Chapter 5
KARINA
Once Armani deposits me inside the front door, I’m on my own.
I look for Marco in the dining room, the library, the den.
He’s nowhere to be found. I guess I could check the garage where he keeps his cars, the Bellanti business offices, the tasting room…
or a million other places on the property…
but truthfully, I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Not to mention, he might be off the grounds, driving around Napa blowing off steam. My husband could literally be anywhere.
Which is why, instead of continuing my fruitless search, I go to the bedroom and collapse on the sofa in the sitting room.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the apple I grabbed from the bowl on the dining room table, its skin a perfect blush pink.
As hungry as I am, I still have to force myself to bite into the crisp fruit, chew, swallow.
Even that seems to drain the last dregs of energy from me.
I’m home now. This should be a place of comfort. Yet I’m completely anxious and uncertain. Everything feels wrong, even the familiar, vaguely masculine scent of the room. I’d loved this space once, but now, I’m not sure I belong.
And how am I going to feel when I actually see my husband again?
He sent me off with his brother to be interrogated in an underground cell.
Instead of comforting me, he prolonged my torture by allowing me to be locked in a room with a man who hates me.
I don’t know if I’m more devastated at being handed over so easily or just angry. Maybe both, in equal measure.
Why, Marco? God, why did he do this to me?
I’m sure when I see him, he’ll try to explain himself; tell me why he allowed his brother to scare the hell out of me.
He’ll no doubt say it was for the good of the family, to protect everyone, to ease Armani’s suspicions, and that Armani would never truly hurt me.
Right. And sure, maybe Marco really believes all of that…
but it doesn’t make it easier for me to accept the fact that he threw me to the wolves.
When the apple is finished, I set the core on the coffee table.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I let out a deep breath until my chest is empty.
My entire body feels bruised and sore and I’m mentally drained as well.
My bones ache to sink into the plush luxury of the king size bed, but my skin crawls and I feel dirty all over.
I go to the en-suite bathroom, turn on the shower, and strip down.
The hot water pounding against my back does me a world of good, loosening up muscles that I hadn’t even realized were so tense.
Using a loofah, I scrub myself from neck to toe until I’m completely covered in suds.
I rinse, then repeat, then wash my hair twice as well.
Leaning against the wall, I let my tears flow freely, deep sobs wracking my body.
By the time I’m all cried out, all I can do is stumble to bed in my robe after a half-ass attempt at drying off.
My stomach growls and tightens with hunger, but I need sleep more than I need food.
But before I can pull the covers over myself, I notice a tray sitting on the nightstand.
There’s a carafe of water, a steaming cup of chamomile tea, buttered toast, sliced bananas and almonds drizzled with honey, and a dish of applesauce.
I’m not sure if Marco had this sent in or if the kitchen staff was alerted to put together something light for me, but I sit up and devour it all in minutes. Then I doze off.
“Karina.”
“Mmmph,” I mumble into the pillow.
“Amore mio, open your eyes.”
Marco’s voice is soft, gentle. His scent wafts over me, his body heat warming my back as he spoons me.
But I don’t turn to face him. Instead I go completely still, eyes firmly squeezed shut, trying to will myself back to unconsciousness so I don’t have to confront him yet.
I’m so hurt, so angry, so betrayed at the way he dumped me off with his brother the second we got home.
And then disappeared afterward, leaving me to wander around the house all by myself.
My husband doesn’t push, doesn’t prod, doesn’t question me.
He just smooths back my still-damp hair, tucking stray locks behind my ear, massaging my scalp, the same motions over and over.
The rise and fall of his chest against my back creates a soothing rhythm, and between that and his hands I’m almost lulled to sleep again.
“I’m so relieved you’re home. I was so damn worried,” he whispers.
Worried, or just after revenge? No Bellanti could allow a Bruno to have the upper hand. I recall the flame of hope and relief when I realized it was Marco who had whisked me out of that warehouse. And then the rejection I felt when we got home and he left me with Armani and walked away.
I sense that Marco wants to talk, probably to ask me a million more questions.
After Armani’s onslaught, I can’t handle any more.
But then his hand slides over the quilt covering my body.
He traces the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, to the dip of my waist and over my hip.
When he moves his hand under the blankets, under my robe, his fingers are warm on my bare arm, but I can’t hold back the goosebumps covering my skin or the tremor that goes through me.
“I missed you,” he says.
He rolls me onto my back and hovers over me, kissing my jaw, my cheek, slowly moving toward my mouth.
