14. Mario
14
MARIO
I wear a path in the safe house’s hardwood floors, my footsteps echoing off floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Manhattan’s glittering skyline. Marco Renaldi sprawls on the leather couch, looking infuriatingly calm as he scrolls through his phone. His dark curls—almost black in this light—fall across his forehead, and that perpetual stubble does nothing to hide his angular jaw.
Even after twenty-five years of friendship, he still looks like the scrappy kid who used to have my back in schoolyard fights.
We met when we were eight—both of us trying to steal the same car on Giuseppe’s orders. Instead of fighting over it, we’d worked together.
That kind of thing creates a bond that even exile can’t break. Marco was there the night I held a gun to Bianca’s head. He and Dante helped me land in Boston afterward. His father might run a smaller operation, but the Renaldis have always understood loyalty better than the DeLucas.
“Relax,” he drawls, not looking up. “Sofia’s got this.”
“If your sister gets caught?—”
“She won’t.” He finally meets my gaze, those dark eyes holding the same sharp intelligence that got us both out of countless situations. “Sofia’s better at this shit than both of us combined.”
He’s not wrong. His sister started running cons when she was ten, proving herself more valuable to their father’s organization than half of his made men. By fifteen, she was the one handling their more delicate extraction operations.
Now at nineteen, she’s developed a reputation for getting people out of impossible situations—usually while making their enemies look like idiots in the process.
I resume pacing. The moment Siobhan told me about Elena, I knew I couldn’t go to the hospital myself. Matteo would have men crawling all over it—probably already did.
Going there would be suicide, and I couldn’t help Elena if I was dead.
“Your sister’s really up for this?” I’d asked Marco three hours ago while I was on the jet, after calling in a twenty-year favor.
“Sofia?” He’d laughed. “That girl could convince the Pope he’s Jewish. Besides…” His expression had darkened. “After O’Connor’s men tried to take over our Brooklyn territory last month, she’s been looking for ways to stick it to the old guard. Getting one over on Matteo DeLuca? That’s just bonus points.”
It had been Marco’s idea to use his sister. “Think about it,” he’d said. “Matteo’s looking for threats. He’s watching for rival families, the Calabreses, for my father’s people, for you. But a teenage girl claiming to be Elena’s long-lost cousin? That’s so far out of left field it might work.”
He’d been right. Marco’s always been the strategic one—probably why his father thought I should have led the DeLuca family instead of Matteo. Old man Renaldi had seen something in me that Giuseppe never did. Had even offered to back my claim after Giuseppe’s death, but by then I was already deep into my revenge against Matteo. Already sealed my fate.
Marco had put Sofia on speaker when we were brainstorming how to get Elena out.
“Does she have any family?” Sofia had asked. “Anyone I could impersonate?”
I’d drawn a blank, realizing I knew almost nothing about Elena’s background. Her family had never seemed relevant to our plans. “I…don’t know.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sofia’s disgust had crackled through the phone. “You’re sleeping with her and you don’t even know her family history?”
“Just find something,” I’d growled, annoyed at how Sofia had twisted this.
“Give me five minutes.” Keys had clicked rapidly in the background. “Got it. Her father—Richard Santiago, deceased five years ago—had a sister named Maria. Maria has a nineteen-year-old daughter, Jenna Santiago, currently enrolled at NYU.” More typing. “Well, what do you know? Little Jenna’s got brown curly hair, brown eyes…I could pass for her.”
“You found this how?” I’d asked, unsure if I should be impressed or concerned.
“Please.” Sofia’s eye roll had been audible. “Social media, death records, college enrollment…it’s not exactly Fort Knox. The real Jenna Santiago is currently posting Instagram stories from Central Park.”
“It won’t be enough,” Marco had warned. “Matteo won’t let Elena leave without proof.”
“Already on it. Marco, call your guy at the DMV. I need a driver’s license that’ll pass inspection. And find me everything you can about this family—birth records, old photos, any detail that could trip me up.”
Now, waiting for them to arrive, I have to admit the plan was brilliant. Sofia had memorized the Santiago family tree in under an hour, created a backstory that matched public records, even studied Jenna’s social media to perfect her mannerisms.
“Your sister’s terrifying,” I tell Marco.
