Chapter 10
Fabio
The heavy brass deadbolt snicks into place. The sound cracks through the silent room like a gunshot. The world outside this door ceases to exist. The mafia war. The Bellanti strike teams. The bodies left behind in the burned speakeasy. Gone. Dead. Irrelevant. There's only this room. Only her.
I carry Catalina deeper into my suite. The rugs absorb the sound of my boots.
The soundproofed walls swallow the chaos of the compound.
My muscles burn from the adrenaline and the violence, but I don't put her down.
Not now. Not ever. She is a permanent fixture in my arms. My woman.
My enemy princess. That's all there is to it.
Her arms wrap tight around my neck. The freezing river water soaks through my ruined shirt, pressing her icy skin against my chest. She trembles against me.
The cold is deep in her bones. The fear still hovers at the edges of her scent.
Her scent is buried under stagnant water, mud, and gunpowder.
I hate the river water. I hate the mud. I'll strip the entire fucking world off her until there's nothing left but her.
I cross the expanse of the bedroom. The king-sized mattress sits in low lamplight.
I do not stop there. The slate tiles of the master bathroom meet my boots.
I kick the glass door of the walk-in shower open.
The brass fixtures gleam in the dim light.
I reach out, cranking the hot water valve to the maximum.
Steam hisses from the rainfall head, billowing into the cold air.
I set her down on the teak bench inside the enclosure.
She stays where I put her. Her wide, dark eyes track my every movement.
No panic. No calculation. The Bellanti armor is stripped away, leaving only the raw, trusting core of the woman who chose me over her own survival.
The trust is a heavy, dangerous weight in my chest. It demands everything I have.
"Stand up," I command. The words come out rough, low, scraped raw.
She stands. The dripping tactical jacket I wrapped around her on the riverbank slides off her shoulders.
It hits the wet tiles with a sodden slap.
She is wearing a ruined shirt and ruined denim jeans, plastered to the thick, glorious curves of her body.
My jaw locks. The territorial rage spikes so hard it threatens to break my teeth.
Her own family did this to her. Her own blood chased her into a freezing drainage pipe.
I step under the scalding water fully clothed. The heat hits my shoulders, washing away the freezing grit of the river. I don't care about my clothes. I don't care about anything except getting her warm and clean, getting my hands on every inch of her to know she's whole.
My hands grip the hem of her ruined shirt.
I pull it up and over her head, tossing it out onto the bathroom floor.
The cold air hits her bare skin for a fraction of a second before the hot water cascades over her shoulders.
She sighs, tipping her head back. The water slicks her dark hair to her skull, trailing down her neck, tracing the swell of her breasts.
Fuck.
The visual lands like a punch straight to my gut.
The water sheets over her thighs, the dip of her waist, the curve of her belly.
I drop to my knees. The water pounds against my back.
My hands grip the waistband of her soaked denim.
I peel it down over her hips, dragging the wet fabric down her thighs.
I crouch lower, tugging her boots and socks off, then stripping the soaked denim the rest of the way.
I toss the pile of ruined clothing out the door.
She is bare before me. The hot water runs over her, turning her pale skin flush with pink heat.
I stay on my knees. The urge to drop my mouth to her skin crashes into the need to take her, now.
I press my face against her wet stomach.
My arms wrap around her thighs, hauling her hips flush against my face.
She moans, her fingers tangling in my wet hair.
The sound goes straight to my groin. A heavy, aching erection strains against my soaked tactical pants.The blood pounds in my ears, heavy and relentless.
For twenty years I lived inside pure destruction, furious at Dominic for the leash, furious at the walls he built around me.
Now, the truth is an agonizing, beautiful revelation.
Dominic locked me away because he loved me.
He locked me away because the thought of losing me would break him.
And now, kneeling on the wet slate tiles, clutching Catalina's thighs, the same desperate, suffocating need takes root in my own chest. I'm the locked door now.
I will lock her away from the entire fucking universe.
I'll burn down anyone who tries to take her from this room.
I grab a bar of soap from the alcove. The lather builds instantly between my rough, scarred palms. I stand up.
I drag my slick hands over her shoulders.