But then a flash of the ugly violence of Pietro’s mouth on mine explodes in my mind.
Jerking my head back, I shrink away from him, but Marco is already in motion.
My robe is open, his hand cupping my breast, his hot kisses trailing down my chest.
A gasp gets stuck in my throat. Maybe it’s a sob.
He pulls back, looking down at me, but I don’t meet his eyes.
“Hey. It’s okay. What’s wrong?” he asks. His voice is genuinely concerned.
Forcing myself to look at him, I manage a small smile.
“Nothing. It’s just been a lot and I’m—” Traumatized, I think. “I’m just so tired.”
Nodding, he lightly runs the backs of his fingers over my arm. “What can I do?”
“Maybe…you could just hold me?”
“Come here.”
He pulls me against him and settles behind me again.
One strong arm wraps around my body and tightens, drawing us close.
Despite my trepidation, being close to him like this is exactly what I need.
I feel myself beginning to ease up. I do still love him.
That hasn’t changed, and honestly, I don’t think anything could ever change that.
And yet…it’s going to take time for me to forgive him for the part he played in my continued trauma.
His cock is still rock-hard against my ass as he drifts off, and my body responds to the contact despite the storm churning inside me.
I don’t give in to my urges, though. Eventually I manage to fall asleep, but it’s fitful; I wake frequently, my heart pumping with adrenaline as I struggle to make sense of my surroundings.
Marco, meanwhile, doesn’t stir. Finally, I give up on ignoring my insomnia and turn over in Marco’s arms. Watching his sleeping face, I slip my hand down to squeeze him through his boxer briefs.
He moans sleepily, his eyes slitting open.
Without a word, he cups a hand on the back of my head and pulls me in for a kiss.
I feel him growing harder in my hand and my body thrums with desire as his free hand dips into my robe again, gently squeezing my breasts.
I try to stay relaxed, to not tense up this time.
It’s okay, I tell myself. You want this.
And I do. I want to feel right again.
I wriggle out of my robe and move onto my back, pulling Marco onto me, surrendering to his kisses, his touch.
The pleasure I’m feeling is real, but tears well up in my eyes and I have to keep my lids closed, hoping Marco doesn’t notice and pull away from me in alarm.
When he nudges my legs apart with his thigh, I’m quick to tug his briefs down, lining his cock up against me before he’s even fully naked.
“Karina,” he groans.
“Fuck me,” I command.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one hard thrust he’s inside me, both of us gasping as he begins working his way into a steady, pounding rhythm.
But despite my words, despite his quick, almost punishing thrusts, this isn’t really about fucking at all.
It’s about coming home to each other, reassuring each other, making a union with our bodies again. This is our safe space.
I wrap my legs around his waist and lock my ankles, tilting my hips to give him deeper access. He sucks my nipples as he pumps into me, sending hot bursts of pleasure straight to my center. Moaning, I whisper his name, coaxing him to go harder, faster.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Give it to me. More.”
My hands cruise his body, feeling the muscles of his back, the warm, supple skin. This is the man that I love. These are the moments I crave.
It feels too good to hold back, so I don’t. I let myself go, giving myself up to the sensations, falling into the crushing wave of a hard, fast orgasm that’s over far too soon. Clinging to Marco, I breathe hard, my scalp tingling, my heart racing.
“I’m gonna come,” he says.
“Yes,” I pant, grabbing his ass to pull him inside me as deep as possible. “Yes.”
He spills his seed with a harsh gasp and then collapses at my side, reaching for me.
I nestle into his arms and bury my face in his neck, breathing him in, blinking back the tears gathering in my eyes again.
Marco seems to fall asleep again almost immediately, but for a long time, I can’t move.
Wide awake, I’m paralyzed by the rush of thoughts filling my head.
My ring.
I twist it on my finger so the diamond faces my palm and then clench my fist around it.
I hate this ring, and I want nothing more than to destroy it.
I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking down the Bellantis, or for giving my uncle information he can use to harm them.
Somehow, I have to figure out a way to fix this. To fix everything. There must be a way.
Slipping the ring off, I hold it up in the dark. There’s just enough light to make it glint.
“I hate you,” I whisper. “I hate you more than anything.”
My lower lip trembles, and I swear I can almost hear my uncle laughing.
I put the ring back on and slide my hand under the pillow. Marco breathes deeply and evenly behind me. My body aches again, with a combination of bruises and fading pleasure.
I will find a way out.
And then I’ll just have to pray that the Bellantis will forgive me.