Chapter 9
He wants something from me. I can sense it.
Sitting across from Damiano at the restaurant, surrounded by a low-lit atmosphere with a live band playing soft, soothing songs in the background, I look at him. He has been attentive and sweet since we left the house. Giving me his unwavering time, he hasn’t looked at his phone, addressed anything that I’ve been expecting him to, and has even held my hand.
The hostess immediately took us to a second-floor area overlooking a lake when we entered the restaurant. I figured Damiano owned this place or knew someone who did, but I didn’t think much of it. I enjoyed the fact that I was finally out of the house.
“What are you thinking about?”
I come out of my thoughts. Picking up my wine glass, I sip from it. “Um, not much. I’m just excited that I’m out of the house.”
He nods, drinking from his glass. “I can see that.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Across from me, the confident man shrugs his shoulders casually but doesn’t appear to be confused or uncertain. “I’m still not happy having you outside the house, but I figured you deserve some type of freedom.”
Some type of freedom.
“So, you keep all your female friends locked up?” I joke.
He’s silent for a bit, and I wonder if he missed my joke, then the corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. “You didn’t hear the other women?”
It’s dark humor, but I chuckle. “I thought I heard some noises from that wall beneath the stairs.”
This time, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches for his drink, sipping a good amount before he places his glass back on the table and hisses at the sting I imagine he feels. “You saw that, huh?”
I nod. “There’s an obvious indent if you’re looking for it. Maybe the house has settled more since it was done, or something –”
I scoff. “It’s not like I build houses–”
“You just examine them closely, huh?”
His tone suggests amusement, but his irritation that I scoped out his house while he wasn’t around obscures it. “I told you that my WITSEC parents were cops, right?”
He barely nods at my question. “Well, the husband was in the Marines as well.”
Damiano smirks. “And yet, they were still murdered.”
Crass asshole.
He’s baiting me. Trying to see how I react to things he says. “Yup.”
I exhale with a sigh. “They were tortured for days, but I’m assuming since Luca never showed up to the camping ground I was at, they never told him.”
“A good thing.”
Our eyes meet, and I watch him drink some more. “I like being around you.”
I frown at his confession but don’t detect any lies. “Do you own this place?”
I change the subject.
“Co-own.”
Damiano stops talking as the waiter brings our appetizer. “In my twenties, I went half on a bunch of property investments with Ilya Petrov. We were both young and wanted to do something to help us get money outside of the Bratva and Mafia.”
“Something legit?” I ask.
These are questions I don’t have to ask. Despite his few illegal and morally gray businesses, he has started some legal ventures over the last ten years that have also helped him earn millions. In addition to the restaurants, he’s established resorts worldwide.
He nods. “Si, my uncle, the Don, always taught me not to keep all of my eggs in one basket.”
I pick at the appetizer. I’m uncertain what it is since I relinquished control and let Damiano order everything. Putting a piece of it in my mouth, I close my eyes and moan at the savory tastes that crowd my senses.
Whoever’s the chef is a Godsend at the moment.
I have nothing against Viviana, but this is exquisite. I lived on Ramen Noodles, Knoor pasta, rice dinners, and primarily frozen food a few weeks ago. This is the closest to Heaven I will ever get.
Another moan escapes my mouth, and I open my eyes to see the amused look on Damiano’s face. “Ti piace?”
I nod. “It’s so good.”
Without waiting, I pluck a piece off the plate and offer him a taste. For a brief moment, he looks at me contemplatively, then leans in, and his mouth closes around the food and my fingers.
Humming his appreciation for the food, Damiano leans back. “That is good.”
Instead of wiping my fingers on my napkin, I put them in my mouth, removing the remaining sauce. Once clean, I wipe them on the napkin and reach for my wine. “So, tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
Damiano asks.
“What do you expect from me as your wife? I know that this dinner is some ploy.”
I’m unsure where the question will take us, but I’m curious. When I was younger, Aldo had claimed that when he married me, I would be his little love slave. His claim that he was going to keep me pregnant with his babies because he always wanted a part of him to be in me made me swoon. My young, ignorant mind had found it cute and thought it was true love, but now I’m disgusted.
I know that Damiano wants me to stay at his house and be safe, but if he thinks the same way as Aldo, I will undoubtedly have to kill him when this is over.
And what a shame that will be.
I mentally pout because I don’t want to kill him.
I like him…. Enough.
Damiano reaches for his glass and drinks some. “I don’t have expectations. I never thought I would get married, to be honest.”
