Chapter 45
DANTE
I stayed up late talking to Leon and Mateo and didn’t get home until after three. Then I fucked Carmela. It must have been gone four by the time I finally got back to sleep.
The sunlight streaming through the window onto my face is annoying as fuck.
But something is wrong.
Something is missing that drags me to full wakefulness—a warm body should be lying next to me.
I pry my eyes open and glance around the room. She’s not here and not in the bathroom either.
Panic slams into me. I shove the covers aside and stalk through to the main living area. It’s quiet. She’s not here. Could she have gotten out?
I check the main door for any signs it’s been opened. Nothing obvious, and the code is active.
I’m going to fucking lose it.
My mind skips back over the walk down the corridor. I’m sure the guest bedroom door was left open yesterday. My head turns that way. It’s shut.
I blink a few times as this information settles in, trying to work out what happened between me fucking her and now that might have caused her to go and sleep in another room.
Was I thrashing around in my sleep?
I stalk to the door, turn the handle, and come to an abrupt stop. Outrage chases the last of the sleep from my mind. I can’t believe she put a locked door between us again. I bang on the door. “Carmela, open this goddamn door.”
“Leave me alone, Dante.”
I guess that clears up any misconceptions I might have had about why she moved her ass here. “We don’t have locked doors between us.”
“Correction,” she calls back. “We definitely do. Get over it!”
“Open the fucking door right now!”
I can hear the patter of footsteps, followed by a grinding sound of something being pushed across the floor.
Oh, hell no.
Where did I put the screwdriver? Did I put it back? I don’t remember putting it back. If she found it, she’s probably hidden the damn thing.
I’m back in the closet in the foyer, rummaging in the toolbox. Thankfully, the screwdriver set comes with a dozen pieces, four of which are of adequate shape and size for this job.
I stomp back, unlock it, and push. Whatever she wedged behind it moves slowly.
“You’re such an asshole!”
I keep going until the door is open enough to fit through.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, looking adorably messy and rumpled from sleep, her dark hair all over the place, still wearing my T-shirt. Her eyes shift from mine to the screwdriver in my hand before her gaze finally settles on my dick.
Her eyes widen.
I’m hard. I was sporting a semi when I woke, and although I haven’t gotten my hands on her yet, this little spat has woken it up.
“What the hell, Dante? Why are you…” She gestures in my general direction, her cheeks flushed and her eyes playing ping-pong between mine and my dick.
I smirk. “It’s the morning, sweetheart. And,” I gesture toward my dick, my smile dropping, “he doesn’t like locked doors.”
I toss the screwdriver aside and start stalking toward her.
She backs up. The fire back in her eyes. “Don’t you dare put your hands on me, Dante.”
“I’ll do what the fuck I want.” Nice move. That’s going to de-escalate the situation…
“Not when you’ve been with her.”
“Her?”
This pulls me up.
Her chest is heaving.
My dick doesn’t get the memo that something is off here.
“Did you see her yesterday?”
Her words are laced with hurt and accusation.
It takes me a second before the answer kicks in. “So that’s what this is about? Why you left our bed.”
“No.” She sounds defensive. “Yes.” And confused. “You’re a married man, or did you forget?”
“I try very hard to forget,” I say, stalking her down again—she’s still backing up but running out of room. “And I don’t appreciate being reminded. The less I have to think of that woman, the better. And no, I haven’t been to see her. Not since my wedding night.”
Her nostrils flare, and her chest heaves. “Did you fuck her?”
I scowl at her in disbelief. “What? No!”
“I don’t believe you!”
“I have zero reasons to lie about it. I don’t fucking appreciate this accusation being tossed at me. Mention her again, and you won’t like the consequences.”
“Get out of my room!”
Enough is enough. She’s boxed in the corner. I snag her arm. She slaps my chest. I catch that wrist then I toss her over my shoulder before striding to my bedroom.
I drop her onto the bed. It takes me less than thirty seconds to strip her despite her strenuous attempts to keep her sleep clothes on.
“This apartment is mine.” I come down over her, putting her wrists above her head and dropping my weight onto her to keep her contained.
“This room, this bed. And everything in it. And that includes you.”
She growls at me. I pinch her face between my fingers and thumb. “That includes you , Carmela. If I say you’re sleeping in my bed, you can bet you’ll be sleeping here.”
She strains against me.
“You know, this tussling just wakes up my dick and makes me determined to remind you of where you belong: under me, full of my cock.”
