Chapter 13
Matteo
After Daniella’s done crying, she asks if she can take a shower to rinse the past week off her.
Since she doesn’t have any clothes, I give her one of my shirts and a pair of sweats that she can change into and tell her, once she’s out, we’ll order her some clothes online since she can’t go anywhere with Enrique on the loose.
I show her to her room, which has its own bathroom, and then leave her to herself. She’s been through a lot, and I imagine she needs some time to decompress. At least she’s safe. Everything else we can deal with.
I voice-text Lorenzo to let him know his sister is with me and protected, and he thanks me profusely before asking if I can check on Hillary.
Since that conversation isn’t one I want to have via text, I agree, even though I know exactly where she is, thanks to having one of my guys follow her out of this damn city to ensure she never comes back.
Just as I’m heading down to the living room, I remember I forgot about Dominick when Daniella started to lose it. He’s nowhere in my place, so I assume he went home.
“Hey,” he says when I call him. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah …”
“I can’t believe he fucking raped her,” he hisses. “I left right after that, wanting to give her some space. I wasn’t sure how long she’d need and figured she wouldn’t want an audience.”
“She’s taking a shower.” I sigh and drop onto my couch, leaning back and scrubbing my palm over my face. “The whole thing is fucked.”
There’s shuffling and then some whispering, and then Dominick says, “Peyton said to get her a therapist. A woman. Someone she can talk to.”
“Okay. Tell her thanks.”
“Kevin is working on getting your charges dropped and trying to get Lorenzo out on bail. He’s also requested a new inspector to go out to Lucian’s Gym tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there. Give him my number and tell him to text me the time. That place is up to every damn code, and I’ll be damned if they try to fuck him over again.”
“Will do.”
I sit up and scrub my hand down the side of my face. “Daniella and I were talking after you left, and we came up with a theory. Based on everything that’s happened, we think Enrique killed her parents.”
“Oh shit.”
I go into detail, relaying everything we talked about and why it all makes sense, and by the time I’m done, Dominick agrees with me.
“You’re going to have to tell Lorenzo.”
“Yeah, but I’m hoping to get proof first. If we can find this asshole, I can torture it out of him. I’m also having Eddy break into his laptop since Ian was able to snag it before we left.”
“Nice. Let me know what you find out.” There’s some whispering, and then Dominick adds, “Peyton wants to know if you want Daniella to stay with us. She’s a woman and—”
“No,” I say before I can even give it any thought. “She’s staying with me. I promised Lorenzo I’d keep her safe.”
“Okay,” Dominick agrees. “If anything changes …”
“We’re good. But I appreciate it. I have the room, and it’s quiet here, and you guys have an entire baseball team of babies over there, so …”
“We have three kids,” Dominick deadpans. “That’s hardly a baseball team.”
“I’m not judging. I’m just saying, birth control, when used correctly, works.”
I hear Peyton laugh in the background. “Your brother refuses to—”
“And that’s my cue to hang up now. Happy procreating.”
Just as I’m clicking End Call, Daniella appears at the top of the stairs.
Her brown locks are damp and messy, and she’s dressed in my shirt and sweats.
I’m taller, but she’s got tits and curves for days, so the shirt is stretched taut across her chest while the sweatpants mold to every inch of her bottom half.
I’ve never had a woman wear my clothes, but, holy shit, she looks damn good in them.
As she glides down the stairs, I remind myself that she’s Lorenzo’s sister, way too young for me, and she’s been through too much for me to even be thinking these thoughts.
“So, who’s procreating?” she asks with a small smile, rounding the coffee table and sitting next to me on the couch.
“What?” I ask, so lost in her scent—a mixture of my body wash and something that’s just her—that I can’t think clearly.
“You said, ‘Happy procreating,’ ” she says with a laugh.
“Oh, yeah. My brother and sister-in-law. They were apart for four years, and I swear they’re making up for lost time. They’ve got a four-year-old and newborn twins. All boys.”
“And I’m assuming, based on your response, you’re not on board with the procreating.” She smirks.
“Listen, I like sex as much as the rest of them, but there’s no reason why it has to end with a little gremlin. My nephews are great, but imagine all the sex they could have if they didn’t have all those kids. At the rate they’re going, they’re going to fill up that entire eight-bedroom house.
