Stefano DeLuca, Part 2 (Savage Bloodline)

CHAPTER ONE

SIENNA

The mat slammed into my back. Hard. Air rushed out of my lungs as two hundred pounds of solid, sweaty Italian muscle pinned me flat against the gym floor. Stefano’s forearm pressed against my throat, not enough to choke me, just enough to make his point.

His dark eyes, usually warm when they gazed at me, had gone cold and calculating. This wasn’t my lover anymore. This was the Silent Beast, the man who’d earned his reputation through blood and brutality. And right now, he was kicking my ass.

“Seven,” Stefano counted out loud, his voice a low rumble.

I glared up at him, refusing to acknowledge the way my body responded to his proximity.

Focus, Sienna!

“You’re cheating,” I accused.

“No. You’re just a sore loser,” he countered.

His lower body pressed against mine as his grip tightened around my wrist. The bastard knew exactly how to hold me to prevent me from lifting my hips enough to throw him off.

I tried to do it anyway, my muscles straining as I attempted to leverage my body weight against his. He didn’t budge. Not even an inch. Damn it. Stefano leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek when he spoke.

“You can always give up, piccolla demone,” he murmured, voice so low and deep that it sent a shiver down my spine despite my frustration.

“Never,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

His mouth twitched. I knew he was trying not to smile. Trying to be serious. That only made this defeat worse. I wouldn’t give up. I could beat him. I’d been trained by one of the most sadistic women on the planet.

Maureen.

Granted, I’d killed that woman years after all that training. Still, she’d trained me to hold my own against anything and anyone. That included a Silent Beast.

“Get off me,” I demanded. “The battle isn’t over yet.”

There was that twitch again at the corner of his mouth.

“Sore loser,” he whispered as he released me and rose to his feet effortlessly, making this look too easy.

Eyes never straying from him, I pushed myself to my feet. Sweat slid down the back of my neck, disappearing beneath the tight black sports bra plastered to my skin. I watched my target, noting the way his chest rose and fell slowly.

He was calm and focused, while I was over here, damn near panting like I’d run a marathon. Shirtless, with his abs on display, the man looked sexy as hell. His black workout shorts hung low on his waist, and his skin glistened with sweat from the last hour of sparring.

Each muscle was clearly defined, evidence of years spent honing his body into a weapon. The scars across his side told stories, some I knew, others he still kept to himself. But they all made him more beautiful to me, not less.

We’d been going at this for an hour, and my Beast wasn’t even breathing hard. I really needed to work out more. Being here in Italy and working at Tower D was making me lazy. In Chicago, I’d trained daily, knowing that growing weak and content could lead to death.

Here, surrounded by Stefano’s love and protection, I’d grown comfortable. I was happy. I was cherished. I was content. My mind was in a healthy place. However, this state of mind was dangerous territory for someone with as many enemies as I had.

“The score is seven to three,” he reminded me, his voice laced with a hint of smugness that made me want to tackle him.

I rolled my eyes. Seven to three. If he scored three more points, he’d win. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to get gutter with my Beast if I hoped to win the next seven matches. No more playing by the rules, not that we’d established any to begin with.

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

“Oh, I heard you, Beastie,” I said as I circled him slowly, watching his stance, looking for any opening I could exploit.

Stefano mirrored my movements, stepping in the opposite direction I was going. Though he looked relaxed, his muscles were tensed, ready to strike. He never let his guard down. Never got distracted.

That was one of the many reasons he’d survived in a world that chewed up and spit out the weak. Sure, it was a trauma response, but it had kept him alive all these years. Most people preached about releasing past traumas.

I rarely heard anyone mention using those same traumas to protect themselves. That’s what I did. That was what my man did also. And I loved him for being able to thrive and love despite his dark past.

Though I loved him, I still had to defeat him. My phone started ringing, the familiar tone cutting through the tense silence. I resisted the urge to glance over at where it rested on the workout bench.

It was only Eve calling to remind me of our Cooking Class. Enzo wouldn’t let her have a stove in the house until she learned how to cook. As her best friend, I was being forced to attend cooking classes with her every Saturday.

