Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Siobhán
A mazing how the pages of People blended together after you read enough of them, and I was pretty sure this was my millionth copy. I slammed the magazine shut and let my head fall back with an exasperated sigh. A person could only watch so much TV, and by noon, I’d already watched Casablanca and four episodes of that reality TV show about yacht crews. I took my time with lunch, even attempted a one-sided conversation with Rocco the Wall—he was filling in for Dominic after last night’s incident—but that only got me as far as one o’clock.
I tried picking the entertainment center lock for thirty minutes. Turns out, I have no idea how to pick a lock and, without my phone, no way to Google how to pick a lock. After bending the tip of one of Luca’s knives—and burying the evidence at the bottom of the utensil drawer—I gave up on my latest amateur escape attempt.
I glanced at the microwave. Three. Ugh . Not only was Luca holding me hostage, he was subjecting me to an obscene form of torture—boredom.
He should have been back. Rocco told him multiple times he had to be at The Dollhouse by three. Whatever. Not my problem. My problem was what to do about Luca when he got home.
My family did a decent job at keeping guns out of sight when we were kids, but that didn’t mean we never saw them. Or heard them. Guns were a fact of life in Southie in the ’80s. So were knives. General violence. I had a thick skin when it came to that stuff. I even kept calm, relatively speaking, during the hold-up at Vesuvio. But seeing a gunshot wound? Seeing the bloody mess of Dominic’s shoulder and the stains on his stomach? It transported me right back to my teenage trauma.
Hours later, Luca fell prey to his own nightmares. He’d been thrashing and fighting his sheets when I followed the shouts into his room. I called his name over and over, desperate to wake him up and save him from whatever trauma he was reliving.
Last night was completely fucked up, and that included sleeping in Luca’s bed, wrapped in his arms. What a pair we made. Both severely fucked in the head and taking comfort from the one person we were supposed to hate.
We didn’t talk about any of it that morning. He was out of the shower and dressed by the time I woke up. He hurried out the door and left The Wall in charge. But any minute he’d walk through that door, and we’d either pretend like nothing happened or admit that maybe we didn’t hate each other as much as either of us wanted to believe. That maybe being wrapped up in each other felt right, because it was the missing piece keeping Luca and Siobhán so broken. Maybe our star-crossed relationship had an inevitable end, and no matter how hard we tried, fate was determined to have its way.
The doorbell rang.
My magazine flew into the air. “Jesus Christ,” I gasped, my heart racing.
Where the hell was Rocco? He’d been camped out on the porch all afternoon. He should’ve seen whoever was at the door.
I went into the kitchen and got a glass of water.
The doorbell rang again. Whoever it was, they weren’t going away, and apparently, Rocco was nowhere to be found. Or maybe he locked himself out?
I crossed the kitchen, opened the door, and immediately regretted the decision.
“Agent Johnson,” I said in a tone that contained every ounce of disdain I held for the man.
His head jerked back. “Ms. Connelly. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Maybe for you.”
“I can honestly say you’re the last person I expected to open that door. And I pride myself on not being surprised when it comes to my job.”
“We both know you haven’t been very successful at your job now, don’t we?”
The sinister bend to his narrow mouth belied his affected laughter. “Is Mr. Moretti home?”
“No.”
Growing up in the mob, I knew how to deal with nosy outsiders—one-word answers. Uncle Paddy and Da had me well-trained. Don’t offer any more information than the necessary minimum. Make them work for their dirt.
“Do you know when he’ll be home?”
“No.”
His ingratiating smile turned menacing. “Fine. I’ll ask you my questions instead.”
“You can try.” I folded my arms across my chest.
Agent Johnson had been trying to dig up dirt on Marco for as long as I’d worked at Terme, always hanging around, chatting up employees in the hopes of grooming a rat. But I hadn’t been lying—I wasn’t a rat no matter which side of Boston I was on.
“You live here?” he asked.
“No, but you already know that.”
