Chapter 2
2
INK
I carefully placed a bandage over the fresh tattoo I’d just inked onto my cousin’s rib cage.
“You know how to take care of it, fratello ?” I asked, not really paying attention and pretty much on autopilot.
Marcello rolled his eyes as he curled his abs up into a sitting position. “No, after thirteen tattoos, I forgot. You wanna enlighten me?”
I tossed him a dirty look and grunted, “Cazzo zito, stronzo .”
He grinned and hopped off the table I used when the piece's location required my client to lie down.
Shoving my rolling chair toward a small station that held my cleaning supplies, my mind was already on my next appointment.
I loved my job, and at the core, my art was a connection to my father. Although he had many responsibilities for The Family, he always found time for me and his art. He’d taught me everything he knew.
He’d loved my mom and me fiercely, and inside our home, it was easy to pretend we were a typical family. But I was a DeLuca, and that changed everything when I walked outside the door.
Just like Gabbi had said, when people heard the name DeLuca, it put the fear of God into them.
Why?
Because they were the fucking Mafia.
It had taken a toll on my mom, so when my father was murdered, she’d had enough. I was ten and didn’t understand why she was taking me away from my life and family, moving us from New York City to Georgia.
My mom had been close to my dad’s sister, Laina. Even after the family had pretty much disowned her for running off with the president of a questionable motorcycle club. They’d been really old school in those days. Which would have been a huge fucking problem for me since I’d chosen a life outside The Family. Thankfully, the younger generations were more open-minded.
The coincidental thing about the whole situation was that Laina and my dad’s brother, Salvatore, had moved to Georgia to take over the Southern branches before he married Giulia. Despite being only a half hour from each other at the most, their families didn’t even speak.
However, Salvatore had brought his wife and kids to New York frequently, so they were the only people who were familiar to me. They were family.
My mom didn’t want me to have anything to do with The Family, so she wasn’t happy that I spent a lot of time with my DeLuca cousins.
I was close with Laina’s family too, though, and as I got older, I knew I didn’t want to be a part of the Mafia. Although I remained close to my family, I distanced myself from the darker side of their life. Sal tried to change my mind, but he didn’t push too hard. Then he went to prison, and Rafa took over as underboss. He fully supported my choice and didn’t even try to convince me to work for him. Not that I didn’t get pulled into Family shit from time to time.
I’d spent more and more time with the Silver Saints, and by the time I was an adult, I saw the “family” I needed in a motorcycle club. I was related to the DeLucas by blood, and that carried a fuck ton of weight to Italians, especially in The Family. But the members of the Silver Saints were just as tightly bound. Even more so in some ways.
They weren’t a brotherhood by blood, but their loyalty to the club and each other was stronger than shared DNA because it was a choice. It was earned. It was a pledge.
Mac tried to talk me into becoming a prospect for the Silver Saints, but I didn’t want to patch into a club where I'd never know if I’d truly earned my place.
The same went for the Iron Rogues MC. Fox, their prez, was tight with my cousin Nic—the head of The Family. I’d always worry that he had secured my cut for me.
Then Onyx convinced me to consider coming to work at Hellbound Studio, making a pitch for prospecting with the Hounds in the process. I hadn’t immediately rejected the idea because, in a roundabout way, there was still a connection to the DeLucas. However, the ties were far enough apart that I could fly under the radar while still having Nic’s approval.
Of course, having a tech genius like Wizard patched meant my background came out the second I applied to be a prospect. But while a few of the officers knew about my familial ties, they’d allowed me to keep it mostly to myself.
But seeing as the two groups seemed to be constantly crossing paths and using each other’s resources, being Matteo “Ink” Donovan—I’d used my middle name as my surname when I applied—had quickly run its course.
The difference with the Hounds is that they didn’t give a fuck who my blood relations were. I was just Ink. A Hounds of Hellfire brother, enforcer, and tattoo artist.
When I came to work at Hellbound Studio with Onyx, my client list quickly filled up. My waiting list was cut off at six months, so I packed some of my days with appointments in order to have lighter ones.
Today was back-to-back, so I left Marco to see himself out. But as I swiveled back toward the table, a voice floated to my ears, making me freeze.
It was sweet while being just husky enough to make it incredibly sexy.
My feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and when I stood, they walked me straight toward the front of the studio.
Onyx was lazily leaning a hip on the reception counter with his arms crossed and a smile on his face.
I understood his disarming demeanor when my eyes landed on the woman he was talking to.
Holy shit.
Her long dark blond hair was in a loose braid, hanging down her back with flyaway strands framing her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were so light, they almost looked like ice. Surrounded by lashes that matched the color of her hair. Her creamy skin was pale, emphasizing the natural pink bloom on her high cheekbones.
