Chapter 27
Benito
I’ve never felt more free in my life. It feels as though I’ve been holding on to something so tightly my bones ache, but being inside this woman has released my grip. I feel free but I don’t feel safe.
Until this point, the understanding that she hated me, that nothing could ever come of my infatuation, prevented me from falling.
That barrier is now gone. I have no balcony ledge.
There’s no parachute and there’s definitely no soft landing.
Contessa Castellano doesn’t hate me anymore, and that frightens the life out of me.
The beginning of the end was that very moment when she spread my semen across her chest. What the fuck?
Everything that came before it was fair game.
I loved taking her hate the way I love killing my enemies.
I could wallow in the dark thrill of her loathing the same way I thrive in the sound of my rivals’ breaking bones.
She clutches my head to her chest and her heartbeat races through my ear canal.
Since I saw her at Gianni’s funeral, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.
It wasn’t just the never-ending legs that made my mouth water, or sleek glossy hair that made my fist ache, it was the scowl, the sass, the unknown reason why she wanted me to go to hell that makes me so damn hard.
I’ve spent the last six months trying to piss her off, just so I can get a glimpse of that hatred.
The day she walked into me outside the barbershop, that was the day my intrigue turned into something more.
She was so close I could smell the soap she’d used that morning, the detergent her outfit had been washed with.
She was so clean, so fresh and so damn perfect.
Even her scowl was perfect and I felt it against my thigh when my dick grew a couple inches.
I had no idea the guy was stalking her. He intruded on that moment and that’s why I killed him. I wanted more of her sneers and eyerolls—they made me feel so fucking alive—and he was in the way.
Discovering his true motivations was like hitting the fucking jackpot.
I had every possible excuse then to stay close to her.
No one questioned me when I took the office above the studio; no one arched a brow when I moved in to it full time so that I could be wherever she was—either at Cristiano’s or the studio.
And no one would ever suspect I burned down my own house to make that happen.
I stand and lift her up, resting her legs over one arm. She looks softly into my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting you out of here.”
“But, what about Paige…”
“She’s with Donnie. I’ll make sure he takes care of her.”
She smiles into my cheek. “I think she’ll like that very much.”
I carry her to the elevator then select the button for the basement floor. I don’t want anyone setting eyes on Contessa when she’s wearing no panties, regardless of whether that’s visible or not.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she says. Normally her words would be laced with something deliciously spiteful, but they’re warm when they brush my skin.
“I know I don’t.” The elevator doors open and I carry her into a dark corridor. All the doors to the offices are thankfully closed but I can hear voices continuing the meeting without me, as instructed, behind them. “I want to.”
She buries her face into my neck.
“Are you tired?”
“A little.”
Her stomach groans and I remember how she seems to live for food. “You’re hungry.”
She nods timidly.
In that case, I’m taking her to the best restaurant in the city.
We pull up to the loading bay of New York’s most discreet and exclusive hotel. I called ahead so I’m pleased to see they’ve heeded my warning to clear the entire ground floor kitchen so we can pass through unseen.
A back elevator takes us to the penthouse.
A doorman is waiting for us, his eyes averted, as briefed.
He holds open the door to the penthouse and I slip a hundred into his palm before carrying Contessa over the threshold.
I won’t ever marry so this is the closest I’ll get to carrying my bride into our new life together.
Because, little does she know it, but Contessa is mine now, and this is just the beginning.
I lower her feet to the thick pile carpet and she stretches her arms overhead like a cat. I watch her, my knuckle pressed to my lips. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She turns to face the dining table in the center of the room and her mouth drops open.
“Is that all for us?”
I walk over to the table and lift silver cloches off the trays. “For you. I already ate.”
“I can’t eat all of this.”
I chuckle darkly. “I don’t expect you to, but I didn’t know what you’d want so I ordered everything on the menu.”
Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, but she still lifts a plate and helps herself to a bowl of pasta, several helpings of coq au vin and an entire bowl of green salad.
I pull out a chair opposite and rest my arms on each side.
