Chapter 15
ALEX
After Marcello and I touched down in Hartford, Connecticut, we took a quick helicopter ride to Devil’s Creek. We landed on the helipad at the Salvatore estate, which had three hundred-and-sixty-five-degree views of the bay and a four-story gothic mansion that reminded me of a castle.
My grandfather stood beside Arlo Salvatore on the blacktop.
I rushed over to him as Marcello handled my bags. “Pops, what’s going on? Marcello won’t tell me anything.”
He guided me toward the bay and didn’t speak until we were out of earshot. “I need you to stay with the Salvatores.”
I stared at him in horror. “Why can’t I go back to Wellington Manor with you?”
“I will explain everything tomorrow night over dinner.”
“Does this have to do with Aiden?”
Pops shook his head.
We had to be careful with our words. The Salvatores had eyes and ears everywhere, cameras posted inside and out. Trained soldiers guarded the estate like a military base.
I took a deep breath, trying to push down the nerves stirring inside me. “Do you trust them after what they did to Aiden?”
“No,” he muttered. “But we must work with them.”
“I thought Luca didn’t want to marry me anymore.”
Pops sighed. “I thought so too, but he’s changed his mind. And I owe the Salvatores.”
I’d never pushed him to tell me what he’d done to owe a life debt. He said knowing the truth would make me an accomplice.
The wind whipped through my hair, blowing long strands in my eyes. I glanced at the steep drop, listened to the water crash on the beach below me, and my stomach twisted into knots.
I was trapped here.
Luca’s grandfather had built the house during the Prohibition days and made a ton of money bootlegging. Given their current business dealings, I assumed there were secret passages and other ways out of this prison on the sea. And I needed to find them.
I looked up at Pops. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Because Luca doesn’t have a choice.”
Wheels rolled across the blacktop, and Pops spun around to look at Marcello and his father.
Arlo closed the distance between us. “Welcome back to Devil’s Creek, Alexandrea.”
He was a powerful man and not someone I wanted to mess with.
Arlo had ruined more than a few political campaigns with his precious secrets.
The Salvatores collected secrets like they were Pokemon cards.
They would dangle your darkest fears over your head like a carrot and torment you until they got what they wanted.
If I didn’t obey Arlo’s orders, he would use his influence and connections to destroy my family.
I offered my hand to Arlo, and he raised it to his mouth, giving my skin a light peck.
Arlo was handsome for a man in his late fifties, and his sons were the spitting image of him.
I could imagine Arlo breaking a few hearts in his day.
His dark hair was short on top with a hint of gray on the sides.
He was the same height as his son, except Marcello had broader shoulders and arms.
“Marcello will help you settle into your room,” Arlo said in a calm, deep tone. “If you need anything, ask him.” His gaze shifted to my grandfather. “Carl, it’s late. You should go. We can discuss the union in the morning.”
Pops bent down to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk more over dinner.”
He walked into the house with Arlo. Marcello rolled my suitcases, and I moved to his side.
“So, I’m your new roommate?”
He nodded.
Entering the house from the back entrance, we moved through the halls decorated with fine art. The paintings were modern and tasteless, the complete opposite of what had once adorned the walls of their home.
“Where is your mother’s art?”
“Didn’t take you long to notice.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Marcello stopped when we reached a Tuscan-style entryway with a massive crystal chandelier. My grandfather was a billionaire, but I didn’t grow up with money. After my grandfather had cut my mother off, my parents could hardly pay the bills.
Marcello rested his dress shoe on the bottom step of a wide staircase. He glared at me, gripping the iron banister that had an interesting design. “Stop asking questions.”
“Just tell me,” I demanded, a little annoyed with his constant attempts to avoid me. “What happened to her paintings?”
“They’re on loan to a gallery.”
I rolled my eyes at the jerk. “Was that so hard, Lonely Boy?”
“Don’t call me that. My brother has failed to keep your pretty ass in line, but you won’t get over on me. So don’t even try.”
Marcello lifted my suitcases and ascended the stairs.
At least a dozen doors spanned the corridor.
A row of sconces cast a soft glow on the floor, illuminating the beautiful Brazilian walnut.
The thick panels of wainscoting made it feel like the walls were closing in on me, draining the air from my lungs with each step I took toward my new life.
My eyes widened as I entered a room five times the average size of a bedroom with high ceilings and an ensuite bathroom. A four-poster bed sat at the center of the room, decorated in shades of gray, white, and black.
Marcello stood between French doors overlooking a patio with the best bay view.
I moved beside him as the water crashed against the rocks.
His hands slid to his waist, pushing his jacket to the side.
Another reminder he carried not one but two guns, just like his older brother.
For a businessman, you had to wonder why Luca always needed to carry weapons.
“Get in bed,” Marcello ordered.
“Then get out. I need privacy.”
