24. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alessandrio
D onatella did her job a little too well. The woman standing beside my couch, silently staring into the night, looks regal. It’s the only word I can find for her icy beauty. And I shouldn’t have touched her, probably should have let her fall, but it was instinct that had my hands reaching out. I grind my molars together at the memory of how easily my fingers spanned her waist. Shouldn’t have touched her . The pressure of tonight is heavy on my shoulders. Casting a glance at the woman across the room, I see her own shoulders rigid with tension, arms wrapped around her body protectively, and it gives away her anxiety.
She can join the fucking club; I’ll happily remind her it’s her fault we are both in this mess. That stupid plan she made with Emilio. Fiancé’s. This is all a sick joke. Revenge is never a smooth road, and I was a fool to think it would be easy. Emilio and Lorenzo forced me like a prized pig into the shower before using fucking blow dryers. Blow dryers and combs. I will never live down the way they combed my fur, polished my claws and tried again to bully me into clipping them. Even my horns got a polish. You can comb and polish a monster, but it’s still a monster. At least I won’t be the only freak show at tonight’s events. In dooming me, she has doomed herself and I will gladly watch her squirm.
“Do you want a drink?” My question cuts through the silence.
Olivia turns, regarding me stonily. “What do you have?” she asks tightly.
“Water or whiskey.”
Her brow pinches as she walks toward the kitchen counter, her steps tentative and careful. A baby calf just finding its feet. Maybe some liquid courage will do her some good. When she pauses a few feet away, I can see the fear she is trying hard to hide in the shadows. The way her teeth worry her bottom lip, the white knuckles of her hands wrapped around the arms crossed over her body. Olivia’s entire being is giving off, ‘out of my depth’. She might have fucked us both over, but I cannot allow her to give us away with her weakness.
“Whiskey it is,” I snap, turning my back on her and grabbing a bottle and a tumbler.
I go about pouring her a drink, the desire to pour my own at the back of my mind.It feels good to just be busying myself. She watches me, her gaze unwavering and heavy, measuring my every movement. Assessing any threat or foul play. When I slide the glass, with its large cube of ice, across the counter toward her, she does nothing but shift her gaze to it and stare.
“I’ve never drank whiskey before,” she says quietly. “I’ve never worn heels before either,” she adds as an afterthought.
“I can only tell you how one of those things feel,” I reply, my gaze locked on the glass with a want that makes my hand itch to reach out and take it.
“How do I do it?” Her question has my eyes flashing to hers.
For a moment I regard her, the way her hair frames and caresses her face. The blonde of it shimmering beneath the down lights as she watches me back, curiosity replacing fear in their depth. For a moment, my eyes slide down her face. The dress is pretty. When I reached for her before, my eyes were drawn to the soft swell of her breasts peeking over the top of the black velvet, and my cock twitches with the memory of her tiny waist beneath my hands. I’ve stared too long.
“Well, I have been waiting to find out if I pass your judgement… so?” she snaps, those protective arms dropping and her delicate hands find the dip in her waist.
Confusion furrows my brow for a millisecond as she stares at me, with vulnerability stamped on her face. My judgement? It hits me then. She thinks my opinion actually matters. “Donatella did a good job.” A great job actually, but you don’t need to know that . “As for the drink…” I give her a wry smile, her face shifting from tense to somewhat relieved “You’ll want to take it all at once.” Again my cock twitches, tingling with a need that I have plans to remedy tonight.
For a beat longer than necessary, our eyes lock, until Olivia takes a tentative step forward and swipes the glass up fast, as if fearing I will make a grab for her. I step back, cross my own arms over my chest and lean against the opposite cupboard to get the full view of her. If she can control those nerves, she would be the perfect image of a cold Mafia mistress, a Dolmino queen. The thought sours my mouth. Her temper and sharp tongue suits the role she is trying to fill. She watches me over the rim of her glass as it rests on her full lower lip. Her gaze is full of fire, as if a challenge hangs in the air between us like electricity. Good. That fire will serve her on this road to hell, if she can maintain it—if I can help her hold on to it, it will protect her from the reaching hands of the parasites that are men with power.
The glass tips, the cords of her delicate throat pull, and the slight lace of her bra rises above the low-cut neck of the dress, making me grip my forearms tighter. What the fuck am I doing? Tempted by this pretty picture of deceit. She is the enemy, I remind myself as her hand comes down. I see no hint of a grimace as she schools her features into indifference.
“Let’s go,” I say, the sound rough and spiteful as I round the counter toward the service elevator hall.
I hear the soft clink of her glass as it meets the counter top but don’t look back. I know she follows me because I hear the uneven gait of her tapping heels on the tiles as I swipe my fob and stab the button with a claw tip. When we enter the elevator, tension fills the air and we silently descend to the basement. As the doors open, I take the first step into the vast lower garage.