While her ringtone filled the room, I continued circling my prey. I would not get distracted. I would not lose focus. I smiled at him. When he opened his mouth to say something, probably to tell me not to even think about answering my phone, that’s when I lunged.

I attacked fast, hooking my leg behind his knee as I grabbed his wrist, trying to yank him off balance. For half a second, I thought I had him. His body tilted, and triumph flashed through me.

Then Stefano shifted his weight to the other foot. Next thing I knew, the mat hit my back again. Harder this time. The impact knocked the air from my lungs as his body came down over mine, pinning my shoulders to the floor.

“Eight,” he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my skin.

I groaned, partly from the impact and partly from frustration.

“You’re insufferable,” I hissed.

His grip tightened around my wrists, sliding them above my head. Our bodies were flush together now. Chest to chest. Sweat slicked between us, and I swear I could feel his heart beating against mine.

But I felt something else too… his hard length pressing against my thigh. My smile widened slowly.

“Well, well, someone’s happy to see me,” I drawled.

Stefano’s jaw tightened. “What?”

“You’re hard, Mr. Deluca.” I rocked my hips subtly, feeling him twitch against me.

He didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. His face was an impenetrable mask that would’ve intimidated anyone who didn’t know him as well as I did. My Beast was aroused and trying not to show it.

“Focus,” he told me.

“You’re tenting your shorts with all that cock and you’re telling me to focus? How can I focus when all I can think about is swallowing that monster whole?” I raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

His gaze darkened slightly. But he didn’t release me.

“You remember why we’re doing this, right?” he asked, voice dropping even lower.

“Yes. You’re taking this time to point out my weak spots when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. But just because I can’t beat you, doesn’t mean I can’t beat my enemy, Stefano. Plus, I...”

“Sienna!” he snapped, tone edged with frustration. “The Irish mafia is hunting you. I need you to take this more seriously.”

He leaned closer. Close enough that I could feel his breath brush my lips when he spoke again.

“If anything happens to you, my entire world will fall apart,” he whispered. “I refuse to let that happen. Do you understand me?”

My grin faded. My poor Beast. He was losing his mind over some what-ifs.

What if the Irish mafia finds out where you are? What if they kidnap you when I’m not around? What if there are too many of them for you to handle? What if my enemies attack you when you’re alone?

He was going to stress himself to death worrying about the future. It wasn’t that I wasn’t taking those threats seriously. It’s just that I wasn’t about to let them consume my every waking thought.

And I wasn’t going to allow them to get in the way of my happiness with him. He barely wanted me to leave the house without him. There were so many things we could be doing around town, but he was afraid someone would attack us while we were out.

He’d seen me in action. He knew what I was capable of. Yet, he was still worrying about me like I was some damsel in distress. I was the one who caused distress. When would he accept that and trust me not to put myself in situations where I would be at a disadvantage?

“Stefano,” I whispered, staring up at him. “Trust me when I say that I will not let your enemies take me out. I promise.”

And I meant it with every fiber of my being, but the worry lines etched around his eyes didn’t fade. If anything, they deepened at my words.

Sighing, Stefano whispered, “Quella non è una promessa che puoi fare.”

That’s not a promise you can make.

There he was, doubting me again. I loved how protective he was of me. I loved that he worried, that he cared enough to want me safe. But too much protection could be irritating as hell, especially for someone who’d spent years surviving on her own.

Too much protection could start to feel like a cage. I refused to be anyone’s canary. Stefano finally released my wrists and stood, offering me his hand. I ignored it and pushed myself to my feet. His eyes tracked my movements, assessing, always assessing.

“You ready to go again?” he asked, resuming his fighting stance.

I rolled my shoulders, buying time as I studied him.

“You know, I’m good with a gun,” I reminded him. “Do you want to do some target practice?”

Maybe I could regain some dignity if we switched to firearms. I could outshoot nearly anyone, including him.

“Shooting isn’t the skill you need to work on. This is. I don’t like how dependent you are on weapons. They won’t always save you. Guns get jammed. Knives can get knocked out of your hand. I need you to be good not just with guns, but with hand-to-hand combat also.”

“You’re talking like I’m not a good fighter,” I complained, crossing my arms over my chest.

I’d killed men twice my size with my bare hands. I wasn’t some rookie who needed remedial lessons.