5. Dario
Dario
A text from Sasha asking me to go and pick up Mia from a shady part of the city was the last thing I’d been expecting. He’d given me barely any information, and then said he couldn’t talk anymore and that she’d explain everything.
Fat fucking chance of that.
He’d told me to take my car, so instead of my Ducati, it’s my Porsche that I bring to a stop in front of a seedy-looking warehouse.
Sasha had kicked the keys into the bushes near the door, and it takes me several minutes of shining my phone’s flashlight around before I spot the damn things.
Already pissed, I slide the key in and then step into what looks like a fucking kill chamber.
Proving my initial assessment of the place right, I spot the dead man lying in a pool of blood near the center of the room.
“Mia?” Already grabbing my gun, I search the darkened corners, ignoring the way my heart races at the thought of her being hurt. “Mia, where the fuck are you, streghetta ?”
“I’m over here.”
I swear every muscle in my body loses the tension it’s holding when I hear her voice.
Cutting across the room, I give the dead man a quick glance, taking in the large, gaping wound at the chest and the bloody, beaten face.
I don’t recognize him, but I know Mia could easily be responsible for the handiwork.
She’s skilled and strong enough to do it.
When I walk past the large shelf and see her huddled in the corner, I tuck my gun away and kneel down.
My eyes run over her, and when I see her bloody arm, instinct takes over and I reach out and grab her.
Before she can even think to fight me on it, she’s in my arms and pressed against my chest while I bury my nose in her hair and breathe her in, convincing myself that she’s okay.
“What have you gotten yourself into, streghetta mia ?”
“I’m fine,” she protests, but her words lack their usual fire.
“How bad are you hurt?”
I try and get a better look at her arm, but she pulls it tighter against her chest and growls, “I’m fine, Dario.”
“You’re not fine. I’m taking you home and getting a better look at your arm.
” I ignore the feel of her whole body tightening up like she’s about to try and fight me off, and instead keep her in my arms as I stand and start to walk us out.
I’ve never been to this particular warehouse, but I’ve been to enough to recognize it as one of her family’s.
They have several of them throughout the city, and they all pretty much serve the same purpose—discreet locations to torture or storage to hide a body, weapons, or drugs.
Knowing it’s pointless to try and get her to talk now, I let her continue to sulk, only stopping long enough to lock the door as we leave before I buckle her ass into the passenger seat of my Porsche.
Before I shut the door on her scowling face, I say, “Sorry you won’t be coming on my bike. Your brother told me to bring my car.”
The angry look she gives is enough to pull a small smile from me before I walk around and get in the driver’s seat.
She keeps her arms pressed tightly against her chest with her face turned away from me for the entire drive.
I can’t tell if it’s because she’s pissed or if she’s trying to keep pressure on her arm because it’s worse than she’s letting on.
I’m guessing a combination of both, and as soon as I pull into my driveway, she’s opening the door before I can attempt to pick her up again.
Jokes on her, though, because as soon as I’m next to her, I scoop her back up into my arms.
“I can walk,” she hisses at me, making me think my earlier nickname of piccola vipera was correct. She looks like she’s seconds away from sinking her fangs into me again. A smile tugs at my lips, but I refuse to give it free rein.
“You’re bleeding, and I don’t know how bad it is yet. It’s not going to kill you to stay put for a few more minutes.”
She bites back whatever smartass comment she’s about to give when I hold her tighter against me while I dig my keys from my pocket.
Mia is a small woman, and even with the muscle she’s built up over the years, she’s still light enough for me to comfortably carry around.
I like the feel of her in my arms more than I should, and when I’ve got the door unlocked, I don’t immediately set her down.
I take my time, walking her through the living room and then bringing her upstairs.
When I step into my bedroom, she turns her head, putting her face just a few inches from mine when she says, “Why are you bringing me to your bedroom?”
“Relax, streghetta . I have a first-aid kit in my bathroom.” I run my eyes over her flushed face. “Besides, it hasn’t been two weeks yet, and even if it had been, tonight is not the night for us.”
She raises a brow at me as her lips curl up in a familiar smirk. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re upset and you’re hurt.”
Her hazel eyes look away from mine. “It’s just a scratch, and I’m not upset.”
