Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RENZO
As expected, the conference call later in the afternoon with my father is brutal and his idea of problem-solving all blood and bullets.
“My best shooters are en route to Sicily. We’ll storm the house, flush him out, and take him down.”
“Massimo will put a bullet in Dante the second it starts.”
“If Massimo hopes to preserve the Grassi bloodline, he’ll quickly realize the other Cosa Nostra families are behind us. So he surrenders, or we erase the Grassi name from the map.”
I stare at the ceiling. Do I believe my father rallied the Cosa Nostra behind him? Probably. Their investments likely surged overnight with the promise of more wealth. Easy money is his specialty, when he’s not butchering rivals.
Except he’s underestimating Massimo. A lot can happen to change the outcome; Dante’s death, Massimo pulling an ace card.
I can’t pin down my old friend’s play. They think he’s lashing out and acting on emotion. I know from experience that man has the emotional capacity of granite. He wanted the spotlight, and now he’s in it. To what purpose, is the big question?
I run my fingertips across my jaw. If I hadn’t screwed up, I’d already have the answer. Let’s hope his motherfucking window of opportunity is reopened, or my old friend will be whispering his secrets to the worms.
“When?” my brother demands.
“To be determined after the men are assembled,” my father answers.
“I should be there.”
“You and your brother both. The world needs reminding why you don’t fuck with us Beneventi.”
My brother and I lock eyes. This isn’t just about eliminating an enemy. It’s about sending a message. It’s about us flexing and proving that the Beneventi twins are lethal in our own right.
We’re not simply earners but enforcers. A double threat, and in more than one sense.
I dip my head at my brother, acknowledging I get it.
He nods back, hungry for another chance to prove himself.
Right—daddy issues.
But this time, I don’t hold it against him.
This time, I acknowledge I carry around the same bullshit.
It’s been a long day, and I’m coiled tight, knowing worse days are coming. The casita is dark and quiet when I enter. I’m exhausted after hours of listening to my father barking orders and laying out his plan to crush Grassi. Same old tactics. Nothing new and improved on.
I expect Fina to be asleep.
Am I tempted to crawl in beside her?
Hell yes. Lunch was torture. That tiny white bikini was a crime against my sanity.
Every laugh made her tits bounce. Every sarcastic jab at Sandro made her glow.
Every slow shift in her seat gave me a better view of her thighs.
I’ve imagined using my teeth to peel that bikini off her and my tongue to trace its imprint.
I palm myself, hard at the thought.
But she’s still healing.
The couch and my fist will have to do.
I cross the room, stripping as I go, clothes hitting the floor in a trail behind me. I’m about to collapse onto the couch when I hear it.
A whisper.
“Renzo.”
I freeze. Her voice is soft, sultry, and close.
I reach for the light and flick it on.
Holy fucking shit.
Fina is facedown over the bench in the corner, still in that wicked white bikini. Her arms rest on the lower platform. Her ass, round and tight, is up. Her head turned just enough so our eyes meet. And on the floor, there’s a lineup of toys: flogger, rope, blindfold, a small blue vibrator.
I’m thunderstruck.
God, she’s magnificent. And just redefined every wet dream I’ve ever had.
What makes me even harder is the challenge and mischief in her eyes.
“Are you happy to see me, or is it just your dick?” she teases.
Her gaze drops.
The answer’s fucking obvious.
“Oh, babe. You’ve no idea how happy.” My voice is husky, raw. “But you’re about to find out.” I prowl toward her, slow and deliberate.
She bites her lip and smirks. My kind of woman, unafraid to ask for what she wants.
I grab the blindfold, the flogger, the vibrator, but abandon the rope. Restraining myself so she has time to heal, even though I’d love to unleash on her.
“Do you trust me?” I demand.
Our eyes lock, and a flicker of emotion crosses hers.
Her response is a punch to the chest. “Completely.”
She’s forgiven me.
I’m half-tempted to lift her off the bench, lay her out soft and slow on the couch, and make love to her until she can’t remember anything.
Whisper all the things I’ve never said out loud as I move inside her.
