Chapter 34 – Vincenzo
It was funny to think that not too long ago my brother had picked this very same lock.
When he’d gone inside the Lorings’ multi-million-dollar home, it was to blackmail the father—which would have been a colossal mistake, and it was a good thing the Morelli Famiglia never tried to repeat that incident.
Good for business, because Archibald would have destroyed the organization.
And good for me, because that meant I would now be the one to bring the slimy fucker down.
That night, instead of finding Loring, Cristiano found the younger sister, his old crush, who’d been abandoned by her family over the Christmas season.
Nicole had been receptive to his intrusion, inviting him back—the details of which I didn’t know and didn’t want to know!
Cristiano had even been wearing a mask, the fucker. He said once that it turned Nicole on.
It seemed the sisters shared a mask kink. Probably not something they wanted to admit.
Unlike the younger Loring girl, Amanda wasn’t secretly hoping I would come for her. She’d told Cristiano as much earlier this evening. He’d come straight to my loft, punched me in the face, and then yelled at me for being a blind asshole.
Well, now our family knew I’d kidnapped and forced Amanda to marry me.
It was all wrong. The dream I spent the long, sleepless nights in prison playing over in my head to keep me sane was falling apart.
I wanted to be free. To build an empire.
Then I would show the most incredible woman on God’s green earth why we still belonged together.
I wanted to woo Amanda, to propose when she was ready to say yes, and have my family stand by us as we exchanged vows.
That was the proper way. So far, I’d only managed to do two things I set out to do, and I’d done only one of them well.
My empire flourished, and I’d technically married the blue-eyed goddess.
I closed the kitchen door and pocketed the tech device that had disarmed the home security system.
Amanda wasn’t safe here. After Cristiano told me the situation, I was determined to force Amanda to move in with me.
It sucked. I wanted to give her time and space.
Since I couldn’t court her properly before we married, I distanced myself to give her the period of adjustment she needed.
The timeline had jumped ahead once again.
If I couldn’t convince her living with me was best, I would have to devise a plan to manipulate her into it—and that was not an option I wanted to take.
Maybe she’ll see reason. Maybe she wanted to be with me, and all I had to do was offer.
The clock on the oven said 11:59 in bright green numbers. I had one minute to spare. Jogging through the dark, I took the stairs two at a time. I wasn’t even winded as I crept into her room.
The scent of jasmine shimmered in the air. I gulped that regal scent down, filling my lungs with it as I made my way to the bed. Sinking down on the edge, I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Amanda stirred. She tensed, then shot back with a scream.
“Good morning, fiore,” I said quietly.
She dropped back with a ragged huff. “Fuck, Vincenzo, what the hell are you doing?”
I placed my hand on her thigh, running my palm up and down the comforter. “I missed you.”
Those blue eyes watched me silently. Her beautiful lips stayed closed, her mind no doubt racing with tangled thoughts.
I let her have them for a minute. Part of me, the sadistic part, wanted to see if she would open up to me, even though I knew her well enough to know if she hadn’t already, she wouldn’t willingly.
But I gave her time. A chance. She remained silent.
Pain lanced my heart.
She’d come to me, though she hadn’t told the whole truth.
And her demand that we separate, that we dissolve the marriage immediately, had been too horrible.
I hadn’t been thinking straight. I kicked myself for being stuck in the past. Ten years ago, we’d been kids.
The last night we were together, before prison ripped us apart, she’d worn the same look of determination, kept her thoughts, fears, and emotions bottled tight.
We’d fought. And I’d been arrested before we had a chance to make up.
Now, I had a chance to redo things. We weren’t leaving things in the middle of a fight.
As much as I wanted to yell at her, to pick up the verbal sparring session where it ended, I kept my emotions under an iron control.
The urge to shake her for not telling me the whole truth was strong.
On top of that? She’d gone to my brother.
To my mother fucking brother, instead of trusting me with her nightmare.
But I wasn’t going to pick a fight with her. Not right now. I would rather die.
