Chapter 12 #2
He murmurs in agreement. “We’ll shut down the ones on home soil quietly and with no mess.
” He continues before I can thank him for his help.
“If they’re not from here, I’ll pass on their info to Nikolai.
” The integrity of the business in our part of Sicily is usually my burden, but he, along with Matteo, Nico, and Elio, took on a lot of the slack when Camille arrived on my doorstep.
“We’re about to visit the popular haunt of your former tenant. Want in?”
I glance toward Lucia’s apartment. The thirst for revenge pulses through my veins, but despite my desire for bloodied knuckles, I can’t forget the promises I made when DNA proved Anna’s claims that I was a father.
“I’m good.”
Giovanni instructs Nico to go straight to the location of the brothel half a mile from here, before asking, “And Lucia? Is she good?”
I scrub at my jaw, fluffing up the scent of her arousal, before twisting to face the city of Carlisle below. “She’s a harder shell to crack.”
He chuckles. “Lucky you like a challenge.”
I laugh like I’m not salty about how Lucia reacted when she arrived home tonight. She stood in her half-finished apartment, arms folded across her chest, holding herself together solely by force, yet she still denied my offer of assistance.
The sparks flying between us were as obvious as the dust catching the light from the multiple downlights now installed in her dingy apartment, but she pretended they weren’t there.
Pretended I wasn’t there.
I hate that.
I hate the way she forces her face into neutrality to smother every spark of emotion.
I hate how she lets out an uncontrolled moan when I step close, but then pretends she didn’t.
But more than anything, I hate the way her pulse jumps in her throat, visible and frantic, before she tucks her chin into her chest to hide it.
She thinks her masks make her invisible.
They don’t.
And I’m done watching her pretend to be someone she isn’t.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I bid farewell to Vanni, rocket into Lucia’s apartment, snatch her holey blanket off her shivering frame, drag her down the mattress by a hook on her ankle, then toss her over my shoulder.
“Dante!”
She fights me with stubborn pride I’ve admired in her since she poked her finger into my chest. Her arms whack into my back, and her legs wildly kick out. There’s no power behind her assault.
How can there be? She’s running on fumes.
When I steer her toward the kitchen instead of the bedroom as she expects, her resistance eases a bit. It’s not gone. Just dulled.
I place her on the island in a spot farthest from the exit before tensing my thigh muscles in case she tries to run. She doesn’t. She melds into the granite since more than gravity is pulling her down.
She’s exhausted—both sexually and emotionally.
My finger points in the manner my fourth-grade math teacher did when he busted me cheating. “Stay seated.”
Lucia glares at me, but her ass remains heating the granite countertop. Her arms hang at her sides, and her eyes flick wildly between her apartment and me.
After a final silent caution, I check the refrigerator to see if there’s anything salvageable inside. The contents are basic: half a carton of eggs, an untouched loaf of bread, and two overripe tomatoes. It won’t create much of a meal, but it’s better than nothing.
“If this isn’t enough to appease your appetite until morning, I’ll order in.”
I could do that now, but honestly, if I hear her stomach growl one more time, I’ll have no choice but to use extreme force during my next interrogation. The only weapons I’ll utilize then are my cock, tongue, and fingers.
Behind me, Lucia mutters, “You can’t drag me around like a ragdoll.”
“I didn’t drag you.” I crack an egg into a pan. “I carried you over my shoulder. That’s different.”
Her miffed huff makes me smile. “Sooo different.”
As I add another egg to the pan, her eyes bore into the back of my head and the tension crackling between us doubles. She hates needing anything from me, but she’s too hungry to storm off as her head is silently demanding she do.
I hate how much her hunger impacts me. I shouldn’t be so protective of a woman I only met weeks ago, but it’s as instinctive as it was the moment my eyes landed on Camille.
My brothers would call me a liar, but my actions right now aren’t about getting into Lucia’s panties again. Looking after her feels natural, and ensuring she eats is as important as knowing she’s safe.
If I have to be a brute to make sure those things happen, so be it.
I’ve been accused of worse.
When I place an empty plate in front of her, Lucia hides her trembling hands behind her back. She thinks I haven’t noticed her nerves. I see everything. I’m simply mirroring the acting skills I’ve learned from her.
Like how it’s easier to be feisty when the threat’s back is turned. “I’m allergic to eggs.”
I flip the eggs, jaw tight. “Then you should have asked the volunteer for an egg-free muffin at the shelter where you had breakfast this morning.”
The pop of the toaster drowns out her shocked huff. She stares at me with her mouth gaped and her brows arched as I butter the browned bread.
Stalking isn’t my forte. I merely used Carlisle’s intricate security system to track her movements in reverse.
That’s how I discovered her favorite haunts aren’t boutique stores or gambling halls as Nico had warned after taking in her bare-bones apartment.
It’s shelters where they feed the homeless, and playgrounds in the more refined areas of Carlisle.
Her movements sheet is all the proof I need to know that it won’t matter how much Lucia earns, her money will never be spent on herself.
After covering two slices of toast with salted tomato slices, I slide the eggs on top. When I push the plate close to Lucia’s almost bare thigh, she stares at it, confident it’s a trap. Maybe it is. Caring about someone not related to me by blood is the most dangerous thing I’ve done in years.
“Eat,” I say quietly. “You’re not leaving until you’ve eaten every crumb.”
She raises her eyes to mine. They’re guarded with an emotion she’s desperate to smother but too tired to hide. Then, tortuously slow, she plucks one slice of toast off the plate and veers it toward her bone-dry lips.