I wash the river water from her collarbones.
I massage the soap into the weight of her breasts, my thumbs dragging across her tight, peaked nipples.
She whimpers, arching into my touch. The sound goes through me like a live wire. I want every version of it she has.
I drag my hands down her ribs, over the soft swell of her belly.
I spread the lather over her hips, gripping the lush flesh of her ass.
My fingers dig into her cheeks, lifting her slightly, molding her curves to my palms. I wash the mud from her legs, taking my time, mapping every square inch of her Bellanti bloodline and claiming it as Costa territory.
When the dirt is gone, I drop the soap. I pull her flush against my wet, fully clothed body. The friction of her bare breasts against my soaked shirt is maddening. I crash my mouth down on hers. The kiss is a desperate collision. No finesse. No gentle preamble.
Just teeth and tongue and yes. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting the remnants of the coffee from the speakeasy, tasting the rich flavor of her. She kisses me back with equal ferocity, her nails digging into my shoulders through the wet fabric.
I break the kiss, gasping for air. "You are mine."
"Yours," she gasps back. No hesitation. That single word undoes me.
I turn off the water. The sudden silence rings in my ears. I grab a towel from the heated rack and wrap it around her. I scoop her up into my arms. The water drips from my own ruined clothes onto the slate tiles. I don't care about the rugs. I'll replace every fucking one of them.
I carry her to the bed. The mattress is huge, covered in gray sheets.
I drop her right in the center. The towel falls open, exposing the flush, heated perfection of her body.
She looks up at me from the pillows. Ripe figs and dark honey bloom into the air, erasing the smell of the river.
The scent floods my throat. My grip tightens before I know it.
I rip my own clothes off. The wet boots hit the floor with thuds.
The ruined shirt tears at the seam as I yank it over my head.
The soaked tactical pants peel away, taking the wet boxers with them.
I stand naked at the edge of the bed. The heavy ink of the roaring lion on my left bicep stands stark against the dim light.
Her gaze drops, tracking the thick, rigid length of my cock. The balls. The pure, unadulterated need radiating off me. She does not flinch. She does not look away. She parts her knees, offering herself to me. Offering herself to the enforcer who just slaughtered four men in pitch darkness.
I crawl onto the mattress. The frame creaks under my weight. I brace my forearms on either side of her head, lowering my body over hers. The heat coming off her skin sinks straight through me. I lower my head, dragging my nose along the curve of her neck.
"You're safe here," I growl against her skin. "Do you understand me? Nothing touches you. The war doesn't cross this threshold."
"I know," she whispers, giving me better access to her throat. "I'm safe with you."
The words are a lethal strike to the center of my chest. I drag my open mouth down her neck, scraping my teeth over the erratic rhythm jumping at the hollow of her throat. I move lower, my lips capturing the peak of her breast.
I suckle hard, pulling the sensitive flesh deep into my mouth. She cries out, her hips bucking up off the mattress. The friction of her wet pussy brushing against my thigh is a localized inferno.
I move my hands down to her waist, gripping the soft, lush curves.
My thumbs trace the curve of her hips while my mouth works her other breast. My tongue lashes across the nipple, teasing it into a tight, hard pebble before I bite down gently.
She thrashes beneath me, her hands gripping my hair, pulling me closer, demanding more.
"Fabio," she pants, my name a desperate plea on her lips.
"I'm right here," I answer, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her ribcage.
I drag my mouth across the center of her belly, my tongue dipping into her navel.
I drag my body lower, shifting my weight between her spread thighs.
The slick, glistening wetness pooling between her legs is a beacon.
The musk of her arousal mixes with the ripe figs and honey.
I grip her knees, pushing her thighs wide apart. The view stops me cold. She's drenched, pink, ready. I dive in without hesitation. My tongue traces the long slit, tasting the salty, intoxicating flavor of her. She tastes like victory. Like mine.
I plunge my tongue deep into her wetness, exploring the slick walls.
She arches violently, a loud moan tearing from her throat.
My hands grip her thighs, holding her where I want her.
I drag my tongue up, finding the swollen clit hidden in the folds.
I latch onto the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking hard.