He shook his head. “And risk you running away? Not a chance.”
I glared at him with so much hatred my skin burned. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can try, but you won’t reach the front door.” He grabbed my shoulder and steered me into the room. “It’s time for bed, princess.”
Marcello closed the doors and pulled the drapes over the windows.
He loosened his tie as he approached the bed, tugging on the silky blue fabric.
Was it sick that I wanted to watch this delicious man strip?
I guess I liked alpha assholes a little too much, which made the Salvatore brothers my biggest weakness.
I dropped to the floor and opened my suitcase, tossing aside art supplies to search for pajamas. “This house has enough beds. You don’t need to sleep in mine.”
“I haven’t slept in over thirty hours. I’m not in the mood to argue over something that doesn’t matter.”
“Whatever,” I huffed.
Marcello removed his dress shoes as I dug through my clothes, organizing the black wingtips at the foot of the bed. He stripped off his tie and laid it on the bench.
He was meticulous, perfect, like his older brother in almost every way. I couldn’t help but laugh as Marcello shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the desk chair.
Control-freak .
He noticed me looking, so I snapped my attention back to my clothes. Of course, I forgot my pajamas.
I kicked off my ballet flats and pulled my leggings down my thighs.
“What are you doing?”
Marcello’s tone was cold and frightening.
“I’m getting changed.”
He pointed his finger at my leggings. “Keep those on.”
I shoved the leggings down to my ankles. “How about no, drill sergeant?”
Marcello fumbled with the zipper of his pants, and his jaw set hard as his cold, blue irises found mine. “You want to see how hard I push my men? You wouldn’t last five minutes under the command of a real drill sergeant.”
Marcello handled security for Salvatore Global. And now, I was thinking about him in a uniform and almost drooled on myself. I would drop and give him twenty any day.
“So this is your nice side?” I tossed my hair back and chuckled. “How sweet of you to show it to me. I’m honored.”
“You’re lucky I’m tired, woman.”
He laid his pants on the chair back, standing a few feet away from me in all of his glory. His legs were long and toned, and beneath his boxer briefs was a serious bulge. Fuck me . The Salvatore brothers had more than good looks in common.
I pointed my finger at his shirt. “Are you sleeping in that?”
Marcello dimmed the lights, still wearing his white Oxford. “Worry about yourself.”
I lifted my tank top over my head, and he shook his head, annoyed with my defiance.
Though, I didn’t miss him checking me out.
Stripped down to my underwear, he stared at me like he wanted to tackle me to the floor and fuck me senseless.
I was hoping he would. I was in for one wild ride if he was anything like Luca in bed.
“I forgot to pack pajamas,” I told him with a flippant attitude. “Guess I’m sleeping naked. Hope you don’t mind, drill sergeant.”
Marcello stormed across the room, and I laughed at the serious expression on his face. The smile slipped from my lips when he lifted me into his muscular arms. They were thick and firm like a professional athlete, with so much muscle I needed two hands to grip his bicep.
He threw me over his shoulder like a laundry sack. I smacked his muscled back, yelling for him to release me. Marcello lowered me to the mattress and pulled the covers to my chin.
“Don’t move.”
He searched my bags and then strolled toward me, unbuttoning his dress shirt. My heart slammed into my chest as his cold, calculating eyes landed on me. I felt like I was having hot flashes as he approached the bed.
Holy mother of orgasms.
He dropped his shirt on top of the sheets. “Put this on.”
I did as he instructed, breathing so fucking hard my lungs were about to explode. He could see his effect on me and enjoyed every second. His perfect lips curved up into a sexy grin that nearly demolished my heart. Cruel and beautiful, the Salvatore brothers were the most tempting men I’d ever met.
He reached over, and for a second, I thought he would touch me. A part of me wanted him to climb on top of me. To dominate me, conquer me. Instead, he flicked off the lamp beside the bed, bathing the room in darkness.
“What the hell?”
My throat just about closed up. I hated the dark, desperate for even a sliver of light. As I reached for the lamp, Marcello shoved my hand away.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Can you light a candle or something?”
The right side of the mattress dipped beneath his weight. He moved around until comfortable and fluffed the pillows behind his head.
“I need music to fall asleep, Marcello. It helps with my nightmares.”
He sighed and reached for something on the table beside him.
Sweet orchestra music floated through the speaker on his cell phone.
Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky was my favorite ballet.
The story was so heartbreaking that I sometimes compared myself to Odette, the swan maiden.
I wished a handsome prince would save me.
Marcello set his phone on the bedside table and rolled onto his side to face me, his arm curled around a pillow. “Happy, princess?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I whispered, the soothing music instantly calming me. “But I find it disturbing that you know what helps me sleep.”
“Alex,” he muttered. “Close your eyes. We’ve both had a long day. You will need your rest for what my brother has planned.”