14. CHIARA
After spending my day lounging around the pool and getting to know Krista a little better, I stand in my room, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I’ve never worn a gown like this. On second thought, I don’t think I’ve ever worn a gown at all. I was too cool when it came to participating in school events and skipped out on my senior prom, robbing myself of a moment just like this.
I barely recognize myself.
The plunging neckline and high slit add just enough sex appeal while somehow keeping the overall look elegant and sophisticated. The perfect puppet for my Romanian mystery to parade on his arm. My hair is pulled up with a few loose curls framing my face, while also showing off just enough of my back.
I’m just finishing the final touches of my makeup when a knock sounds at my door. There’s still an hour or so before we need to leave, and assuming it’s Krista with something to eat, I call out over my shoulder. “Come in.”
The door opens just a sliver, and there’s a slight hesitation before it finally pushes open all the way. I glance up in the mirror, but when my Romanian jailer appears in the doorway, my back stiffens.
I haven’t seen him all day. Not since I demanded that he treat me as an equal while riding his cock.
As he goes to step into my room, he catches sight of me in my gown and pauses, that dark, lethal gaze sailing over my body. He looks back up at me, meeting my eyes through the mirror, and I watch as he visibly swallows as though the mere sight of me in this gown is tripping him up. “I, uhh . . . I came to remind you that we’re due to leave in an hour and that it would be prudent to start getting ready. However, it seems my reminder is unnecessary.”
I slowly turn to face him, taking in the five-piece designer suit covering his strong body, and goddamn, all I want to do is tear it off him with my teeth. Every time I’ve seen him, apart from in his bedroom, he’s been wearing suits, so I have no idea if he’s ready for tonight or not. All I know is he looks good enough to eat.
“It is,” I agree, watching as he hesitantly takes a step deeper into my room.
Trailing my fingers over my collarbone and down through the plunging neckline, I watch his gaze follow my movements. “Thank you for the gown. I’ve never worn anything like this before.”
He simply nods. “You look?.?.?.” He hesitates for just a moment, seeming out of his comfort zone. “Nice.”
“Nice?” I say with a breathy scoff. “A woman stands before you in a silk gown and you tell her she looks nice? What about breathtaking? Dazzling? Unbelievably stunning?”
His gaze hardens before he strides through my room, stopping right in front of me. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over the soft silk of the gown, trailing up my body until his hand is at the base of my throat. He slowly squeezes until I’m left gasping for air. “You’re not ready to hear the way I feel about you in this dress, Angel,” he growls in my ear before finally easing up on my throat. “The things that I would do. The way I would tear it to shreds. You might think you can take it because you’re a whore for my cock, but you’re not ready. Not yet. Soon, Sweet Angel. But not yet.”
Hoooooly fuck.
He pulls back just an inch so that he can meet my stare, and my heart races.
How is he able to do this to me? One second, I’m terrified of his reaction to my demands this morning, and the next, I’m ready to bend myself into a pretzel and let him fuck me into oblivion.
A seriousness flashes in his eyes, and his hand falls away from my throat. He watches me for a moment, the silence so thick between us. “It seems you made your point this morning,” he says in that rich accent that could almost drop me to my knees.
Oh shit. We’re doing this now.
“And what point would that be?” I question for the sake of clarity.
Frustration flickers in that lethal stare, and I swallow back my fear. “Don’t do that, Angel. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m referring to. It’s beneath you.”
I roll my tongue over my lips, my throat suddenly very dry. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do know,” I whisper, my hands shaking at my sides. “You told me you encourage my honesty, and I hope that’s true.”
“How many times must I tell you that I am a man of my word?”
“I’m not the type of woman who can easily accept changes, nor do I easily trust,” I tell him. “I’m sure you can understand that. Which is why I can’t easily accept the terms of our . . . arrangement. I need more. I need you to meet me halfway.”
“Dare I ask what that means? More?” he muses. “Surely you must know that I cannot offer you equal standing.”
“I know,” I say with a small sigh. “I knew you’d never agree to that before the words even came out of my mouth. But I’m not ashamed to admit I was mid-orgasm and sometimes words just have this way of coming out at the worst times.”
“Angel,” he prompts, getting me back on track.
Balling my hands into fists to hide how they shake, I try to come to him with confidence. “I have terms of my own, and if you’re able to agree to them, then I think I can learn to be happy here . . . with you.”
He watches me for a long moment, his gaze narrowed as if contemplating actually entertaining my bullshit. As the seconds tick by, I become certain that he’s about to walk out of here, leaving me hanging, but then he raises his chin. “Go on,” he instructs. “What is it you need from me?”
“Okay,” I say, ripping it off like a Band-Aid, starting with the basics. “I consent to you using my body at will. However, it’s a two-way street. If you get to fuck me whenever the feeling strikes, then I get to ride your cock at my say-so. If you’re in some kind of business meeting and I need to fuck, then you’ll excuse yourself to take care of me, just as I’m expected to spread my thighs and bend over for you.”
He rubs a hand down his face, taking a step back to put space between us. “Business is business. I will not excuse myself to fuck you,” he states. “However, I brought you here, and if you have needs, then they are my responsibility. If you need to fuck, we’ll fuck.”
I nod, feeling as though we’re gaining traction. “Okay,” I continue. “I’m on board with you referring to me as Angel or Sweet Angel. However, I would like it if you could call me by my name. It’s the only piece of me that is truly mine, and I wish to hold on to it.”
His gaze hardens. “I will not.”
“You will,” I push, fixing him with a hard stare, letting him know that this is a hill I’m one hundred percent ready to die on. “My name is Chiara and when you call for me, you will use it. I will not forfeit my identity for you or any man.”
