Chapter 17 #2
When I could feel my legs again, I shoved upright, drinking in the sight of her flushed form post-orgasm. My gaze automatically honed in on her stomach, still coated in my sticky spend, and an idea came to mind.
Using both hands, I spread my cum over the expanse of her skin, rubbing it into the bump that housed my baby.
A rush of air fell from her lips as she watched on, transfixed.
“Saved you a step.” My voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel.
“Huh?” Rory blinked up at me, her eyes unfocused.
“The cocoa butter. You don’t need it now.” I patted her thigh, stepping back to tuck myself back into my pants.
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right?”
I gripped her chin, hauling her in for a bruising kiss, my tongue pushing inside, forcing her to taste herself—a reminder of who she fucking belonged to.
Withdrawing, I focused on fixing my sleeves and reattaching my cufflinks. “You have ten minutes before I expect you downstairs.”
“Ten, but I need to show—”
“Ten,” I repeated, my tone brooking no argument.
“So, you’ll need to make a choice. Wash my cum off your skin and walk into the event tonight looking like a drowned rat because you prioritized a shower, or focus on putting on the final touches and make every mafia wife green with envy knowing they’ll never compare to your beauty when you walk into that ballroom tonight. ”
Rory’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. “You’re bluffing.”
I lifted my chin. “Are you prepared to go all-in based on that belief? Run the risk of being dragged out of this house and put on display wearing nothing but a robe because you’re too damn stubborn to accept when you’ve lost?
” Stepping closer, I crowded her space. “The cards in my hand will always trump yours, wife. You’d do well to remember that. ”
She shook her head, wry laughter filling the air. “God, I fucking hate you.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know.” Moving toward the door, I called over my shoulder. “You’re down to nine minutes. Better get dressed.”
My phone chirped incessantly from inside my pocket, and I pulled it out to find no less than a dozen messages from Enzo and Matteo asking where the hell we were. Rory’s little act of defiance to delay our departure, combined with my pre-party snack, had set us behind by over an hour.
Unbeknownst to us, Dario had been playing chess for years, picking off inconsequential pawns, attacking the knight and bishop, in his quest to topple the king and queen.
And tonight, we were leaving them purposely exposed in hopes of enticing him to make a move that would, in turn, prove to be his downfall.
It was time to end this game, once and for all.
The ballroom was packed, every member of our organization in attendance.
While we often lost men in the line of duty, it would appear recruiting hadn’t suffered in our absence.
Despite engaging in a pointless war over Rory’s runaway act, our ranks had continued to grow, and there was strength to be found in numbers.
Almost as if this were a wedding instead of a Christmas party, the highest ranking Bellinis—me and Rory, Matteo and Summer, and Enzo and Allie—held a receiving line, personally thanking each man for their loyalty and service.
There was only one tiny hiccup when a young foot soldier got overly excited and thought it would be a good idea to place his hands on Rory’s stomach while congratulating us on our upcoming arrival.
His screams, layered over the sound of breaking bones, turned every head in the room, but served as an important reminder that while my appearance might’ve changed, I was still the same ruthless man they remembered from before.
Hyperaware of the woman by my side, when I noticed her wincing and pressing a palm to her lower back, I leaned in to ask, “Need a break?”
My wife scoffed. “Is this another one of your tricks? Dangle an offer of relief, then snatch it away without warning?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re clearly in pain.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, are we pretending you’re not a sadistic bastard who gets off on that?”
Before I could retort that was only true inside the bedroom, Summer spoke from the far side of Matteo. “Whoa, boy, these heels are killing my feet, and I’m parched after talking to all those people. How about the girls grab a drink and take a seat at the table while the boys finish up here?”
She didn’t wait for anyone’s agreement, looping one arm around Rory’s, the other around Allie’s, and tugging them away, but not before she turned to mouth over her shoulder, You’re welcome.
I might have given my little brother a lot of shit for falling in love, but I could admit his wife was quickly earning my respect.
Left alone, Matteo, Enzo, and I silently surveyed the room, searching for anything—or anyone—that might seem out of place.
