Page 28

B enito

I’ve never felt more free in my life. It feels as though I’ve been holding on to something so tightly my bones ache, but being inside this woman has released my grip. I feel free but I don’t feel safe.

Until this point, the understanding that she hated me, that nothing could ever come of my infatuation, prevented me from falling. That barrier is now gone. I have no balcony ledge. There’s no parachute and there’s definitely no soft landing. Contessa Castellano doesn’t hate me anymore, and that frightens the life out of me.

The beginning of the end was that very moment when she spread my semen across her chest. What the fuck? Everything that came before it was fair game. I loved taking her hate the way I love killing my enemies. I could wallow in the dark thrill of her loathing the same way I thrive in the sound of my rivals’ breaking bones.

She clutches my head to her chest and her heartbeat races through my ear canal. Since I saw her at Gianni’s funeral, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. It wasn’t just the never-ending legs that made my mouth water, or sleek glossy hair that made my fist ache, it was the scowl, the sass, the unknown reason why she wanted me to go to hell that makes me so damn hard . I’ve spent the last six months trying to piss her off, just so I can get a glimpse of that hatred.

The day she walked into me outside the barbershop, that was the day my intrigue turned into something more. She was so close I could smell the soap she’d used that morning, the detergent her outfit had been washed with. She was so clean, so fresh and so damn perfect. Even her scowl was perfect and I felt it against my thigh when my dick grew a couple inches.

I had no idea the guy was stalking her. He intruded on that moment and that’s why I killed him. I wanted more of her sneers and eyerolls—they made me feel so fucking alive—and he was in the way.

Discovering his true motivations was like hitting the fucking jackpot. I had every possible excuse then to stay close to her. No one questioned me when I took the office above the studio; no one arched a brow when I moved in to it full time so that I could be wherever she was—either at Cristiano’s or the studio.

And no one would ever suspect I burned down my own house to make that happen .

I stand and lift her up, resting her legs over one arm. She looks softly into my eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“But, what about Paige…”

“She’s with Donnie. I’ll make sure he takes care of her.”

She smiles into my cheek. “I think she’ll like that very much.”

I carry her to the elevator then select the button for the basement floor. I don’t want anyone setting eyes on Contessa when she’s wearing no panties, regardless of whether that’s visible or not.

“You don’t have to carry me,” she says. Normally her words would be laced with something deliciously spiteful, but they’re warm when they brush my skin.

“I know I don’t.” The elevator doors open and I carry her into a dark corridor. All the doors to the offices are thankfully closed but I can hear voices continuing the meeting without me, as instructed, behind them. “I want to.”

She buries her face into my neck.

“Are you tired?”

“A little.”

Her stomach groans and I remember how she seems to live for food. “You’re hungry.”

She nods timidly.

In that case, I’m taking her to the best restaurant in the city.

We pull up to the loading bay of New York’s most discreet and exclusive hotel. I called ahead so I’m pleased to see they’ve heeded my warning to clear the entire ground floor kitchen so we can pass through unseen.

A back elevator takes us to the penthouse. A doorman is waiting for us, his eyes averted, as briefed. He holds open the door to the penthouse and I slip a hundred into his palm before carrying Contessa over the threshold. I won’t ever marry so this is the closest I’ll get to carrying my bride into our new life together. Because, little does she know it, but Contessa is mine now, and this is just the beginning.

I lower her feet to the thick pile carpet and she stretches her arms overhead like a cat. I watch her, my knuckle pressed to my lips. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She turns to face the dining table in the center of the room and her mouth drops open.

“Is that all for us?”

I walk over to the table and lift silver cloches off the trays. “For you. I already ate.”

“I can’t eat all of this.”

I chuckle darkly. “I don’t expect you to, but I didn’t know what you’d want so I ordered everything on the menu.”

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, but she still lifts a plate and helps herself to a bowl of pasta, several helpings of coq au vin and an entire bowl of green salad.

I pull out a chair opposite and rest my arms on each side.

“So, what other clubs do you own?” she says, between mouthfuls.

“I have four. Arena, which you know, Kiki’s on the upper east side, The Sawmill in Brooklyn and Cairo’s in the East Village.”

