Chapter 10
Gia
I’m rustling through my clothes to find a new pair of panties and shorts, since Castor ripped both of them to shreds. One look in the mirror tells me I’m not over what just happened. My face is blotchy, hair about to fall out of the loose ponytail, and I’m still out of breath.
He’s everything I dreamed of, honestly. When I used to play with myself, I imagined him taking me just the way he wanted, teaching me things, pushing the boundaries. God, I couldn’t have imagined it being this good.
And I really do like the way his cum tastes… because it’s his.
My heart stalls when I hear him pacing around toward the living room.
Oh no, my paintings!
I don’t let anyone see those. That’s my embarrassing little world only my stupid brother knows about.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I hop into a fresh set of underwear and throw on a pair of black basketball shorts that I roll three times, then rush out of my room. As I move fast down the hall, the sound of his pacing stops. One peek into the living room reveals my worst fear – him with his arms folded, staring exactly where I don’t want him to.
My art station.
He’s judging a landscape I spent about twelve hours on. Twin mountains and a valley in the heart of summer. If he says something stupid about it, it would crush my heart and suck all of the horny-ness out of me. It’s like my kryptonite.
I slow my walk, not daring to disrupt his analysis.
What would a mobster know about art?
I glance at his rings and realize he probably molded some of those himself.
“Gia, this is stunning.”
“Oh shut up. You’re just saying that.” I grab the stand and walk it to a corner, out of sight.
“I’m serious. Who would’ve thought a kid like you… could hide talent like that.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” I put my hands on my hips.
“Usually a bubbly and personable person like you wears their life on their sleeve. When Marco said paintings, I thought he meant like in school or something.” Castor struts over and plants a disarming kiss on my cheek that nearly melts me on the spot, then gently drags out the art station so he can see it again. “Are you limited to landscapes?”
My brow furrows. “N—no. They’re just what I’m best at, I think.”
A part of me still holds onto a little dream of mine. This girl I knew in high school made a business on Etsy selling her crotchet, and she did well enough. So I thought maybe, just maybe, I could sell my stuff on there too. Make a business out of it.
Imagine if someone hung a landscape in their living room with Gia Castellano scribbled under it?
But there’s no way I’m good enough yet.
“You should think about selling these. I think they’d make a killing.”
“Psh. You’re just being nice to get back in my pants.”
“When have you known me to throw needless pleasantries? I’m serious, Gia. These are badass.”
I feel bashful all of a sudden. “I did always want to try…”
“How would you feel about designing me a piece of jewelry? You know, since you didn’t like the one I made you.”
I narrow my eyes and flip the collar of my shirt to show I’m wearing it. “Hidden, remember?”
That would be pretty cool, though. A jewelry designer? Hell yes.
Castor smirks. He takes a strong step to be standing over me. His cologne is weak after rubbing all over each other, which leaves only his warm musk that I want to fall asleep in. “You wear my signature, because you belong to me.”
“Do I, now?” I stare at him, feeling ants tickling my belly.
“That’s how I’d like it to be,” he admits.
Something is off about his tone though. He pulls back, sucking away all of the giddy butterflies with it. I know what this is about.
“But it can’t be, right?” A fiery sensation pools in my chest. “Your loyalty’s to him.”
“He’s my brother in all but blood.” He turns to the couch and plops a seat.
Do I even want this in the first place? He’s a damn capo for God’s sake. I’d be running straight into the arms of everything I’ve been trying to avoid.
One look at his pearly blues diffuses me like a bomb, though.
I scoff and grab the apron off the floor in the hallway. It’s a miracle there’s no paint on the floor. Castor’s blazer on the other hand…
“And what’s so terrible about us together? He trusts you more than anyone, no?” I call from the other room.
“You don’t understand. It’s a matter of respect.”
“Sometimes attraction holds no bounds, Castor.” I’m getting hot again just thinking about the mind-blowing sex we just had, which is combating with a deeper connection he keeps letting slip past his cold gaze, sending me into emotional tail spins.
I pace into the living room, noting the show New Girl is on mute. Castor isn’t saying anything. Just staring at the floor in thought.
“Castor?”
“He’s onto me, Gia. And soon, he’ll be onto us.” He peers up at me. “If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s sniffing out inconsistencies.”
“Aren’t you his boss?” I throw my arms out. “Just put him in line, or something.”
“The bond we share transcends rank. Why do you think I put up with a strung out hothead all these years later?”
The way he’s so calm about the wedge between us infuriates me. “Why don’t you let me handle my big brother, if you can’t?”
“That would just make things worse between him and I.”
I shake my head, take a deep breath, and sit next to him. Scanning his expression tones down my budding anger. There’s guilt etched all over him.
“Usually, it’s the women who make things complicated.” I rub his shoulder.
“Oh, it’s not complicated, kid. I’m just trying to avoid this ending with a bullet in one of our brains.”
I swallow past a lump.
“Maybe you forgot what it’s like in our world, since you actively tried to break away from it. But that doesn’t mean it’s calmed. A hothead like him?” He shakes his head. “We’ve saved each other’s lives more than once. If he saw us together? It would bury all of it.”
“What if we’re upfront about it?” I ask tentatively. My stomach is doing all sorts of anxious somersaults now. “Wouldn’t that be better?”
He reaches over and rubs my chin with two of his fingers, holding my face in place. His eyes scan mine, then my lips, before slowly leaning in.
My skin tingles every time he gets close.
