust so much that my head spins.

My world tilts as a wave of dizziness assaults me, and Massimo catches me against him.

"You need to eat," he growls.

Then he scoops me up and carries me down the hall. I don't fight him. I can't escape him with his strength; but truth be told, I don't want to. It’s insane that this is my current reality, but having Massimo Santoro take care of me is quickly becoming a weakness.

A set of mahogany double doors catches my eye from across the hallway. As we pass, I study the carved pattern: a shield divided into four quadrants, each depicting a symbol—a tree with deep roots, interlocking rings, a rose entwined with what looks like olive branches, and a lion's head.

"That's my bedroom," he says. "The carving is my family's crest."

As he looks down at me, warmth spreads through me, and I need to turn away his overwhelming presence and effect on me.

"I can walk," I weakly protest as we descend the stairs to the front foyer

"I like you like this."

"What? Helpless?" I bite my lip to silence myself, once again struck by how incredibly open and free I am with Massimo.

A smile blooms on his mouth.

I want that beautiful mouth on my skin.

Warmth rushes through me, both at the intensity of his look and my thoughts.

"No, princess. Having you in my arms…" He licks his lips, and my gaze snaps to his tongue and glistening lips. "I don't think I'll ever get too much of having you in my arms."

I look away from him again, torn between the intense urge to believe him and the lessons that warn me he's trying to deceive me.

Massimo walks across the marble floor through the foyer that opens to a series of arched doorways and heads toward one that is bright and cheery. The house is beautifully decorated with fresh flowers in vases everywhere. With its expensive art and décor, it is opulent without being tacky or flashy —elegant, just like the man carrying me.

Luxury and lavish surroundings aren't new to me, and I quickly notice what's missing: the people it takes to operate and maintain a home like this.

He steps into the brightly lit room with two large windows, divided into smaller panes by a grid of inner frames and ivy creeping up the edges. Through the glass, I catch a glimpse of a garden maze.

At the back of the room is a set of French doors leading to another space, and Massimo steps through them. In this smaller room, the windows are the same style and uncovered, letting the sunlight flood in. A walnut table sits at the center, topped with a pale yellow linen runner. I tilt my head back, taking it all in, feeling relaxed peace—something I shouldn't be feeling—settle over me.

Massimo pulls out the chair at the head of the table, then shifts me in his arms, settling me onto his lap.

"What are you doing?" I ask with a shaky breath when he grips my hips to keep me positioned on him.

Jerome comes in, carrying a tray of food and two carafes—one is stainless steel, with what I'm assuming is coffee; the other is filled with water and lemons. The food is similar to last night, featuring several options from each food category.

My stomach rumbles. I want it all.

Massimo reaches for the water carafe, pouring me some. "Would you also like herbal tea?"

"It's not coffee?" I twist to look at him. "Don't you drink coffee or espresso?"

"I do, but caffeine will be slowly reintroduced to your system."

"But that doesn't mean you can't have caffeine."

He smiles, bringing the glass to my lips. "Drink, princess." I'm thirsty and want to guzzle it, but he pulls it back. "Not too much at once, so you don't dilute your electrolytes."

"Are you a doctor or a mafia Don?"

He runs his knuckle down my cheek. "I've been researching." His eyes flicker between mine. "Trying to repair the damage I've done."

He did do damage, but it's not all on him.

I turn away because I can't handle his expression. He's letting me see his emotions and they're…too much.

They're fake. A lie.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and squirm to get out of his hold. He holds me in place, though, nuzzling my neck, and my heart stalls.

"I'd like to keep you here, to feed you. To take care of you. Will you let me?" he asks in his deep voice, which damages both my defenses and my insides.

And he asked; he didn't command. He's putting the control in my hands. A man who I instinctively know values control, and he's giving it to me.

Damn him.

My resistance basically puddles into a pool between my legs.

I close my eyes, feeling my panties starting to wet; him taking care of me does wicked, unholy things to me.

Maybe it's because I've gone so many years being at the mercy of my father, and no one cared or comforted me since I was ten years old. Or maybe it's because I foolishly want to believe Massimo .

Either way, I cave.

Opening my eyes, I nod.

"Good girl," he murmurs against my cheek.

Heat blooms within me, and my skin flushes. My eyes dart around the room, mortified that Jerome might walk in and witness what can only be described as intimacy—but it's just Massimo and me in the room.

"What do you want to start with?" Massimo asks.

"The scrambled eggs." They have sauteed spinach, mushrooms, and peppers, and my stomach grumbles.

Instead of dishing some up onto a plate, Massimo grabs the serving dish and a fork. He scoops some up, and then brings it to my mouth.

My heart pounds, not just from the arousal and attraction, but because my hard-learned lesson of waiting to be commanded to eat is triggering my panic.

The food being held to my mouth could be considered a command, but still, my breaths are shallow, panicked pants.

"You eat what and when you want, princess." It's like Massimo can see the war that wages in me. "Your father has no control over you. Not here. Not ever again." His dark brown eyes, so fathomless I want to drown in them, are steady on mine. "You're the one in control, Nova."

When I finally open my mouth, he slips the fork inside and somehow hums and groans all at once.

I feel something jump against my hip, and I shift. He makes that noise again, and my eyes widen as I realize what's pressing against the side of my butt cheek.

He's hard, reacting to me on his lap and caring for me.

Rather than freak me out—like it absolutely should—I relax further into him.

"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl."

I squeeze my thighs together as more wetness pools in my panties.

Taking caring of me and praise… Sweet thundering god, I'm doomed.

He feeds me a few forkfuls of the eggs, then grabs the berries when I point at them. He stares at my mouth as he gently pushes them inside, one by one .

He pauses periodically to offer me water and herbal tea. "Would you like some toast? I can get Jerome to make fresh slices so they're warm."

"It's okay."

Instead of letting Massimo offer me the toast, I reach for it. My hand shakes as I take it, and Massimo is silent as he watches me. I break it into two halves. He goes completely still when I lift one half to his mouth, offering to feed him. He accepts it, and our eyes never break contact as I feed him .

Pleasure fills me, as I take care of him. I've never taken care of anyone—not for lack of wanting to, though; everyone always kept their distance from the Mancini Princess.

But taking care of Massimo is in another stratosphere.

When he's finished, I look at the other piece of toast in my hand.

My eyes shift to Massimo; he's silent—refusing to give me the order or permission to eat—but everything about him is encouraging me to do just that. To beat my father's lessons and conditioning.

My hand shakes as I lift the toast to my mouth. It's such a ridiculously innocuous action, but without the verbal command, it's a mammoth hurdle for me to try to get over.

Tears bead on my lashes, and my vision blurs.

If you do this, you'll be punished. You know this. You've learned this lesson so many times before.

Gentle thumbs wipe my tears away, and Massimo's face comes into clearer focus. Still, he remains silent, but his face isn't unreadable or stoic; there's so many words there.

The toast comes to my lips, then I'm biting it, chewing, and swallowing. I keep feeding myself, without ever being commanded to eat, until it's gone.

Then I'm breaking down against Massimo's chest as his arms wrap around me.