“Are they all fronts for mafia meeting places?” She flicks a glance my way.

“They’re not fronts for mafia meeting places,” I reply, a lazy smirk crossing my lips. “They’re fronts for other things, actually. But each venue has meeting rooms and we do occasionally host business discussions to which members of the family are invited.”

She continues eating, unfazed.

“And you have the barbershop…”

“Yes.”

“Do you own any other frontages—sorry, businesses?”

I narrow my eyes considering how I can make her pay for that later, then my face softens. “There is one other business I own, which isn’t a front for anything. It’s a genuine family business. It was given to me by a friend of Gianni’s. It has nothing to do with mafia business, and it means a lot to me.”

That gets her attention.

“Oh? What is it?”

“A restaurant in Little Italy. La Trattoria. It’s tiny, and the chef is old-school—barely speaks a word of English—but he’s a genius in the kitchen.”

Her brow furrows into a frown and her gaze disappears for a second. “I think I know it.”

“Yeah?”

“I think Cristiano took us there once.”

I cross an ankle over my knee. “Entirely possible. He likes it there.” I let my gaze roam her and feel my chest brace. “Did you?”

She’s just shoveled a forkful of lettuce into her mouth. “Mm?”

“Did you like my restaurant?”

She stops chewing and lowers her fork. Then she wipes her mouth with a napkin and swallows. Her lashes lift, shyly. “I loved it.”

My chest expands so much I have to cough. “Great. I’ll take you back there one day.”

She coasts a gaze across the remaining food. “I can’t eat anymore, but I can’t bear to waste all this food.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “Hotels like this get rid of all that and more every night.”

Her eyelids pop open. “That’s appalling!”

“You think all these wealthy, skinny people eat everything they’re served?” I bite back a grin. “Half of them are filling up in the restroom on lines of coke.”

My quip doesn’t have the desired result.

“That’s even worse!”

She looks around at all the beautiful dishes. “I can’t just leave all of this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. ”

I lower my leg and drop my elbows onto my knees while I study her. “So what do you want to do?”

She inhales deeply then puffs out a breath. “Can we have the kitchen pack everything up and give it to the homeless guys a few blocks over?”

I’m not sure I heard correctly. “You want to give all this food to the homeless guys down the street?”

She frowns as though she’s second-guessing herself. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Okay…” I say, slowly. “I’ll just make a call.”

Three minutes later, a waiter is delivering some cardboard food containers to the room and helping us portion up whole meals. Tess commandeers the entire operation while I stand back and watch. I’d always assumed that because her daddy owned the big port Savero was obsessed with, she and her sisters didn’t want for anything. I suppose I assumed she was spoiled.

Fucking hot and fucking annoying, but a little bit spoiled.

How wrong I’ve been.

“Okay, I think that’s all of it.” She looks up at me with a timid smile. “Um…” Her gaze darts between me and the waiter. “How will we get this to them? I can’t go out dressed like this.”

My gaze drops to the thin stain of her dress. She’s damn right. I’m not letting her go out like that. For a start, she’ll freeze. But mostly, she’ll be inadvertently responsible for the death of any pedestrian we encounter along the way who dares look at her bare, beautiful legs in that dress .

I tap two fingers against my lips while my focus drags over her body. My voice turns gruff. “I’ll have one of my men take it for you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to inconvenience anyone?—”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “You’re not inconveniencing anyone. Every second they’re standing outside this hotel doing nothing, they’re getting paid handsomely.”

She flashes a shy glance toward the waiter who feigns interest in the wall. “They’re not doing nothing , Benito. They’re looking out for you.”

Something expands inside my chest. “And you,” I correct her. Then I step forward and take her chin between my finger and thumb, tilting her gaze to mine. “But here’s the thing…” I dip my face until her breaths brush my nose. “I’m more than capable of looking out for the both of us, baby.”

Her pupils bloom and her cheeks flush. I can tell my words traveled to a sensitive part of her. I turn to the waiter. “Give these bags to one of my men and tell them I sent you. Explain exactly where the food is to be delivered. And then bring me an outfit Miss Castellano can change into. Anything you’ve got.” Anything to replace that scrap of fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination. “ And make it a size four.”

