Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ALESSANDRO
I didn’t know teaching Sienna how to fight could give me a raging hard-on like that. But I guess I had it coming, because the woman just breathing my way turns my cock into a fucking sledgehammer.
The moment we walk back into the house, the air between us is thick enough to choke on.
I almost follow her straight up the stairs to find relief, and with the sultry way she’s looking back at me over her shoulder, I know damn well she wants it too.
It takes every single ounce of my restraint to keep my boots planted on the marble floor.
As much as I want to pin her against the nearest mattress and forget the rest of the world exists, reality hits me like a bucket of ice water.
Valerio wouldn't interrupt my time with Sienna unless he found vital information. With Luca still on the run, a free agent hunting for my head, I can’t afford to be fucking happy or relaxed.
Not yet. Not until that bastard is rotting in the ground.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the absolute fire burning in my gut.
“You did well, dolcezza.” I kiss her lips briefly.
“Thank you.” Her smile is lethal.
"I’ll see you later," I tell her, my gaze lingering on her lips for one long, punishing second.
She swallows hard and nods, turning to head up the stairs.
I watch her climb until she rounds the landing, then I turn on my heel and stride down the opposite corridor.
I wipe the desire off my face, letting the cold, ruthless mask of the Don slide back into place as I push open the double doors of the meeting room, where Valerio and my top men are already waiting for me.
I stride into the room and take my place at the head of the table. "What's the news?"
Valerio looks up, his face an unreadable mask, though there's a distinct sharpness in his eyes. "Giulia just reported Nino’s death. According to her, he was in the middle of taking a shower, slipped, and cracked his skull open."
Valerio is staring pointedly at me, probably thinking I had something to do with it. I didn’t. I wish I did.
I feign pity, letting out a dark, mocking sigh. "Tragic. I’ll give Giulia a call later to offer my condolences." I dismiss the dead man with a wave of my hand and lean forward, getting straight to the point. "Did you find anything about Luca?"
Valerio’s expression hardens, the unspoken look about Nino instantly evaporating. "The men with Luca yesterday... we ran their prints and checked the surveillance chatter. They were Kuznetsovs. The Russians are actively working with him."
I hum, tapping my fingers against the polished wood of the table. The Kuznetsovs are a brutal crew, but they don't do charity work. "They probably have a contract with Luca. He promised them a piece of the Gallo pie once he takes my seat."
"I think that too, boss," Valerio agrees, pulling up a map on the digital monitor behind him.
"Which means he has heavy backing now. But we got a break.
One of our informants just pinged us with intel on Luca's probable location.
He's holed up in a warehouse district near the docks.
I need your permission to take the men and raid the place. "
I stand up instantly, checking the spare magazine at my hip. The white-hot anger from last night—the memory of seeing my wife on that concrete floor—flashes behind my eyes.
"You don't have my permission to go without me," I growl, grabbing my coat. "I’ll go with you. Nobody ends Luca but me."
We leave the premises immediately, heavily armed and locked in, following the fresh trail straight to Luca.
We chase Luca all day, and every time it seems like we get close, he slips right out of our grasp. The bastard is running scared, moving from one burner safe house to the next.
It’s annoying, frustrating, and frankly gets on my goddamn nerves. My shoulder is throbbing under the fresh bandage, and my temper is pushing past its absolute limit.
By the time I finally return to the estate night, I’m buzzing with pure annoyance, a headache pounding behind my eyes.
The irritation only increases when I quietly push open the door to our bedroom and find Sienna already fast asleep. Because of Luca, I’m forced to come home late, and my wife is tucked under the blankets, dead to the world.
A dark part of me resents the timing. If she were awake, a simple smile from her would calm me down instantly. Make me happy. Just hearing her voice would strip away the stress of the entire wasted day.
I quickly take off my tactical gear and step into the bathroom. I take a fast shower, washing the scent of gunpowder and the city's grime off my skin, before changing into a pair of comfortable sweatpants.
I walk back out into the dimly lit bedroom and get into bed with her. I move slowly, easing myself under the heavy duvet with extreme care, trying my absolute best not to disturb her or irritate her bruised ribs.
