Chapter 14-Ono
F alling cock first into Michelle was the pinnacle of every wet dream I had ever had as a boy.
The woman was a goddamn miracle. And afterwards, well, I’d never felt such tenderness towards another person in my whole life.
It was like I wanted to cherish her. To hold her to me and keep her safe forever.
But how could I do that when there was a target painted on my back?
Fuck. I never should have followed her home, but I couldn’t stop myself. The past few days without her, I couldn’t eat or sleep. Hell, I could hardly breathe.
Nothing felt right without her. Nothing at all.
Oh, the good doctor had slipped past all my defenses. She’d burrowed in deep, into the very recesses of my being.
I needed her like I needed air. More than.
But this wasn’t just compulsion it was pure desire. A hundred percent. I wanted this woman. She made me happy. Imagine that?
I actually fucking smiled around her. She was sweet and funny, smart and sexy.
I liked her. A lot.
Thought about her all the time. And I wanted to make her happy.
I was turning into a fucking sap. Every time I heard a song play, I wondered if she’d like it. When I passed restaurants on the street, I wondered if she’d been there or if maybe she’d want to go with me.
I knew she didn’t cook. Her job was so tense. She worked long stressful hours, so she ordered takeout a lot. That just made me want to cook for her.
My sweet Bellezza needed looking out for, and I was just the man to do it.
No one else. Me.
The idea of her with another man made me fucking homicidal, so I refused to think about it. I’d already scrolled through all her socials.
I knew about her last serious boyfriend, and I located the prick. He’d moved to the west coast six years ago, which was just his luck, cause if he’d lived here, he wouldn’t be living anymore.
Yeah, I was fucking unhinged. This woman fucked me up real good with thoughts of wanting to keep her.
I never expected to feel this way in my lifetime, but she’d destroyed all my preconceived notions about love and sex.
Love? I didn’t know much about it.
But sex? Yeah, that I knew. And sex with Michelle was beyond anything I’d ever experienced.
Even now, in the haze of our post-coital bliss, I couldn’t stop my satisfied smile from spreading across my face as I lay facing her on the bed.
She was lying on her side too, mirroring me, with her hands tucked beneath her sweet head and her beautiful braids flowing down her back like a lazy river.
There was something so right about this, I just couldn't shake the feeling.
I was having a hard time admitting it, too.
The fact I wasn't lying to her the way I normally did when I bedded a woman definitely meant something.
I wasn't sweet-talking her, either.
Truth was, I wanted Michelle to see me.
Like really see me.
I wanted to lay my soul bare for her. To show her all the dark and ugly parts.
But here was the kicker, I wanted to do that, to spew all my filth, and I wanted her to want me, anyway.
I was so fucked up.
I knew she was friends with the Volkovs and their extended families, and I knew she was sort of acquainted with the not-so-niceties of powerful people and businesses.
Sure, I’d worked to leave the criminal aspect of my family name behind me, but it wasn’t an overnight thing.
I wasn’t a good man, though. I wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer. Wasn’t someone who deserved her.
I mean, I'd killed three men in the last week.
Of course, I wouldn’t have done that had they not tried to kill me, but whatever.
My hands had blood on them. She was too good for me. I wasn’t worthy of a woman like her.
But I wasn’t a selfless man, either. I didn’t give up the things I desired or enjoyed.
Like eating red meat or drinking the occasional whiskey.
Yes, I indulged, however infrequently.
And yes, I both desired and enjoyed Michelle. But a damn sight more than a fucking steak or a drink. I liked spending time with her. Very much so.
Fine. I wanted her. And yeah, I intended to keep her.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered, and I sucked in a breath, taking in her sweet, shea butter and almond scent.
“I’m thinking I’m not a good man,” I whispered the truth.
“Why do you say that?” she asked, frowning at me.
“Circumstances, I guess. But that’s not all of it,” I whispered, continuing when she remained quiet, “The choices I make aren’t always good.”
I wondered if she could guess what I meant. Watching her as she paused and looked down, as if mulling over my words.
I waited with bated breath for whatever she was going to say next. The wind whispered outside, and I heard the bare branches rustle.
Her apartment was warm enough, but it had been converted from a basement. Too small for her. Definitely too small for us.
But I very much liked the feel of the old brownstone, and I wondered how long it would take me to push the other tenants out so I could buy it and renovate it.
Just thinking about living there with her sent spirals of excitement traveling up my spine. I could see us there. And I liked what I saw.
Michelle sucked in a breath, and I froze, my attention on whatever she was about to say.
“A man I operated on died right before the holidays. He was fine throughout the surgery, but there was a post-op complication when he was in recovery and his heart gave out,” she murmured softly, but her brows were furrowed, and I knew she wasn’t done.
I wanted to howl like a beast and crush her to me to wipe the memory of the dead man away. She had such a big heart. I hated seeing her hurt.
“I'm sure it wasn't your fault, Doc.”
