Chapter 16 Slava
SLAVA
I’ve been standing under this fucking shower for fifteen minutes with the temperature cranked so low that my skin should be turning blue, and my cock is still hard as a fucking pipe.
Because of her.
I slam my palm against the marble tile and try to stop obsessing over the image of Bella walking into my penthouse this morning. She’s wearing her usual modest little outfit—blouse buttoned all the way to her throat, knee-length black skirt, and sensible flats.
Nothing special. Nothing designed to provoke.
Even her familiar glare is the same—equal parts hatred and fascination, like she can’t decide whether to claw my eyes out or climb me like a tree. And when I invaded her space, she refused to back down.
And like a brainless idiot, I kept staring back.
I hate it.
I hate that I couldn’t sleep last night, and spent four hours beating the heavy bag in my home gym. And it didn’t do a fucking thing to release a single ounce of tension.
The water pounds against my shoulders. I close my eyes.
And as soon as I do, all I hear is that soft dare from her soft lips: do your fucking worst.
Fuck!
She’s gotten under my skin and I fucking hate it. I hate that I spent the entire night replaying the taste of her mouth against mine on the balcony, and obsessing over that tiny moment when her tongue darted out to feather my lips.
I hate that every time I touch her skin, I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t stop feeling like I’m burning up from head to toe.
And she’s just down the hallway. In her blouse buttoned all the way up like a nun. In her pencil skirt that unintentionally accentuates her ass. In her flats that make her look simultaneously ordinary and unattainable.
A shudder moves through my body, and my eyes flutter open to find my hand is wrapped around my dick and pumping furiously.
I don’t even remember moving it there, let alone starting to stroke. But here I am, braced against the shower wall, fisting myself to thoughts of Bella like some pathetic fucking teenager who can’t control his own body.
Enough!
I release but it’s already too late. Cum spurts forth and splashes the walls as I pant under the cold water. I force myself to stare at nothing until my breathing starts to even out. The tension dissolves a little, but it’s not enough.
Not by a fucking long shot.
She’s got me jerking off to the fucking thought of her like she’s already won.
She hasn’t won shit.
I shut off the water and step out, grabbing a towel with more aggression than the situation requires. My jaw is clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
Get it together.
I redirect and yank my thoughts away from Bella and towards something more productive. Namely, the three D’Ambrosio Made Men that I killed last night.
Don Leo called me this morning and left a message demanding that we talk before shit spirals out of control. I ignored it. Did that old fat bastard seriously think that his son’s men can touch what belongs to me without provoking a response?
But she’s not mine, at least not in the way that matters.
I drag on a pair of black slacks, tugging on them a little harder than I want because I’m so fucking pissed off. I don’t bother with putting on a tie.
My phone buzzes again. Fucking Don Leo again. At least this time he’s wised up about calling.
My 70th birthday party. Next Saturday. We’ll talk then.
Fuck him.
Anger rushes through my body, and I welcome it like an old friend. As long as I’m pissed off and angry at Don Leo and the rest of the D’Ambrosio Family, it means I’m not thinking about Bella.
And as long as I’m not thinking about her, my dick can stay somewhat under control.
It’ll have to do for now.
Ludmilla is in the kitchen, arranging a vase of flowers, when I walk in. I move past her to grab a glass of water, but her voice stops me mid-reach.
“That girl has the necklace.”
“I know.”
“Is it the same one that—”
“It is.”
Ludmilla turns to face me, her hands are still holding a stem of white roses. Her pale eyes burrow into mine with an uncomfortable precision. She’s always been able to look right through me, since the day I told her about Ivan. And she’s still able to see through me now.
“Why does she have it?”
I take a long drink before answering. “Her brother gave it to her.”
“Bozhe moi!” Ludmilla’s intake of breath is sharp. “That’s Luca Farnassi’s sister?”
“Yes.”
Luca fucking Farnassi. Just hearing his name makes me want to dig him up and bring him back to life.
So I can kill him again.
“What are you planning to do with her?” Her question is tinged with unmistakable worry.
“I want her to piece the truth together herself and find out just what kind of man her brother really was.” I meet Ludmilla’s gaze. “And then I’ll make her give back what belongs to me.”
“And after that?”
I don’t have an answer because I haven’t thought about anything beyond getting the necklace back.
“Please.” Ludmilla’s voice softens. “Leave the past where it belongs.”
“Gia deserves vengeance. Getting that necklace back is part of that.”
“Gia is dead, and vengeance isn’t what she would have wanted for you.” Ludmilla takes a step closer, her eyes never leaving mine. “She would have wanted you to live and learn to love again.”
“With whom?” The bitter laugh rattles in my chest. “With Luca’s fucking sister?”
“Yes, if that’s what your heart wants.”
“Ty s uma soshla.” You’re out of your fucking mind.
“Holding onto a grudge is like swallowing poison and waiting for someone else to die,” she says. “You’ve brought this girl into your life, for goodness’s sake. You brought her here, of all places.”
“Because someone tried to hurt her, and only I’m allowed to hurt her.”
“Listen to yourself. Do you really think that you can hurt her?”
No, I think.
Ludmilla makes a soft hmph that says everything she doesn’t bother putting into words.
“It’s all part of my plans, Ludmilla Iosifovna.”
“The thing about plans, Slavochka…” She finishes arranging the flowers, lays her hand flat on the counter, and looks me square in the eye. “Is that they have a habit of falling apart.”
“I won’t fall for this girl if that’s what you’re saying.”
I reach past her, grab a glass of water, and head towards my office before she can have a chance to argue with me.
She would have wanted you to live and to learn to love again.
Ridiculous. I’ve learned my lesson when Gia died. To love someone means putting a target on their back. I won’t make that mistake again.
And certainly not with Bella.
With that savage thought, I push open my office door and stop dead in my tracks.
What the fuck.
I know Bella is inside, because I can smell her light perfume in the air. But she’s nowhere to be seen. I move closer to my desk and that’s when I finally see her.
My grip tightens on the glass.
She’s on her hands and knees, the black skirt she’s wearing has ridden up just enough to hug the full curve of her heart-shaped ass. From this angle, I can see the imprint of her underwear.
She’s looking for something.