Fifteen #2
“You’re very casual here. More bright colors,” I say. “Mid-west or what they’re used to seeing me in is dark clothes and big Italian designers and very tailored. It should make me less recognizable.”
Gianna exhales a quiet laugh. “You gave up couture and your eye color?”
“Wait until you see her,” Ciro says. “She’s a totally different person.”
Henry nods once, more to the logic than the brand.
“And transportation?” Dante asks, his hand flattening briefly against the table as he tracks ahead.
“Different car. Katie will drive me, and we’ll leave through the garage. And I enter the office from the underground garage.”
Matteo’s gaze sharpens. “Timing?”
“Rotational. No predictable schedule.”
“Do you want to go out in public?” Gianna asks, quieter now.
“Yes,” I say. “But controlled environments. Not obvious. We’re hoping that they think I left town, but just in case, I’ll be hiding.”
Luca leans back, folding his arms as he studies me. “You’re turning yourself into background noise.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re comfortable with that?” Ellory asks.
I consider it, my fingers resting against the edge of the table before I answer. “For now.”
“Are you going to marry my Uncle Ciro?” Ameila asks.
The table snickers and looks at me.
“Would you like that?” Gianna asks.
Ameila nods. “She’s pretty.”
“We’re just friends,” Ciro replies and looks at me waiting for me to disagree. I don’t know how to answer that
Dante watches me for a beat longer. “How long before you know if they’ve moved on?”
“Until they redirect their resources,” I say. “Or until we confirm the threat level changes.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Matteo asks.
“If it becomes active,” I say, meeting his eyes, “and there’s credible risk to anyone here, I go underground.”
Rebecca’s expression tightens. “You shouldn’t have to live like that.”
“I’ve lived worse,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Her fingers curl into her napkin. Luca’s attention drops to his plate. Beside me, Ciro’s hand rests flat against the table, unmoving.
Ciro doesn’t look at them when he adds, “She’s going to be fine.”
No one argues.
Plates move. Wine is poured. Someone makes a comment that pulls a small laugh from Gianna.
Later, outside, the air has cooled enough that it feels cleaner than it did when we arrived. Rebecca presses leftovers into Ciro’s hands, as if he’ll forget to eat otherwise. Henry reminds us about Sunday. Gianna hugs me without hesitation, her arms warm and certain around my shoulders.
“I like her,” she says referring to me. She holds on for a second longer before she lets go.
Luca claps Ciro once on the back. “Don’t screw this up,” he says, not lowering his voice.
Dante stays a few steps back, hands in his coat pockets, watching the exchange. When I look at him, he gives a single nod.
The drive back is quieter. The city moves past in bands of light, reflections catching in the glass as we pass under them. Ciro keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console.
“You handled them well,” he says.
“I assumed it was a test.”
“It was.”
The house is quiet by the time we get back.
I step out of my shoes near the door, setting them side by side before I cross into the living room. The lights are low, the city still visible through the glass, but dimmer now, like it’s been pushed back.
Ciro doesn’t speak right away. I feel him behind me instead, the shift in his attention before his hand finds my waist.
“You didn’t tell them everything,” he says.
I turn to face him, close enough that I don’t have to raise my voice. “I told them what mattered.”
His gaze holds on mine a second longer, not pushing, just tracking. Then his hand tightens slightly, not enough to restrain, just enough to keep me where I am.
“That wasn’t everything.”
“No.” I don’t step back. “It wasn’t.”
The space between us narrows without either of us naming it. His other hand comes up, fingers brushing once along my jaw before settling at the back of my neck. The contact is controlled, deliberate, like everything else he does.
“You made a decision today,” he says.
“So did you.”
His mouth shifts slightly, not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment of the line we’ve both crossed.
His thumb presses once at my neck and then he leans in.
The kiss isn’t tentative. It’s measured, like he’s confirming something rather than asking for it. I feel the control in it, the same precision he carries into everything else, and I match it without thinking, my hands finding his jacket and then the edge of his shirt as I pull him closer.
My back meets the wall without force, just the pressure of him closing the space. His hand slides from my waist to my hip, anchoring me there as his mouth moves lower, the line of my jaw, the space beneath my ear.
“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he says, low, not pausing.
“I do,” I whisper
He pulls my skirt up above my hips, and his fingers dive into my panties.
He groans. “God, your wet.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me up the stairs. “I don’t want to do this on camera.”
“Good idea.”
We walk into his bedroom, and I virtually jump into his arms, crossing my legs behind his back. “Do you know how hard it is to be with you and not want to bend you over and fuck you?”
The corner of my mouth curls. “Tell me what you wanted to do to me.”
He chuckles as he puts me down and helps me get naked while he continues to kiss and lick my whole body.
He stands before me, and I run my fingers through my slit. “You do this to me.”
“I want to hear you scream my name tonight.” He drops his pants to the floor and nudges my legs wide. “I love how greedy your pussy is for me.”
“It wants you to eat it.”
His tongue circles around my clit as he lathers it.
I groan. “I can’t take the teasing any more. Fuck me please.”
I open my legs wide, and I slide my fingers through my slit, and I’m so close to an orgasm.
“You can’t come yet.” He takes my fingers and puts them in my mouth.
He pulls a condom from the side table and rolls it on. I look at him and marvel at his washboard abs and his giant dick I get to play with.
“What?” he asks.
He pulls my knees wide and pushes in.
Every time he enters me, I think he’s going to split me wide. And he just watches me.
“Are you going to fuck or just stare?”
He starts moving, slow long hard strokes, and I reach for the sheets for purchase. My orgasm builds as he slowly increases his speed. “Fuck you’re good at this.”
“It takes two,” he says between clenched teeth.
His hand moves between us, not tentative, not testing, and the contact pulls a sharp inhale from me before I can stop it. He watches my face when he does it, not my body, tracking the reaction as it happens.
“Look at me.”
I do.
His thumb presses, slow at first, and then harder, more deliberate, and my grip tightens on him in response, my body already moving with it.
“Like that?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t slow down.
The pressure builds quickly, not gradual or cautious. His mouth moves from mine to my jaw and then lower, his teeth catching briefly at my skin before he soothes it with his tongue, the contrast enough to make my hips shift against his hand.
“Don’t hold back,” he says, low against my throat.
“I’m not—”
The rest of it breaks off when he pushes me further, the rhythm turning sharper, more demanding, until I have to brace a hand against his shoulder just to stay steady.
“Ciro—”
He cuts it off with another kiss, deeper this time, his body pressing into mine in a way that leaves no space between us.
“Stay with me.”
The room fills with our bodies slapping together.
“I am.”
He doesn’t let up.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling without thinking as the tension tightens, the edge building faster than I expect, sharper than I can manage. My body gives first, the control I’ve been holding onto slipping all at once as I break against him.
He follows hard on it, his grip tightening at my waist, his breath rough against my mouth as he presses into me, holding there for a second longer than necessary before it eases.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then his forehead drops to mine, his breathing uneven, his hand still anchored at my hip like he hasn’t decided to let go yet.