Page 23 of Ruthless Lord

Stefano

N ormally, I’m asleep before Charlie even settles down and awake hours before she opens her eyes.

Typically, I find her sprawled across the bed, a pillow squeezed between her legs, snoring lightly, mouth hanging open, a little drool stain on the sheets, looking so fucking adorable it takes a lot of willpower not to touch her and fuck her into consciousness.

She’s a messy, pretty sleeper, and I like that about her.

Like she can finally relax a little when she’s unconscious.

But today, the second I come out of the bathroom, I find her already fumbling around in the predawn darkness looking for clothes to wear.

“What are you doing?” I watch my wife with a deep frown.

She squints back at me. “Getting dressed. What are you doing?”

“Going to work.”

“I was thinking—” She stumbles and nearly goes over as she tugs on a pair of jeans. “You’re away all day and I’m stuck here, bored out of my mind. What if I came with you to the depot?”

I stare at her. She steadies herself and stares back. Her tits are barely covered by a pale white bra, which is extremely goddamn distracting. She notices me looking and quickly turns her back, which is only marginally better. The girl’s got a magnificent back.

“Why would anyone willingly come to the depot?”

She shrugs a little as she pulls on a simple black top. “Since our families are going to be working together, I was thinking I could get a feel for your operations.”

“That’s not how our alliance is going to work.”

“Maybe it’s how our marriage is going to work instead?”

“Not happening.” I tug on pants and a Henley, stained and frayed from years of wear, and pull the sleeves over my forearms. She’s staring at my shoulders and licking her lips slightly.

“Definitely happening.”

I shove a gun into my waistband and head downstairs. Charlie follows like a puppy. I do my best to ignore her as I go about my usual routine: banana for breakfast, dark black coffee in a huge travel mug, and a protein shake.

She sticks to coffee, frowning as she watches like a fucking hawk.

“You know breakfast isn’t actually that good for you, right? Primes your metabolism all the wrong ways.”

“I’ve survived this long.”

“But you’re getting older.” She presses her lips together. “And you’re healing.”

“That’s why I have the protein.” I glare at her as I grab my keys. “I don’t need nutrition tips from you.”

“Sure about that? I bet I could make you feel five years younger.”

I rub the small of my back. My knees ache and my nose is throbbing. “Doubt leafy fucking greens are going to help with the amount of damage I’ve taken over the years.”

“You’d be surprised. Kale’s incredible.”

“I thought the world moved on from kale.”

“The world did, but I’m stuck in my ways.”

She follows me outside. I’m tempted to snap at her and make her stay behind, but something makes me hold my tongue.

It’s the way she’s walking close, like she’s inches from reaching out and touching me, and maybe it’s the kiss we shared last night after the fight.

I keep thinking about her lips, about the way I fucked up and broke my promise.

That little, mistaken touch, my hand brushing hers, it’s weighing on me. I’m better than that.

But maybe not. Charlie’s just going to be in the way at the depot and I’m absolutely sure I’m going to catch shit from the other guys if I let my wife tag along. I should make her get back in the house.

I don’t say a word. Instead, she climbs into the truck beside me, and we don’t talk as I make the familiar drive.

She’s got this annoying habit. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it. Whenever she’s in a car, she fucking hums. And not just some tuneless, noiseless bullshit. But an actual song. One specific song.

I’m Still Standing by Elton John.

I had to look it up. Took me like an hour to figure it out. Apparently, it was featured in some children’s animated movie a few years back or some shit like that.

I’m at the point where I actually like the sound of her humming that dumb song.

Any other person and I’d be biting their head off by now.

Charlie gets away with it.

Just like she gets to climb into my truck, follow me to work, watch my fights, tend to my wounds, kiss me, sleep in my bed, make me hurt every time she’s close.

“This is the big scary depot, huh?” She frowns out the window as we pull into the lot. Tall chain-link fences are covered by curling barbed wire. There are rocks and weeds all over the place. “Needs some work.”

“It’s a building for trucks.” I kill the engine and turn to her. “Listen to me. I let you tag along?—”

“You didn’t let me. I firmly insisted.”

“—Now you need to follow some rules.”

Her eyebrows raise and she gives me a coy smirk. “You know I love a good rule.”

