Chapter 3
They were sloppy, just like I knew they would be.
Men.
I control the urge to roll my eyes when I think about Damiano’s men in the warehouse last week.
They had trudged into a perfectly unmarked slaughter. Their big guns and tiny brains were poised for unnecessary action, ready to collect whatever they sought but put their frenzied scent all over it. They’d filled the warehouse with a sense of urgency and amateurism– Nothing nearly as immaculate as Damiano had thought things would go. Their presence alerted Rossi that whoever had come in after his nephew, Luca, had met his demise through me had been there for one thing.
So, the Don had sent in a cleaning crew.
Word had spread that Luca was murdered, but there were no details of how or what had happened. Which was disappointing, to say the least. All my hard work had gone to shit, overshadowed by Don Rossi being more afraid of being discovered for his treacherous acts versus his nephew’s savage murder.
I’d heard through the grapevine that the funeral date was postponed, no doubt to give the funeral home time to make him look as human as possible. I’m sure that covering the immense amount of cuts and burns all over his body, including his face, will take time to fix. Not to mention, having to snip out his penis that I had sown into his cheeks would take careful measures.
They’re going to need more than two weeks.
That thought forces giddiness to flow through me. The memory of Luca’s screams sends chills of excitement and delight through me, and I want to relive that moment. The look of horror on his face as I had tortured him had made me feel more alive than I have in years. His futile threats of revenge made me laugh when he realized he wouldn’t survive.
For every Rossi member I have killed, I feel a part of myself breathe easier. The one thing that breathes life into me is when they recognize who I am.
Their faces will always be ingrained in my memory.
To return every bit of anguish, pain, anger, disappointment, and self-hatred that they had given me back– To relish in their heartbreak, wonder, and confusion over the years has also been the most bittersweet thing for me.
Bittersweet for the old me.
Pushing away my thoughts, I smile outwardly while staring at my phone, though there’s nothing to smile about. I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at. My screen is only lit up to give the illusion that I’m entertained by something.
I’m not.
I’m doing it for him.
To keep his eyes on me. To keep him curious enough to get his attention, though he hasn’t approached me yet.
The fact that he stares at me from the corner where he’s sitting alone is a win. I assume he’s staring at me because I can’t tell from where I’m at. The dark ambiance of the bar covers any close-up expressions that can be read on his face. I do know that when I had walked in earlier, I had made brief eye contact with him. I’d seen in his eyes the curious, lustful expression follow me to my seat at the bar. I had felt him take notice of me.
Because he knows me? No.
Because I’ve studied him the last month? Undoubtedly.
Initially, I needed an ally, but after leaving Blaine, I acknowledged that I would have to take drastic measures. I knew that I would need some help to get to Lorenzo, Tommaso, and Aldo, but I hadn’t thought of Damiano Bianchi right away. Not until I had looked into the other families affiliated with The Council. By process of elimination due to ties and sheer attraction, I had chosen him. He’s Mafioso and grew up in this life, but he’s different. The more I watched him, the more I noticed and learned.
He’s been reared from the time that he was a young boy to be the next Don. His uncle, Don Domenico, never had any children. From the outside looks of it, he had taken Damiano under his wing immediately, declaring him his heir. At five, his mother had been granted the rare opportunity to take him to their home in Italy due to some in-house cleaning of members. He’d been there until he was twelve when she died.
I couldn’t find much about her relationship with Damiano’s father, but from what it seemed, his parents had an arranged marriage. Neither cared for the other and had only been sexually involved enough to procreate Damiano. His mother, Flavia Bianchi, was never a massive presence in the family. She’d done her duty and had a son. From her pictures, she looked sweet and full of life. Her smile was vibrant, and her face was always broad with genuine happiness, except for photos with her husband.
The hate between them had been evident.
During his time in Italy, Damiano would visit his father on holidays, like Christmas, and return to his mother once the holiday was over—typically the following day or that night. Then, his father would return to being Capo for Damiano’s uncle.
At twelve, his mother died in a house fire in their compound in Italy. The police there had claimed that they didn’t have any evidence and had overlooked it as simple faulty wiring, but the truth was obvious.
There was nothing wrong with the wires in that house.