Pulling in a deep breath, I released it slowly. “What if he doesn’t show?”
Matteo hummed. “Then we go back to the drawing board. That’s all we can do.”
I cracked my neck, hoping to relieve the undercurrent of tension that made my muscles ache. “What the hell am I doing bringing a child into this fucked up world?”
“Ask myself the same question every damn day,” Enzo muttered.
My head whipped to the side. “Is Allie . . .?”
Jaw tight, his gaze was trained on the spot across the room where his wife sat with mine and Matteo’s.
“No, Allie can’t—“ His voice broke, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “Gemma said she’d carry one for us. We’re supposed to start the process after the new year. If we’re still alive by then, that is.”
“What? That’s huge!” Matteo exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Enzo’s head tilted from side to side. “There are no guarantees that it’ll work, and I’m worried that if it doesn’t, she’s going to backslide. It was hard enough for her to crawl out of the hole of depression once; I don’t know if she’s got the strength to do it again.”
My brother gripped my cousin’s shoulder. “We’re here for you guys. No matter what.”
Swallowing thickly, Enzo uttered a gruff “thanks.”
While I felt like an outsider in my own family, I heeded Matteo’s warning from when Rory had been in the hospital—that whatever had happened to Enzo and his wife had been deeply traumatic and that talking about it was off the table—and remained silent.
Truth be told, my plate was overflowing as it was, and I didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about the logistics of anyone else’s family planning.
My brother and cousin continued to talk about all things babies, but it became background noise to me. While fatherhood was on the near horizon, I struggled to wrap my mind around the concept, regardless of Rory’s protruding stomach, the visible proof that this was really happening.
If I was honest with myself, I was so damn terrified that Dario would win that I felt it was better to keep myself detached from the situation in case my son was never granted a first breath. Our enemies had come for his life once before; there were no guarantees they wouldn’t try again.
“Gio?” Matteo’s voice brought me back to the present.
I shook my head in an effort to clear it. “What was that?”
Surveying me critically, whatever my brother saw in my eyes had his own gaze softening. “I asked if you were ready for the toast? We can’t starve our guests by putting off dinner forever in the hopes that Dario decides to crash.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. “Let’s get on with the evening.”
“I’ll collect the girls,” Enzo offered, striding away.
Closing my eyes, I blew out a breath, doubting myself and this plan with every minute that passed without Dario making an appearance.
Something grazed my arm, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my back going ramrod straight. Finely honed reflexes from years of defensive training had my hand flying out to clamp down on the appendage of whomever dared to touch me without permission.
When a soft whimper sounded in response, my eyes snapped open to find Rory staring up at me, concern written across her delicate features.
Brows furrowed, she asked, “Are you okay?”
Releasing my hold on her, I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah. Just really want to end this tonight.”
In an uncharacteristic show of affection, she tangled her fingers with mine. “We all want that.”
“Champagnes all around!” Enzo broke into our little bubble, handing out flutes one by one, pausing when he reached us and saying to Rory, “I’m sure you could use something stronger, but I’m afraid all I can offer is sparkling cider.”
“Probably better to stay sharp in the face of danger,” my wife replied, curling her fingers around the crystal stemware.
“I’d put money on you being the one to save us all.” He tossed her a wink.
The idea was so laughable that I couldn’t contain my loud snort.
Rory’s head whipped around, the expression on her face daring me to voice my thoughts as to why that was so funny.
Electing to avoid a fight with my wife in front of an audience, I tapped the side of my champagne flute with the knife Enzo had provided me for that express purpose, drawing the attention of the room.
The din of chatter died down immediately, all eyes turning in our direction.
Clearing my throat, I began, “Good evening. I’d like to start by thanking every single man in this room for their service to the Bellinis, whether you’ve been with us for one week or fifty years. Without your continued loyalty, our organization would cease to exist.”
While it remained silent, there were several nods from those seated at the tables.
“Next, I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge my brother, Matteo, for stepping in as Don during my absence these past four years, guiding our interests and vanquishing the Russians.” I tipped my glass in his direction. “Job well done.”
There was a round of applause for their stand-in Don.