The waiter stands to attention. “Yes sir, I’ll do it right now.”

I release her chin and she swallows as the door closes. Her bottom lip shivers before she bites down on it with her teeth. “I guess you know women's bodies pretty well.”

I stroke my hand around her nape and push my fingers through her sleek, dark hair, tugging her toward me. “I know yours.”

She scowls. “You’ve only had your hands on it twice—the time in your apartment doesn’t count. Twice , Benito.”

I fist a handful of her hair and smile. “Yeah, but I’ve watched you for six months . I know what fucking size you are.”

I hold her stare, daring her to argue but she doesn’t. She just lifts herself onto her toes and presses her sweet little mouth to mine. Oh God, this simple soft touch undoes me, and I have to force myself to pull away.

Only a minute or two later, the waiter returns with a bag containing a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt. Luckily for him, he’s left by the time we’ve opened it and discovered the contents. I might have wrung his fucking neck. My phone rings before I can go after him. It’s Beppe with a report on the rogue soldiers in Newark.

I keep it short, not wanting anything to cut into this time I have with Tess. When I locate her in the bedroom, she’s already changed into the outfit from hell—or, more likely, the outfit from the depths of some lost and found laundry bin. Fresh hate for the cretin who thought this would be acceptable fills my mouth. Without saying a word, I turn and leave the room.

“Where are you going?” she calls after me, and I don’t miss the thread of fear in her tone. I must look ready to kill someone.

“To run you a bath.”

“Why? Do I smell?”

I walk back to her wiping a smile from my face with a calloused thumb. When she tilts her face up toward me I have to fight to keep my lips from consuming her.

“Tess,” I say, with gentle seriousness, “I made you crawl across a floor. I fucked you over a balcony and filled you with my come. I managed to get you dressed in some cheap sweats that belong to someone else and possibly haven’t been washed...”

Her eyes round, her lips part and her pupils widen. Each time she blinks, a shot of hot blood is mainlined to my dick.

“You deserve perfection. Let me give it to you.”

I leave her standing, speechless, in the center of the room while I run her a bath, then I lead her to it, help her undress and leave her to soak while I make a few calls.

First up, Cristiano.

“Hey…” No capacity for pleasantries because I know where they’ll lead and I’m not in the mood for being teased over a girl. “Is Trilby with you?”

Cristiano: “Yeah.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, but I have a message to pass on.”

Trilby takes the phone. “Benny? What’s going on? Have you seen Tess? ”

I hear Cristiano groan in the background.

“Yes. She’s with me. She’s safe. Can you let your father know?”

“Of course. Where are you?”

“The city,” I reply. If Cristiano finds out I’ve booked us into the most expensive hotel in Manhattan—into the penthouse no less—I’ll never hear the end of it. “She’ll be home Monday.”

“In three days ?”

“Yeah.” That’s how long I’m keeping her. “Anyway, that was all. Thanks Tril.”

I hang up before she can interrogate me any further. Next up, the hotel concierge.

“Signor Bernadi, what can I do for you?”

“You can do a damn sight better than some tatty sweats for my girlfriend,” I bite out. “Get me twenty stunning outfits for a woman—all designer, all size four. By morning.” I remember Contessa’s palette of choice. “And make them all black.”

I hang up and stare at the phone. Did I just say girlfriend ? The fuck?

Why?

My back thuds against the wall as I try to decipher how I feel about what I just called her. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I’ve never wanted one, for God’s sake. Aren’t people supposed to have conversations about that kind of thing? Come to a mutual agreement? How the hell do I know?

My breaths slow as I taste the word on my tongue. It’s not all that bad. It’s not pungent . Then I imagine if Tess weren’t my girlfriend. That would make her a free agent—available. And she is not available. She’s mine.

I bite down on a silent growl. She’s fucking mine .

When I return to the bathroom, my breath escapes me. Contessa is sitting up, covered in a mass of bubbles, shaving her legs with a razor. Screw the crawling. This is possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I stare at her, unable to tear my eyes from her soapy skin and slippery curves.