“So, what other clubs do you own?” she says, between mouthfuls.
“I have four. Arena, which you know, Kiki’s on the upper east side, The Sawmill in Brooklyn and Cairo’s in the East Village.”
“Are they all fronts for mafia meeting places?” She flicks a glance my way.
“They’re not fronts for mafia meeting places,” I reply, a lazy smirk crossing my lips. “They’re fronts for other things, actually. But each venue has meeting rooms and we do occasionally host business discussions to which members of the family are invited.”
She continues eating, unfazed.
“And you have the barbershop…”
“Yes.”
“Do you own any other frontages—sorry, businesses?”
I narrow my eyes considering how I can make her pay for that later, then my face softens.
“There is one other business I own, which isn’t a front for anything.
It’s a genuine family business. It was given to me by a friend of Gianni’s.
It has nothing to do with mafia business, and it means a lot to me. ”
That gets her attention.
“Oh? What is it?”
“A restaurant in Little Italy. La Trattoria. It’s tiny, and the chef is old-school—barely speaks a word of English—but he’s a genius in the kitchen.”
Her brow furrows into a frown and her gaze disappears for a second. “I think I know it.”
“Yeah?”
“I think Cristiano took us there once.”
I cross an ankle over my knee. “Entirely possible. He likes it there.” I let my gaze roam her and feel my chest brace. “Did you?”
She’s just shoveled a forkful of lettuce into her mouth. “Mm?”
“Did you like my restaurant?”
She stops chewing and lowers her fork. Then she wipes her mouth with a napkin and swallows. Her lashes lift, shyly. “I loved it.”
My chest expands so much I have to cough. “Great. I’ll take you back there one day.”
She coasts a gaze across the remaining food. “I can’t eat anymore, but I can’t bear to waste all this food.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “Hotels like this get rid of all that and more every night.”
Her eyelids pop open. “That’s appalling!”
“You think all these wealthy, skinny people eat everything they’re served?” I bite back a grin. “Half of them are filling up in the restroom on lines of coke.”
My quip doesn’t have the desired result.
“That’s even worse!”
She looks around at all the beautiful dishes. “I can’t just leave all of this. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
I lower my leg and drop my elbows onto my knees while I study her. “So what do you want to do?”
She inhales deeply then puffs out a breath. “Can we have the kitchen pack everything up and give it to the homeless guys a few blocks over?”
I’m not sure I heard correctly. “You want to give all this food to the homeless guys down the street?”
She frowns as though she’s second-guessing herself. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“Okay…” I say, slowly. “I’ll just make a call.”
Three minutes later, a waiter is delivering some cardboard food containers to the room and helping us portion up whole meals.
Tess commandeers the entire operation while I stand back and watch.
I’d always assumed that because her daddy owned the big port Savero was obsessed with, she and her sisters didn’t want for anything. I suppose I assumed she was spoiled.
Fucking hot and fucking annoying, but a little bit spoiled.
How wrong I’ve been.
“Okay, I think that’s all of it.” She looks up at me with a timid smile. “Um…” Her gaze darts between me and the waiter. “How will we get this to them? I can’t go out dressed like this.”
My gaze drops to the thin stain of her dress. She’s damn right. I’m not letting her go out like that. For a start, she’ll freeze. But mostly, she’ll be inadvertently responsible for the death of any pedestrian we encounter along the way who dares look at her bare, beautiful legs in that dress.
I tap two fingers against my lips while my focus drags over her body. My voice turns gruff. “I’ll have one of my men take it for you.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to inconvenience anyone—”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “You’re not inconveniencing anyone. Every second they’re standing outside this hotel doing nothing, they’re getting paid handsomely.”
She flashes a shy glance toward the waiter who feigns interest in the wall. “They’re not doing nothing, Benito. They’re looking out for you.”
Something expands inside my chest. “And you,” I correct her. Then I step forward and take her chin between my finger and thumb, tilting her gaze to mine. “But here’s the thing…” I dip my face until her breaths brush my nose. “I’m more than capable of looking out for the both of us, baby.”