That I’ve never wanted anyone else. That it’s always been her.
That she’s mine. That she wrecks me in the best way.
How I fucking love her.
Well, shit.
The thought rocks me. I wait for denial to grip me.
It never comes.
“What are you waiting for?” she huffs, impatient. “Spank me already.”
A grin spreads across my face.
She’s tailor-made for me.
My girl wants to play?
Let’s play.
I set the flogger and vibrator aside and curl my fingers into her silky hair. I give it a slow tug, testing her, guiding her into the game. “Tell me something dirty. The filthier, the better.”
She gasps, half laughs, caught between nerves and excitement.
“I want the R.”
The R?
“Make me your canvas. Paint my skin with your come. Brand me as yours.”
It’s not filthy but smart. Feeding my kink back to me and fueling every savage instinct in me.
I slide the blindfold down her face, letting it fall into place over her eyes.
Her lashes flutter against the fabric.
“Are you going to tie me up first?”
My girl loves her some rope.
I lean in and breathe against her earlobe. “When the time’s right, I’ll bind you up beautifully and then suspend you from a hook. You’ll scream. You’ll come until you can’t remember your name. But tonight, we compromise.”
I brush my lips over her shoulder.
She squirms.
I land a soft smack on her ass. Not punishing. Just enough. Then wait for the anticipation to crawl up her spine. Five seconds. Ten.
She can’t help herself and breaks, shifting her body.
I smirk.
She’s mine to teach. Mine to torment.
I flick on the vibrator. The hum fills the air.
Her breath catches.
I smack her again. A little firmer. Then I pick up the flogger and move behind her, keeping her guessing.
Still, I wait.
There’s an art to foreplay. And I’m named after a goddamn master of eroticism.
Tonight, Fina will fall apart so slowly, she won’t know where she ends and I begin.
The bench has her at the perfect height and angle, and I take full advantage, running a finger from her knee to inner thigh, warming her to my touch.
She arches sideways, trying to get my finger on her clit.
I tap her inner thigh with the flogger’s handle, signaling her to spread them.
She does, and I reward her with a light glide of the vibrator across her sensitive nerve bundle.
Her hiss is music to my ears.
I sink down, needing a taste, and lick the same spot, the thin white bikini a barrier between her sweet pussy and my tongue. I’m not having it, and do what preoccupied much of my earlier thoughts, nipping the material with my teeth and, with a backward tug of the head, ripping the bikini off her.
Then I go to town, alternating between licking and driving inside her warmth and rolling the tip of my tongue against her sex.
“You could do that all day,” she moans.
Yeah, I damn well could.
I feast some more before amping up our play, stepping back, hiking her up by her hips and positioning her just so. I snap the leather flogger against her glistening lips. Her body jumps, nerve endings igniting into a coiled, delicious mess.
She gasps, a sharp, trembling sound that vibrates through me.
Every shiver, every quiver of muscle, every small catch in her breath tells me exactly how she’s burning—anticipation, defiance, hunger.
Her hands flex against nothing but air, searching, testing, aching for the source of her delicious torment.
The faint tilt of her head, the slight arch of her back, the way her chest rises and falls, all of it spurs me on.
I brush the handle against her.
The leather comes back wet.
With a wicked grin, I flick my wrist again and bring the flogger down across her ass, a second, sharper sting. She gasps, but before the sound fully leaves her lips, I slide the vibrator inside her, slow and deep.
She moans loud and primal.
Hard as steel, I let the toy hum inside her while I walk away, savoring her helpless little sounds. I check the drawers of a side table, rummage through a useless desk, then swing open the doors of the armoire.
Bing-fucking-go.
“Where are you?” Her voice trembles with frustration and need. “I want you. Not this toy.”
I find what I’m after and head back to her, the lube in one hand.
“I’m close,” she warns, voice high, breath catching.
I coat my fingers, before pressing one slick fingertip against the tight little star of her ass.
“You’re about to be full, baby. While that sweet pussy’s still throbbing around the vibrator, I’m going to fuck your other hole.