“Besides, you’ve seen firsthand how dangerous our life is. Imagine having to protect all of them.” I lean back and drop my head against the cushion, then turn it to face her. “Fuck that.”
“Wow, aren’t you Mr. Chipper?” She snorts out a laugh. “Maybe they love each other so much that they want to create a family together. My dad said that Dominick was working on making things safer. Was he lying?”
“No, he is. We are. And for the most part, we are safe. But there’s always going to be a small part of our life that isn’t completely safe. Assholes wanting what we have, coming back to avenge their parents’ deaths.”
I raise a brow, and she nods in understanding.
“We spent years trying to protect our mom and sister, and they both got hurt. And take you, for example,” I point out. “All you wanted was to fall in love, and look where that got you.”
“That could happen to anyone,” she says, tucking her legs under her. “The businessman who cheats on his wife. The wife who falls for the pool boy.”
She scrunches her nose up, and I try to ignore how fucking cute she looks.
“I don’t blame anyone but myself for letting him manipulate me. I knew he was moving too quickly, and I let it happen,” she says with a shrug. “But that isn’t going to stop me from one day trying again. I want a husband and a family, and that includes procreating with the man I love.”
She tilts her head and smirks, and some weird shit inside me sparks to life as I imagine her fucking someone other than me, which leads me to wonder what kind of woman she is in bed. Would she just lie there like a starfish, or would she be an active participant? Is she a screamer, a squirter—
“You don’t want that?” she asks, cutting off my thoughts.
“What?” I choke out, wondering if she somehow knows what I was thinking about.
“To have a family of your own one day?” she clarifies.
“No,” I tell her point-blank, then change the subject, not wanting to continue this pointless conversation.
My brother wants to be a family man, and he can go for it. But that shit ain’t for me.
“You hungry?” I ask, pulling out my phone. “We can order something in. Thai, Italian, Greek …”
“Mmm,” she moans, thankfully letting the subject drop. “Greek sounds good.”
The noise she makes goes straight to my cock, and I force myself to push the lust away as I question if I made the right choice, having her stay with me. Maybe I should’ve had her stay with my brother and Peyton …
But then she glances at me with a soft smile and says, “Thank you for everything, Matteo,” and I throw that thought out the window because I want her here.
She’s mine to protect.
End of story.
“I ate way too much,” Daniella whines, holding her stomach and glaring at me. “And I blame you. Who orders that much food for only two people?”
“Someone who eats a shit ton,” I say with a laugh, taking another bite of my gyro. “And you weren’t complaining when you were stuffing your face.”
“Well, now that I’m having food regret, I’m complaining and blaming you.”
She sticks her tongue out, and if she were any other woman, I’d point out what I’d like for her to do with that tongue. But instead, I shove another bite into my mouth.
“And thanks to Enrique, I can’t even go for a jog.” She pouts. “Not that it does much …” Her gaze descends to her stomach, and she frowns.
I don’t know much about women, aside from how to pleasure them, but thanks to having a sister, who was obsessed with her weight when she was younger, it’s clear that’s what Daniella is doing—unnecessarily so.
“Nope. None of that woe is me shit allowed around here.” I shake my head. “Your body is banging with all them curves, but if you want to jog, I have an entire gym you can use anytime. It’s not the same as running in the fresh air, but it will do.”
“Ugh, I’m sorry,” she says. “You’re right … not about the banging body part, but about the woe is me shit. I honestly don’t mind being fat. But Enrique made a few comments, and now, they’re stuck in my head.”
“Fat?” I scoff. “You’re far from fat.”
She snorts, and I lock eyes with her.
“Stand. Show me where you’re fat.”
“What?” She gasps. “No way.”
“C’mon.” I set my plate of food down, pause the show we were watching, and stand, pulling her up with me. “Let’s go, Little Russo. You started this shit. Now, show me the fat.”
She huffs, rolls her eyes, and then says, “Fine.”
Her hands go to the seam of my shirt, and she lifts it up to just below the bottom swells of her tits. “This,” she says matter-of-factly, “is fat.”
She’s about to drop the shirt when I reach out and stop her, holding the shirt up with one hand while my other one goes to her soft belly.
“This”—I turn her so we’re facing the mirror hanging on my wall, some decorative piece my interior decorator picked out when she furnished my entire place for me—“is not fat.”