“Then, why are you here?”
“None of your business.”
His eyes travelled down to the ridiculous top Luca brought back from The Dollhouse. MILKSHAKE was written in hot pink block letters across my chest. The neckline of the tank top was slit such that strip club breasts would have stretched the opening and displayed serious cleavage. On me, the fabric hung loose, revealing only a suggestion that breasts existed.
He gave me a smarmy grin. “Were you here last night?” he asked, the innuendo thick.
“Yes.” True and noncontroversial. You had to pick your battles with these people. Know when to own up and when to pull back.
“Was Mr. Moretti here last night?”
And there it was. The real reason he was standing on Luca’s front porch.
Regardless of what Luca had done—to me or last night—Agent Johnson was not on my side. He wasn’t on anyone’s side but Agent Johnson’s. The wrong answer could cause a lot of trouble.
“Yes,” I said.
“You sure about that?”
The best way to handle the bait of an open-ended question? Another open-ended question.
“Don’t you think I’d know if the other half of the bed was empty?” I raised an eyebrow.
He narrowed his eyes. “Was Luca Davide Moretti with you here last night? All night?”
“Define all night.”
The aggressive growl of a Ferrari wedged itself into our conversation.
“Don’t play games with me, Ms. Connelly. You won’t like the outcome.”
“No one’s playing games, Agent . I can’t answer your question if you refuse to be specific. Are we talking about sundown to sunup? When I changed into my pajamas until the time my alarm went off? Define. All. Night.”
“You’re stalling.”
The Ferrari rounded the corner, a lightning bolt of red streaking up the driveway.
“Call it what you want”—the engine went silent, and Luca jumped out of the front seat—“but I’m not going to answer an ambiguous question just so you can twist my words to satisfy whatever case you’re trying to make.”
Luca’s face was all hard lines, the darkness of his eyes tinged rusty and focused on Agent Johnson. He marched up the walkway to where we stood on the front porch and wrapped his arm around my waist.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
I looked up in surprise.
He grabbed my nape and pressed a short, fierce kiss below my ear. My body zinged with adrenaline, shock, and desire. I gaped at him for a heartbeat before my brain snapped into action and reminded me of what was happening.
“Hey, baby,” I replied, trying to keep my cool despite how good those words tasted on my lips. And how good his lips felt on my neck. The heat that flared in Luca’s eyes made me shiver. I placed my palm flat against his chest on top of his tattoo.
“Was this asshole harassing you?”
“No. He was fishing. Like usual.” I glared at Agent Johnson. “Isn’t that right?”
Agent Johnson’s eyes snapped between us and landed on Luca. “Where were you last night between the hours of midnight and three a.m.?”
“Between my legs,” I said before Luca could answer. His pecs flexed beneath my hand. “And unless you need more details than that, I suggest you kindly fuck off.”
Agent Johnson refocused his smug contempt on me. “You sure about that?” he asked for the second time that afternoon.
He had something on Luca, or he was bluffing. But I didn’t think he was bluffing. No, Agent Johnson was the type of man so full of himself, he couldn’t help baiting us with a card better kept to his chest. He wanted us to know he had something. Idiot.
Luca and I needed to get our stories straight, which meant I needed to throw Agent Ego off guard and get him the hell off Luca’s porch.
“Three orgasms sure,” I said through a sultry smile and winked. I launched onto my toes and placed an open mouth kiss on Luca’s neck. “Isn’t that right, baby?” I purred into his ear, then nipped the lobe between my teeth.
Luca’s fingers dug into my hip, no doubt leaving another fingertip-shaped bruise, but he played along, hugging me close. “That’s right. And more tonight if you’re good.” He swatted me on the ass, and I yelped.
Agent Johnson cleared his throat and shifted his weight.
I nuzzled Luca’s neck and trailed my fingertips from his chest toward his waistband.
Agent Johnson looked everywhere but me and Luca.
“Get the fuck off my property,” Luca said.
