25. Marco
Marco
When I open my eyes, every inch of me aches, and the glowing halo around everything suggests that I have a concussion. Wouldn’t be the first time I woke up to one.
After a moment, I hear running water. Someone’s taking a shower in the bathroom, and the heady scent of plum blossoms tells me exactly who. The flashes infiltrating my brain stiffen my dick instantly.
My wife’s needy mewls, the way her perfect tits bounced while I fucked into her, how she milked me as she came…that’s all permanently ingrained in my memory. I roll my head into the pillows, inhaling the remnants of her. She’s like an addiction, our push and pull a game I can’t get enough of.
But more lingers beneath the surface. She’s not just a marble stone to break anymore, and I can no longer deny how our relationship has altered.
The fear in her eyes when she arrived at the Swarmer last night to warn me comes back to me with startling clarity.
We share an undeniable sexual attraction, but her concern for my life… that’s something else entirely.
I climb to my feet too quickly and wince as my shoulder complains. Shit. I collapse back onto the bed, my head hanging as my mind grows darker.
The old Marco would have been drunk by dinner and completely plastered by the time Bianca found me at the gym.
My lips twist. I thought I’d changed, at least a little, over the last month or so, but apparently I’m still just as much of a fuck-up as ever.
I’m lucky I didn’t get Bianca killed last night. That guy aimed a gun at her head.
As soon as the thought occurs to me, I scowl.
Wait a minute.
While it’s true that I would’ve been too drunk to protect her, I shouldn’t even want to. Ever since the night we went to the ballet, though, viewing Bianca as the enemy has become more difficult. I shouldn’t concern myself with her safety, yet I want to anyway.
Standing up for her in front of Aldo is one thing—even at her very worst, Bianca could never come too close to that piece of shit on his good day —but they’re both still Contis. I shouldn’t care whether the Ice Princess lives or dies.
But I do. Too much.
This is getting dangerous.
While last night is hazy in places, I do remember one thing.
I jumped in front of a bullet for her.
My body just acted without my brain’s consent.
The smart thing would be to put some space between us. I don’t know what’s going on with me lately, but I know Bianca’s at fault.
As if I conjured her, the water shuts off.
A moment later, the bathroom door opens.
My wife strolls into the bedroom with her wet hair already twisted into a high bun.
As she fastens the last buttons on one of her signature suits, the peekaboo glimpse of her breast eats at my already flagging restraint.
Once she notices I’m awake, she rushes to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?” Her fingers brush my cheek and arm before hovering near the bandages. She stops just shy of touching them and instead sits on the mattress beside me. “Do you need anything? Some water? Ibuprofen?”
“Bianca, about last night…” I hesitate, searching for the right words.
“It was a mistake.” Meeting my eyes, she finishes the sentiment for me. I swear she almost seems grateful that I’m the one broaching the topic.
“I should have made sure we had boundaries in place before we crossed that line.”
She looks at me wide-eyed for half a second before her mask slips into place. “Right. Of course.”
I scan the contours of her face, frustrated by her retreat. I get the sense she only agreed based on practicality rather than our mutual desire. Of course, that’s the prudent course of action. Anything else draws us into risky territory.
My wife primly smooths her skirt, retreating behind her carefully cultivated image of control. “Boundaries keep an arrangement like ours from becoming…messy. Or, rather, messier. Which is why I believe it’s important that we’re on the same page from here on out.”
“Arrangement?”
“We take what we need from one another physically without getting attached. After all, we’re both stuck in this marriage.” A bitter note briefly enters her voice. “Might as well make the best of the situation.”
Denying myself pleasure just isn’t like me, no matter my earlier conviction. If Bianca prefers for me to treat her as nothing more than a body, so be it. Never mind the sharp, unwanted prick in my chest. This is for the best. For both of us.
I nudge her hip with my foot and wink. “Are you sure? You know how irresistible I can be.”
If anyone should be saying that, it’s her. I know damn well that Bianca could easily become an addiction. Especially now that she’s revealing more of the real woman beneath the facade she wears like armor.
Bianca moves to stand, and I grab her wrist without thinking.
The hot jolt of agony in my shoulder catches me off guard, but I still glare when Bianca tries to draw away.