I choose not to take that bait.

“You can’t wander off. There’s a lot of shit going on and some of it you’re not supposed to see.”

“Like what?” she purrs, leaning closer.

“Like fucking drugs. You know that already. Stick to the main floor and the back offices. When you’re bored, I’ll take you back home.”

She pouts and leans back. “I have a feeling I’m going to be highly entertained.”

“Doubt it. Come on.” I push my door open and march toward the back entrance, feeling like a damn fool as my wife hurries to keep up.

She peppers me with questions. How many bays?

How many trucks? How many employees? Frankly, I don’t even know half the answers, and I start making shit up just to keep her happy.

I give her a brief tour, showing her the interior of the loading bay and the repairs station before walking her along the enormous exterior lot where most of the unused trucks are stored.

“How many cameras do you have out here?” she asks, sounding curious.

“Dozens. More now than before.”

“Why, did something happen?”

“We had an incident.” I glare at her as she opens her mouth to press me for details. “And I’m not going to talk about that anymore.”

She snaps her jaw shut and looks thoughtful. “I’m guessing it was serious. I can count about a dozen cameras from here.”

“Security’s always been tight for obvious reasons.”

“Still…” She trails off, tapping a fingernail to her chin. “You ever think about installing motion trackers?”

“Probably.” Except I don’t actually know. That’s Davide’s department. “We should head back inside.”

She’s got a million more comments as we head back into the office.

I do my best to deflect, not sure why she’s so interested in the depot all of a sudden.

As we head down the back hall, we nearly run straight into an old grizzled man wearing grease-stained jeans and a dark long-sleeve shirt.

He’s got a bandana tied around his salt-and-pepper hair and he grunts when he spots us, coming up short.

“Stefano, I was looking for you.” Giorgio turns to Charlie with a deepening frown. “Is this that new tire guy I asked for? She seems a little small, no offense, dear, and maybe too pretty?—”

“This is my wife,” I grunt at the foreman. “Charlie, meet Giorgio. He runs this place.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, beaming happily.

Giorgio brightens, giving me a quick grin before shaking her hand. “Well, this is a nice surprise. I heard the old boss got hitched but never thought I’d see the famed wife here of all places. What brought you to our kingdom?”

“Curiosity and boredom, mostly. Stefano was just giving me a tour.”

Giorgio feigns exaggerated surprise. “Was he now? Here I thought he didn’t know where anything was in this place, considering the way he behaves.”

“Easy,” I grumble, annoyed.

“I actually noticed that. He hasn’t been the most helpful.”

“I wouldn’t mind showing you around a bit.” Giorgio glances at me. “I’ve got some spare time.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I’d be delighted.” Charlie steps toward him, not bothering to ask for my permission. “I was hoping you could show me around inside.”

“Happy to.” Giorgio grins at me. “I’ll bring her back soon.”

I watch them walk off with a sinking feeling.

Giorgio’s a good foreman. He keeps the place ticking over. Trucks come and go, and he makes sure all the usual jobs get done. Patching, repairing, loading, scheduling. The guy practically keeps the whole depot moving.

But he’s talkative. And I have a feeling Charlie’s going to eat him alive.

Ah, fuck, nothing I can do about it now.

I head back to my office and try to concentrate on the morning’s tasks.

There’s the usual scheduling, inventory, and phone calls to clients I’m forced to deal with.

I hate that shit more than anything. So much of my life years back was spent on the streets battling rival gangs and breaking knees.

I was steeped in violence. But now my role in the Famiglia is slowly changing from that of a street-level thug to a goddamn paper pusher, and I hate it.

I feel worthless. I know what I do here in the depot matters, but that doesn’t help the soul-crushing boredom. My lower back aches, not because I spent the morning punching jaws and cracking skulls, but because I’ve been sitting for too goddamn long.

It’s pathetic. It’s worse than that?—

It’s fucking mundane .

I didn’t join a crime family to feel like an average fuck. I joined for power, money, and glory.

Instead, I’m sitting at a desk, worrying about suppliers .

Yeah, I’m managing a multinational drug smuggling operation, but still.

That’s peanuts compared to the thrill of facing an opponent in the ring.

