Chapter Eight
I park the bike up, hiding it in the shadows.
Stashing it and my helmet in the trees, I creep along the tree line.
There’s a tree down in the back corner, and I use this to scale the wall, clawing my way up the downed trunk.
I’m not worried about how I’ll get back out; I’ll just walk straight out of the front door.
I stick to the hedges and foliage as I make my way towards the house, steering clear of all the security lights.
They’ve got slack with their patrols. Lackadaisical with their security measures.
Father was the same. They think they’re unstoppable, unrivalled, impenetrable.
They get complacent. They get lazy, and soon they will all come crashing down.
I know the layout. I know which room he’s in, and I head to the back of the house.
There’s a balcony that overhangs the patio, and I creep along the edge of the property, my back against the wall. Jumping up with a boost from one of the garden chairs, I grab for the balcony, pulling myself up and heaving my body over the railing.
I step to the door. It’s cracked open, and I peer inside.
I can see he’s sleeping, the moonlight speckles over his body, the white sheets tossed around and the corner sliver resting over his middle, his hand under the edge of the sheet.
His other arm bent up, resting under his head.
His bulging muscles rest against the pillow.
His tattoos cover almost every inch of visible skin and head under the sheet.
I want to see. I want to follow the lines of each single stroke of each delicious line. Possibly with my tongue.
I shake myself out of it. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I’m pissed he sent someone after me. They followed me. They were reporting back to him, but to what end and whose side is he on?
I slide the door silently back, just enough for me to slip inside.
I reach down and grip the handle of the knife stuffed in my boot.
My leathers creak slightly as I move. I stand at the side of the bed, knife clutched in my hand, some of the anger dissipating as I stare at him, so serene, so beautiful.
His face relaxed, those boring eyes that see into my soul closed, the tense jaw slack, his lips full and pink.
I bite my lip as I try to focus on the reason I’m here. I bring back the anger to the surface. I throw my leg over his body as I grip his neck. The knife presses against his throat as his eyes open, and the slight kink of his lips infuriates me.
“You think this is funny? You think I can’t look after myself? That I can’t murder you in your fucking bed?”
“I know you can.” His voice gravelly and gruff. It rumbles through me into my core. I take a breath. “I just don’t want you to have to. I’m on your side, Ari.”
“I don’t need you. I don’t need anything from you.” I spit, “I don’t trust you.”
His hands slide up my thighs, slowly caressing over the supple leather. His hands slide up over my waist, and his thumbs push under my jacket. They rub slowly over my skin. The heat from them sears my flesh.
“You will.”
I scoff. “Don’t hold your breath. Stay out of my way, Vittorio, or the wedding will be off.”
He smirks, “You don’t have to do this alone, Ari.”
“Yes. I do!” I snarl at him. His eyes bore into mine, and I sigh. “Just stay out of this, Vittorio.”
He doesn’t answer. I take a breath, click the knife shut and slip it back into my boot.
I go to climb off, but his grip tightens around my waist before I’m flipped onto my back.
His body lies on top of mine. He grinds against me before he kneels up.
His thick cock juts out, and I refrain from staring at it.
I consciously maintain eye contact, and I refuse to bite or lick my lips.
He undoes the fastening of my leather trousers and tugs them down.
I lift my hips to help him, but my breathing stays impassive.
When my trousers are around my knees, he leans back, tugging my boots off, tossing them onto the floor at the side of the bed my knife clatters as it spills out of them before removing my bottoms completely.
He grabs my hand, tugs me until I’m sitting, and slides my jacket down over my shoulders, dropping it from my arms and tossing it in the pile with the rest of my clothes, leaving me in my socks, underwear and a black vest. I don’t fight, I don’t speak, I just wait.
“What’s that look for?” He frowns as he takes in the blank look on my face.
“Nothing.”
“Ari?”
“You’re just like the rest of them, men. The men in my life, you all just take. Go on then. Take what you want.”
His brow tightens, his jaw ticks, and he glares at me. His lips part with a snarl. “I’m nothing like the rest of the men in your fucking life, Arianna.”
The hurt flashes across his face as he flops beside me. I sit up to climb off the bed, but he grabs me and tugs me flush against his body. Wrapping his arms tightly around me, he pulls me in as tight as he can. He kisses my shoulder. “Just sleep, okay.”
I blow out a breath as he adjusts his body against mine.
His breath flutters across the back of my neck, his breathing steadies as I begin to relax, not knowing whether to stay or leave, but his arm turns into a dead weight, his heart rhythmically thumps against my back, and it settles me in a way I’ve never felt before.
I feel instantly calmer, and a wave of contentment flashes over me, and I sigh as I drift to sleep.
I wake with sunlight streaming through the open patio door.
The heat radiates against me. The solid cock is sticking into my ass, and his hot breath is puffing against my cheek.
I crawl out from under his arm and rest it gently down as I creep off the bed, my eyes never moving from his.
But his face, mesmerising as it is, stays relaxed.
He’s so handsome like this, and I would love to stay and stare at him like some kind of weirdo.
I might as well get some work done while I’m here.
I tug on my leathers and I step out of the room, clicking the door gently closed behind me. And I creep down the corridor and head straight to Massimo’s office. I make myself comfortable in his chair and spin around, kicking my boots up onto his desk and relax back and wait.
It isn’t long before I’m greeted with the angriest of faces, the literal definition of if looks could kill, as he pushes through the door.