I believe him, even though it doesn’t answer my question. “What do you think I want?”
I take another piece of the appetizer, and before I put the food to my lips, I move them to Damiano’s. His eyebrow quirks up, but he leans in again. His mouth closes around the morsel, gently taking it between his teeth as he runs them over my fingers before his tongue laps over them, sucking on my fingers.
Heat rushes to my core, and I know how this night will end. Undoubtedly, with my lips around his cock.
Something I’m excited about.
Gently, he allows me to have my hand back, and I move to pick up another piece, this time eating it myself. I moan at the same taste that consumes my senses. Whatever this appetizer is, I would kill for the recipe.
Literally.
After I’ve gained control of myself and can breathe without fear of letting my arousal be obvious, I look at Damiano. The black lustful look in his eyes makes me want to fuck him right here in the restaurant.
I clear my throat. “You want a woman that will do exactly what you say without question. Someone who puts their trust in you wholeheartedly doesn’t second guess your agenda. You want a quiet trophy, a woman that will lay on her back and produce the heirs you were told to procure to continue the line you were blessed with. You want a princess that will forever depend on you, a damsel waiting for you to save her, a little girl who will let you mold her.”
Damiano is quiet for a moment. The corner of his eyes lift a second before his mouth does, and he laughs. While I love the sound of his genuine laughter, I don’t enjoy it at my expense. That he assumes I’m joking.
He drinks from his glass. “And you are all of that, Echo Wren Johannsen?”
“No.”
I scoff at the absurdity in his mocking tone. “I am a queen, Damiano. And the sooner you realize, the better this relationship will be.”
His brown eyes focus on me. “A queen, huh?”
When I move to answer, we both turn to see a commotion. Rushing up the stairs, Gio moves towards our solo table. “It’s like you said.”
My eyes cut back to Damiano rapidly, and I frown. “You knew that they would come, didn’t you?”
Grimy motherfucker.
Not phased, he looks at me, picks up his glass, and swallows the remaining contents. He stands, looking at Gio. “Get someone up here. You and Vlad are with me.”
Before I know it, I’m grabbed at the elbow by Damiano and ushered towards the back of the restaurant. I had wondered why the restaurant had been so calm tonight. I naively figured it was because it was a weeknight, but I should have known better. There hadn’t been enough cars parked for the number of employees it should take to run this place. The waitstaff had been calm, almost serene as if they were expecting something to happen.
They’d been Damiano’s men that I wasn’t familiar with. The realization irritated and amazed me at the same time.
Damiano had used my going out with him to reinforce the idea that the Rossi family would not stop until they got me.
It’s a smart move but also dumb.
Still being pulled by Damiano, I don’t try to resist. “Answer me. You knew that they would come, didn’t you?”
I repeat the same words. “Damiano,”
I plead, “why?”
He stops suddenly, ripping me around in front of him, where his other hand grabs my free arm. “You and the Don live in a world that doesn’t exist. You think that they will stop, but they won’t. You’re their enemy, Echo, and that makes them mine.”
I waver at his words, moved to a degree that surprises me. I’m not scared like it probably seems, but I want to do more than what he believes I’m capable of. “What do you want me to do? I can help.” I offer.
Damiano smirks, his face displaying a look of bloodlust. “Stay here. Let me take care of them.”
That’s no fun.
Without warning, he opens a door I didn’t see behind me and pushes me inside. A light overhead flickers on, and I notice I’m in a panic room. While a part of me is moved that he’s trying to protect me in this restaurant, another part of me laughs that he stuffed me in here. I don't know how this is supposed to prevent bullets from riddling my body if it comes down to that.
As if I spoke out loud, Damiano turns to me. “This room is built for situations like this. The door will only open from the inside once I lock it, wait until I open it or Gio does. I have fingerprint access, but I’ll still knock three times.”
Behind him, a man steps into the room, a gun in his hand. I don’t recognize him, but Damiano must trust him or feel he has no choice. I step back and wait, watching Damiano say something to the man in Italian, then close the door behind him. A quiet click sounds that I know is the lock arming, and I sigh.
What am I supposed to do with myself now?
I never imagined that I would be bored during a fight going on around me, but I am. I wonder how long I will let this helpless act go on while letting my true nature slip out occasionally. It’s exhausting when all I want is to rip Aldo and his family to shreds with my teeth and nails, then bathe in their blood and despair.
