Chapter 40
FORTY
T he water pummels my skin, beating down on my tired muscles. It’s the first shower I’ve had since I turned up unannounced at Alvaro’s doorstep three days ago, and I’ve been standing here for what feels like hours. One, because I still feel the grime and days old dirt embedded in my skin. Two, because the longer I stay in here is another minute I don’t have to face Alvaro.
It’s been a hazy few days. Alvaro and I still haven’t spoken about what happened or why I chose to come here , of all places. He’s left me to heal, bringing me food and water when I needed it, and surprisingly helped me to the bathroom. But every gesture feels empty, like he’s running on auto-pilot. There’s no emotion behind his care, and I think that’s what stings more than the cuts Malakai inflicted on me.
Leaning my forearm against the tiles, I let the water cascade over my face, the shampoo suds seeping into the cuts. I need to feel something that isn’t the guilt festering away beneath the surface. Something real. Something raw.
The door to the shower slides open, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. Like a shadow, the air shifts, thickening with the heat of his presence. He doesn’t say a word. Just the sound of his breathing, the water hitting his skin. Close, but not touching.
I stare at the wall. The black tiles mist from the heat of the shower, but I can still make out the faint reflection of Alvaro’s form. The way his chest rises and falls. The way his fists bunch at his sides.
“I’m almost done,” I say, my voice rough. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” he says gently. His voice wraps around me more than the steam does. I stand still, water beating down on the back of my neck, my breathing shallow. I hate how badly I want him to stay, but we’re in an awkward place. I reach for the body wash, but Varo’s hand stops mine.
Turning me to face him, I see the worry etched into his features. His eyes are sunken from lack of sleep, his hair is in disarray—probably from the amount of hair pulling I know he does when he’s pissed—and his sharp jaw is set in a hard line, like he doesn’t know how to smile anymore. “You’ve been in here forever.”
“I’m fine,” I say, brushing him off.
“You’re not fine, Milo. You could’ve died.” Despite his blunt words, I don’t miss the worry lacing them.
A smile curls at the corner of my mouth. This man has pushed away from me so many times, yet contradicted every word with his actions. The fact he’s talking about my possible death shows me it’s worried him more than he cares to admit.
“What?” he snaps, the first sign of any emotion in the past three days.
“Is that you admitting that you’d miss me if I was gone?”
“That’s not what I said,” he grumbles.
Oh, but it is.
“I just…” he heaves a sigh. “Why did you come here, Milo?” His question filters through the silence and the beating of water on my back.
“You know why.”
“Because you had nowhere else to go?”
“No. Because I trust you. Even after what went on between us, I knew you’d help me.” The truth tumbles out freely. Maybe because I’m still groggy, maybe because I’m done with the lies and secrets. I’ve never been one to hold back, but sometimes, Varo intimidates the shit out of me, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared about pushing him away. “And maybe, in some way… I didn’t want to die without seeing you again.”
“Don’t say shit like that,” he murmurs.
“It’s the truth,” I whisper, reaching out and curling my fingers around his jaw.
“Yeah, well the truth’s been kicking my ass lately.” Sighing, Alvaro presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes like it’s a battle to even speak his mind. He’s never had a problem with that before, but I know that the emotional stuff doesn’t come easy for him, and right now, I see so much of it desperate to escape. “I don’t know what to do.”
I slowly lean back against the wall, letting the water separate us.
He watches me, jaw tight, eyes dull with whatever’s been eating at him. It’s the most he’s given me since I showed up at his door.
“I’m not asking for your forgiveness.” I cast my gaze to the floor, unable to make eye contact with him. I ignore the fact we’re fully naked, having a conversation in the last place we should be.
“Good,” he huffs. “Because you’re not gonna get it. You didn’t just lie to me, Milo. You made me feel something, and then you handed me a reason to hate you.” His words are like sandpaper, harsh and honest. “And then you turn up here, bleeding out and?—”
“I get it,” I cut in. I don’t think I can hear any more.