The second he sees me, he drops his coffee.
The black liquid splashes up against the trouser leg of his suit, and he curses before yelling for the guards, which I clearly already got past.
“Morning, Massimo. I thought we should start on some details for the wedding, ya know, kick a few ideas around and get the ball rolling.”
“Get out!” he snarls at me, and I grin, flipping my legs down and leaning forward, resting my hands on the table and steepling my fingers.
“Now, now, Massimo. Don’t be like that. We’re going to be family real soon.”
“Over my dead body,” he spits, still frozen in the doorway, one hand gripping the handle, the other in front of him as if he still has his coffee mug gripped in it, even though it’s on the floor in front of him.
“That could be arranged.” I smile politely at him and sit back in the chair. “Now let’s get down to business.”
“Bellino,” he yells as the guards finally make an appearance, sauntering in before realising the severity of the situation and pulling their weapons and aiming them at me.
“Calm the fuck down, gentlemen.” I grin. “It’s a little too late for all that.”
Bellino steps behind his father, and Massimo suddenly remembers who he is and steps inside the office, pushing the guards to the side. He slams his hands down on the desk.
“The wedding is off. There’s no way you will be marrying, Bellino. I refuse to allow it.”
“I totally agree.” The look of confusion settles across their faces as they turn to glare at each other.
“Get out,” he snarls again.
I stand and lean on the desk opposite him as I see movement and Vittorio steps into the doorway.
“Just in time, my love.”
Vittorio looks confused. Bellino and Massimo spin to take in a sleep-rumpled Vittorio, shirtless in a pair of lounge pants and barefoot.
“What’s going on?” He scrubs at his hair as he stretches.
“This whore still thinks she’s marrying your brother,” Massimo spits, and Bellino crosses his arms, his face impassive.
“Firstly. Not a whore. Secondly, you misunderstand me, Massimo. I will not be marrying Bellino. When I’ve fully taken over, I will be choosing who I marry. That was the deal.”
“That will never happen. I will see to it that you fail.”
“Now, now, Massimo. Don’t be a sore loser. I’ll still be marrying into the family. I just choose Vittorio.”
Bellino’s eyes flare with something like rage, and Massimo’s blood pressure goes through the roof. But Vittorio steps between them and to my side. I stare over at him, and he gives me a slight smirk. The tiniest kink from the corner of his mouth as he presses against my side.
“You cannot be fucking serious.” Massimo spits out. Bellino’s jaw tightens, and I think this is the most that man has ever looked at me, but I cock a smirk at Massimo.
“That was the deal, Massimo. I get to choose, and I choose Vittorio.” I sit back down, and Vittorio steps back and stands beside the chair. Massimo takes a step back. His lip curls, and Bellino steps to their father’s side.
“You’re gonna pick her? Over family?” Bellino growls. It’s low and dangerous. The severity spreads across his face, the tension in his jaw evident as he bites down hard enough to crack a tooth.
“Yes,” Vittorio says with total confidence. I want to stare up at him. I want to melt in his arms. I hope I’m not being played. I hope he means it, but I keep my face passive.
“I will be marrying Vittorio, Massimo, whether you like it or not, by the rules you set. I will be taking my place, and if you try to stop me, you will forfeit your right to a position within the Syndicate. You know the rules, Massimo. Don’t mistake me for my father.
I won’t let it slide; you will abide by the ruling. ”
His face tightens. “Get out. Get the fuck out.”
I nod, stepping around the table. Bellino steps in front of me. “Watch your back, fiancée.”
“Don’t hand out threats against Syndicate members, Bellino, you know the consequences.”
“You’re not a member yet. Fiancée.” He spits at me again, using the term as if it’s signed and sealed, and I’m already his.
“I am not, have not and never will be your fiancée. As far as the Syndicate goes, I’m as good as in. I’m a legacy. You know I’m already more powerful than my father ever was. You know I’m already more successful in such a short time. So watch yourself, Bellino.”
He takes a step forward, towering over me, but Massimo places his hand on his chest.
“She’s not worth it.” The way he relaxes and gives in makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I can feel the shift in the air, the way his face straightens out as if he’s turned a tap to release all the emotion that was there a second ago, and he steps back.
I step through the door and into the hallway.
I turn back to look at the three of them.
But Massimo is glaring at Vittorio, who is still on the other side of the desk.
“You’re going to marry her?” Massimo’s voice lower, stoic, not an ounce of anger left, nothing.
“Yes.”
In a second, that dissipates, pure fury crosses his face.
“Then you get the fuck out, too. And when you marry her, take her fucking name because you’re no longer a fucking Ricci.
” Vittorio steps around the desk and pushes through the middle of them.
He walks towards me and places his hand on my back, pushing me forward.
A few steps down the hall, he whispers, “He’s up to something.
Get out fast. I’ll grab my things. I’ll meet you at yours?
” It’s a question. I hear it in the tone of his voice, the unsaid words.
I chose you over my family. Will you choose me?
I nod and stride away, trying to process what just happened and how badly this is really going to go.
I hear muffled shouts and crashes as I leave the building.
I jog down the steps and stride down the driveway then look around behind me, making sure I’m not followed as I exit the driveway. I take off running and don’t stop until I get to my bike. I snatch my helmet, tugging it on before wheel spinning away from the cover of the trees.