“In my line of business, I cannot have anything linking you back to your old life. You belong to me now.”
“Are you willing to compromise?” I question, all too curious about what this particular line of business is that would require me to lose my name. Though considering he’s kidnapped me from a trafficking ring, it couldn’t be anything good. “I am not attached to my surname. I never knew my parents. I grew up in foster care, jumping from home to home. I believe my surname was given to me by the state after I was dumped at the doors of an orphanage with no way to identify myself. I can part with that if you wish.”
He considers me a moment before finally nodding. “Okay,” he says. “You have yourself a deal. I will call you by your name. Is there anything else?”
Nerves sink heavily into my stomach, and I figure now might be my only chance to get this out. “I know that you claimed me as your own in that underground warehouse, and for some reason, you saved me from that misery. I will never be able to thank you enough. But you will not address me as your property. I wish to be your equal, and I know that’s not something you can offer me. However, I would like it if you could try, or if it could be something we work toward. I wish to come and go as I please and you need to trust that I will come home to you.”
He shakes his head. “No. I cannot allow that.”
Clenching my jaw, I push him a little harder, relying on his infatuation to carry this home. “You can and will. This is your home after all, is it not? You can allow anything you like, and while you have offered me free rein, you have also offered me limitations. I don’t do well when someone puts limits on me. If you wish for me to have free rein, then offer it openly and freely. I won’t lie to you. I am intrigued by you, and while you scare the shit out of me, you also draw me in. You have warned me of the dangers of betraying you, of refusing you, and I trust you to keep your word. So I am asking the same of you. Trust me. Trust me when I tell you that I will not betray you.”
“That’s not something I am willing to bend on, Chiara,” he says, using my name for the first time. “However, given time, it is something I am willing to discuss again.”
“Okay, good.”
“I do wonder, if I am not to refer to you as my property, then what shall you be?”
I shake my head, hesitating as I step in a little closer and rest my hand against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his suit.
I look up into those dark, stormy eyes, my chin lifting. “That’s for you to decide.”
His eyes flame as his hand comes down on top of mine, maybe just a little more than a slight infatuation. He takes my waist with his other hand, pulling me in against him as he leans in, letting me see the dangerous man who lives inside. “I am not the hero you think I am, Angel. I am not a good man.”
I swallow hard, my voice a breathy whisper through my room. “I’m under no illusion that you are a hero. However, when I look into your eyes, I know that you won’t hurt me.”
He holds my stare, almost looking just as confused about this as I am. “No, I will not.”
“I don’t know what this is,” I murmur, our hands still joined over his chest, “this connection between us, but I know you feel it too.”
He nods. “I find it better not to ask questions. Don’t try to confuse this.”
I nod, realizing I’m starting to push him too far. I pull back out of his hold and fix him with another stare. “I just have one more condition,” I whisper, my hands starting to shake again. He narrows his gaze, probably wondering what else I could possibly want, but considering he’s been so generous in our negotiations, I figure now is the best time to ask. “I need to know if you only brought me here because you want me to give you a child.”
His eyes widen with surprise. “How do you know about that?”
I shrug my shoulders. “You’re the head of the DeLorenzo family and splashed all over every news channel that ever existed. You’re the world’s most wanted man, so would I be crazy in admitting that I’ve watched more than one true crime documentary about you?” I question. “Now, I don’t know much about mafia politics or how things are supposed to work, but what I do know is that you require an heir to inherit your position after you pass. I guess I can’t help but wonder if that’s the reason why I’m here. Also,” I admit, “I kinda heard whispers about it.”
Killian arches a brow as he watches me. “I won’t lie to you, Chiara,” he says, and my name in that accent does wicked things to me. “The thought of impregnating you with my heir has occurred to me on more than one occasion, and in case you haven’t noticed, we haven’t exactly been practicing safe sex. If you were to fall pregnant, then so be it.”
“And if I’m not ready to be someone’s mother?”
“Nobody is asking you to be a mother,” he offers. “Not unless you feel that you’re ready to take that step. However, I see how strong and courageous you are and believe any child would be lucky to have you as his mother.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Shit just got real,” I tell him, trying not to let on just how shaken the idea has made me. Is he actively trying to knock me up? Fuck that. I’m not ready for this. I’m barely even an adult myself. “How is it that I’m cool living in the home of the world’s most terrifying man, but the thought of having a baby at twenty-three makes me want to hurl?”
“Do you need a moment?”
I stumble back, breathing heavily as my ass finds the edge of my bed. I bury my face into my hands, leaning forward as I try not to fall into a panic attack, but truth be told, I think I’m already there.
“I forgot to feed my goldfish once,” I tell him. “He died. I can’t be trusted with a baby. You know they need constant supervision, right? Plus, they suck the life out of your tits.”
“Okay,” he says, moving to my side. “We’ll shelve the heir idea for now, but just know that in time, I will require a child. Just as you require honesty and equality from me, I require an heir from you. It’s non-negotiable.”
Non-negotiable.
I glance up at him. “So, it doesn’t have to be now?” I confirm, a sliver of hope beginning to burn through my chest. “It can happen in ten, maybe twenty years down the track?”
“I am not waiting twenty years,” he growls in that thick, delicious accent. “You get two.”
“TWO YEARS?” I panic, my eyes widening like saucers. “Holy fuck.”
“Alright, I see that I’ve upset you,” he tells me, beginning to back up from the hysterical woman, clearly way out of his comfort zone. “That was not my intention. I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Vodka,” I say. “Lots and lots of vodka.”
He laughs, and the sound lifts my gaze from my hands. I hadn’t realized a man like this was even capable of laughter. “That,” he says. “I can do.”