“It wasn't, but that doesn't make it better. I mean, I did my job. I did everything I could to save him, but my efforts were in vain. Didn’t stop me from trying, though,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I don’t think you are a bad man, Ono Bottarelli.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do know that,” she said and nodded her head.
I should have corrected her, but I wasn’t stupid. I couldn’t tell her I was a murderer, but I wanted her to keep talking.
“How do you deal with it? With your patients’ deaths?” I asked.
Her face fell, and I wanted to kick myself for asking.
“Look, I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about that,” I muttered.
“No, it’s okay. It is a good question, and people don’t normally ask. I mean, everyone assumes doctors and surgeons are all unfeeling like we’re just robots. Truth is, I’m not sure if I want to stay in surgery. I mean, I like it, and it’s a great opportunity but,” she said and paused.
“But what?”
“Well, I helped develop a helmet for Micky’s son and it was so interesting. I know it would mean spending more time on lab work than on treating patients, but I really liked it. And well, I haven’t told anybody this, but I think I really like the idea of helping children by making medical devices better for them specifically.”
“You mean like biomedical engineering?”
“Exactly! I would love to be able to develop medical devices specifically needed for babies and children.”
“Why can’t you do both? Be a doctor and work with engineers?”
“Well, my hospital doesn’t have a lab like that, and definitely not one dedicated to pediatric devices. Plus, I moved here just to be close to that hospital, so I don’t really want to try to find another one right now that might not be as conveniently located. Anyway, as for dealing with deaths, I actually got some good advice from the father of a friend,” she said, and grinned.
“Yeah?” I asked and clenched my jaw to stop the surge of jealousy rising in me. “What did he say?”
“He told me there are just some things in life beyond anyone’s control. I think he was talking about his feelings for his wife, but I applied it to how a patient does after surgery. I can only control the part I do, not the part where the patient’s body needs to respond to the treatment. But I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered conspiratorially, and I inched closer, eager for it, “that’s been the toughest thing about being a doctor. Admitting that I don’t have control over some things.”
I knew exactly how she felt as I stared into those big, brown eyes of hers and felt my heart run away with me.
“Who was the friend’s dad?” I asked, curious.
“My friend Annabella’s dad. Oh, well, you know her brother, Jr.”
“Nico Fury told you that?” I asked, shocked.
“Mm hmm. He’s kind of an honorary uncle. Well, they all are,” she confessed and named some of the biggest, baddest motherfuckers around.
“That’s some family, Bellezza. I better watch myself, huh?” I told her, smiling at the blush I saw darkening her cheeks.
“Damn straight. Seriously, though, I also have an aunt. Aunt Agnes. She’s my father’s sister. She raised me when my parents died. Or, well, the nannies did. Anyway, she sent me to a good school, and that was where I met Micky.”
“She nice?”
“Aunt Agnes? Um, not really. She never liked kids. Certainly never liked me,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry, Doc,” I said, my heart hurting for her.
“No, I’m lucky. The entire Volkov Clan kind of adopted me when Micky brought me home and declared I was her best friend. Aunt Agnes didn’t matter. I had family, Ono. I was loved.”
“You are loved,” I whispered, unsure of what I meant right then.
She just took it to mean the Volkovs and smiled and I allowed it for now.
Coward.
But I ignored my inner condemnation.
“I’m sorry about your parents, Doc. But I disagree with you about something.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
“They’re the lucky ones. The Volkovs and the others, for having you in their lives,” I whispered, pulling her closer to me, needing to touch her.
I twirled one of her soft curls between my fingers, snuggling her close, and I wondered at the way the delicate braids felt against my skin.
It was a beautiful contradiction of strength and softness. Just like her.
“So, why do they call you Ono?” she asked, snuggling against me with her warm, naked flesh.
“My full name is Onofrio, after my father.”
“Onofrio?”
“It’s Italian.”
“I figured that, but why not Frio ?” she asked, and I grinned at the memory.
“My dad thought I'd be a junior after him. They called him Frio. But then his mother, my Nonna, took one look at me in my cradle and she said, ‘ oh no, here comes trouble with this one ’. Pop liked that so much, he called me Ono instead of Jr. and it stuck.”
“Ha! Your grandmother sounds like a wonderful lady.”
“She was,” I whispered, kissing her head.
“Will you be here when I wake up?” Michelle asked, as her body began to go lax against mine.
“I’ll be here, Doc.”
And I meant it.
If there was something I was beginning to fully understand it was this infatuation I had with the good doctor was much more than that. It was real. And lasting.
It was something I wanted to see through and this here, this was just me laying the foundation for what I had in mind.
The past few hours I’d been going over it in my head and I’d just come to a decision. I was never giving this woman up.
Michelle Davis was supposed to be mine.
She sure fucking felt like mine. And fuck, but I wanted her to be in every single way.
Oh, Michelle Davis had no idea the things I was capable of when I really wanted something. And I wanted her above all else.
Yeah, I was going to be there in the morning.
And every morning after that.
It was decided now. Fate or God or just my own sheer will had solidified my resolve to bind this woman to me.
A fucking wrecking ball couldn’t knock me off course.