Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Nero
E ven from this distance and with the smell of cigarette smoke permeating the air, I can still smell her. I don’t know how. It should be impossible. But the citrus smell isn’t a fragment of my imagination.
“Well,” she begins thoughtfully, “I don’t know what it is exactly, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who gets sentimental about nuptials. And from what I understand, you’ve been gone a while. For years.”
“Why I wouldn’t have thought you a gossip, Mrs. Lucchese?”
She stiffens, her body going ramrod straight as if she wasn’t already as straight as a ruler. She sits like she’s a goddamn soldier in the general’s office. If she tries any harder, she will snap her own spine like a twig.
“I don’t gossip,” she snaps, the gem-like green of her eyes flashing with indignation. “I just put two and two together, and?—”
I scoff, cutting her off. “Then what in the hell are you doing being Sebastian’s wife? You should’ve gone to the nearest precinct and given them a live demonstration of those razor-sharp deduction skills.”
Sofia’s bottom lip pokes out, and for a second, I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose. Does she know what that goddamn pout does to me? I shift my gaze away from her and take another drag of my cigarette.
It’s not possible that she knows. After all, I didn’t know myself until a moment ago.
“You can mock me all you want, but you know I’m right.”
It’s time to shut this down. I messed up by not turning her away as soon as she burst in through those doors, wide-eyed like a kid at Christmas. The question now is, why didn’t I?
I can lie to myself by saying that I was only assessing how much of a threat the new Mrs. Lucchese is going to be. But the truth is that I’m as curious about her as she seems to be about me. And nothing good can come out of such curiosity... for either of us.
“The only thing I know, Princess, is that you shouldn’t be sneaking out of your husband’s arms to satisfy your curiosity about another man.”
Red rises up on her sharp cheekbones, and she splutters, “It’s not like that. You’re making it sound sordid, but it’s not like that. And anyway,” she drops her head, looking pitiful, “I wasn’t in my husband’s arms. We didn’t do much cuddling.”
My brow shoots up at the information, and I store it away at the back of my mind with all the other things I know about Sebastian. “Isn’t it too early for separate beds? You should be in marital bliss, telling yourself that his snore is the best sound you’ve ever heard in your life.”
“What do you know about marital bliss?” That dangerous curiosity rears its ugly head again.
I allow myself to smile. “Fishing Mrs. Lucchese?”
“My name is Sofia.” Her small hands fist the fabric of her silk nightdress, and it draws my attention to the smooth, alabaster skin of her thighs.
That is my cue to get the hell out of here and not look back. I flick my burnt-out cigarette to the ground and then crush it under my boots, then turn to leave.
“Y-you’re leaving?” She jumps to her feet, and there’s a panic in her eyes that I refuse to examine too closely.
I don’t want to examine Sofia Lucchese as a whole too closely. She’s the kind of beautiful that’s nothing but trouble—the kind that I’m not currently in the market for. She’s also the enemy, and I’ll be damned if I let a slip of a thing like her get in my way.
“Didn’t you come out here for some alone time?” I mock. “I’ll let you get back to that.”
“I-uh-don’t mind the company. You can stay.”
I press my mouth into a thin line. “Is your new husband so disappointing that you’d rather freeze to death out here?”
Her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course he’s not disappointing. It was perfect, wonderful, even.”
What a little liar.
“If it was anywhere close to perfect, you would be asleep right now, Princess.”
She swallows. “Sleep never comes easy to me. It’s always been that way. My wandering around used to drive my nanny crazy. Are you out here because you couldn’t sleep, too?”
I stare at her. “I’m nothing like you, Princess. Don’t try to pin similarities between us and rope me into being your friend.”
“I should be friends with my husband’s friend, shouldn’t I?” She raises a brow. “And you’ll be living here, so we should get to know each other better. You can start by telling me where you’ve been all these years. I’ve never heard about you.”
“This is beginning to sound like an investigation.” My shoulders are stiff with tension, and I decide to nip this in the bud. “Go to bed, Mrs. Lucchese.”
I continue on my way, and she takes an unsure step forward, hands raised in an aborted move to reach for me. Our eyes meet for one charged moment. I read the disappointment there clear as day, but my steps don’t falter.
I don’t look back or stop until I’m behind my room’s locked door. Only then do I move to the window and watch her walk back to the house, the night breeze whipping at her hair and dressing gown.
Of their own accord, my gaze drops down to where the points of her small breasts press against the thin nightdress.
With a grunt of self-disgust, I drop the curtains back into place and drag my shirt over my head, feeling overheated even though the weather is perfectly cool. I drop down on the edge of my bed and take off my boots, then lie back.