My eyes light on the covered cars parked beside my van, and I am on my way towards one without giving much thought to the reason I stopped driving them. But I know the reason, the fucking protruding horns that curl back from my head, the ones that I forget often are present until I smack them on something. It doesn’t hurt when I do, but it feels weird, like the vibrations go right down into my skull. My cars aren’t exactly designed for stealth either; the van, in its own ways, screams up to no good. The Mclaren Spider commands attention. My Aston Martin might be a better choice, but the Mafia likes shows of power, obvious signs that a family is doing well financially, and my Martin is unassuming—the Spider is the main event.
I feel giddy as I sweep back the cover, the material gliding off the frame like silk. I’m lost in my own thoughts until a sharp intake of breath pulls me back to reality. Olivia has stopped, eyes wide as she takes in the all black power revealed beneath.
“Come.”
I slide my two clawless fingers under the lip of the door till it pops up and gesture for her to climb in. She regards me for a moment, contemplating me as I stand waiting beside the open car.
“I wouldn’t have taken you to be the gentlemanly type,” she grumbles, moving forward with caution.
“Old habits die hard,” I reply, watching her every movement as she slides into the seat.
Closing the door, I round the car, chest tight as I pray I can slide in without catching a horn on the rim or the roof. It’s a forced confidence that sees me sliding into my seat, paws finding the bottom of the footwell, as I let out a silent breath as my horns clear the lip. Fuckkkk. The inside is immaculate, black leather everything and my hands trail over the stitched seams of the steering wheel. I feel her eyes on me, and I turn my head to regard her naked knee beside the centre console. Beauty and power side by side.
I press a button on the dash and the engine starts up; the car pulsing through the seat into my body. She goes taut beside me, and I know she feels it too, the car purring beneath her. My hands flex, opening and closing around the steering wheel for a moment, absorbing the relief I feel.
“Why do you cut only two claws?” Her words cut through my moment, and my head snaps toward her.
If she only knew how that question set flames licking at my gut. I’m already on edge. Wound tight, full of a fucking need that feels like it will cripple me. Those same two fingers tingle with the memory of her waist. I shouldn’t have touched her, but I think I enjoy doing it. So far I've found reasons to do so: intimidation, domination and, now, safety. Wrapping my hands around her little waist was a self inflicted torture and all I could think about was the many ways I could bend her to my will. I breathe deeply, smothering the fires and cursing myself for even thinking about how I want to show her why.
“That is none of your concern,” I growl, putting the car into gear and reversing.
She huffs but falls into silence as I navigate us out of the parking spot, up the ramp and out into the night. New York, the city that never sleeps. I doubt she has seen anything like it. After spending most of her life in that boarding school, this is probably a shock to the system. She has angled away from me now, resting her knee against the door and pressing her face almost to the window. People are everywhere, filling the sidewalks in front of store fronts, glaring with light and life. Her head turns to look back, undoubtedly looking towards the building we left.
“You’ve been holding me captive amongst all this?”
“A Greco fortress. Our men come and go as they please,” I tell her, hopefully killing any notion that escape will be possible.
She falls back against the seat, her eyes forward, and yet I see the tightness in her features.
“Don’t you worry someone will see in?” she asks absentmindedly, as if to distract herself, noting the way people on the streets stop to stare at my car as it glides past.
“Dark tint, but even if they did, they will probably just assume that we are shooting a movie. Or doing some guerrilla marketing for broadway.”
She falls quiet, watching the world outside as I take the exit toward Long Island and press the button on the steering wheel. The car fills with Radiohead’s ‘Creep’, the last song I played before I woke up a nightmare. The reminder has my eyes meeting the familiar blue in the rearview mirror, the monstrous visage, with its familiar yet foreign expression. Emilio said it isn’t as bad as he thought, returning to the society, the novelty seeming to have worn off. But with the Outfit in town, that will undoubtedly change.
The Outfit has their own code, their own rules and their own agendas. The peace between the New York families and the Chicago Outfit has always been open to interpretation depending on the person or circumstance. Most social mingling events have almost always ended in violence and bloodshed. So this was necessary: Emilio needs me at his side . My brother has gone long enough under the microscope, it’s time I stepped from the shadows and into the light. His temper might be notorious, but I’m the one with the knack of causing a stir. It only makes sense that I turn up with Olivia Dolmino at my side.
Who the fuck would have thought? Whether she is useful is yet to be seen, but I plan on exploiting her presence in society. There is no way her brother will let what I am about to do slide: if he hates her as much as she says he does then this will not just rock the fucking boat, but sink that motherfucker like the Titanic . And if the woman beside me has nefarious reasons for becoming our ally, she’s about to learn that I don’t fuck around.
