Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FINA
“Are dicks supposed to be pretty?”
Bianca and Camilla freeze like I just asked if pasta counts as a vegetable. We’re knee-deep in decluttering Aunt Teresa’s apartment, in the lull between the lunch and dinner, and I decide now’s the time for a deep analysis of male anatomy?
Because obviously, nothing says productivity like chatting about pretty dicks while sorting lace doilies.
Bianca gives me a look that’s equal parts amused and knowing.
Camilla drops a box of chafing dishes with a clatter. “Whose dick?” she blurts, eyes wide.
Our resident connoisseur smirks. “Handsome face, handsome dick. But if he’s got yacht-sized feet? Game over.”
We burst into the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt and your cheeks ache. Though seriously, if I hear about Dante’s big dick one more time, I’ll never be able to make eye contact without losing it.
“Fina.” Camilla elbows me like we’re twelve. “Spill. Whose dick?”
“It was just a general question,” I lie, unconvincingly.
Camilla narrows her eyes. “It’s him, isn’t it? Dante’s associate?”
Damn. My mouth really needs a better filter. “Who?”
“The guy you doused in booze and slapped like he insulted Zia Teresa’s lasagna? The hot mafioso you ghosted last time he came to the restaurant?”
I fight the urge to groan. “I’m asking because I saw one online.”
Camilla gasps. “You saw … a pretty dick?”
“Porn?” Bianca’s eyes gleam. “Love this for you.”
I exhale. Crisis averted. Sort of.
Bianca pumps her fist in the air like she’s courtside at a basketball game. “If she’s into hung porn stars, I say cheers.”
“I wasn’t judging,” Camilla insists, a bit breathless. “I was processing.”
I get it. I really do. Especially since I’ve been mentally replaying Renzo’s shower scene like it’s my favorite guilty pleasure. Water sliding down every sharp line of muscle. His head tilted back as he strokes himself.
That dick is a dangerous weapon. And so is the man attached to it. A fighter. A charmer. A walking, talking bad idea wrapped up with temptation.
I already had a taste—a messy, deliciously wild dip into insanity—when he rid me of my virginity. It was a mind-blowing experience, one I’ve forced into lockdown and shoved deep into the back of my mind because what followed made the memory too painful to revisit.
Once was enough.
There’s no reason to explore seconds.
“Break time,” Bianca declares, and vanishes into the kitchen.
We abandon the boxes and flop around the coffee table, and minutes later, Bianca returns with three glasses of red from Aunt Teresa’s stash.
“We have to work,” Camilla grumbles, snatching her glass anyway.
Wine is exactly what I need to cleanse my palate and drive Renzo out of my brain.
We drink, talk, laugh. There’s something magic about Italian women, the way they speak with their hands, wear their hearts on their sleeves, and live each moment with unapologetic emotion.
But as I grow closer to these two beautiful human beings, I recognize that on the surface, we may seem different, but beneath the accents and customs, we are made of the same things.
We love fiercely. Protect what’s ours. Endure what we must. Don’t take shit.
Our friendship flows as easily as wine. It’s a gift, really.
After everything I’ve endured, after building walls so high no one could reach me, I didn’t think closeness was possible. I was forced to keep people at a distance, to present the illusion of the perfect mafia princess while I slowly was dying inside.
But here I am, laughing without hesitation, sharing without fear. Somehow, in this new environment, I’m blossoming into the woman I was always meant to be.
Problem is, I’m lying to them. And it doesn’t sit well.
The wall between my past and present has been breached.
Dante and Renzo know the truth, and that’s two people too many.
Dante promised I’d be under his protection, but I’ve been in that world too long not to understand that things can unravel on a dime.
I can’t open up completely, not now. I won’t risk everything I’m building, the life I’m making, their friendship.
My new life deserves to be unblemished by the past.
Damn you, Renzo, for making this impossible.
I drain my drink and place the empty glass on the table.
Camilla eyes me, amused. “Wow. You tossed that back like you have something to forget.”
Currently, someone to forget.
Bianca scoots forward. “So, since Fina shared, I’ll do the same. Guess what I’m into lately? Role-playing. So far, I’ve been a maid, a pirate, and a pole dancer.”
What in God’s name have I unleashed?