I’m practically prowling my office by the time I hear Charlie’s laughter down the hall. I throw my door open and find her heading toward me with Giorgio, both of them acting like they’re the oldest of friends.

“Uh-oh, the boss has that look again,” Giorgio says, his grin fading slightly.

“Isn’t that his average face?” Charlie squints at me. “Oh, you’re right, that’s his annoyed frown. You can tell by the eyes.”

“I’ve been saying that for years and nobody believes me. They all think the boss only has one look, and that’s pissed.”

“Giorgio, thanks for showing my wife around, but you’ve got work.” I stare hard at him.

“It’s amazing how mad he seems.” Charlie sighs and pats Giorgio’s arm lightly. “Thanks for showing me around.”

“Anytime.” Giorgio shoots me a grin before hurrying off, leaving me alone with my wife.

I give her a long look before jerking my head back over my shoulder. “In my office. Right now.”

“Am I in trouble?” she says, cooing like it’s funny. “Because I think I like it when you’re mad at me.”

I close the door hard once she’s settling herself behind my desk. I struggle not to grind my teeth too hard, but the goddamn girl is so frustrating beyond belief. I can barely control myself.

“You have fun?”

“Actually, yes. Giorgio was the perfect gentleman. Very talkative too. Did you know he has two grandkids?”

“Mila and Turner. I’m aware.”

“That honestly shocks me.” She leans back, getting herself nice and comfortable. “This place is pretty cool, did you know that?”

I approach the desk and lean over it. “What’s your game, Charlie?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Whatever do you mean, husband?”

I circle toward her, going slow. “You’ve never shown any interest in the shipping business before today. Last night, you kissed me?—”

“You broke your promise.”

“I brushed my hands against yours. I didn’t realize your knuckles were an erogenous zone.”

“I have extremely sensitive hands.” She stares at me, still smiling like she’s got the upper hand here. “What are you saying exactly? Are you accusing me of something?”

“I’m trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing at my depot.”

“I told you already. I’m curious about my husband’s business.”

“I don’t believe you.” I stop in front of her. I lean forward again, putting my hands carefully on the arms of her chair, getting right in her face. We’re inches apart but still not touching. “What’s the game?”

“No game. Can’t a wife be curious about her arranged husband?”

“You could ask me questions at dinner.”

“I didn’t realize we ate together.”

“We could start.”

“You want to share meals with me now, Stefano?” She says it teasingly, biting the tip of her tongue lightly. “What’s next? Movie dates?”

“I’ll take you to the movies if that’s what you want.”

“What a gentleman.”

Frustration boils over. She’s acting like this visit is completely normal, and we both know it’s not. “Just tell me what this is all about so we can be done with it.”

There’s a tense silence. Her smile slips and she glances aside, down at my desk. I want to reach out and touch her so fucking badly it’s like a tsunami hammering against a levee. I’m inches from breaking down and shattering, and when that happens, I doubt I can stop the flood.

“You want the truth? You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me.”

She meets my gaze again. There’s a strange yearning in her expression. “Last night shook me, okay? It’s like we crossed a line.”

I didn’t expect that. I figured she’d make some kind of joke, layer more teasing and bullshit over her emotions. Anything to hide herself from me.

But instead, she’s stripping down. That’s the most vulnerable she’s ever truly been, and it sends a jolt down into my heart.

“You don’t have to feel that way.” I want to brush my fingers across her cheek. I want to lean in and kiss her lightly so she understands how I feel. “There doesn’t have to be lines.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“But it could be if we let it.” My fingers grip the arms of the chair tighter. My knuckles turn white. “It’s okay, Charlie. I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?” She’s whispering. Her lips are spread and slightly damp. I love the little gap between her front teeth. I can’t get enough of the turn of her nose, the curve of her eyes. The bend at the top of her lips.

“I want you . Since the second you ripped my towel off.”

Her cheeks flush red. “I was running for my life.”

“Which is the only reason I didn’t make you stay and say sorry.”

“Stefano.” She whispers my name and sits forward. Fuck, we’re so close. “I need to know something.”

“Anything. Just ask. You know I’ll be honest.”

She reaches out. Her fingertips brush down my chin.

“Does the door lock?”