“Wow!” Her quiet exclamation tugs at my attention.
She’s sitting straighter, leaning forward in her seat to get a better view of the mansion at the end of the long gravel driveway. Say one thing about the Mafia: they are known for their love of luxury. The sprawling mansion ahead of us burns bright in the darkness. Trees twinkling with lights line the driveway along with other luxury cars and I see Emilio’s Porsche with its personalized number plates in the row. At least he has softened the blow of my appearance with his own.
There are two cars lined up, the occupants waiting their turn for the valet’s. I snort derisively and pull the car off into an empty spot, tucked away in the shadows. Then I turn to Olivia. She’s peering about us wide eyed, and again I’m struck by her beauty. She is about to make her own splash and something about that makes my chest constrict.
“You ready?” I drawl, burying that feeling deep.
“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” she fires back, her eyes finally meeting mine.
“Not at all,” I say with a shrug. And because I am clearly a masochist these days, I reach out and grab her chin. Those full lips pop open as I lean in close, her grey eyes widening. “We are going to be around many people tonight. Consider this a test. Apparently, we are united in one common enemy.” I press the tips of my claws into the soft flesh just under her chin. “If you put me and mine in any danger or attempt to make known our situation, I will end you.” I let my hand fall away and open my door.
She doesn’t wait for me to open hers. She’s out of the car, slamming it down with a force that makes my jaw clench. I throw her a dark glare over the back as we walk toward the brightly lit home. Her gait is slower as she navigates along the path, and her arms come up around her body. I roll my neck, acknowledging the people draped in coats entering the home, a niggling sense of guilt prickling me. It’s the middle of fall, and undoubtedly colder than I can tell beneath all this godforsaken fur.
“Oh, one more thing.” I pause and hear a gasp as I turn on her. My fingers bury in my pocket, claws plucking the ring that’s been burning a hole in the fabric.
I reach for her again, but she’s a fast learner and staggers back unsteadily. “What are you doing?” she questions wearily, arms shielding her from me and the breeze that tousles the hair caressing her face.
“No one is going to believe you and I just fell into a neutral friendship.” I smile wickedly at her and hold the ring up so the light catches on the diamond in the centre. “Your brother’s an evil cunt, not an idiot. However, the engagement between two great families coming together to build a more powerful empire? That is a story, a somewhat juicy one that these people might be more inclined to fall for.”
“You are forgetting something. I’ve been locked away in a boarding school for most of my life. When is this so-called romance meant to have occurred for us to be engaged?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, arms falling to her sides.
“This is the Mafia, Olivia. Romance was murdered, just like everything else. My brother and his wife’s marriage was one of business.” She looks disgusted, but it’s the fucking truth and she needs to accept it. “You need me for protection, and Emilio has made our needs evident. I need you to help me lure him out. It is more believable that a daughter of our greatest enemy would come to us seeking protection with her new wealth and status, especially when she is threatened by the only other person who could lay claim to it. But this is the Mafia, protection is a romantic notion, and nothing in our world comes for free.” I step toward her, see the cogs in her pretty head working, the pinch of her brow over those grey eyes. “The cost of that protection?”
She doesn’t even flinch when I pick up her hand, just continues to stare right through me as I carefully slip the engagement ring down her finger.
“I hate you.” Her eyes finally see me, but her stare is glassy with tears, like cold steel.
“The feeling is fucking mutual,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “But this is a means to an end, and you will play your part.”
I turn and continue up the path, my fingers burning with the memory of them sliding down her skin.
“You could have warned me.” Olivia falls into step beside me.
“It was better this way. You might have changed your mind, decided to be less useful,” I snap and reach for her hand again.
I catch it before she can pull far enough away and she stumbles only for a moment. My claw tipped fingers thread through hers and my body thrums with awareness. If only to keep her warm. Her hand is tiny in comparison, and for a moment I forget myself. What would those hands feel like on my furred chest, those slim fingers exploring the ridges of my abdomen, would her hand be able to wrap around my—
“Fuck,” I growl.
The urge to rip my hand from hers is so strong, but my guilt has me pulling her closer, flinging my arm over her petite shoulder and drawing her under my wing. There is an audible gasp, as her body is forced to collide with my own, and I train my eyes on the entrance ahead.
“What are you doing?” she questions.
Keeping you warm. “The ring gives me a reason to touch you and test those boundaries you so desperately seek,” I whisper back, lowering my head so my mouth is to her ear.
She shivers, and I am fairly certain it’s not from the cold. You just need to get through tonight, I remind myself. Monique is coming over later when her shift ends and that will be that. She will exorcise me of this need.