I lift my hips enough to get my hand between us so I can check if she’s... “Did you put the plug back in?”
“Plug!” She grunts. Her face is a picture of outrage. “What kind of man even likes fucking a woman when she’s on her period?”
“What kind of man doesn’t?” I counter. “I mean, blood is lubrication, right?”
“You’re sick.”
“Yeah? What does that make you, given you liked it so much last night?” I catch hold of that little string. I’m onto it now. You have to pull firmly, and it pops right out.
“God! You can’t?—”
“Correction, I definitely can.” I lower my mouth until it hovers over hers. She turns her head to the side. That’s fine by me. I lower my lips to her throat and suck against the skin.
Her breath hitches. She’s trembling underneath me. I think she likes this just fine.
“Don’t touch me.”
She squirms a little under me. But I like everything about this: her fire, the fight.
It plays into my desire to seek retribution, to fuck my anger at Ettore out on her.
I trail kisses down her throat, past the necklace that acts as my brand, over her collarbone to her breast. She huffs out a breath and tries to twist away.
I slow my movements, swirling my tongue around the stiff peak of her nipple, like I have all the time in the world, before I suck it into my mouth.
She huffs another breath and continues to strain for release.
I let her wear herself out while I continue exploring her. One breast then the other, watching the skin pucker, hearing her breathing turn choppy, catching those little moans she’s trying to hide. By the time I come up for air, her face is flushed, and her eyes are glassy.
“You’re perfect to me. Every inch of you. I haven’t fucked another woman since I took your virginity. Not one.”
Her wounded eyes say she doesn’t believe me. But I’m telling the truth. How could I when I knew Ettore was touching her…? And she didn’t want him to.
I roll her nipple between my fingers and thumb, keeping my eyes locked on hers. Her lips are parted. She’s staring at me like she wants to kill me… or consume me.
“You like this,” I observe. “You like this a lot, don’t you, my good girl?” I close my mouth over the distended peak again to prove my point. Only, this time, she fails to stifle her moan.
That sound finds a direct line to my dick. It’s all the encouragement I need.
“I hate you,” she whispers.
I lift my lips and cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “No, you don’t. No more than I hate you.”
“I don’t want you to see her.”
“I warned you, baby. But you had to push it, didn’t you?”
She shakes her head. But it’s too late. It’s time for her to learn I don’t make idle threats.
CARMELA
His lips curl up at the corners, but his eyes are extra dark and glitter with an unholy mixture of fury and lust.
Why did I say that? He said he didn’t want to talk about her. Neither do I. But it hurts that she has his name, and I find I can’t rein myself in.
He’s going to fuck me.
To punish me.
I’ve been dealt enough punishment fucks by Christian to know how this will go.
Worse, I want it: his anger; his hard, beautiful cock inside me, taking away all my thoughts and worries. Making me forget tomorrow, and my own name. Something is broken inside me. I don’t know when it happened or if it has always been there, but I crave rough domination.
“Go ahead. Punish me. Try to hurt me. Want to know a secret? You won’t. I enjoy it too much.”
His face registers shock, like he can’t believe what he just heard.
I can’t believe I said it either, but I also can’t deny it carries the ring of truth.
I’ve spent a year conditioning myself for them, for this, for now—thinking about Christian or Dante to get me through pain.
When I hurt, I go to a place in my head where one or both of them love me.
They have been keeping me safe, protecting me, without even realizing it.
It’s twisted and sick.
“I was a good girl once, but events have long since broken me. Want to know another secret, Dante? I don’t want to be mended.”
I want to hate him for abandoning me. I want to hate Christian, too. They are gangsters, not heroes. But they’re my gangsters, my obsessions, and they belong to me.
His mouth crashes over mine. It’s full of anger and bitterness for all that might have been and now never will. I welcome it. Then I part my legs and welcome the achy pleasure as his cock plunges into me, filling me, taking the emptiness away.
He fucks me hot, fast, and dirty, pounding me with rough, perfect strokes like he’s trying to exorcise my ghosts.
I rake my nails down his back.
His fingers close over my throat, pinning me to the bed as he fucks into me.
My groan is shameless bliss.
“Is that what you want, filthy girl? You want it rough?”
I’m teetering close to detonation, pushed closer by the savage mask of his face as he uses me. His cock is stabbing into me as though he’s trying to break me on it.
He won’t.
He can’t.