Damiano had returned to live with his father, and his best friend from Italy, Giovanni, had come with him. The rest seemed to be the typical mafia bullshit. School, women, drugs, and a shit ton of chaos. He’d lived how the movies portrayed Mafia life until he had seemed to tire and party himself out by his third year of college or had matured. He’d only had one real relationship in his life, and that had been in college with a girl named Keyshia, who I assumed was the reason for him getting his shit together. Their relationship had lasted a mere two years, and then her family had abruptly uprooted and moved across the country.
I figured that his uncle might have had everything to do with that, but learning that news had been a delight for me. Pictures of Keyshia revealed she was black, like me. Her coloring had been a little lighter, and she’d appeared more caramel than my milk chocolate complexion, but it highlighted something I hadn’t expected.
Damiano’s attraction to brown-skinned women was more than mere fucking. Sure, he’d rutted through his share of fairer distractions, but none had been more than that. His only sign of a serious, steady relationship had been with a black woman.
Which made my current gamble all the easier.
It started with simple recon a month ago. Watching his movements, where he went when he wasn’t home, what he did, his main base of operations. I’d checked to make sure he wasn’t currently with or promised to anybody that I would have to scare off or otherwise. His life seemed very consistent, and it appeared as if he preferred to lay low. He was very popular because of his family’s ties, but had lately been in photos online for his groundbreaking businesses that he had started and given the community things to hope for. Most recently, he’d been seen with the mayor at an event to build a better shelter.
Next, I figured out what nights he frequented his hotel bar. His main office was here for whatever reason. Possibly to make any, and all of his transgressions quiet. He could work here, meet people, women, all under the guise of being a businessman, and nobody would be none the wiser.
I was.
I took note that he was at his bar almost every night after work for one drink, then left. So, I started to frequent the bar around the same time, hoping to catch his attention. Our chance meeting was timed perfectly. I’d constructed a simple passing in the hallway when he’d been going into his bar, and I had been on the way to the ladies’ room. In the dim hall, our eyes met and skirted over each other quickly; then, as he continued walking, I glanced back to see that he was watching me. Not subtly, but he had stopped in his tracks and was staring.
Something I learned years ago was that the most important things about catching a predator and prey were similar. They were maybe separated by a sliver of a difference– A thin line. You just had to resemble something that appealed to both of them, and they would come to you.
That first night I had walked by Damiano, I had worn something similar to what I’d seen Damiano’s ex-girlfriend, Keyshia, wearing in one of their old photos that I had scrounged the college photos for.
From that day on, he had stayed longer each night observing me. It made me excited to know I had his attention. I walked into the bar every night, hoping that he was there. I would feel his eyes on me. I would feel the heat of his presence close by, almost warming me.
Like they are right now, I’m sure.
I manage a coy glance at Damiano, my fingers playing with the rim of my wine glass. He still seems to be staring in my direction, and I force a soft smile, then look away. I’ve practiced this part, being a modest seductress. If I play too disinterested or am too forward, he will move on. So, I’ve been waiting for him to gather the nerve to come to me.
A testing wait.
He is handsome, distractingly so. While he’s tall, I estimate six foot five inches, he’s built just enough to fill out his tailored suits. Noticeable muscle shows through the perfected suit, but he’s not bulging or intimidating. His demeanor exudes confidence and strength. He sits, stands, and walks with his back straight, demanding an audience while capturing everybody’s attention. The rough, hard lines of his cheekbones are covered with a thin beard, and luscious lips peek out of them, giving life to his aquiline-shaped nose. Hair blacker than the midnight sky lays in askew short curls all over his head, giving him a just fucked look, though I know it’s from him incessantly running his hand through it.
And right now, I’m sure the darkest browns I have ever laid eyes on read me from across the room.
I knew from the instant I saw his picture that I had to have him, and it was going to happen one way or another. He had set off some primal attraction that I hadn’t felt since my affair with Aldo years ago. Similar to a ticking time bomb that went off deep within me. My heartbeat had sped up, quickening my pulse to a rate I only knew before great sex or a thrilling kill. My palms had grown clammy, eager to touch him as soon as possible. My pussy had clenched in anticipation, aware that if he didn’t do unspeakable things to her, then she would do them to him.
He was mine.
He is mine.