His kiss is paralyzing when there’s no sexual tension attached to it. He’s like an oversized comforter.
No. Don’t leave.
He pulls away.
“Since you don’t want to go out, why don’t you give me that tour you were talking about?”
He turned my dial from annoyance, to melted butter, to giddiness, in a matter of a minute. I get to my feet and grab his hand.
“So! This couch you’re getting comfortable on is a hand-me-down from my mom’s basement. I’d be lying if some of my ex-boyfriends’ puberty juice isn’t baked into it somewhere, and Marco’s whores. But hey, beats spending a thousand dollars on a new one, right?”
Castor shuts his eyes, pretending he didn’t hear all that, and I laugh. “New couch on the list of potential gifts. Got it.”
I drag him to the area beside the couch, where I have one of those walking mats – some kind of hybrid between a treadmill and a hamster wheel. “This is the ‘gym.’”
He belly-laughs at that, and I smack his arm.
I point to a dresser in the opposite corner, where a fake orchid is tilted toward the window. “This is where I pretend I have fresh flowers that need sunlight. Let’s call it, my pretend garden.”
“Ah, beautiful,” he plays along.
“I knew you’d think so.” I drag him away from the living area and toward the kitchen. “This is where I reheat meals that the chefs at Bangos make me. And, sometimes, cook.” I rush to get a paper towel and clean a fresh splash of burger grease settling into my stove. “I’m very tidy, as you can see.”
“Just like I remember your room at your old place,” he says, and my face grows hot with embarrassment.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“Yeah, your door was open sometimes. I practically lived in that house for four years.”
Oh, don’t I know it.
“Whenever I snuck a peek, there were clothes everywhere and a bed half-made.”
My mouth hangs open. “Are you calling me a slob?”
He wipes a finger on the side of my sink and holds up some discolored grease. “Yep.” Before I can respond, he pulls out his burner phone and starts dialing.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling my cleaning lady.”
I push him, and we both start cracking up. “Dick!”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
When he catches both of my flailing wrists, he kisses my cheek. “Your place is lovely, Gia. Now, since you’re not going to let me take you out, why don’t you show me what you can paint. Maybe if it’s good enough, I’ll get it inked onto my stomach.”
I start salivating again while thinking about his deeply indented abs. The dark side of my mind envisions him hauling corpses to keep his body so tight, but I push that out, because… reasons.
“Hmm. Fine.” I agree to his terms, and head toward my closet to get out a fresh thin brush. As I get to my tiptoes, I feel Castor’s monstrous hand reach around my belly, the touch making the hair stand on the back of my neck.
Without warning, he shoves his hand down my panties and curves two fingers right into my slit. My eyes roll to the back of my head. This was the last thing I was expecting. It’s only been what, twenty minutes? I thought guys needed like an hour to get going again—
His growl is like a lion’s breath on my neck. And the river comes flowing down there again.
“You better not rip these panties—” I attempt to joke before a moan escapes me. He jerks me almost off my feet, and this time I don’t wait to grab his cock. Yeah… he didn’t need any time at all. It’s the same rock he led with before.
Do I turn him on this much?
We go for another round – my art supplies falling all over the place from him railing me inside the closet. He turns me around and drops to his knees – causing more brushes to fall. It’s like I don’t even hear it, because my ears literally ring whenever his mouth suctions over my slit. He’s such a giver in bed, it’s almost not fair. I want to pay him back.
He goes longer this time… for a good hour. I’m sore, satisfied, and pumped with another dose of his cum. I love that he caresses me afterward and holds me in his arms. He’s not in a rush to roll over and be done with me like the shallow men on the apps. It’s a nice refreshing pace.
We sit on the couch after we’re all cleaned up. I’m peering up at him as he reluctantly watches reruns of New Girl with me. I caught him chuckle a few times between mostly groans. It’s funny to watch a stone cold, gold-plated gangster find humor in normal things. A part of me didn’t think it was possible because of how my brother is. But Castor’s different.
At least, I hope he is…
xxx
In a half-remembered dream, I imagine a kiss on my forehead, and in the middle of the night, I snort awake when I realize there’s no one next to me. Slapping the couch three more times proves the same fact.
Castor up and left in the middle of the night. It’s five a.m., and the rumbling of a high-powered engine makes me think I just missed him. I get to my feet and rush out of my apartment in a low top and panties, not even thinking about it.
What the hell would I even say if I saw him before he pulled away?
I whoosh open the front door, wiping the sleep from my eyes in hopes to find that black-on-black Range Rover.
Nope. No such car around.
Across the street, out of the streetlamp’s light, a sports car still rumbles, and there’s a silhouette of a man in a suit smoking a cigarette near the hood.
Marco? God, I hope not.
I narrow my eyes at him, glimpsing a hairy chest over a mostly unbuttoned shirt. Tacky. Weird. That’s not like Castor or my brother. And my block is a dead-end filled with middle-class workers. What the hell would a Maserati be doing here at this hour?
With two hands tightly on my front door, I continue to peek. It’s like this guy wants me to call to him. Eventually, he stomps out his cigarette and struts to the driver’s side.
Is this one of Castor’s guys keeping an eye on me? Or… is this guy after Castor?
Now I’m worried that Marco hired someone to keep eyes on me at all times. Castor’s fears slip into mine, so I shut the door and triple lock it.
This is the whole reason I wanted nothing to do with my family anymore. It always leads to something like this.
Always.
Shit.