“I’m considering greeting the new guy I’m dating at my apartment dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. You know, wearing nothing but a cape, heels, and a basket.” She drops her voice. “Well, hello there, you big bad wolf.”
That night out in wigs definitely wasn’t her first time.
“You think it’s too much for a second date?” she asks.
“Ummm,” Camilla hums.
But what does “too much” even mean? Who gets to decide where the line is drawn? People are complex. There’s no cookie-cutter answer, no universal measure for what’s acceptable.
Harder.
My cheeks flush. Bossing Renzo around was a rush I didn’t expect.
I tapped into something bold and unapologetic, a side of myself I never knew I had.
And how could I have known? I’d been one week away from losing everything, including a part of me I hadn’t even met yet.
If Carlo’s dinner hadn’t included strawberries, I’d be his wife right now.
Sex with a man like him wouldn’t have awakened me, it would have erased me.
But fate intervened.
God spared me and gave me another shot at living fully, despite my desires being a little twisted.
You stalked him for years. And whether you like it or not, he’s part of your new life. You basically shackled him to you. Why not … “Why not explore it?” My heart pounds. “While you’re young and eager to test limits. Why not be the Superwoman in your own bedroom?”
“You think so?” Bianca asks.
“I think you show that Big Bad Wolf exactly what you want.”
Everything stills.
Why not? Why the heck not, Fina?
“Bondage is a huge kink,” I confess.
Camilla gasps.
Bianca’s eyes light up. “Have you been tied up?”
I bite my lip.
“She has,” Camilla whispers, her tone full of reverence.
“Twice,” I admit. “And once, I had my girlfriend tie me up so I could send pictures to a guy. Total thirst trap.”
“Aren’t you naughty?” Bianca purrs. “This is good.”
“Did it work?” Camilla asks, practically vibrating.
“Work?”
“Did you get his attention?”
“Like a charm.” I smile, remembering nearly running Renzo over in my father’s car. I crushed on him so hard for years. He was my first. My only.
Until he wasn’t.
But if that’s true, why follow him around Rome? Why the urgent push to rush back to the farm?
“I like to watch,” Camilla murmurs.
My lips part.
Bianca’s eyebrows hit the ceiling.
We both stare at Camilla, who suddenly looks like she just shared the secrets of the universe.
“I only worked up the nerve to do it once,” she shyly admits.
“There’s this club with a back room …” Bianca bursts out.
I only half hear her. My mind is tangled in a fight between “I shouldn’t” versus “why not?”
He’s the worst man to be in a relationship with—or nearly marry.
But the perfect man to experiment with.
If I can’t tell my friends the whole truth, then at the very least, I need to be honest with myself.
Why not push boundaries with a man who has none?
Excitement licks up my spine as I exit the bus. I hate it, almost as much as I despise the man handcuffed in the barn. Still, my pace doesn’t slow until I’m standing outside, trying to compose myself.
You’re better than this, Fina.
Breath finally calm, I push the door open and slip inside.
The smell of hay greets me, a fresh country scent I’m beginning to get used to. Sunsets amber rays filter between the wooden slats, and a momentary pang of guilt hits me. Penned like a dog and hours spent alone, he must be pulling his hair out.
I approach his form sprawled out in the hay. Even asleep, a soft smug smile softens his features. Withdrawal is brutal, but he seems at peace right now. For his sake, I hope his issue is more about getting clean than staying that way.
I drop the tote carrying tonight’s special, a few side dishes, and dessert on the bench, then inch forward and nudge him with my foot.
He’s out cold.
“Wake up,” I demand.
Not even a flutter of his dark lashes.
I wait three seconds, then do it again.
He shoots up, grabs my ankle, and yanks me off-balance. My arms flail, a sharp gasp tears from my throat, and then I crash onto his chest with a thud. Before I can blink, he rolls and pins me beneath him, his weight pressing me into the straw.
His broad smirk is close enough to taste. “I’m awake now.”
In that exact moment, I realize I need to rethink what I’m getting myself into. His pretty dick has made me reckless.
Hands on his chest, I prepare to shove him off. But he’s warm, and muscled, and so sexy even my brain cells melt.
I hate that with one touch, he’s got me dumbstruck.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, and time stills.
He’s going to kiss me.
Do I want him to?
My pulse races, and I swear I’m sweating. Kissing is far too intimate, and exactly the opposite goal of my wining and dining him tonight.