Looking at him again, I hold his gaze for a moment longer this time. A flicker of something crosses his face when his phone screen lights up, illuminating his features before he hides it. I sense him looking away. I’m neither irritated nor confused by his actions; I embrace them. This means that I’m one step closer to where I need to be tonight.
Watching him has been a pleasure.
As if I’m in a hurry, I ask for the check from the bartender, who tells me it’s no charge but slides me his number on the receipt- Another perk of being a beautiful woman in a city of hungry men. I finish the last of my wine and stand. My hands run over my dress, smoothing it down to my knees where it falls, and I take my clutch in my hands, then head towards the exit.
Conversations from random groups surround me, along with the light, melodic music playing in the background. The air of the bar matches the antique aesthetic of the hotel, and I like the vibe that it carries. The retro Mafioso tinge it caresses me with makes me want to go home and put on a gangster movie while snuggling deep under a fluffy comforter.
And since I doubt that he's going to make any moves tonight, I start towards the bathroom so I can do just that at home. The cab ride will take a bit, and I don’t want to be that woman squirming in the backseat from unanswered wet dreams and too much wine.
On my way out, I pass the big, burly man I’ve realized is Damiano’s bodyguard. Behind him in a chair, I see the eyes I’ve been dreaming of follow me out of the bar. Once in the hallway, which is still dimly illuminated but not as dark as the bar, I go to the bathroom. My hands tightly clasp my clutch and phone while I look down at it.
A few weeks ago, I would have texted Blaine and asked him if he wanted to meet up. I’m almost tempted to. This is the longest that I have gone without seeing him since I decided that I was going to fuck him exclusively, then broke things off. My ravenous lady parts are desperate for any affection that isn’t my hand or toys.
She wants flesh.
Horny and impatient, I check the app on my phone for ordering a ride and see that the closest one is two minutes away. Being downtown makes every ride easy to come by, whether it’s an actual ride or a dick for the night. I decide to wait until I’m done in the bathroom to order it.
In no time, I’m finished. My eyes rise in the bathroom mirror, and I pull on some of my natural curls to elongate them a bit. Humidity at certain times of the year is my friend, and tonight isn’t one of them. Quickly, I make myself feel more confident despite the scars Blaine pointed out so callously that are on display. I refresh my matte lipstick, smacking my lips together for personal pleasure before I grab the door handle.
The instant I’m out of the bathroom, my face planted in the phone about to request a ride, my arm is tugged on roughly. I spring into defense mode immediately and attack. My free hand flips my clutch seamlessly. The hard handles are custom-designed to clasp together, imitating sharp claws to grasp them as if I’m holding a hand. I jam them into my assailant’s chest, hearing a brief grunt of pain. I feel delighted that my self-made fashion statement and weapon work course through me for a fraction of a second. My elbow presses up into the person’s throat with the intent of injuring them until I see Blaine.
Fuck.
I look up at him. Wounded and alarmed, gray eyes stare down at me. His hands are up in surrender, and he allows shallow breaths to vibrate between the both of us until our breathing syncs. Quickly, I take him in. He looks different, shaggier. As if he hasn’t shaved in a while and has been living in a box on the streets, though the familiar intoxicating scent of him says otherwise.
I push against him angrily, backing away. “What the fuck, Blaine? What the fuck are you doing here?”
He moves towards me, and I shift back uncomfortably without thinking, making him stop. “I’ve been following you.”
He’s close again, and his fingertips tent together in a stressed way. “Listen to me. Whatever you’re doing, you can stop now. I can protect you.”
I give him a rude scoff followed by a pfft sound that I can’t stop. After a moment, I realize what he just said to me. I frown up at him. “You’ve been following me?”
I question him. “Are you fucking stupid, Blaine?”
When I push against his broad chest angrily, my whore hands want to meld themselves to him, missing the feel of him. Blaine nods. “I know what you did, Ec’.”
He sighs. “I know everything.”
I want to find his words incredulous, but I can’t. I was the one that willingly fucked an FBI data analyst but hadn’t thought Blaine would go to this length to find me. Blaine had divulged information about his job and life to me after we had been together for a couple of weeks, and I had only seen the benefit of being able to use his credentials without him knowing or having him access things for me that I wouldn’t usually be able to.