I’d learned my lesson. There was no way to ever know when a moment would be our last. The fight we’d had the night we were separated by the law, I didn’t have time to fix it. This time, we were making up properly. Later, I would scold her for hiding the vile truth about her father.
And I would dole out a punishing session in the bedroom for going to another man instead of trusting me.
“It’s midnight,” I coaxed, breaking the thick silence.
“Enzo,” she groaned. “I just fell asleep.”
I’d seen the mostly empty bottle of wine on the counter. It didn’t seem like she realized the sleeping pills were a placebo. She hadn’t refilled her prescription—not that she could. My tech wizards had blocked that in some twist of digital magic.
“Come on,” I urged, digging my fingers into her thigh. “Let’s go.”
Remember, fiore. Remember how much you loved this.
She couldn’t see the plea on my face. But I let her hear it in my voice.
“What are you doing?” she muttered. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Exactly.” I let go of the guard I kept wrapped around my soul and bared myself to her. “It’s time for pancakes.”
Amanda stiffened.
I suddenly realized I was wholly unprepared. I didn’t have a backup plan if she shot me down. There were always other things we could do, but right now, the best plan was to do our thing.
“It’s midnight?” Her voice had changed. It was softer.
She remembered.
This was good. A solid start to my mission! If I played my cards right tonight, I could convince her that staying with me was better.
“It’s midnight,” I agreed. “Come on.”
I reached through the dark, felt—and fumbled—for her hands. They were warm. Slim. Steady. She let me draw her forward. When her feet hit the floor, I resisted the urge to pull her close.
“I need to dress,” she protested.
My dick twitched at the thought of her naked, but I was pretty sure I could see the outline of clothing.
Sliding my hands over her arms, I felt a tee shirt.
My touch skimmed down her sides, and she shivered.
The featherlight connection sent tingles of electricity through my veins.
I wanted to strip her bare. Wanted to lick every inch of her soft flesh.
When my fingers skimmed over her thighs, I felt the soft cotton of lounge pants.
“You’re good to go,” I murmured. “Tell me where your shoes are.”
“Enzo,” she moaned.
That name was music to my ears. In the gentle quiet of the bedroom, my very soul reached out to her. This wasn’t the same power that coursed through me when I chased her, caught her, and made her scream in release. It was something stronger. More enticing.
I released her hand, turned on the flashlight of my phone, and quickly found her suitcase. The sexy, wobbly little heels were the only shoes visible, neatly sitting beside it. They would have to do.
Returning to the bed, I bent. My fingers skimmed over her delicate foot, lifting it off the ground.
Amanda clutched blindly for me. I paused to catch her hand, placing it on my shoulder and inhaling the creamy eucalyptus she wore as a lotion.
It was pleasant. Earthy. But it didn’t hide the exotic notes of her signature scent.
Once she balanced, I reached for her foot again and slid the shoe over her toes and hooked the back over her heel.
I repeated the process with the other.
Reverently, my hands slid up her calves, over the sides of her thighs. I clutched her hips and lifted my head to place a kiss on her belly.
There was nothing sexual in the gesture, although I had a raging hard on in my pants. Right now, he didn’t take precedence. This was about us—the real us.
Amanda hesitated, but then skated her fingers up the curve of my neck. They splayed against my scalp, and I let myself believe her touch was just as possessive as mine.
“So…pancakes.” There was a shy smile in her voice.
“Pancakes.” I rose and draped an arm around her shoulder.
Walking side by side the whole way, we ventured outside to where my bike waited in the backyard, the engine still humming.
“I am not—” Amanda shook her head, not finishing the sentence.
“Oh, yes, you are.” I gripped her wrist as I slung a leg over the sleek, matte black rocket. My thighs gripped the seat, balancing it, and then I pulled her hand, helping her mount behind me. Once she was seated, I passed her back the helmet.
Her sleepy scowl was cuter than hell.
She slammed the thing over her head, and I helped her with the strap before twisting to grab the handles. Her touch was hesitant at first, but as the engine revved, she gave up trying to be formal. She slipped her hands around my middle, hugging me tight as her thighs and knees clamped around me.
The feeling was pure torture.
My dick ached.