24. Bianca
Bianca
The line rings for the hundredth time in a row before going dead. Still shaking—I haven’t stopped since Aldo and Marco first started arguing—I press end and dial again. Livia’s not picking up.
Stabbing the app on my phone to see if my sister texted instead, I pace to the other side of the hallway outside of the treatment room the medics use to perform standard evaluations for the household staff.
With no communication from my sister, I check in with my men.
As soon as Il Silenzio took off, I called Kane and Yvette, the pair I had watching over Livia and ordered them to meet up with some Argento soldiers I’ve gotten to know over the last month.
I kept my commands simple. Prepare to extract my sister as soon as possible.
The call confirms that both teams are in place and awaiting my signal.
Which means I just need to get Livia on the damn phone so I can give her a heads-up.
If men break into the estate, she and Aldo might run for it together.
Worst-case scenario, Aldo sees armed men closing in and kills Livia and then himself on the spot.
After Elio, it’s something he always talked about.
How death by his own hand would be preferable to the torture that would follow in the wake of a coup.
He should know. The Bonuccis who survived that initial attack didn’t last more than twenty-four hours once Aldo got his hands on them. Father forced me to watch what he did to each one. He said if I were going to be capo, I would have to learn that my every action had a consequence.
Their screams that night still haunt me.
As much as I want them to, my men can’t race in guns blazing and expect Livia to emerge on the other side unscathed.
Plastering my back to the wall, I slide down until my knees meet my chest. On the other side of the door, Marco’s finally sleeping. After two blood transfusions, the nurse declared that the don would survive—though his right hook might never be the same—and left.
The relief I experienced at those words almost overwhelmed me.
Still unsettled, I toy with my watch and attempt to steady my unsteady heart as the gravity of my decision tonight starts to penetrate the waning adrenaline rush.
I chose protecting Marco over my father’s wishes, over the safety of my sister, over the legacy of the Contis, and now I’m about to lose them all.
Il Silenzio will report to Father about my interference tonight, which will seal Livia’s fate.
So, what next? Knowing Father, once he takes care of Livia, he’ll come for me in some way.
While I merely warned Marco about the hit, Father will see my compassion as the worst kind of betrayal.
To him, it will prove that I’ve defected the same way that Dulce once did, and I’ll be punished accordingly.
I suck in breath after breath, struggling to calm my pulse. I don’t know what to do about any of this anymore. Helplessness, an unwelcome reminder of just how weak I truly am, assails me. When the door behind me opens, I leap to my feet.
Dressed in a clean pair of gray sweats and nothing else, the only thing distracting me from Marco’s muscular chest and massive arms is the stark white bandage wrapped around his upper shoulder.
He’s built like a UFC fighter. The kind of man who looks tame until you take his clothes off and realize that there’s a beast hiding underneath the designer jeans and jewel-toned suits.
Though I’ve seen him naked during his campaign to drive me insane, I was too irritated, too focused on winning my own petty battles to appreciate this man’s sheer beauty.
Well, all except for the night we did MDMA.
Then, I noticed his attractiveness a little too much.
He’s a nightmare, a nuisance, the most annoying man I’ve ever met…and yet, the idea of his death terrified me so much that I risked everything I hold dear to ensure he survived.
A new type of fear swells in my chest.
Oh, god. Am I…am I falling for him?
Marco blinks at me groggily. “You’re all right.” Relief softens his expression as his fingers brush my jaw.
“You should still be resting.”
Marco ignores my weak admonishment and traces his fingers over the nape of my neck before burying them in a mass of curls that escaped my bun. Using the same hand, he tugs me closer, fixating on me with odd intensity.
“You left dinner with your family to come and warn me.”
Not a question. A line in the sand. A choice.
Dead or alive.
Conti or Argento.
Hate or…love.
Our lips clash, and fire erupts between us, tempting me to set aside my burdens. My husband’s the only one who can compel me to forget by burning away everything except this relentless desire. His tongue delves into my mouth, and the flames ignite into an inferno.
I nip at him, reveling in his tiny flinch before he kisses me even more forcefully. His free hand at the small of my back jerks my hips against his, and I whimper as the hard ridge of his cock presses against my stomach.
Marco hooks the edge of my blouse, pulling the bloodstained material and my lace bralette over my head.
More, more, more. The mantra drives my fingers to the waistband of the sweatpants the nurse changed him into while he was unconscious. A hint of sweat mixes with his natural musk and the faint remnant of whiskey on his breath, and the combination only intensifies my desire.
In one graceful motion, he bends and wraps his good arm around my waist. Growling, he leads me the few feet to a guest bedroom, kicking the door shut and propelling me onto the bed.
My skirt bunches up around my thighs, and he follows me onto the bed and tears my panties off with a snarl. The action throws him a little off-balance, and he utters a pained curse from jostling his injury.
I hold up my palm. “Lie down on your back.”
The fact that he immediately obeys hints at his desperation.
A condition we share. Once he complies, I crawl over him and yank his sweatpants down, releasing his cock.
With my eyes locked on his, I lower my head and lick the salty drop off the tip.
His groan targets me right between the thighs, causing them to clench.
Marco tugs on my hair. “As much as I’d love to watch you suck me off, I need to be inside you. I can’t wait any longer.”
He rocks his hips to emphasize his point.