I couldn’t be surprised if I wanted to. Blaine had coincidentally become my target, and now I was his.
“You know everything?”
He nods unhappily. “I erased any evidence from every database that pinged anything.”
His enunciation of the word every sickens me. There’s no way that I left any incriminating evidence behind. Luca wasn’t my first kill and not my last. I haven’t been in hiding for a few years, so if something had come up, I would have been arrested by now.
At least by legit law enforcement.
I look at Blaine, putting everything together faster than I want to. My chest wants to cave in. My breaths deepen, my vision blurs, and my heart seems to add another crack to my naivete. “You work for them?”
My hand lowers for the razor I always wear around my thigh, and then I recall that I didn’t put it there. It’s between my breasts inside my bra. If I reach for it now to slit Blaine’s throat, he’ll know and will react.
Plus, explaining his death won’t get you any closer to Bianchi.
“No, not anymore.”
Blaine reaches out, and I step back. My head lifts to look at him, and from afar, I know that someone could perceive this interaction as flirtation in the dark halls.
It’s not even close.
But this- Blaine being a part of the Rossi family makes my life even funnier and ironic. Of course, the first guy that I scoped and approached would be a fucking turncoat. I had granted myself a margin of compassion or emotion- I wasn’t sure which one, but he was employed by my enemy.
“I don’t expect you to trust me.”
Blaine starts. His voice is low and rushed. “After you left, I went underground. I was only giving them enough information to keep them at bay. To keep them away from you.”
He sighs. “I wanted you for myself– To help you.”
“Story of my fucking life,”
I say. My hand scratches my curls in irritation, then lowers to the curve of my neck and shoulder, where I run my hand over it before I leave it on my shoulder casually. “So, let me get this straight. You fuck the girl you’re employed to betray and get murdered, then come back weeks later and declare devotion?”
I roll my eyes. “Sounds like you’re as much a fuckin’ dumbass as I am, Blaine.”
My anger wants to take over, but I manage to control it. “I will never trust you. You’re as dead to me as the people you work for.”
I mean that, right?
Blaine blanches at my words, his hand encircling my arm. His sorrowful orbs that almost entrap me stare at me, begging me to cave to him like I did in the past. I want to curl up in his arms like I have done so many times before. I want to feel his arms around me again, but I know that it’s pointless. He’s the enemy now.
No matter how my emotions play on me, I would rather die than be with him. My reason for distancing myself from him before had been that I didn’t want any more innocent people dying because of me when I should have euthanized him. I imagine his fate as Luca’s. My eyes wander down the front of his body. Images of his cock that I loved so much bring me nothing but anger now as I create scenarios where I shove his member up his ass.
I succumb to the reality that no man I have ever been with or that has been in my life has done me right. The consistency of being let down strikes more accurately than the reality of it. My mother’s words ring in my ears.
‘Men are good at some things. Knowing what women want or need will never be any of those.’
Good thing I wasn’t in love with Blaine. I only liked him enough to give him the time that I was biding. Now, I’m going to give him a chance to leave forever. “I’m going to scream in five seconds, Blaine,”
I warn. “If you don’t let me go and get the fuck out of here, I will hurt myself and make it look like you attacked me.”
My jilted, lying ex-lover looks at me in confusion. “Why?”
He questions me. “I told you that I don’t work for Tommaso anymore.”
He stops himself from saying more that will undoubtedly incriminate him. “I love you, Ec’.”
Tommaso’s name and how easily it falls from his lips leaves me seething. “Four, Blaine,”
I warn again.
Confused, he stares at me, and to show him that I’m not joking, I use his hand that’s on me as leverage and stumble into him, making it appear as if he yanked me. I lift my eyes to look into his. I force myself to become the victim for a moment. “Stop. Please.”
I say loudly. It’s not loud enough to garner too much attention, but Blaine frowns, giving the camera what it needs.
I wrinkle my face, contorting it into one of pain. “Three, Blaine.”
I don’t wait before I use his grip, which hasn’t lessened on me for the cameras. My hand falls over his that is on my arm, and I wince, pretending the grasp is causing me pain. I falter some, leaning towards him as my body lowers in protest, but not fully to my knees. My fake cries bounce off the walls of the hallway, clearer this time as I beg for release. I jerk my body towards the other side of the wall in a fighting movement, and Blaine releases me. Though intended, yet not expected, I fall back into the wall, and the back of my head hits it for a bright white sensation to overcome me briefly.