I go to push past him, but he stops me. “I don’t think you do. I want to hate you. I still do some days,” he mutters. “But my sister talked some sense into me, and I can’t be mad at you forever.” He chokes on the last word like it somehow holds more meaning to him.
We stand for a moment, letting the silence wrap around us, tighter than his hand around my wrist. Then he slides his hand up to my shoulder and turns me around. Facing the fogged up tiles, I feel his chest brush my back, cool skin against my hot flesh. He leans forward to grab the body wash from the caddy, and I suck a breath in when his palms work the soap into my muscles.
His touch is firm, his fingers working through the muscles in my back and neck. A groan slips past my lips as I rest my forehead against the wall, relishing his touch, the way my muscles relax beneath his hands. It’s the first time we’ve been this close and not had a dark cloud hanging over us. It’s the first time Alvaro has touched me with this much attention since I passed out on his doorstep.
He works the suds into my body until there’s a new ache forming. “I don’t want to be afraid of needing you,” he whispers in my ear, the words trembling around me. “But I am. Because if I let you in and you leave—” He cuts himself off, leaving us hovering in this weird space, still held back by his revelation, still clinging to what could be.
His palms slide over my arms, moving down to link our fingers together. The weight of his honesty is like gravity pulling us closer together. “We still need to talk about what happened,” he tells me, resting his lips on the space between my neck and shoulder.
“Vee, I?—”
“Not now. Honestly, right now, I don’t want to hear anything but the sound of you screaming my name.” He moves one hand around my throat, using his other hand to reach around me and take my shaft in his palm. “You think you can manage that?”
I barely manage to nod in response as he starts to stroke my length in measured movements. Bringing an arm behind me, I pull Varo closer—if he can get any closer—my fingers tugging at the strands of his hair. He continues his assault on my body, and between kisses and controlled strokes, I’m losing my damn mind.
My dick throbs and my knees wobble. I’m not sure if it’s the lack of movement over the past few days, or I’m just so turned on that I might blow my load. My panting breaths fill the space as Varo relinquishes his hold on me. Turning me around, he pins me against the wall. I don’t get a second to breathe before his mouth is on me, his tongue making shapes with mine. It’s not soft, but it’s not desperate. It’s raw and real and consuming. It’s like every bit of my soul was yearning for this moment, and now I have it, I’m clinging on for dear life, hoping it never ends.
Varo grinds himself against me, his cock sliding with mine. He deepens the kiss, pulling at my hair and tilting my head so he can take everything from me. It’s like he’s demanding more, yet he’s afraid to ask for it.
Pulling away, he reaches up and brushes his hand against my cheek, thumb just barely grazing the corner of my mouth. His touch is reverent, like he thinks I might break.
I pull away, my brows furrowing together. I want this as much as he does, yet he’s holding back. “You don’t need to be gentle. I’m not made of glass.” My voice cracks—not from weakness, but from frustration. From the space he puts between us when I need him closest.
And right when I think he’s going to protest, he drops to his knees. Taking my cock in his hand, he pumps it leisurely. “I hate that I still give a damn,” he murmurs. His lips are so close to the tip of my cock I can feel every breath he takes. “I hate that you make me feel shit. I hate that after everything, I don’t want to lose you.”
A small smile lifts my lips. I know how hard it is for Varo to show his vulnerable side. He’s always shied away from opening up about his feelings, and this right here makes me feel like I’m on top of the world.
He takes me in his mouth, tongue wrapping around the tip, taunting me, tasting me. With his other hand, he grabs my ass, pulling me closer. Running his tongue along the underside of my length, I shudder when he swallows me deep. My cock hits the back of his throat, and a raspy moan slips out. Never did I think we would be back here again. Sure, I’d hoped for it, but I never thought it’d happen. Alvaro is so unpredictable that it’s addictive. I crave the unknown, the enigma that is Alvaro Bonanno. He gives me more than I thought I ever wanted or needed.
Pumping me into his mouth, I lose myself to the sensation of feeling his lips wrapped around me. Seeing him on his knees for me is something I’ll never get used to, because men like him bow to nobody.
I run my hand through his hair, pulling at the raven strands until he moans around my cock. “Take it all, moy khoroshiy mal’chik .”