Standing behind her, I keep her shirt lifted while I run the pads of my fingers across her abdomen and over to her hips.
“These are curves,” I tell her, meeting her emerald eyes in the mirror.
“They’re perfect for when a man wants to hit it from behind and needs something to hold on to.
” I waggle my brows, and she barks out a laugh.
“They also serve a great purpose when a woman is on top and the man needs to help guide her up and down.”
“You’re nuts!” Daniella laughs, her cheeks tingeing a beautiful shade of pink. “And what purpose does this serve?” She reaches up and pinches the area under her chin.
“Easy,” I say. “This.”
I spin her around and push her gently against the wall and wrap my fingers around her neck. “If you didn’t have any meat on you, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
Her eyes go wide as her tongue slides across the seam of her lips, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her.
“Okay, Mr. Fat Expert. What about these?”
She shocks the hell out of me when she pulls down my sweats and exposes her all-black cotton panties. They cover everything important, leaving it all to my imagination.
Is she shaved? Bare? Does she have a full bush going on down there?
I’m so stuck on her material-clad pussy being uncovered that I couldn’t tell you what she’s even referring to, until she reaches down and grabs the inside of her thick thighs.
“C’mon, Matteo. What purpose do these serve other than to rub together and cause chafing?”
Her question spurs me on, and without thinking, I reach down and lift her up, the sweats falling to the floor. She squeals in shock as I press her against the wall, and she wraps her legs around my neck as her back and palms hit the wall.
“Matteo! What are you doing?” she hisses, her hands moving to my hair to hold on, so she doesn’t fall.
Not that she’d ever be at risk of that. I could bench-press her several times without breaking a sweat.
“Showing you exactly what your thick thighs’ purpose is.”
With her ankles locked around my neck, the apex of her legs is perfectly situated on either side of my face, giving me the best view of her pussy.
“Now, squeeze.”
“What?” she squeaks.
“I said, fucking squeeze.”
She does as I said, her thighs squeezing the hell out of my head and forcing my face to squish in against her pussy. I inhale a deep breath, and my cock comes to life.
And then she moans … motherfucking moans.
And it hits me—I’m standing in my condo with Little Russo against my wall and her pussy inches from my mouth while her thighs squeeze the sides of my face.
Instantly, I drop her—carefully, of course—and take a step back.
The woman hasn’t even been away from her rapist and kidnapper for eight hours, and I’m over here, practically sexually assaulting her.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I say, taking another step back. “I shouldn’t have done that. I … I don’t always think,” I tell her. “My brain just kind of runs with shit, and … fuck, you were raped and—”
“Stop,” she says, walking over to me and placing her delicate hand on my mouth. “What he did was shitty, and it sucked. He hurt me and violated me, and his words were just as bad. But this … what you just did, it reminded me that I’m more than just a fat chick who was taken advantage of.”
Tears prick her eyes, and her lips curve into a beautiful, watery smile.
“I’m still young, and maybe I’m not perfect, but one day, when the right guy comes along, he won’t be put off by my imperfections.
I mean, if you, Matteo Antonov—world’s biggest bachelor and playboy, who has beautiful women hanging on his arm at every event—can find me attractive, then I think there’s hope for me yet. ”
She shrugs and reaches down to grab her pants, but I extend my hand and stop her, not finished with this conversation.
“Little Russo,” I say with a smirk, “did you google me?”
Her eyes go as wide as saucers, and I have my answer.
“You totally fucking googled me.”
“I … I was just …” She releases a loud groan. “Yes, okay? I saw you at the funeral, and you were looking good.”
I grin, and she rolls her eyes.
“So, I googled you, and while you can name all the positives of my fat, there isn’t a single picture of you with anyone near my size.” She shrugs and puts her pants on.
“That’s because the women in our circle don’t eat,” I grumble. “But trust me, I’m an equal opportunist, and I would gladly fuck the hell out of a woman your size.”
“Okay, thanks.” She laughs. “Now, can we get back to our show and pretend this never happened?”
“Sure,” I tell her, even though there’s nothing that will stop me from remembering the way she looked with her legs wrapped around my head and her pussy right in my face.
That image is ingrained in my brain and will be the reason I jack off tonight in the shower and probably for the next several nights as well.