“Don’t waste your time trying to lie to me. I can read you too well for that.”
She huffs out a breath as I set her ass on the counter and then grab the first-aid kit I keep in the drawer. Her hoodie is ruined. There’s blood all over it and a huge tear running up her arm. I motion for her to take it off. She scoffs and says, “Trying to get me naked, Dario?”
“If I wanted that, your bare ass would be sitting on the counter right now, Mia. Take the shirt off. It’s filthy, and I need to see how bad the cut is.”
Mia’s always been comfortable in her own skin, so I’m not surprised when she starts to take the hoodie off and the knife sheath she’s wearing.
Her mouth tightens in a firm line when she pulls the sleeve off her hurt arm.
I’m dying to see how bad it is, but I’m distracted when she tugs the rest of the shirt off, leaving her in nothing but a thin, pink bra.
I’ve seen Mia in sports bras, so it’s not like she’s showing me skin I’ve never seen before, but the thin material of her bra is revealing something her sports bras always kept hidden.
Both of Mia’s nipples are pierced. The obvious barbells through each of her swollen nipples is something I hadn’t been prepared for, and I can’t force my eyes away. My cock grows hard, my mouth waters with the need to taste her, and my ability to think clearly goes right out the goddamn window.
“Everything okay, Dario?”
Not even the teasing tone of her voice can get me to look away from the pierced pair of tits right in front of me.
Everything about Mia is petite, and her breast size is no exception.
I’m surprised by how much I love that. Most of the women who throw themselves at me in the club have huge tits, most of them bought and paid for, but the truth is I prefer this, and it’s taking everything I have to not reach out and touch her.
I want to slowly peel her bra off and spend the rest of the night exploring her piercings.
I have no experience with them. I have no idea if they make her more sensitive, if she’ll like me sucking and gently tugging on them, or if she’ll want me to leave them alone.
I’m dying to find out.
“Dario,” she says again, snapping her fingers in front of my face to get my attention. I finally force my eyes to meet hers. “Stop acting like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before. I’m bleeding all over your floor.”
“Fuck,” I groan when I look down and see the bloody gash on her arm. Worry replaces the feral lust that had just been running through me, and I quickly grab a towel and get to work. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad? ”
“I did show you, but you were too busy eye-fucking my chest.”
She’s got me there, so I can’t really argue. “I didn’t know you were pierced,” I say in my own defense. “It took me by surprise. When did you do it?”
“As soon as I turned eighteen,” she says. “They’re finally fully healed. It took forever, and it hurt like hell to get it done.”
“I bet,” I say, knowing there’s no way I’d ever let someone shove a needle through any sensitive part of my body. I get her to hold the towel to her cut while I get out the disinfectant. “Do you want to go to Tony so he can sew you up, or do you want me to do it?”
“I can’t go to Tony. He’ll tell my dad, and he can’t know about this.”
“How did this happen? Who hurt you? Was it the guy I saw on the floor?”
She ignores all my questions and instead asks, “Do you like them?”
I briefly meet her eyes before moving her arm over the sink. “What?”
“My pierced nipples, Dario, do you like them?”
It’s my turn to ignore her and say, “This is going to hurt,” right before I pour the bottle over her arm.
“Bastard!” she yells. Her whole face scrunches up in pain as she hisses out a breath and tries to free her arm from my grasp.
I dig my fingers in harder and pour some more on, making damn sure the wound is clean.
Mia would rather die than cry in front of me, so I’m not surprised that she doesn’t cave in on herself and give in to what I know for a fact is a fair amount of pain.
Instead, she clamps her lips together in a flat line and stares daggers at me, probably imagining killing me in all the ways I’ve taught her.
It bothers me to see her in pain, but I’d rather hurt her now than have her develop an infection later.
My instincts are still screaming at me to make her feel better, though, so against my better, rational judgement, I reach out and very lightly drag the pad of my thumb along the outline of one of her piercings.
She lets out a soft gasp, pain momentarily forgotten when I give it a very soft pinch. Her eyes go heavy-lidded and her lips part, answering my curiosity about whether or not she’d like them played with.
“ Sì, streghetta mia , I like them very much.”