Seconds feel like an eternity as we both wait, listening for something. Though the room is supposed to be bulletproof, it isn’t soundproof. I can tell that from the echoes that vibrate around us, but nothing alarming or loud reaches my ears. I’m vigilant about everything and try to calm my erratic beating heart. I breathe in and exhale. The way my foster mother showed me when I was younger and had debilitating anxiety.
I center myself to a calm degree.
When my nerves relax, a gunshot fires not far from the pantry. My senses go on high alert, and I move toward the door to get out. It’s not that I’m scared or want to run.
I want to kill them.
After my last attack, I promised myself I would never be a victim or surprised. I would never sit by and be forced to watch someone I loved lose their life. Since then, I have gone on the attack. The twenty men I’ve killed from Aldo and Tommaso’s family have been exhilarating.
Luca felt orgasmic.
The guard turns to me. “You can’t go out there, Signora Bianchi.”
I stop at the title, my hands brace on my hips, and I smile. “Listen, honey,”
I start sweetly, “there’s only you between me and that door. While I would rather you come with me, if you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to dislocate your shoulder before you can say stop.”
We square off like an old-school cowboy showdown. He’s probably thinking of a way that he can stop me from leaving without physically touching me. On the other hand, I already know that he will never be able to swing at me. He’s young and undoubtedly strong, but his youth makes him cocky for no good reason. Plus, I’m sure touching me is out of the question, or he’ll have to answer to Damiano.
Brown eyes are focused on me but become distracted by another gunshot. The guard looks in the direction of the door, and I use that to my advantage. Quickly, my hands move out, taking hold of the nozzle of his gun that he’s holding. I push it away from my direction, forcing it upwards until the snap I hear makes him release the weapon. With as much strength as I have, I yank him forward. Bending my fingers inward so I don’t break my nails. I hit him in the throat hard enough to take away his air, and he falls to his knees. I hit him a second time in the throat with more force, conscious of how it may nearly incapacitate him, then butt him in the face with the heel of the gun that’s in my hand as he grasps at his throat.
My body moves out of the way as he crashes to the ground, the gun in my hand. I look down and shake my head. “Safety, dumbass.”
I admonish him, then remove it with expertise.
You didn’t dislocate his shoulder. A tempting voice taunts me.
More shots ring out, but I don’t hear any yelling, and they seem further away from the panic room this time. My back plants against the wall as I turn the knob of the door and open it a crack.
Silence welcomes me.
There’s no noise coming from the inside of the restaurant anymore or stomping sounds, which tells me everything is taken care of or they are all outside. I slow my rapid breaths to calm myself, quieting them so I can't hear them. When I know the area is clear, I push the door open more and step out. My surroundings look the same as before. Nothing is turned over, no bodies lying around, or debris that I see, meaning the fight is still downstairs.
He’s okay. I tell myself when I think of Damiano.
Slowly, I make my way back towards the front where we were eating to see that it’s also empty, then go to the staircase to get downstairs when I stop. Mumbled voices reach my ears, and I duck back against the wall, trying to make myself small in the dimly lit dining area.
I hear the rough lilt of Italian but don’t recognize the voices. Waiting until they are closer, I breathe deep, forcing my pulse to calm down again. I hear the blood rush through my body, beating loudly in rapid synchronization. It slows down as I center myself and relax to feel their footsteps' vibration.
My eyes close. I clasp the gun against me and wait, exhaling with each step they take so I get a better sense of how close they are.
Three, two, one.
A foot touches the top of the stairs to my left, and I strike. My leg swings out, connecting with a midsection, and I hear a startled grunt. Instinctively, my knee moves up into the person’s face without fail or hesitation. More painful groans echo out as they fall back down the stairs, and I aim my gun at the second person, ready to shoot, until I recognize Gio.
“Dio Mio, Echo.”
He drops the gun at the same time I do, then sighs. He looks down the stairs at the person who is lying there. The instant he turns back to me, I see it– The amusement. Rather than saying anything to me, Gio snatches the gun from me. For a brief moment, he shows an appreciation for my amateur defense before reality sets in. “Where’s Marco?”
he asks me.
I exhale a deep breath, allowing life to flow back into me, leashing my mentally caged animals back up that didn’t even start their carnage. “Marco? The house manager?”
My confusion melds with my sudden exhaustion, and I’m sure I portray it all over my face.
“No, his son.”
Oh, shit. I knew that the guy guarding me looked familiar to me
“Oh,”
I say with finality.
“Oh?”
We both turn at Damiano's angry, abrupt tone. The guy I knocked down the stairs stands behind him, unstable on his feet for a second. “Where is he?”