The pain is real, but the cry I let out for help isn’t. Within a flash, the empty hallway has people curious to discover the commotion. Blaine stumbles away, pulling his hoodie over his face to shield him. He’s careful not to let anybody see him as he runs out of the emergency exit at the end of the hall, only looking back once at me.
I hate the look of love and hurt on his face that I see.
A brief alarm goes off from his hurried leave through the emergency exit. Silenced after a moment, I’m encircled in arms that are bruisingly muscled and huge. Things around me become quiet, and I open my eyes to see Damiano Bianchi’s bodyguard.
I gasp. Pretending to be stunned, I place my hand on my chest and release a breath. “Thank you so much.”
I manage breathlessly– Though it’s fake.
The bear of a man barely acknowledges me, though his bright blues show anger. “Mr. Bianchi would like to meet you.”
His voice is softer than I expected, but the stale expression on his face shows how deadly he can be. “He wants to ensure that you are okay.”
How sweet.
I cast my eyes up at Beary, taking in his features, imagining a million ways I can take him down, but I don’t say anything. If Damiano Bianchi wants to talk to me because he imagines that I’m in danger or was harmed, then I will take it.
We re-enter the dark bar, and I look towards the dark corner where Damiano is waiting. From where I am encased in Beary’s arms, he doesn’t seem alarmed at all, and that irks me. He sips from his glass when I’m gingerly ushered before him, but his eyes stay on me.
One foot in front of the other, I move into the quiet area that seems secluded from the rest of the hotel bar. As each step gets me closer to him, I feel like I’m pulled into another realm or unknown territory. Damiano stands when I’m within reach and outstretches his hand for me to sit.
“Thank you,”
I say, sitting across from him.
He graces me with an attempt at a smile but looks more like a smirk. “Thank you for joining me.”
I didn’t think Beary over there would give me much of a choice.
I nod. “Well, I mean, your friend didn’t leave me with much of a choice.”
My eyes cut to Beary, who is standing like a statue, his hands clasped in front of him.
From looking at him, I can tell he has two guns. One is in the holster on his side, and the other is in his left boot. The pressure from the gun on his ankle is making it uncomfortable for him to stand, so when he shifts onto his right foot to relieve his left, he winces.
Damiano looks at his bodyguard. He assesses him quickly, then moves back to me. “Vladimir isn’t the nicest of people. The less he speaks, the better.”
I smile. “Vladimir? Russian?”
In the last week, Damiano has been in touch with the Bratva. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing here protected by another family. I’m curious to know what was traded for this or if they are protecting him to ensure he doesn’t expire while he has crucial information. I know he has allies, but he also has people interested in his actions.
He’s about to start a war that will set in motion more than just the demise of a Mafia brotherhood that has been around for a hundred years or more.
“Yes. Do you know Russian?”
I could tell him I know enough Russian to have a general conversation, but I prefer listening. I could confess that I know Italian because I’ve spoken it since I was ten when my mother became an office manager for one of Tommaso’s many businesses, but I don’t. There’s no reason to. He brought me to him because he wants something, and I’m not mad about it.
If this is my in, I’ll take it.
“No, but it’s an interesting language.”
I can see he’s more interested in me from the way he keeps his eyes trained on my face versus my cleavage, which has been winning me stares since I was young. “You didn’t bring me here to ask if I know Russian, did you?”
My response is far from coy, or maybe it’s semi-coy, but it’s not what I practiced. It doesn’t change much. I want him in me or under me.
Maybe both.
This time, Damiano genuinely smiles, and I love it. He leans forward, picking up his glass and putting it up to his lips. He stalls drinking. “Cut right to the chase, Miss…”
His words hang in the air, and I debate, telling him my name.
“Echo Johannsen…. Mister?” I tease.
Before he speaks, his chest puffs out with pride. An automatic response to undoubtedly knowing his name comes with recognition. “Damiano Bianchi.”
“Bianchi?”
I play dumb, forcing myself to look thoughtful. “As in Bianchi Enterprises, Bianchi Hotels and Resorts?”