He backed up, hands in the air, but with a thin smile that meant trouble. He strode down the path toward the driveway. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Moretti,” he called over his shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a good look going back to Italy now.” He pivoted and walked backward toward his sedan. “Not good at all.” His parting words were flat and matter-of-fact. He got into his car, as beige and ordinary as him, and drove out of the cul-de-sac.
“Come on,” Luca said and pulled me into the house.
“I need a drink,” I said and made a beeline for the kitchen.
He slammed and locked the door. “What did he ask? What did you say?”
“What the hell happened to Rocco?” For all my bravado, my hands shook when I reached for the upper cabinet.
“He had to get to The Dollhouse. I was almost home, so I told him to go.”
I grabbed a martini glass, set it on the counter, and opened the freezer.
Luca slammed his hand into the stainless steel, forcing it shut. “What did you say?” he asked in a tone that told me now was not the time for snark.
“Nothing. I mean, nothing more than what you heard. Same shit.” I narrowed my eyes and tugged on the door handle. He eased up, and I reached inside for the frosty bottle of vodka. “He used the usual tactics—open-ended questions, then super specific questions, but?—”
“Did you tell him anything?”
“What do you think I am— stunad? ” I rolled my eyes, opened the other side of the fridge with an exaggerated jerk, and retrieved my beloved olives.
He snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Fine.”
“I’m not a rat, and this isn’t my first rodeo.” I went about the business of preparing my dirty martini. “Not to mention, I would think, after that little show we put on, you’d trust me enough to know I was trying to cover for you, give you an alibi. Although, next time, a little heads up, please?”
I paused pulling olives out of the jar, closed my eyes, and let out a tremendous sigh. “What the hell am I talking about?” I mumbled to myself. “Next time.” I shook my head and plunked a final olive in my drink.
I swigged the martini. Liquid heat spread across my chest and soothed the ache in my stomach. “Anyway, we need to get our stories straight beyond fucking from midnight to three in the morning.” I lifted the martini glass to my lips and my eyebrows to my hairline.
Eyes dark with feral avarice, he prowled forward and caged me against the island. He took the martini glass from my hand and set it on the counter. My heart leaped into my throat, and I stared at him wide-eyed as his hands wrapped around my waist and held me in place.
He brushed my neck with the tip of his nose and brought his lips to my ear. “Did you like our little act?” His warm breath tickled my skin, sending goosebumps down my arms and a jolt of desire straight to my sex. “Baby?”
I sucked in a breath and started to melt. He saved me, lifting me off my weak knees onto the island. My fingers tangled in the silky strands of his hair. He wedged my legs open with his hips and stepped between them. His hands cupped my ass, and his fingers dug into my cheeks, inching me closer, pulling us together.
“All that talk about making you come…” he whispered against my neck, and I shivered from the brush of lush lips against the skin beneath my ear. “Three times…” He nosed my earlobe. “After swearing you’re not a liar.” He bit my earlobe and tugged. My sex tingled with need. “I can’t let you turn into one now, can I?”
Something between a groan and a sigh escaped me, and my eyes fluttered closed. His warm breath caressed my skin, an indecent promise, and electricity followed in its wake. He lowered his head to my collarbone and nudged my head to the side. Something sharp trailed up the length of my neck, the sensation so overwhelming, I squirmed beneath his unrelenting hold, craving sensation where I needed it most.
“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” His voice was low and gravelly.
I nodded, dizzy with desire and hoping like hell this wouldn’t end the same as our other encounters—heated to a frenzy and frustrated as hell.
He gripped my shorts and pulled hard, forcing me to wiggle where I sat so they’d come off and end my torture. He slipped them around my ass and dropped them on the floor. The marble was cold, but my sex was hot.
“Lean back, baby,” he said and moved closer, forcing me to recline enough that my hips tilted.
