Chapter 19
Catalina
Over the next few weeks, we settled into a routine. Dario and I would eat breakfast together before he left for his day. Our quality together-time was at night. Sometimes he’d need to go out. Other evenings, after dinner, he’d work in his downstairs office. Either way, alone in our bedroom suite was the place for us to talk and connect. While I didn’t ask any more questions about Josie, we were never at a loss for conversation.
In the relatively short period of our marriage, I’d become addicted to the way Dario touched and kissed me. His patience and my resolve reaped our desired outcome. Sex was not only better, I also yearned for the closeness. Whether before falling asleep, during the night, or first thing in the morning, both of us would initiate lovemaking.
Being in his presence caused my blood to warm. Having his attention sent electric currents to my core. One night as we climbed into bed, I scooted closer and ran my fingertips over the scars on his chest.
“You can tell me about these,” I said, “and I won’t be frightened of you.”
Dario leaned back against the headboard and reached for my hand. His freshly showered scent filled my senses as his hand warmed mine. “I’m not sure I remember how I got all of them.” He smiled. “Dante is responsible for a few.”
“You and Dante fought?”
“When we were boys. Our father made us.”
“What?” I said, sitting taller and staring at his handsome features. “Why?”
“To make us tough.”
“He didn’t want you to hurt one another, did he?”
“If you ask me, I’d say he wanted one of us to kill the other.”
My stomach twisted. “But now you’re close. Dante was at dinner tonight.”
“It’s my father’s worst nightmare. If he could keep us at war with one another—hating and distrusting each other—we couldn’t be at war with him.”
I thought about my father. “I can’t imagine a father wanting his children to hate one another. I miss my siblings. I’m excited that Camila is coming to visit soon.” I wanted to ask more questions. There were subjects about which I’d yet to ask. “Vincent’s harsh parenting must have worked. Papá said he heard you became a made man at thirteen.”
Dario held out his right arm, twisting it and showing me a scar on his forearm. “That’s from the omertá—the ceremony.”
I ran my fingertips over the scar. It had to be over three inches long. “I read that during the omertá, someone pricks your finger for a few drops of blood.”
Dario shook his head. “It wasn’t a pinprick.”
“Who cut you?”
“Capo dei capi. That would be my father.”
“And you were thirteen?” I asked in disbelief. “I heard you slit a man’s throat. It’s how you got your nickname.”
“The man was a traitor. He was caught stealing from the famiglia.” Dario shook his head. “His death was an example and a warning. The fact he was begging a kid for his life at the end made a lasting impression.”
Looking up, I met his stare. “Will you…if we have a son?” The overwhelming sense of dread made my question difficult to ask.
“I would rather my son stand at my side because he wants to be there, instead of him being there because he doesn’t want to miss my death.”
“How old were you when he made you and Dante fight?”
“Four or five.”
“Until?”
“We formed a united front in our teens. We finally told him if he tried that shit again, he would be the one bleeding out.”
“Isn’t that against some rule? He’s the capo—capo dei capi.”
“He made a choice. He could have had us both killed.”
“Would he do that?”
“He probably considered it. He didn’t,” Dario said. “The thing was, what my father did to us made us both strong and disciplined killing machines. We swore our loyalty to him and the famiglia, but unless Vincent Luciano wanted to sleep with guards posted outside his bedroom door every night, he had to admit he’d done his job too well. One of us would have taken him out.”
“You wouldn’t kill your father. You’d protect him, right?”
Dario leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t answer that.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me close to him. “I’m ready for him to step aside.”
“I thought that was supposed to happen after our wedding.”
“It was,” Dario said. “With the recurring issues with the bratva, a change in leadership could be construed as a weakness. As much as I hate some of his ways, I need to ride it out with him a little longer.” He ran his hand up and down my arm. “Your skin is so fucking soft.”
Leaning toward me, he pushed me back until my head was on my pillow. I lifted my hand to his hard chest and touched a scar not far from his heart. “This one?”
“I’ll answer you,” he said between kisses. “Then I get to search your body for scars.”
His kisses were making it hard to concentrate. “I-I don’t have any scars.”
“I’ll need—to check—every inch—thoroughly.” His words were interrupted by more kisses.
My circulation quickened as Dario teased the strap of my nightgown over my shoulder. I arched my back and gasped as he captured my nipple between his teeth. The lights were still on, giving me a good view of his handsome features as he sat up and his stare grew darker by the second. His abdomen was sculptured, each set of muscles defined. Sparse dark hair covered his pecs with another trail leading to beneath his boxer briefs.
The bulge under his silk boxers grew as he looked down at my now-exposed breasts. Without another word, he reached for the hem of my nightgown and pulled it over my head, fanning my hair over the pillow. His lips teased and his teeth nipped as he worked his way down my body, removing my panties as his tongue delved between my folds.
“Roll over.”
I hesitated, surprised by his request.
“Do as I say,” he commanded.
Nodding, I did as he asked, rolling over to my stomach. Dario reached for my hips and lifted. I straightened my arms, on all fours.
“No, lie down on your elbows.”
As I did what he wanted, I felt overly exposed. Mortified was a more accurate description. Why had we left the lights on? I buried my face in the pillow, knowing that my behind was not all that he could see. Dario ran his finger from my entrance all the way back to my asshole. I gasped and his touch went forward.
“You’re fucking exquisite, Catalina.”