What do I do? Slap his face? Grab his dick?
“Your dinner’s getting cold,” I lie.
His eyes light up. “The dinner you carried on a thirty-minute bus ride from Rome?”
Truth is, the tote is insulated and the food piping hot when I placed it inside.
He smooths an errant lock of hair from my cheek.
I still beneath his touch.
“You’re gorgeous when you’re flustered.”
“Get off me.”
“Kiss me first.”
I stiffen. “Not on your life.”
“Okay,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him. Impossible. It’s not in his nature to give up so easily.
“If not on my life, how about my death?”
“What?”
“Because I’ll die if you don’t kiss me.”
Unbelievable. “You’re twisting a simple expression and trying to make it into some kind of cheesy pickup line.”
“And?”
My heart thunders in my chest. This man, with all his antics, will be the death of me.
“Fina.” He says my name with such relish, always has.
My response rolls off my lips. “Don’t Fina me.”
“I’ve spent the day thinking about you, here, taking advantage of me while I lie here helpless and vulnerable.
” He lowers his head and licks me from chin to ear.
“You riding me,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against my upper lobe and lightly flicking his tongue across the inner edge.
“You being a naughty fucking girl using me while I’m shackled and powerless.
” He places a soft kiss against my temple. “Come on. I dare you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block him out. But he stirs something in me no one else ever has. Raw desire laced in kink, to be exact.
Should I kiss Renzo?
His eyes gleam with challenge, daring me to act.
This is a game. He doesn’t think I’ll do it.
Hell with that.
I snap my eyes open. His grin falters just before I lunge, my mouth crashing into his.
I smile against his lips when he tenses in surprise.
Our tongues collide, wild and desperate and filthy, and I lose myself in the chaos.
I kiss him like he already belongs to me, like every inch of me has been waiting for this moment.
He tastes dark and addictive, a flavor I’ve been starving for.
Is the kiss intimate?
If there were a Richter scale for measuring intimacy in a kiss, this one would shatter it. Nothing about it is gentle or hesitant. It’s a collision of mouths and tongues, breath stolen, hearts entangling into one knot.
This is us in a kiss.
He growls, low and primal, then yanks me closer with those cuffed hands.
His cock presses into my stomach, sending a flood of heat between my thighs. But it’s my name, which he groans like a man possessed, that does me in. “Fina.”
My knees feel weak, like I’m going to swoon. Instead, I go to battle, rolling my hips, slow and deliberate, his body trembling beneath mine. “I should leave you like this,” I murmur against his lips. “Hard. Helpless. Desperate.”
His eyes darken to an impossible shade of blue. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” I trail kisses down his jaw, then lick just beneath his ear.
He growls again, straining against the cuffs, and I swear the chains creak with how much he wants me.
Power rushes through me, egging me on. I slide my hand down his chest, slow and steady, grazing his abs until I reach the waistband of his pants.
Then his stomach growls.
I freeze.
He curses. “Fuck.”
“You’re hungry.”
Our eyes lock. “Fucking starving.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks. Does he mean for food or me? Because I need him to mean me. I crave that it’s so. I dart my tongue across my lips, and his gaze follows the motion like he’s tracking prey.
I can still taste him.
Suddenly, it hits me. No. No. No. One damn kiss, and I tossed my heart down the rabbit hole. I’m a lost and confused Alice, and he’s for sure the Mad Hatter.
Let that kiss mean something more than a mistake.
“That was fun,” he says, voice low, rough, and distant. Pulling away like what just happened was another day at the office. For him, it likely was. If he really, truly wanted me, he’d be thinking Fina and not pasta.
“Should we eat?” he asks. His question’s a slap in the face.
He didn’t kiss me back to claim me.
He kissed me back because it was easy.
A flush creeps up my neck, hot and sharp. I feel ridiculous. Angry. Twenty all over again.
What was I thinking?
Do I even know this man at all?
He’s all rough edges and mixed signals. Every time I start believing something’s real, he slips through my fingertips.
I offer him my frostiest look.
His forehead furrows into a deep V.
Good. Feel that.
My voice is calm when I speak, not reflecting the disappointment eating me up inside. “Your dinner is getting cold.”
I came here simply for sex. Forgetting to consider one important truth: nothing between Renzo and me has ever been simple.