He chuckles, biting his lip before finally sipping. “No, not that Bianchi. It’s pure coincidence.”
He’s lying. I found his tell. He bites his lip when he lies.
I chuckle. “My father used to say that coincidences aren’t real. That they are a truth twisted to appear as something it’s not.”
“Your father, huh?”
He sips more of his drink, putting it back on the table.
“My father,”
I confirm, my lips quirking in a smirk. I pray to a higher being that I look sexy and not creepy.
“I like that saying.”
He nods, considering the words. “Are you here on business?”
I shake my head. “No, I live here. I grew up here, then moved away for a few years.”
“What brought you back?”
He asks me.
I hold the shrug that begs me to act it out, looking at Damiano. “I was lonely, and you know what they say about home being where your heart is.”
“It is.”
He agrees. “So, you have family here then? Or a boyfriend?”
This time, I smile. “No, neither. No family or other strings. Just this city.”
“The situation in the hall?”
A glimmer of satisfaction crosses his face at my words. “I only ask because I’ve seen you here before. I wondered if you were staying at the hotel.”
“Have you been watching me?”
I playfully question him.
He smirks, and in the darkroom, I note the thrill he’s getting from this conversation. “I believe everybody was watching that exchange.”
His eyes thin to slits in what I recognize as disapproval. It makes me wonder if he’s disapproving of me or what took place.
If Blaine ruined this for me, I’ll filet him alive.
Instead of answering, Damiano reaches for his drink and stops. “What are you drinking, Bellissima?”
Bellissima. I love the sound of it, though my scars underneath my clothes would tell a different story.
“Dal Forno Romano.”
He seems surprised by my choice. “This is one of two places in the city that sells it.”
He nods, clearly impressed. “A woman as rare as the wine she drinks.”
Quite the talker…. And looker.
Damiano waves over a waitress and quickly tells her the order, his eyes focusing on me the entire time. I watch the amusement in his dark eyes, though his face shows no emotion.
It’s magnetic. To see a man with so much passion and emotion beneath the surface that’s just waiting for me to unlock it. He’s trained, undoubtedly. Not much gets past him or under his skin. Being calculated has always kept him a few feet ahead of others. He’s good at reading the room and people, but he’s intrigued by me simply because he can’t read me. With me, I see that he has no idea what to think, and that alone is driving him mad with the need to know.
The need to explore without awareness.
Damiano Bianchi is going to burn the world for me, and I will hand him the match.
Once the waitress walks away, he stares at me, gauging me. “Tell me, Echo, how do you know about wines like this?”
I shrug, trying to appear casual. “My father loved wine. I would say that he was a mental collector.”
“A mental collector?”
He asks. “Care to clarify?”
“We couldn’t afford luxurious things growing up, so he would find out about a specific wine, learn everything there was about it, and mentally collect it. I naturally picked up the same obsession.”
He nods as if he understands. “Though you can afford luxurious things now.”
It’s not a question.
“Luxurious?”
I tease him. “Did I say that?”
His lips quirk upwards. “You did.”
I hum in thought. “I can afford to spoil myself. We have to take all the luxuries in life that we can.”
The room seems to grow quiet. Seated in our separate seats in the dark bar across from each other, my eyes take in his long legs. I allow myself to let him see me absorb his body, to see what I want to unleash on him…. Because if this man weren’t clothed in front of me, I would fuck him into oblivion right now.
The waitress arrives. I watch as she places the wine bottle on the table with a glass and adds another drink in front of Damiano. Without saying anything, she walks away, and we’re left in silence, staring at each other. The apparent hunger in our eyes mirrors one another.
The inner beast in me wants to rip off Damiano’s clothes, bury his cock inside me, and mark him with scratches and bruises. But I contain her, quelling her with promises of that in the future.
He reaches forward and pours some wine into the glass for me, then leans back, finishing the contents in his first glass. His arms are braced on both sides of the armchair, his legs spread wide open, and he watches me intensely. Almost daring me not to take the glass, to prove that I know nothing about it.
Gingerly, I grab the stem of the glass, moving it slowly to aerate the wine. I bring the glass to my lips, my eyes still on his until I take in the scent of the wine that overwhelms me, and I close my eyes. It smells far more delicious than the first glass I had earlier.