Gio steps away from me as Damiano stalks closer. The intensity of his stare makes me feel things I shouldn’t. When he reaches the top of the stairs and stands before me, I can’t help the relief that courses through me, seeing that he’s alive and unscathed.
“Is everybody okay? Vlad?” I ask.
Jealousy immediately shows on Damiano’s face, and he leans in, his face inches from mine. “I told you to stay in the room. I asked you where Marco is. Two things, Bellissima.”
Really? I roll my eyes. “He’s in the room. Knocked out.”
Gio looks at me, then Damiano’s back, and rushes to the room, leaving us alone. Damiano stands up straight and glares at the guy I knocked down the stairs. The man’s nose, whose name I don’t know yet, is bleeding, and he clasps his hand over it. When he realizes we’re both looking at him, he gets the hint and walks back down the stairs.
Tensions soar around us like two tornadoes in the same vicinity but working against each other. “I heard gunshots. Are you okay?” I ask.
Damiano swears at my question. “You see, I'm fine.”
“But I’m asking you,”
I add a moment later.
“Yes. Are you?”
Damiano reaches out for me hesitantly. I see he wants to show emotion– Show something, but won’t right now.
Gio comes around the corner, Marco Jr. braced on his shoulder, interrupting us. “He’s okay.”
Ignoring me, Damiano walks to Marco Jr. and asks him a question in Italian. The young man’s eyes shoot to me angrily and back to Damiano before he responds. The room goes silent after he speaks, and Gio and Damiano turn to look at me.
“You hit him?”
Gio’s surprise rings throughout his tone.
I did.
“There were gunshots, and I gave him the choice to let me out or not.”
Gio scoffs, and the slight amusement on his face dies when he looks at Damiano. “He’s supposed to protect you.”
The urge to clap haughtily and tease them is stopped. “He tried his best, which, no offense, could use some work. He was distracted by the gunshot, and that allowed me to hit him.”
“You tried to leave before the gunshot,”
Marco exclaims like a hurt child. “Then you hit me.”
I roll my eyes and suck my teeth. “Tomato, tomah-to,”
I reply dismissively. “You got distracted.”
“This is funny to you?”
Damiano questions me rhetorically. “You think it’s okay to attack my men and leave my protection when I specifically instructed you to stay somewhere?”
If I roll my eyes again, they will get stuck in the back of my head. Leaving the room didn’t prove to him that I’m capable of taking care of myself, though I took down Marco Jr. and another guy. It feels like it’s making him more nervous.
“Leave your protection? If this were a joke, would I risk my life for yours, huh?”
I start to walk away and stop myself. “Clearly, I should be protecting myself when two of your men can’t even stop me.”
In a flash, Damiano is back in front of me. His hand closes around my throat, restricting my breathing, and he pushes me against the wall. An all too familiar sensation courses through me when my body makes contact with the wall, and I take in a deep breath. I should be scared right now. I imagine he expects me to be scared, but it’s the opposite.
I wish he’d rip my clothes off and fuck me with this same hand around my throat the entire time.
I relent in taking any control and make eye contact with him. My chest moves with the shallow breaths that he allows me to take, and it doesn’t take long before he seems to have the same urges as me. He groans, pushing me into the wall more, and I release a raspy breath that sounds closer to a moan. “Is that what you want? To be by yourself? To be–”
I groan in frustration, tired, and in pain that can only be alleviated by a punishing fuck or killing someone. “Oh, if you’re gonna do it, get it over with. Stop threatening me with a good time.”
“A good time? It seems to me that you only want to die.”
Taunting him, I raise my eyebrows. “It is the only certain thing in life.”
Damiano sighs, and my eyes cut down to his shirt stained red from blood. I didn’t notice the wound earlier, but maybe he wasn’t bleeding as bad until he went after me.
Rapidly, I strike him in the side. My hand connects with the warm, damp shirt as I push into the wound. My fingernails briefly dig into his cut, and he releases me, stepping back as a slew of Italian curses leave his mouth.
We both nearly collapse.
Me from being able to breathe, him from being in pain. Hunched over for a millisecond, he sucks in a deep, pained breath and stands straight with a grunt, glaring at me.
There’s venom in his eyes, and he looks like he wants to strangle me to death this time. All hints of lust he felt previously are gone.
“We need to go.”
Gio breaks us out of our trance. “Vlad’s already on the way to the house.”
More blood has seeped down his shirt, but Damiano ignores Gio briefly. After a second, he exhales. “Let’s go.”
Holding his side, Damiano heads down the stairs, giving me no choice but to follow.