I consider resuming the call that Sofia’s presence interrupted, but I’m not really in the mood to talk strategy and revenge plot. The thought feels like a betrayal to my father’s memory, but then again, it’s the only thing I’ve thought of for the past eleven years. It’s become my reason for getting out of bed every morning, and it’s shaped my entire life.
None of those excuses are enough to make me feel less of a bastard as my hand cups the erection trapped under layers of clothing.
I shouldn’t.
I should go to bed and pretend that that encounter with Sofia never happened. But her smell is in my lungs, and the image of those pert breasts assaults my memories.
I don’t allow myself to think of the reasons why I shouldn’t as I unzip my jeans and pull my hard member out. This is so wrong; she shouldn’t have this power over me. It’s a fluke, it has to be. It probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve been too busy to think about contacting any of my regular hookups.
That’s probably it.
Shit .
Biting out a curse, I wrap my hands around the base and squeeze. A moan slips out of my mouth, and even though I know I’ll most definitely feel like shit about this later, I give my mind free rein to create images of Sofia Lucchese.
She’s seated on that stone bench, staring up at me with vivid green eyes, a coy smile playing on her lips.
“Nero,” she whispers. Her hands slide up from her thighs and cup her breasts.
My hands move faster, and I clench my jaw when the Sofia of my imagination squeezes her breast and then she slips one strap of her dress off her shoulder.
“Do you want me, Nero?” Even in my imagination, she’s still a little curious thing. Pleasure shoots up my spine and my balls feel impossibly full, aching for a release.
She spreads her legs, dress sliding higher and higher up her thighs.
I’m straining against the bed, hips thrusting up into my fist as I chase my orgasm, grunting and moaning. I squeeze my eyes shut, hands pumping urgently.
I’m almost there, but not quite. No matter how hard I tug at my cock, my orgasm eludes me.
Then I imagine her sitting astride me, my cock seated so deep inside her. She throws her head back, revealing the long column of her throat. “Nero,” she moans. and I can swear that she’s right in front of me, because her smell drifts into my nose.
I take one deep, greedy breath, and then I erupt, endless ropes of white cum shooting up into the air and landing on my abs. I vibrate at the force of my orgasm, my body twitching with aftershocks.
I’m still floating on the high when the sound of my ringtone pierces the air. Shit . I wipe my hand and body with my shirt, ball it up, and toss it away from me. Then I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, tucking my spent cock away.
The caller ID shows that it’s one of my informants.
“Hello,” I grunt out, sitting up.
“Mr. Castello, I have the information about Sofia Mazza that you asked me to find out for you,” he begins. “There’s nothing special about her, and she won’t present a problem at all.”
I glance over at my stained t-shirt. Too late for that, she’s already a problem , I think bitterly. “Hmm.”
“Yeah,” the man continues, and I hear the clacking sound of a keyboard. “She’s the regular Mafia girl. Dumb, bland, and as obedient as a lamb.”
“Why did you come back here? I know there’s more to it than the wedding,” her words flitter through my head, and my teeth grind together.
Dumb? Not at all .
Bland? I wish .
Obedient as a lamb?
I’m not too positive about that either.
My fingers itch at my side and, to my shock, I don’t know exactly who I want to shoot. The informant, damned Sebastian, or his green-eyed siren.
“Is that all?” I say impatiently.
He hesitates, probably noting my tone and wondering if he’s about to meet his end. “I-I mean, I c-can find out more if you give me a little bit more of time. It’s barely been six hours, and I had that job about?—”
I hang up, too annoyed to assure him that he’s going to live another day. All the good feelings from my orgasm are long gone, and I just feel like a piece of shit for jerking off to her of all people.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I lay back in bed and stare at the ceiling. I need to find someone who I can bury my cock into until Sofia becomes nothing but a memory and the unwelcome itch under my skin is erased.
If I’m going to succeed with my plan, I need to be smart and focused, and none of that involves getting erections over the most forbidden woman there is. I can’t afford distractions, and even though it feels like all my plans are rock solid and perfect, one little mistake can bring it all crashing to the ground after ten years of planning.
Sebastian took everything from me.
He took my family and my birthright, and I’m going to take it all back and bring his house of cards down. Him and everything he loves, holds dear, and owns.
Everything, including his new wife.
It’s unfortunate she will have to be collateral damage, but I can’t afford chances. I know better than most how one little root can thrive and create a whole new plant. Sebastian made a grave mistake by letting me live, and I’m not going to repeat his mistake.
She can be carrying his heir right now for all I know.
I don’t allow myself to think about why that thought has my jaw grinding. I don’t allow myself to think about a lot of things concerning her. Not even her name.