He grins. “You have no idea. Remember when she convinced that cop she was the mayor’s niece?”
“She was twelve,” I say fondly. Sofia was the sister I never had.
“Exactly. Now imagine what she can do at nineteen. She’s going to run circles around Matteo.”
I resume pacing the penthouse when both Marco’s phone and mine buzz simultaneously. We dive for them, opening the group chat from Sofia:
Mission accomplished! Got her out easy peasy. No anthrax btw (duh). You should have seen me work Matteo DeLuca. Oscar-worthy performance if I do say so myself :-)
Marco whoops. “What did I tell you? My sister’s the best.”
Good work. Get here quickly , I text back.
Wow, try to contain your enthusiasm there, old man. I’ll take that as a thank you .
My hands shake slightly as I wait for the elevator. When it finally dings, my knees nearly buckle at the sight of Elena—pale but alive, still wearing that hospital gown under a borrowed coat. Sofia stands next to her, practically vibrating with self-satisfaction.
“What the hell are you doing in New York again?” Elena demands, her relief at seeing me quickly morphing into anger. “If O’Connor finds out?—”
“I left him.” The words come out like a declaration of war. “Permanently.”
Elena’s eyes go wide. Even Sofia’s smug expression falters.
“Are you insane?” Elena’s voice rises. “He’ll kill you. He’ll?—”
“Let him try.” I move closer, unable to stop myself from touching her face, needing to feel that she’s real. “I’m done being his attack dog.”
“Well, this is getting spicy,” Sofia stage-whispers to her brother.
Marco grabs her arm. “And that’s our cue. We’ll talk later,” he tells me, dragging his protesting sister toward the elevator.
“But I want to see how this plays out!” Sofia whines.
“Out. Now.” Marco’s voice fades as the elevator doors close on them.
The moment the elevator doors close, Elena whirls on me. “What the fuck were you thinking?” Her voice shakes with rage. “You just threw away everything—all our intel, all our plans—because what? You got spooked?”
“I got spooked ?” I advance on her. “ You’re the one who opened a fucking unmarked envelope like some amateur. What happened to all that security protocol you’re so proud of?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about protocols.” She backs up until she hits the window, Manhattan’s lights creating a halo around her fury. “You just declared war on Seamus O’Connor. Do you have any idea what he’ll do to you?”
“Better than watching you get yourself killed! Christ, Elena, you could have—” The words stick in my throat. “The baby could have?—”
“Oh, now you care about the baby?” She jams a finger into my chest, color flooding her too-pale face. “This isn’t about me or the baby. This is about your ego. Your need to control everything, to?—”
“My ego ?” I grab her wrist before she can poke me again. “You think I left O’Connor because of my fucking ego? I left because the thought of you in that hospital, of not being able to get to you?—”
“I didn’t ask you to come charging in like some knight in bloodstained armor!” She tries to yank her hand free, but I hold tight. “I had it under control.”
“Under control?” My laugh is sharp and bitter, the sound cutting through the tension between us. “You could have died. And for what? Some half-baked plan to?—”
She doesn’t let me finish. With a fierce growl, she surges up on her toes, her lips parting like she’s about to unleash every fiery accusation bottled inside her. But before the words can escape, I’m done waiting. I claim her mouth with mine, crushing her protests under the weight of everything I’m too afraid to say aloud.
The kiss is wild, untamed, a collision of anger and desperation. Her teeth nip at my bottom lip, sharp enough to sting, drawing blood that mixes with the taste of her, sharp and intoxicating. A low growl rumbles in my chest as I retaliate, driving her backward until her spine meets the cold glass of the window with a soft thud.
My hands travel down her sides, fingers splayed wide as if I need to map every inch of her, anchoring her hips against mine. She lets out a sound—half-gasp, half-moan—as I press closer, the heat between us scorching. Her fingers knot into my shirt, pulling me even nearer, her nails scraping my chest as if she’s trying to find some way to crawl under my skin.
She breaks the kiss only to drag in a ragged breath, but I’m not done. My mouth moves to her neck, finding the soft, sensitive hollow just below her jaw. I nip at it, earning a gasp that makes my blood sing. Her hands are in my hair now, nails raking my scalp as I tease that spot again, pulling another breathless moan from her lips.