My words are his motivation, the encouragement he needs to pump faster, suck harder. He devours me like a starved man and I revel in it, grinding my hips and seeking more until I’m seeing stars. My knees shake as Varo takes me down his throat, my whole body hypersensitive, and then I explode. I come harder than I ever have before, shooting my release down his throat. I cry out, but he keeps going, lapping up every drop I offer until I’m begging him to stop.
When he finally pulls away, he looks up at me, and I can’t find a single fault with him. This man is dark and untameable, but show me someone who’s just as haunted and I’ll show you real beauty.
Standing up, he presses his lips to mine. The faint taste of my release coats his lips, but I don’t care. The kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t dramatic. It’s grounding. The kind of kiss that says: I’m here. I’m still here.
We stand there under the water, steam rising, everything else stripped away.
Nothing fixed. Nothing clean.
But real.
* * *
“T ell me something honest,” Varo murmurs to me. His hand is in my hair while my head rests on his chest, listening to every beat of his heart. The guy might deny his feelings, but he can’t hide the fact that his heart beats a rhythm only I get to hear.
After the shower, Alvaro was intent on sending me back to bed. Apparently, three days isn’t enough rest, but it’s enough to warrant plenty of blow jobs that will send me into a coma. I’m still in a daze, but sufficiently awake to hear the vulnerability in his voice.
I decide to start off with something simple. Something that he can handle. “My name isn’t Milo.”
“Argh! Fuck. Don’t tell me it’s something preppy.”
I laugh at that, wincing when it catches one of the stitches on my ribs. “No, but it’s close enough that nobody would pick it out. It’s Miles.”
“Miles?” he confirms, humming in thought. “Still preppy.”
I shove away from him playfully, rolling onto my back.
“What else?”
“I grew up in Brighton Beach.” I swallow thickly, the thought of what still waits for me there even after all these years plagues me. I’ve managed to avoid the place, meaning I haven’t seen or spoken to my family since the FBI erased all evidence of my life before the bureau.
“Your parents still there?”
“I think so,” I croak, allowing the weight of my disappearance to sit on my chest. “I haven’t spoken to them since I started working this case. I won’t risk it. Not until this shit with the Russians is over.”
Silence envelops us for a minute. I glance over and Varo is still, eyes staring at the ceiling as he runs his finger over his bottom lip.
I’m holding my breath, willing him to speak because I’m all out of words. Five years of guilt and remorse is brewing, and I need him to say something to drown out this suffocating feeling.
Unexpectedly, Varo rolls over to face me. “Any other secrets I should know?”
“Like?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Do your parents know about… you know?”
“About me sucking your cock? I don’t think that’s appropriate dining table talk,” I chuckle.
Varo rolls his eyes.
“This life has a lot of secrets,” I admit. “You of all people should know that. There are a lot of lies we have to tell, not just to those around us, but to ourselves.”
“That’s pretty fucking morbid, Miles.” He smirks, and I have to suppress the urge to lunge at him and smack it off his face. It’d take more than that to get rid of his satisfied expression. If anything, he’d probably enjoy it.
“And you’re too happy considering who you are,” I retort.
Varo laughs at that. The sound is alien, yet captivating. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so light. It’s like music to my ears. I could create a playlist on that sound alone and listen to it for hours.
My eyes flicker to his stomach as he stretches up, taking in his muscles contracting and relaxing. “What can I say,” he yawns. “I’m in a good mood.”
* * *
T he good mood didn’t last long. As soon as Varo deemed I’d rested enough—which was one more day—he demanded we sit and talk about what happened. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I had hoped we could forget about the world for a moment and just enjoy the newfound relationship that we’re too afraid to label.
Handing me a tumbler of whiskey, he stands in front of me in just a pair of grey sweatpants. “Speak,” he orders.
“Now?” I question, raising a brow at him.
He drops down onto the couch beside me, sipping his own drink. “Now,” he confirms with a no-nonsense attitude. Despite fucking like a couple of horny kids all morning to make up for lost time, we’ve avoided talking about what happened. What brought me here, of all places.