Wincing, she settles back down, close enough for me to touch her without straining this time. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I promise you I had no idea what Aldo was planning until after dinner last night.”
Crazy or not, I take Bianca at her word. Last night, she chose me. Over her father’s orders, over her sister’s safety. No one’s ever put me first before, and the thought triggers an unsettling sense of vulnerability. Almost like a good kind of pain.
Bianca has no reason to lie about her involvement, not when saving me puts a stain on her reputation as the Ice Princess.
What surprises me is Aldo’s willingness to risk the Council’s wrath by hiring an assassin in the first place. The hit failed, leaving me free to expose the family’s double-cross and blatant defiance of orders.
Except, that could hurt Bianca. Just because I believe she’s innocent of the scheme doesn’t mean the Council will. She stands to benefit from my death and is still an acting capo for the Conti family. In the grand scheme of things, it’s stranger that she wasn’t involved in the attempted hit.
The pain dulls, and I reluctantly let her go, my fingers uncurling one by one.
As she studies my bandages, I scour her features. “I know why I want to kill him, but why does Aldo want me dead so badly?”
In the aftermath, the fact that her father tried to off me is more annoying than anything else. It’s like someone you hate saying that they hate you first.
Way to steal my thunder, asshole.
As she turns away, my hands skim up Bianca’s spine, teasing the edges of her blouse where it meets skin.
She shifts, biting her lip. “I…have no idea.” Damn, I could listen to the way her breath hitches when I touch her forever. Somehow, I’m able to still my questing fingers.
I need to focus. Not just for my sake but for hers. “Whatever the reason, he won’t stop just after one failure.”
Bianca’s delicate jaw clenches. “No. He won’t. Father can be…relentless.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and I want to pry the story out of her, but the boundaries we just set means I can’t.
Instead, I try to pretend not knowing doesn’t bother the hell out of me. “I don’t suppose you have any inkling as to what his next moves are?”
Bianca rakes her fingers through her hair, freeing the strands from the bun so she can detangle them. Not long ago, she wouldn’t have let me see her looking anything less than flawless. Seeing her like this, stripped of her armor again, feels more intimate than the sex.
“Our top priority right now is figuring out who exactly attacked us last night. It’s the only way to uncover who Aldo’s aligned himself with and what he’s after.”
I drag my eyes away from her hair and frown. “I thought you said he hired Il Silenzio?”
“That’s what Father told me, but the assassin’s method was all wrong.” Her hands still as she stares at the bed, deep in thought. “Il Silenzio cuts brake lines and slips poison into your bowl of Cheerios. He doesn’t do gunfights on Fifth Avenue.”
I start to tuck a strand of wet hair behind her ear but stop. The tender gesture would threaten those lines we need to maintain. Instead, my hand clenches into a fist and falls back to my side. “So, you don’t think it was him?”
She shakes her head. “I doubt it. If we can figure out the real culprit, that might at least shed some light on why he didn’t tell Father about my presence last night during what should have been a cut-and-dry job.”
I scowl at the implication and lean back against my pillows, draping my good arm over my eyes. My head is killing me, and it’s getting tougher to stay awake. “Silenzio or not, he’s going to be a bitch to hunt down.”
“We could…check the Library.” My arm drops from my eyes, but Bianca’s attention is focused on switching her bun into a low ponytail.
“If anyone has a record of where he usually holes up, it’ll be the Council.
If we’re lucky, we can track down former clients or suspected victims as well and compile a list of people to question. ”
Her suggestion parallels my idea almost perfectly.
I intended to recruit Bianca to help me infiltrate the Library for records on the Council’s elusive gun, and this sign of how closely our minds align fills me with some unnamable emotion.
“Love the enthusiasm, principessa, but not even bosses can waltz into the Library making demands.”
A slow, brilliant smile curves her lips.
“What if we knew someone who could get us in? Someone you could…charm into looking the other way?”
The name surfaces in my mind, coating my tongue with a bitter taste. Zanni. The orchestrator of our marriage is also the keeper of the Council’s deepest archives.
I close my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Tell me there’s someone else.”
Bianca doesn't smile this time, her unblinking gaze cast in iron. “There isn’t, Marco. We’re officially out of choices.”