After I sample it, I exhale. “Would you like to try?” I ask.
Damiano moves forward, but instead of pouring himself some in the second glass that the waitress brought, he takes mine. His fingers land over mine, and he turns the glass to where my lipstick stains the glass slightly, putting it to his lips as he drinks.
My insides melt at the contact, and once again, my heart hammers against my chest, betraying everything I’ve ever taught myself. I allow my heart to take over and daydream quickly of our life together, taking down the Rossis.
“Delicious.”
He murmurs, licking his lips and releasing me.
On cue, my phone chimes, alerting me of movement with Rossi’s gang that I’ve been monitoring. I place the glass on the table and stand, alarming Damiano. I smile at him. “I’m sorry that I have to cut this short, Damiano Bianchi, with no relation to Bianchi Enterprises, hotels, and resorts. Something’s come up.”
My teasing words stop.
“Your crazy ex from the hall?”
He asks, and I note the hint of jealousy and impatience in his tone. He places his empty glass on the table that he was still holding the entire time and stands, looking down as he steps up to me. He doesn’t warn me, but his arm gently snakes around my waist, tugging me into him. Our bodies engulf us in our heatwave. “Ignore it. Stay the night with me.”
This reaction must be from the pinned-up energy caused by watching me.
My eyes close, and my breathing stalls when he leans down. Warmth skims over my neck as his nose caresses my jawline, teasing me until his mouth reaches my earlobe. His tongue touches it, gently nibbling but careful not to hit my dangling hoop. My right hand braces itself against his stomach, and the hardness that meets me confirms what I thought earlier. He's muscular, albeit trim. For a brief second, I succumb to my inner self, allowing her just enough freedom to turn my head against his and touch his lips.
Blind need consumes me, and I press into him, urging him to take what I demand of him.
He never struck me as a kisser from afar, but the way he claims my lips in return tells me that he’s giving in to something himself, and that makes me ecstatic. Our mouths seem to meld, consuming each other’s, unabashedly taking what we want from the other. My hand travels up to the collar of his suit jacket, and I grasp it in my hold, pulling him closer to me until our bodies are flush. I find myself releasing a humming moan into his mouth as heat scorches through my body at a rapid speed. While I usually would be nearly a foot shorter than him, my heels give me some leverage, and I’m happy I don’t have to step on my tiptoes.
I want to climb him like a fucking tree.
His tongue thrusts into my mouth without warning, and I moan even louder. My left hand snakes up the back of his neck, and I dig my fingers into the hair at his nape that’s not cut, eliciting a groan from him. In response, his hand that is on my waist travels to my ass, and he spanks it quickly before he clutches a handful. Neither of us is deterred by the sound that fills the bar. Though I’m grateful that the bar is darker than most, knowing that Beary can see everything that is going on right now spurs me on more.
I’m not hesitant to claim him in front of anybody. In my short life, I have witnessed far more than I should have. But this is different…. He’s mine, even if he doesn’t know it yet. This uncontrollable emotion that I’m arousing within him will ensure that he comes back for more.
I pull away, my chest hitching with each inhale I force myself to take– Forcing myself to calm down. My eyes meet his, and I lick my lips. “You don’t seem like a stay-the-night type of man.”
He emits something that sounds like a growl. His free hand travels up to my throat. His index finger caresses my erratic pulse before he lowers his hand right above my deep cleavage. His forehead rests on mine, and I let go of his lapel, flattening it before I lower my hand to his chest and feel his heartbeat.
We’re kindred fucking creeps.
I release another breath, steeling myself against my emotions and raging inner self. I grab my clutch from the table once he gives me room to do so, but he holds my fingers in his hand. “You’ll see me soon,”
I tell him.
Damiano relinquishes his facial control, and a full smile breaks out, almost undoing my resolve. “Will I?”
I’ve started to walk away and stop by Beary. Turning my body just enough to give him the hint that I’m not staying but also a great view of my ass, I shrug. “Oh, you will. A powerful man like yourself has all the resources he needs to find me.”
He chuckles. “You didn’t give me your number.”
I wink and turn away from him. “Then that makes this all the more fun.”
With that, I leave him.