“What happened, Milo?” he asks between heavy sips of his drink.
I don’t hesitate to answer. I owe him my life, so telling him what happened is the least I can do. “The Federovs are importing drugs,” I murmur into my glass. “They never told me what and I never saw what they were bringing in, so I thought I’d take a look.”
Varo nods, but he doesn’t say anything. So, I continue. It’s a bitter pill to swallow when you have to admit you fucked up, but Varo has seen me at my worst, and I know he won’t judge me.
“My handler said there’s a new drug on the streets. I just know that the Federovs are behind it, but I had no proof.”
“So you went looking for it?”
I nod in agreement, finishing my whiskey in a few large gulps. It takes the edge off my next words, and from there, it all goes downhill. “I didn’t find anything.”
Suddenly, Varo is shooting up from the couch and disappearing out of the room. I hear his footsteps in the next room, shuffling around before he returns with a determined look on his face. In this moment, I realize how much I’ve missed him and his commanding presence.
He moves in front of me, a baggy hanging between his fingers. “This the drug you were looking for?”
I freeze for a moment, confusion and surprise etched across my face. Slowly, I take it, inspecting the contents inside the plastic. It’s just as Collins described; pink powder. Rosecaine.
“Where the fuck did you get this?” I whisper. Though I don’t know why when it’s just us here.
Varo takes a seat on the wooden coffee table behind him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looks pissed, yet it’s not aimed at me. “Your soldiers aren’t very careful. Left a load of dust lying around in one of the containers.” Reaching out, he flicks the edge of the bag in my hand. “Gambino had it tested.”
“Rosecaine?” I confirm, quirking a brow.
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Apparently. But listen, Vee, this is so much more than fentanyl laced cocaine. The Federovs are using it as a distraction.”
“A distraction?” he frowns. “For what?”
Shit. This is where the trajectory for everything I’ve been working towards changes. I wanted to find something to pin the Russian’s with, and I found something worse. I still can’t get the image out of my head. The terror. The innocent faces that pinned me in place.
“Milo?”
I clear my throat, glancing down at my empty glass. It’d be so easy to drown my guilt in liquor, hide away from the fact I had no idea this was going on. It wouldn’t solve anything, though. As if he can read my mind, Varo fills my glass up to the top, urging me to take a sip.
I take one.
Then another for good measure.
Meanwhile, Alvaro watches me silently, never pushing for more than I’m willing to give.
“I broke into their hangar,” I admit. “I was searching for the drugs when I came across a room. It was the only one that was locked and—looking back now, I realize how stupid it was for me not to see it was a trap.” I lift my gaze to Varo, and he must sense my contrition, reaching forward to take my hand. He’s not the type to offer comfort, but right now, it’s exactly what I need. “It was filled with women, girls of all ages.” My stomach churns as I say the words. “I don’t know how long they’ve been there, but…”
“Shit.”
“They’re trafficking women into the city, Vee. We need to stop them.” Even as I say it, I know how pointless it is for me to ask this of him. Illegal activities are his main source of income, but surely he has some morals. I look up at him, hoping he comes through for me. Not that he owes me anything.
“That’s not our problem, Milo,” he grunts, standing up to create some space. “The drugs are the threat to us. Federov is capitalizing on Gambino’s territory, and we need to shut it down.”
“And I need this, Vee!” Desperation claws at my throat. “I need to help those girls!”
“What are you saying? Because we can’t let this shit slide.” Varo’s fists bunch at his sides, his jaw tense.
I reach out to take his hand. If it’s the only contact he’ll allow me now, I’ll take it. “I’m saying, help me take down the Federovs, so I can finally get out of this.”
“Did they do this to you?” He gestures to my body. His jaw ticks when I confirm it with a nod. “Fine. But I need to speak to the guys first.”
It’s all I need to hear before I stand and close the distance he put between us. Reaching up, I draw my thumb across his bottom lip. “Can we go back to bed now?”
His gorgeous lips lift in a smile that tugs at my muscles in my chest. “Sure, but this time, you’re on your knees.”