He trailed his fingers from my hip to the scrap of white lace barely covering the swollen lips of my pussy. He pushed it out of the way and ran his middle finger from my entrance through my folds to my clit. A low rumble reverberated in his chest, and he lifted his head from my neck to look me in the eyes.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he said, desire flashing in the crimson flecks that dotted his dark irises.
He slid his finger back down and dipped it into my entrance.
I gasped, and my head fell back. He caught the nape of my neck, holding me in place, and watched each reaction that crossed my face with rapt attention as he worked his finger in and out of my pussy.
“So fucking wet,” he growled and added another finger.
“Ahhh,” I sighed loud and breathy. At the exquisite stretch. At the illicit pleasure. At Luca.
“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers until you’re begging for my dick.”
My pussy clenched. The thought of Luca inside me nearly pushed me over the edge. I squirmed, tilting my hips so he’d rub my clit, but fuck him if he ever thought I’d beg.
“Not yet.” He chuckled. “Three orgasms, isn’t that what you said?”
I rocked my hips, desperate for more friction.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” I said. “Three.”
“Good girl.” He pushed his fingers deeper, and I moaned. “You play nice, you get what you want.”
My upper body went limp under the sweet satisfaction of Luca’s touch, and I twined my fingers tighter in his hair.
“First, I’m going to make you come all over my hand.”
He dragged his teeth along my neck, nibbling and sucking as he went. He curled his fingers inside me each time he pumped them in and out. He wouldn’t need to do much more to deliver on his first promise.
“Then, I’m going to take you from behind. Hold your hair while I give you the pounding you deserve for all your mouthing off.”
He bit my neck, harder this time, and a strange pinch made me gasp. Liquid fire radiated out from a tiny pinprick, but it dissipated as quickly as it arrived. Whatever it was, I wanted more of that delicious sting.
“I swear to God, Luca, if you’re talking shit right now, I’ll find a way to push you off that bridge.”
He chuckled, dark and sinful, and his thumb descended on my clit, rolling over it in slow circles. The shock raced through my body like lightning. I jerked, and he tightened his grip.
“And after your second orgasm…” He licked my neck where I’d felt the pinch and nipped at my ear, never stopping his thumb’s torturous circles. “After I fuck you deep from behind, I’m going to flip you over and fuck you again, nice and slow.” He picked up the pace of his thumb and his fingers, and I stilled, balanced on the edge of spectacular. “I’m going to make you feel every inch of my big dick owning your tight little pussy.” And with a curl of his fingers, I came undone.
My muscles clenched. My shoulders shook. My world shattered into a million pieces. Everything destroyed by Luca Moretti.
“Hell yeah, baby. Come for me. Fuck my hand and come for me.” He stilled his fingers inside but kept the pressure on my clit like he knew exactly what I needed to ride out the orgasm, to make it last as long as it could. I ground myself against him without shame and without restraint.
Panting and shaking through aftershocks, I slumped against him and rested my forehead on his. Our combined breath was frantic and hot.
He pulled his fingers out, lifted them to his mouth, and licked them clean. “I’ve dreamed of tasting you.” His dark eyes locked with mine through each sinful taste. “You’re even sweeter than I imagined.”
He rubbed the pad of his thumb against my lips until they parted, and he dipped it into my mouth. I closed my mouth around his thumb and ran my tongue over it, tasting myself. His chest rumbled with satisfaction.
He pulled his thumb back but paused on my bottom lip. He stared at where his thumb held it, and his nostrils flared as if exercising immense control, as if the temptation of my mouth was a line he refused to cross. In one swift motion, he stepped back, lifted me off the island, and set me on my feet. I wobbled, shaken from my orgasm, but he held me up until I regained my balance.
He rubbed my nipple through my shirt, pressed it hard, and rolled it under his thumb. He slid his other hand around my hip to my ass, squeezed, and forced me into him. His rock-hard erection pressed into my stomach.
“Upstairs.” He swatted my ass. “Now. On my bed.”
Who was I to disobey?