But even fast asleep, the moment my warmth hits the mattress, Sienna instinctively shifts toward me. Her body seeks mine out in the dark, her hand blindly reaching up to rest against my bare chest.
I let out a soft breath and let her. I wrap my good arm around her waist, pulling her flush against my side until we end up completely curled together, our legs tangled in the sheets.
Just like that, all the fierce annoyance and lingering rage built up from the day completely deflates. The silence of the room replaces the ringing of gunfire. Holding her like this, it suddenly feels like I’m holding the entire world in my hands.
I pull her just a fraction tighter against me, a protective weight settling deep in my bones as if she might disappear if I let go, and press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. Cocooned in her scent and her warmth, the exhaustion finally wins, and I sleep.
Sometime during the night, the peaceful silence of the bedroom is violently shattered. I’m pulled brutally awake from the depths of sleep when Sienna wakes screaming––a raw, terrified sound cutting through the dark.
I bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs as my combat instincts instantly flare.
Through the shadows, I see her shaking violently, her chest heaving as she scrambles backward, desperately trying to leave the bed as if something is chasing her.
She is completely shaken, utterly disoriented, and I can see the sudden flash of deep shame in her eyes for being this frightened, for breaking down in front of me.
“Hey!” Grabbing her firmly by her upper arms, I force her to lock her panicked gaze onto mine. "Sienna. Look at me," I command, my voice low, rough, and absolute. "Look at my eyes. You’re in our bedroom. You’re at the estate. Don’t run from me."
She gasps, her breath coming in ragged, shallow hiccups, her body still trying to pull away from the memory of the nightmare.
"Breathe," I order sharply, pressing one of her trembling hands flat against my bare chest, right over the steady, heavy thrum of my heart. "In and out. Match me. Right now."
I force my own breathing to slow down, making it deep and pronounced until she has no choice but to follow the rhythm. Her fingers dig into my skin, her chest finally rising and falling in sync with mine.
"Listen to me very carefully," I say, leaning down until my forehead almost touches hers, grounding her with my sheer weight. "No one in this room can hurt you. No one is getting past that door. You are safe, and I am right fucking here."
Strangely, the blunt, commanding edge of my voice works.
The panic slowly drains from her posture, the rigid terror in her muscles melting away as my strength becomes her shield.
She stops shaking, her forehead dropping heavily against my uninjured shoulder as she lets out a long, shuddering breath.
"What's wrong?" I ask quietly, my hand moving to track slow, grounding circles on her back. "Is it what happened at the warehouse? The shooting?"
A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escapes her lips, a sound so entirely devoid of humor it cuts right through me. "What happened at the warehouse is child's play compared to what happened to me in my father's house."
I completely still. My hand stops its movement on her back, my muscles locking as a cold, dangerous focus takes over.
Sienna doesn't look at me yet, her voice melting into a raw whisper. "Every nightmare I have... it’s always linked to my father. He used to lock me in dark rooms. Sometimes he'd starve me just to teach me a lesson."
She finally looks up at me, and even in the heavy shadows of the bedroom, I can see the moonlight catching the tears pooling in her eyes. The vulnerability on her face is agonizing. "How can a father hate his own child like that, Alessandro?"
A fierce, protective rage roars to life in my chest, but I swallow it down because she doesn't need my anger right now. She needs an anchor. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tightly against my chest, needing her to feel the absolute solidity of my body.
"I grew up here in Manhattan with my brother," I say, my voice low and scraping through the quiet room. "But when I was still barely a kid, my father packed me up and sent me off to Italy."
Sienna shifts slightly in my arms, her tear-stained cheek resting against my chest as she listens, entirely focused on my words.
"He claimed I was a difficult child. Wild.
Uncontrollable," I continue, the old, bitter truth tasting like ash in my mouth.
"He said he didn't want to deal with me.
But the truth was much simpler—he just didn't want me. So I was left in Italy, on my own, forced to survive by myself in a brutal world, while my father and brother stayed here in the States enjoying the empire. I didn’t see my father for years.
I didn't even see him before he died. I only came back to take the seat. "