A sensual quality to her plump lips made me want to bite them before ravishing them. As my gaze continued down, my body came roaring to life with a vengeance. I couldn't remember the last time I’d been interested in a woman, and all of a sudden, I was practically sweating from the hunger and need coursing through me.
Damn, she was sexy as fuck. She looked soft all over, making me ache to feel her sweet, curvy body pressed against my hard one.
She had big, luscious tits, deliciously thick thighs, and wide, round hips that were perfect for holding while I slammed into her from behind. And for having babies. Whoa! Where the fuck had that thought come from?
The shock wore off quickly, and I knew deep down in my soul that this woman was meant to be mine.
When my gaze returned to her face, I zeroed in on her soft expression. There was a sadness lurking in there that made me want to protect her and fix whatever was causing her pain.
“That’s why I chose a pocket watch. I do something to remember them every August for their anniversary, but I want to have them with me all the time,” she told Onyx softly.
My brow furrowed at her words. Was she here for a tattoo?
The bell on the door jangled, but all of my focus was on my woman.
“Hey, Ink,” my next client greeted.
I lifted my chin in his direction but kept my gaze on her.
“I want it on my upper thigh.”
I was moving before I even realized it. “Onyx is gonna do your tattoo this time, Neil,” I called out.
Both Onyx and the woman turned their heads to look at me when I approached.
“I’ll be doing your ink, baby,” I grunted.
Onyx’s expression was confused until his gaze bounced back and forth between me and my girl. “Uh, Annika, this is Ink. Guess there’s been a change. Seems I’ve been double booked. Ink’s the best there is. He’ll take care of you.”
Annika—fucking beautiful name—double blinked, her ice-blue eyes wide as she stared at me. I wanted to smile at the heat sparking in them, especially since I could tell she was taken aback by it.
She didn't know me yet, so I suppressed the laugh and smiled instead.
“C’mon, dolcezza, ” I murmured, putting my hand at the small of her back and guiding her toward my booth. When we reached it, I gestured for her to sit in the chair and popped down onto my stool and rolled next to her.
“Tell me about the tattoo,” I requested, staring boldly into her clear, blue orbs.
Her voice was soft as she explained about her parents and what she’d chosen to have inked on her skin in remembrance. It was clear that she missed them and had loved and been loved in return. Her idea was beautiful, and I couldn't wait to start sketching her design.
When she finished, I gave her a soft smile and held out my left arm, showing her the underside and pointed to a spot near the crease of my elbow. There was a dripping paint palette and brush. If you looked close enough, the bristles formed an outline of a father holding the hand on his young son as they walked away. “Had that done for my dad when I was fifteen.”
Annika stared at the art for a moment, then raised her eyes up to meet mine. They sparkled with unshed tears, and she placed her hand on my wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Ink.”
“Me too, dolcezza ,” I replied. Then I cocked my head to the side and heat filled my gaze, bringing a pretty blush to her cheeks. “Matteo. Call me Matteo, baby.”
“Okay,” she whispered, a pretty smile lighting up her beautiful face. When she released my wrist, it felt like a bolt of electricity arced between us, sizzling over my skin and shooting straight to my dick.
My pants were suddenly way too fucking tight, so I inhaled deeply and swiveled my stool just slightly to hide my reaction. I reached for a pad and pencil, ready to get started, but her phone rang.
“Oops. Sorry,” she apologized, pink rushing to her cheeks. The corners of her lips dropped into a confused frown when she checked the caller ID. “It’s my school. I’m so sorry, but I just want to make sure everything is okay.”
“Whatever you need, dolcezza ,” I told her with a nonchalant wave. “Gonna get shit ready.”
She smiled and hit the accept button before raising the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes, I’m Annika Lee.”
The other person started talking, but I couldn’t hear their side of the conversation. I took the opportunity to study my girl a little more, but I didn’t get much of a chance before she gasped and went rigid. “What do you mean it bounced?”
They said something, and she shook her head. “That’s impossible. Did you call the bank to verify the check?”
She listened again, all color draining from her face. “I’ll…um…I’ll get back to you. Um, how long do I have before you won’t hold my classes?” Her eyes closed, and her head drooped forward. “Okay. Thank you,” she whispered, her voice steeped in despair and confusion.
When she hung up, she sat in silence for a minute, her eyes glued to her phone.
“What’s going on, Annika?”
Her head lifted and swiveled so that our gazes collided. “I…um…I paid my tuition for college in the fall, and…it didn’t go through. I don’t–I don’t understand. The money is there. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Relax, dolcezza ,” I murmured. “I can help. We’ll figure this out.”