“Where did you find that?” I rasp, nodding to the razor.

She doesn’t look up, which means she knows I’ve been standing in the doorway watching her for a full minute. “Cabinet,” she smiles. It’s then I notice wet footprints across the carpet.

“Thought I told you to relax.”

She lifts her lashes slowly. “I want to look nice for you.”

My chest expands and my jaw unhinges. “You always look nice.” I kneel down by the tub. “I don’t care if you have hair on your legs.”

She purses her lips. “I do.”

She drags the blade up her soft skin one last time, rinses it in the water then rests it on a soap dish. Then she faces me, a blush crawling up her cheeks. “Can I get out now?”

“One second.” I stand and pull a fluffy towel from the rail and hold it out for her to step into, then I gently pat her dry, all over. There’s a guest robe hanging in the closet so I fetch that and wrap it around her .

I notice her glance toward a tray of oils and lotions.

“Can I choose one for you?” I ask.

“Um…” she looks unsure. “Okay.”

“Go into the master suite and sit on the bed.”

She does as I say while I peruse the various bottles and creams. I uncork a few and smell the fragrances, settling on one that promises to seduce the senses – a heady mix of Rose, Jasmine and Neroli. I carry it to the bedroom and try not to react at the way she’s draped herself over the comforter, the robe splayed to the sides, showing off her flawless skin and lean limbs.

“Are you trying to ruin me, Contessa?”

She shakes her head slowly. “I want you to ruin me .”

Okay, so my dick just swelled to twice its size.

I’m still fully clothed as I prowl up the bed and straddle her with my knees. Her eyes sparkle with challenge.

“You’re hardly wearing this, brat,” I say, giving a cursory glance to the bathrobe. “Let’s just take the whole thing off, shall we?”

She hooks her eyes on me and wiggles out of the bathrobe, tossing it to the side of the bed. “We’re back to ‘brat’ I see.”

I tip some of the liquid into my hand and rub my palms together to warm it. “Well, if the shoe fits…” I smirk. “Now lay back.”

She lays flat on the bed and I place my oiled hands on her shoulders. A long languid sigh rolls off her tongue and her lids close. I stroke the oil down her arms, kneading her tight muscles. She must be dehydrated because her skin is soaking up the oil faster than I can apply it. I move my fingers to her collarbone and massage the taut chest muscles, then—fuck it—I just dribble the oil across her breasts and stomach. She hums her approval so I set to work. I rub the oil gently into her breasts, quickly learning how she likes them to be handled—what movements earn a sharp intake of breath or an exquisite sigh.

I then move to her stomach feeling the curve of her ribs and the dip of her muscles. I bypass her pelvic area, placing a chaste kiss on the small mound of hair, then work the oil into her legs. Only once I’ve coated her front completely do I order her to roll onto her stomach. She obliges, then turns to look over her shoulder.

“I think I prefer ‘girlfriend’,” she says.

My entire body stills, my hands paused on her shoulder blades. “You heard me.”

“Yes,” she says in a whisper. “I liked it.”

My cocks grinds against her ass and relief fills me. “You want to be my girlfriend?”

“I think I’d prefer it to being your brat.”

I bite my lip and rub myself up against her. “You’ll always be my brat, Tess.”

She smiles then buries her head into the comforter. Well, I guess that’s the mutual agreement box ticked.

I coat her in the oil and massage it into her skin, but I don’t take my time about it. My cock knows where it wants to be, and I don’t want to waste another minute. I unzip my slacks, part her thighs with my knee and push myself inside her. She releases a long, heavy whimper and her walls clamp around my dick, tightening my balls.

She lifts her bottom, taking my cock deeper, and a warmth drenches me in tingles. I lower my stomach to her back and settle in, driving into her slow and deep until she’s begging me with her breaths.

I flex my hips, hitting that tender spot inside her over and over until she screams into the pillow. Then I shove forward one last time, spilling myself into her thoroughly. I rest my forehead between her shoulder blades and release a blissed-out moan. “Yeah, you’re my girlfriend.”

The words come out hoarse and fractured and foreign, but they taste fucking pretty on my tongue.