Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
FINA
Later that evening, after my prozia turns in for the night, I slip out the back door with a plate of leftovers and a pulse that’s already misbehaving.
Even in the dark, I feel him. That stare—hot, steady, impossible to ignore.
“I thought you forgot about me,” he drawls.
As if. As if I could erase him like a scuff mark on a shoe.
“My aunt was home all day,” I say, walking closer and setting the plate down on a stool. “Hold on. There’s an old lantern here somewhere.”
I fumble around, cursing the pitch-black barn, until I find the lantern and light it.
Warm light spills over him, and I stumble, distracted.
Damn it, I should’ve kept us in the dark.
Light makes things clearer, when all I want to do is keep my distance.
In and out, a nurse with her patient. He thrives when things are murky, so who am I to change that?
Better keep my distance. This way, he’ll never disappoint me again.
By the time I reach him, he’s already devouring the meal.
Guilt stirs in my chest, but I smother it. He put himself here. He deserves every last consequence.
I settle onto a nearby haystack and glance around. He’s turned this place into a makeshift living space. Hay bales are arranged like a modified prison cell, complete with couch, table, even a high stack below a window he can’t reach, being chained as he is. He’s been busy and is restless.
A reminder that dangerous men don’t do well in cages.
“I see you’ve been nesting,” I mutter, my lips twitching before I can stop them.
He pauses midbite. A thick strand of fettuccine Alfredo clings to his lips.
My breath catches.
Even filthy, wild and half-feral, he radiates sex. It pours off him in waves. And I hate that my body responds like it’s starving—for more than a lick of his fettuccine.
His eyes lock on mine, slow and sure as he drags the pasta between his lips. He licks the sauce away like he knows what he’s doing.
And damn him, he does.
Heat rushes up my neck. I rip my eyes away, but it’s too late.
He knows exactly his effect on me.
“Keep feeding me like this,” he says, his voice gravel and honey, “and I might never leave.”
“Thanks for recognizing my hospitality.”
He snorts, unbothered, and keeps eating.
I wait until he finishes before revealing the dessert, two slices of orange polenta cake, rich and sticky with caramel drizzle. I’d lied earlier, claimed I was full when Aunt Teresa brought it to the kitchen table. But I saved a piece for me, and him.
Hospitable, I tell myself. I can’t send him back to Dante malnourished.
His groan after the first bite nearly undoes me. “God, this is fucking insane.”
“Coming from you, that carries weight.”
He smirks like he knows exactly what I meant.
“What’s the chance of a shower?” he asks, licking the last of the caramel off his fork.
“Tomorrow,” I say too quickly.
I don’t mention my aunt will be staying in the city. That it’s just the two of us now. On this farm. Alone.
All day, starting tomorrow.
And all night.
A shiver slides down my spine.
He’s filthy. Grimy. Gross. It’s unnerving how every part of me is strung tight and humming.
We finish dessert in a silence that makes my heart pound. Him watching me. Me pretending not to feel the burn of it everywhere, my horror in myself growing.
The sooner he recovers, the better.
Then he can be on his way, and I can put my ridiculous obsession with him to rest.
RENZO
“Did Dante say how long I’m stuck here?”
She shrugs. “Until you’re sober.”
My jaw tightens. I’ve got shit to do. First, get to Massimo Grassi before he thinks I’ve ghosted him. Clear the garbage he’s been fed and offer help tracking down who really killed his old man.
A day alone in the barn drove me batshit stir-crazy.
Worse still, having Fina close last night was a whole different type of torture. Why she’d saved a slice of cake to eat with me is puzzling. Hospitality, my ass. Either she’s warming up to me or toying with me.
Doesn’t matter. I crave her company.
“I need to speak with Dante.”
Her hands find her hips, and for a heartbeat, I believe it’s a no. “You can shower inside and use my cell phone. But I’m warning you”—she waves a finger at me—“don’t even think about escaping. I’ve too much riding on you.”
Sucking on her lower lip, she leans close to unlock my bindings.
“I’d rather you be riding me,” I purr into her ear.
She jumps back like she’s been burned, but in the light of day, her blush tells a different story. “Follow me,” she says in a rush. Grasping hold of a hay bale, she stalks off.
I roll to my feet, then hurry after her.
Sunlight floods my face, a fierce warmth I’ve been starving for. I pause and inhale the fresh farm air.
Freedom from the barn and my bullshit hits like a clean shot of adrenaline. It feels fucking good. My body’s lighter. My head is clearer. Nothing holding me down. No cravings chewing at my insides.
First thing I need is a shower. Second, a phone call. Third, burning these goddamn boxers before they start walking on their own.
She stops halfway to the house, shifting the bale in her arms.
I move in. “Let me get that.”
She hugs it to her chest. “I’m good.”