“You drive me crazy,” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with emotion. I let my teeth graze the delicate line of her throat, savoring the way she shivers against me, the way she arches into my touch like she can’t stand even a sliver of space between us.
My hand threads into her hair, gripping gently but firmly as I tug her head back to expose more of her throat. The way she looks at me, her lips parted, her eyes dark and glassy with a mix of fury and need—it undoes me.
Her body molds against mine, pliant and demanding all at once, and I press harder, the cold glass behind her a stark contrast to the heat between us. The sound she makes—a raw, desperate cry—ignites something primal in me. I kiss her again, harder this time, pouring every ounce of fear, relief, and hunger into it.
When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping for air, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed. Her eyes are locked on mine, daring me to look away, but I don’t. I can’t.
“Don’t you ever,” I rasp, my voice like gravel as I press my forehead against hers, “open another unmarked envelope.”
“What can I say?” Her lips curve into that smile that drives me fucking crazy. “I like to live dangerously. Why do you think I’m sleeping with you?”
The sass in her tone makes my blood boil. I silence her with another kiss, this one harder, more demanding. She responds instantly, melting against me even as she fights for control.
My hands slide down to cup her ass, lifting her against me as I start walking us backward toward the bedroom. She clings to me, her legs wrapping around my waist, her lips never breaking from mine except for the occasional gasp.
“Besides,” she murmurs against my mouth, her voice a teasing whisper, “your security protocols could use some work?—”
That’s enough of that. I pin her against the cool surface of the hallway wall, her gasp swallowed by my mouth. She squirms in my grip, half-hearted in her resistance, and I press my hips harder against hers, reminding her exactly who’s in charge.
We stumble into the bedroom, her breath hitching as I finally let her feet touch the floor. The room is massive, bathed in soft moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The city sparkles below, a sprawling sea of lights that fade into the inky horizon. The bed dominates the space, its oversized frame dressed in crisp white linens that look almost too clean for what’s about to happen.
But I’m not interested in the view.
I’m on her in an instant, my hands tugging at her coat, sliding it off her shoulders and tossing it carelessly aside. She laughs breathlessly, the sound turning into a soft moan as I unbutton her hospital gown and drag it down in one smooth motion. It pools at her feet, leaving her standing before me in nothing but her bra and underwear.
And she’s breathtaking.
Her body trembles slightly, whether from the cool air or the intensity between us, I don’t know. My gaze sweeps over her, lingering on the soft swell of her stomach where her baby grows, a tiny curve that makes my chest tighten.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low and reverent. My hands find her hips, tracing the curve of her waist with my thumbs before sliding up to cradle her stomach. She watches me, her lips parted, her eyes wide with a mix of vulnerability and heat.
“Mario,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she places her hands over mine, holding them against her belly.
I can’t hold back any longer. My lips crash into hers, fierce and claiming, as I back her toward the bed. She falls onto the soft mattress, her hair fanning out around her like a halo, and I follow her down, intent on showing her just how much she drives me crazy—how much I need her.
Her lips curve into that maddening smirk again, her hands sliding up my chest to grip the lapels of my jacket. “Not so fast, Mario,” she murmurs. “If you’re going to strip me down, it’s only fair I return the favor.”
Her fingers make quick work of the buttons on my shirt, pulling it open with a sharp tug that sends one flying to the floor. She bites her lip, her eyes gleaming with amusement and heat, and I can’t help but laugh, low and rough.
“Elena,” I growl, grabbing her wrists to slow her down, but she shakes her head, her grin defiant.
“No interruptions,” she says, her tone as commanding as it is playful.
She tugs the shirt off my shoulders, her fingers skimming over my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My breath hitches as her touch dips lower, finding the buckle of my belt. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she unfastens it and slides it free, the soft whisper of leather making the tension between us even thicker.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, my voice rough with restraint.
She looks up at me through her lashes, her hands moving to the button of my pants. “Immensely.”
Her voice is a husky purr that sends a jolt of heat straight through me. She pushes my pants down, her knuckles brushing against me in a way that has my control unraveling. When I’m left in nothing but my boxer briefs, she leans back slightly, her gaze raking over me with unhidden appreciation.
“Not bad,” she says, her tone light but her eyes betraying her hunger.