When I scoot up, he immediately reclaims my hips. His good hand travels to my breast and rolls my nipple, and any lingering notion that I might tease him a little first vanishes.
Turns out, I can’t wait any longer either. No more foreplay required…maybe because our marriage up to now has basically been one long bout of foreplay.
With our tongues still tangling together, I position the head of his cock against my entrance. I sink down as Marco thrusts upward, and we both moan in unison.
Experiencing him inside of me for the first time scatters what remains of my common sense. He feels incredible. Until this moment, I didn’t realize how much I ached to have him like this. Now, I’m deliciously full, and I sob into his mouth as my body desperately attempts to accommodate his girth.
With a hand on my hip, he urges me to rise over him. I retreat until only the tip remains inside me, and then he bucks his hips up, driving home again.
Together, we build a perfect, synchronous rhythm. I only falter when I realize he’s staring at my naked breasts, and my arms instinctively rise to cover them. I’ve never considered myself sexy.
Efficient. Practical. Ruthless. Those are the traits of a good capo.
I don’t, however, think they’re the qualities of a desirable woman. Not the kind that Marco is used to anyway. He’s always had a buffet of femininity at his fingertips to satisfy his every whim.
“Don’t hide from me, principessa.” His voice is hoarse, on the verge of pleading. It drags me back to the here and now. “Not when I’ve waited so long to see you just like this.” His throat flexes, and one large hand comes up to frame my cheek. “You’re fucking perfect.”
He sounds wrecked, and I sway toward him, entwining my arms back around his neck. I hold his gaze as he starts again, this time moving slowly and deliberately.
His hand slips down between my breasts to circle my waist, guiding me into a punishing pace that extracts every ounce of pleasure from me that it can before pulling me back from the brink just as release closes in.
“Eyes on me, Bianca.”
Every thrust stokes the embers of my need into flames that grow by the second. My eyelashes flutter as I try to maintain some semblance of control, but the way he rams into me like he’s proving a point steals my ability to reason, even with myself.
It’s both forbidden and comforting, and I hate that I don’t know which enthralls me more. I draw patterns down his arms with my nails, momentarily forgetting his wound as the first ripple of my orgasm starts to dance through my middle.
“Marco—” My voice is panicked, and my body jerks as I try and fail to reclaim the tempo I lost.
“You’re so beautiful when your pussy chokes my cock.” He trails soft kisses down my neck. “Come for me, mi amore.”
The ripples transform into quaking waves that seize my entire body. My climax rockets through me, firing every nerve and triggering a sharp cry from my throat. Marco’s speed quickens, filling me until pleasure is all I am and all I’ll ever be.
The filthy wet noises and slap of his balls against my bare skin wipe me clear of shame, of dignity.
I writhe beneath him like a wild thing, my inner walls pulsating around his length.
With a broken groan, he rips out of me. His own orgasm hits, and his body spasms violently as his cum shoots across my lower belly.
A deafening quiet follows. Lying exposed beneath him leaves my emotions even more tangled than they were before. I hate how easily he dismantles my defenses, yet I crave the silence it brings to my mind.
Seeking an anchor, I rest my hand against his sweat-slicked ribs, waiting for the cutting remark, the typical Marco behavior meant to rile my temper and make me regret the last ten minutes.
Instead, he tumbles sideways onto the bed like a felled oak tree, unconscious.
Disbelief replaces the tension that drains from my shoulders. I glance from his peaceful face to the ceiling above us, releasing a long, slow sigh. At least when he’s asleep, I don’t have to pretend I’m not completely under his spell.
I can’t wait to explain this to the nurse once she returns in the morning to check on him.
Marco pulled his new stitches and had to get his arm rebandaged. The nurse gave him strict instructions to rest, and Luca and Zo had to cart him to his bedroom before entrusting me to see he behaves himself.
Carefully, I curl up with him under his sheets, relishing the sheer life that radiates from every inch of him.
I’m not sure how long I doze before the phone on the bedside table vibrates. I nearly drop it in my haste to check the notification, but when I click, I don’t see Livia’s name.
I see Aldo’s.
S failed. The cops are on his ass, and Councilors have come to ask questions about the hit. You’ve got two weeks to get the book before Livia walks down the aisle.
My relief is tempered by the knowledge that Silenzio isn’t my only problem. Two weeks. Two weeks to find the book and ensure Livia doesn’t get married off to a monster who’ll kill her.
I alert my sister’s extraction team about the change of plan. If Livia goes missing, Aldo will hunt her to the ends of the earth. No safe house I send her to will be enough to protect her, and I don’t have any allies who would willingly fight the Contis on mine and Livia’s behalf.
Father doesn’t know that I left to warn Marco. Not yet, anyway. So, why didn’t the assassin tell him? Did he just not have the chance with the cops on his tail? I can’t think of any other reason why he wouldn’t alert Aldo to his daughter’s betrayal.
That brings me to another question. Who the hell called the police?
Marco and I were alone at Swarmer last night, and his own staff at the manor treated his wound.
If the police are looking for Silenzio because of the attack in the gym—the sloppy attack at the gym—it’s only a matter of time before they start searching for his target.
None of this would have happened if Silenzio had just stuck to the script. Guns aren’t part of his MO, so why the switch in protocol? I wish I knew, but it’s well after midnight, and I’m so tired that I can barely see straight.
For now, I need some rest.
The shit will still be hitting the fan tomorrow.