Unless …” I draw the word out, teasing, “you’d rather I kept flogging you until you beg. ”
“No,” she pants. “I want it. Please.”
Her words light something savage in me.
I take my time, adding more lube, fingers working her open. My hand shakes with restraint. I grab her hips, position myself, and push in slow, inch by inch, her body stretching and welcoming me.
The tight heat swallows me whole.
I nearly come on the spot.
“You like being stuffed full?” I growl, rocking into her with small grinding thrusts. “That’s your kink, isn’t it?”
“I love the thought of you, Renzo, getting off, your handsome face filled with lust as women … men … line up to pleasure you.”
Well, shit.
“Problem is”—her laugh is breathless and broken by a moan—“the idea of you with anyone else kills me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
My dick thickens as my heart swells. “You’re possessive.”
“Yes,” she admits, the word trembling with honesty. “So possessive.”
“I get it, babe,” I reply, voice raw with emotion. “So am I.”
The truth startles me. A man raised in sex clubs, who was keen on keeping things detached and impersonal. Always moving on, always chasing the next thrill, boredom nipping at my heels.
But this is different.
My feelings for Fina run deep. Always have, even when she was breathing down my neck and not allowing me the choice.
I love her.
I want to tell her but instead show her, picking up the rhythm until she’s arching her back and mewing my name.
Renzo. Renzo. Renzo.
I bury myself deep and hold, shaking from the force of it all.
She shudders, orgasm ripping through her like a storm.
Quickly sliding the vibrator free and easing the blindfold from her face, I fold over her, body soaked in sweat and pleasure, heart racing against her spine.
I may have blacked out, hard to say, but my pulse slows and the reality of where we are sets in. Her eyes flutter open as I scoop her up and carry her to bed.
“Renzo,” she whispers, voice soft and dreamy. “I think …”
I press a kiss to her temple. “Shhh. Sleep, baby. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I settle her under the covers, clean her up gently with a washcloth, then take care of myself before crawling in beside her.
Wrapped around her, heart still pounding, I close my eyes.
The afterglow is warm, deep, and unfamiliar.
I’m content, in a way I’ve never felt before.
FINA
I can’t keep my eyes off Renzo as he swims laps in the pool.
He glides through the water in a showcase of pure, brutal beauty.
His muscles ripple, his back arches, and his shoulders cut through the surface like he owns it.
I’m practically salivating. I want to lick the water beading down his chest, run my fingers through his wet hair, nuzzle into his wicked jawline.
He’s gorgeous, sexy, and radiantly alive.
And healthy—the struggles he’s endured long behind him.
I can’t tell if I want to climb all over him, or drown in him. Maybe both.
“Think it’s too early for a drink?” Riley asks. “You look like you need one.”
“I think I’m in trouble.”
“Trouble is that man’s middle name.” She laughs, then lowers her voice. “No offense, but his mind makes my nipples hard.”
“You should see what his dick can do.” With a shake of my head, I drag my eyes away. “But seriously, what do I do?”
“Do?” She spins on the lounge chair and lifts her sunglasses from her eyes, then waits for me to elaborate.
“It’s complicated. Our history is messy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Again, he’s Renzo.”
“Were things always so easy between you and the assho … Sandro?” I catch myself. Because as sweet and kind as Riley is, she’s crazy about the asshole.
“Easy isn’t a word in Sandro’s vocabulary. He hurt me, but hunted me down, refusing to let me escape.” Her expression softens. “And what did I do? I melted like butter.”
Biceps flexing, Renzo pulls himself from the pool. “I don’t think I’m made of milk,” I whisper. He straightens and, as if sensing my eyes on him, glances my way.
His broad smile has me grinning back at him.
Riley answers, her advice resonating deeply. “Then don’t melt. You be the flame that makes him burn hotter, that makes him sweat.” She shrugs. “Keep that beautifully wild man on his toes.”
Noticing the attention, Renzo shakes his body like a wet puppy, sending water flying everywhere.
We laugh at his antics.
“Who’s ready for a bird’s-eye view of Sardinia?”