“Not bad?” I echo, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush against me. “You’re playing with fire, Elena.”
“Good thing I like getting burned,” she whispers, her hands finding their way into my hair as she pulls me down into a searing kiss.
My lips find hers again, my hands tracing the curves of her body as I press her into the sheets. Her touch is everywhere, her fingers skimming over my shoulders and down my back, her nails digging in just enough to leave marks.
Her soft gasp, the way her body arches into mine—it’s everything. And as I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, I see it: the trust, the desire, the connection that binds us.
Elena’s hands skim over my back, her nails grazing my skin as I trail kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, and across the swell of her bra-covered breasts.
Well, that won’t do. I unhook her bra and throw it across the room.
Her breath hitches when my mouth finds her nipple, and I take it between my lips, rolling it gently with my tongue. She arches beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair, urging me closer, and I respond by lavishing the same attention on her other breast, wanting to give her everything she desires.
Elena’s skin is warm and soft, and the feel of her beneath me, the way her body responds to every touch, every kiss, drives me to the edge of control. But I hold back, wanting to savor this moment, to make it last as long as possible. I slide my hand down her side, feeling the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, until I reach the softness between her thighs.
She gasps when I touch her, her body trembling beneath my hand as I stroke her gently, feeling the wet heat of her arousal. Her hips move in time with my hand, her breath coming in short, quick bursts as I explore her, learning what makes her shudder, what makes her moan my name in that breathless, desperate way that makes my blood pound in my ears.
“Mario,” she whispers, her voice a plea, and I know she’s ready. I’m barely holding on myself, the need to be inside her, to claim her, so strong it’s nearly overwhelming.
Our underwear is quickly shed and I position myself between her legs. As I push into her, a groan escapes my lips at the feel of her surrounding me, warm and tight and perfect.
Elena’s back arches, her nails digging into my shoulders as I fill her, slowly, completely. I hold still for a moment, letting us both adjust to the feeling of being so connected. Her breath mingles with mine, our foreheads pressed together as we savor the moment, the intensity of it making my heart race.
I start to move, slowly at first, the rhythm of our bodies perfectly in sync, a dance as old as time itself. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, a blend of passion and tenderness that leaves us both breathless. Elena’s moans grow louder, her body moving in time with mine, meeting me with each thrust, her legs wrapping around my waist to draw me closer.
The mattress beneath us is soft, but nothing compares to the softness of Elena’s skin, the way she feels beneath me, around me. I watch her face, the way her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting with each gasp of pleasure.
I lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of my feelings into it. Elena responds with equal fervor, her hands clutching at me as if I’m the only thing keeping her grounded. I can feel her tightening around me, the telltale signs that she’s close, and I increase the pace, driven by the need to bring her to the edge.
When she finally cries out, her body convulsing in the throes of her orgasm, I follow her, the sensation of her release pulling me over the edge. I spill into her, a shuddering groan escaping my lips as I bury myself deep, my body trembling with the intensity of it all.
For a long moment, we stay like that, tangled together on the bed, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high. I hold her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, feeling her heartbeat gradually slow beneath my palm.
As sweat cools on our skin, I allow myself to admit what I’ve been denying for weeks: I’m falling for her. Not just the refinement or brilliant mind that first caught my attention, but everything—her sharp wit, her quiet strength, the way she matches me move for move in this dangerous game we’re playing.
“I’m starting to think you’re more dangerous than any of them,” I murmur against her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. “The Irish, the Calabrese family, even my brother—none of them see what I see.”
“And what’s that?” She turns in my arms, those eyes that miss nothing searching my face.
“A queen,” I admit, the words feeling like surrender. “Not just another piece on the board.”
She goes still in my arms, and for a moment I think I’ve said too much, revealed too many of my cards. But then her hand comes up to trace the scar Bella’s bullet left, her touch featherlight but burning.
“Dangerous words,” she whispers, but I catch the slight tremor in her voice. “Especially for a man who just declared war on Seamus O’Connor.”
I catch her hand, pressing it flat against my chest where my heart beats too fast, too hard. “Some wars are worth fighting.”
The look she gives me is equal parts wonder and terror, like she’s finally realizing this stopped being a game a long time ago.