Something’s off. Like she’s alarmed, on edge, probably because I’m no longer chained … “Look, Fina. I’m fucking grateful—”
“Hurry,” she cuts me off, hauls the bale up the steps, drops it with a thud, and disappears inside.
I consider heading down the driveway and disappearing into the horizon. Bolting. But I don’t.
Once inside, she leads me upstairs into a bedroom.
“Found some men’s clothes that might fit.” She rifles inside a drawer, and then tosses a sweater, sweatpants, and boxers onto the bed.
“I’m not wearing another dude’s underwear.”
Her expression fills with disbelief. “Unbelievable.”
“No. Not happening.”
“I found you at a kink club, half-dressed and buried beneath a pile of naked bodies.”
“Still not happening.”
“One of them was a dude.”
Well, shit.
But something in her expression gives me pause, and I examine her more closely. Eyes darkening. Flushed skin. Jesus, she fucking loves the idea.
I test the waters, and share a truth. “Not the first time.”
Yeah, I’m right. The dirty little kinkster.
She clears her throat, drops her gaze. “Shower’s in there. I left a razor on the sink.”
Then she surprises the hell out of me again by sitting on the edge of the bed.
I cock a brow. “You staying?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Should I?”
Ouch. But like respect, trust is earned. Don’t I know it well? But Fina? Earning her trust will take more than extreme measures. It’ll take something closer to bleeding out.
I’ve already bled for her once.
No stopping me now.
I turn away and strip down.
“The bathroom’s right there,” she says from behind me, voice tight.
“What did you mean, back in the barn, that you’ve got too much riding on me?”
She whispers her answer. “Dante offered me protection if I found you.”
I frown. “The ‘in his bed’ kind?”
“Protection from my father. I’ll never be at his mercy again.”
“I’ll protect you.”
She sighs. “Renzo. You can’t even protect yourself.”
I’m butthurt she thinks so little of me.
How quickly her perception would change if she learned about Vito Cardini.
Would she believe I’m this fucking useless if she knew the truth behind Carlo Accardo’s death?
Naked, I kick away the offensive garments, and achieve a small victory as her gasp fills the air.
Likes what she sees? Good. She better buckle the fuck up. Call it spite. Call it payback. She underestimated me, and now she’ll suffer the consequences.
I give her a show, wiggling my ass as I walk to the bathroom. In my present condition, I wouldn’t wish myself on my worst enemy, let alone the misguided kinkster on the bed.
Shower first.
Show to follow.
I slide open the curtain, turn on the shower, then test the water with my hand before stepping into the tub. Hot water rains down on me, and I take my time lathering up, glancing her way a few times as she bites her lip and watches.
Always spying on me, isn’t she?
“You there, babe?” I call out, pretending ignorance.
“I’m not your babe.”
That’s my girl. Not willing to give an inch. But fuck knows I’m all about taking a mile. Multiple, especially if the end result is getting off.
I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke. Rinsing off the dirt first, then adding pressure, squeezing, stroking.
A glance tells me she’s still on the bed, knuckles white, eyes locked on me.
Eating this shit up.
My dick swells with goddamn pride.
“So, what would you like to do today?” I ask, cool as can be.
Her words are drunk slow. “Can’t we chat … um … afterward?”
“Can’t wait. Besides, my conversation with Dante will be predictably long.” I thrust my hips, now riding my hand, intense pleasure taking over.
“You deserve his … oh, OH!”
I relish her excitement as it bleeds into my own.
Eyes closed, I lean into it, fueling it with thoughts of Fina. Taking me deep. Letting me in. Taking what she wants. Letting go.
“Tell me to go harder,” I command.
I’m met with silence.
Scattered like a little scared rabbit, didn’t she?
I hear her clear her throat, then, “Harder.”
I smirk. Thought I lost her.
Her next words are louder. “Harder, I said.”
Fuck yeah. “That’s right. Boss me around. Show me how you want it.”
Her voice cuts through the steam. “I still hate you.”
“Noted.”
“Good. Now face me.”
Eyes still closed, I turn.
“Hold it out. Like you’re offering it.”
I wrap my fingers around the base and extend it toward her.
“Now smack it into your palm. Hard.”
I obey. Once. Twice. Three times. Each one driving me closer. My knees grow weak. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this good. “You’re in control. Say I can come.”
“Not yet,” she informs me. “Stroke it.”
Control teeters. The burn is better than any high I’ve chased. I see her on her knees, lips parted, ropes biting her skin. “Jesus. Fucking hell,” I groan.
“Okay. Come.”
The breathless note in her command is the last push I need. Free hand pressed forward for balance, I spill, painting an F into the shower wall while groaning her name.
Minutes pass. I lean against the tile, panting, then call out, rejuvenated and ready to spar some more. “You still there, babe?”
Nothing.
She’s gone.
But if she believes this is it, she’s mistaken.
This is our new beginning.