Up until now, our sex had always been missionary. I’d read books that described other positions but didn’t know if people really did them. Dario’s warmth came over my back and bottom as his erection pressed against me. I didn’t mean to tense; I’d gotten better at staying relaxed with him over me—over the front of me.
This was different.
We have all the pussy—Ana’s advice came back to me. I also recalled Arianna’s advice—There’s no shame in letting him do the less desirable things with a mistress or one of the whores from the clubs.
If my husband wanted doggie-style, I would do doggie-style.
Dario wrapped his arm around my waist and reached between my legs. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on his touch as he teased my clit and worked one and then two fingers in me, curving them with the most delicious friction. My body moved with his rhythm.
“That’s it,” he said, his deep baritone near my ear. “You’re still so tight.”
I bit my lip as the pressure of his cock came against my core. He didn’t enter me. Instead, he continued teasing between my legs as he caressed my behind with his other hand.
“Oh,” I called out as he pushed himself inside me.
Dario stopped. “Breathe, Cat. Breathe.”
It was the first time he’d called me by my nickname.
I let out a breath, not realizing I wasn’t breathing. Determined to make it through this, I concentrated on each breath as Dario pushed inch by inch inside me. His warm breath skirted over my neck and shoulders as we stayed connected. Moving my knees, I adjusted to the greater sense of fullness that I felt in this position.
“You can move,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. I was sure. I could do this.
Dario began thrusting slow, measured, and controlled. It was as he sped up his pace that a twinge of pleasure simmered within me, growing by the moment. My nipples tightened as energy zapped my core. It was an orgasm, and it was approaching like a freight train. My mind didn’t expect to enjoy this less proper sex. My body hadn’t gotten the memo.
Dario was winding me tighter and tighter.
I gripped the pillow as my body grew rigid. His breaths upon my neck and the sound of his body and mine were all that I could hear as the orgasm ripped through me. I screamed out as my body convulsed around him.
Dario’s thrusts came faster before he too found his release, his deep groan reverberating in my ears. He rested his warm body over mine. My knees and elbows ached. I wanted to lie flat, but I wasn’t sure if I should move. Slowly, Dario pushed away, breaking our union as our juices spilled over onto my thighs.
I rolled to my back, finding his dark stare. “I wasn’t sure I’d like that.”
His lips curled. “From your reaction, I think you did.”
“I did.” In the light of the room, I again touched the scar near his heart. “You said you’d tell me.”
“I was ambushed,” he said, rolling to my side with his head propped up on his fist.
“These stories don’t make me scared of you. They make me frightened for you.”
He kissed my forehead. “My attacker didn’t live to brag. If they haven’t killed me yet, they aren’t going to do it.”
I rolled until I was facing him. “I can still worry.”
Dario teased a strand of my hair away from my face. “Good night.”
I love you.
My eyes opened wide at the thought.
Where did it come from?
This marriage wasn’t about love.
“Good night,” I said, pushing childish thoughts of love away and closing my eyes.
The following morning, Dario surprised me at breakfast. Setting his coffee cup down, his gaze met mine. “I was thinking about what you said last night.”
I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d said. “I might need another hint.”
“That you worry about me.” He shook his head. “You don’t need to, but I can still worry about you.”
Because of what happened to Josie.
“I’m safe with Armando and Giovanni.”
“I was thinking about your brother’s wedding gift.”
My cheeks rose. “I haven’t exactly used it—at all. It’s in a drawer in my closet.”
“I called Rocco and told him I wouldn’t be in the club until later. I thought we could spend the morning together. I’ll continue the lessons Emiliano started.”
“You want to teach me to use a knife?” I asked excitedly.
He nodded. “After breakfast, put on some workout clothes, and we’ll go to the famiglia gym. You can show me what you know.”
“Okay.”
After breakfast, I hurried upstairs, eager to spend part of the day with my husband. Em taught me to wear tight clothes during his lessons. They were less likely to be snagged. I changed into my sports bra, tight running shorts, and pulled a tank top over the bra. Quickly, I pulled my hair up into a high ponytail and was putting on my tennis shoes when Dario appeared at the doorway to my closet. He was changed out of his suit and wearing gray sweatpants and a faded Kansas City Chiefs t-shirt.
He scanned me from my head to my toes. “Maybe we should do our sparring here in the exercise room.”
“You don’t want to go out?” I asked, disappointed.
“I’ll have to kick anyone’s ass who stares at you at the gym.” He waved his hand up and down. “And dressed like that, they’re going to look.”
I stood, my cheeks rising at his compliment. “I’m your wife. I’m sure if you make that known, they’ll behave. After all, if this is the famiglia gym, they’re your men, right?”
“Right. They’re my father’s, but…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “Bring your holster and knife. I want you to get comfortable with it.”
Finding the pair near the back of one of my drawers, I secured the holster around my right thigh and added the knife. It was odd not to have it covered by a skirt.
Dario drove us across town in his BMW—another of his cars I secretly longed to drive.
“This gym isn’t like the ones they advertise on TV. It’s used by our soldiers to work out and to spar.” His lips twitched as he gave me a sideways glance. “I’m warning you that there won’t be other women there, and there’s probably an odor.”
“I’ve been warned.” I didn’t care about the gym. I cared that Dario was doing this with me.
Dario pulled the BMW onto a gravel lot beside an inconspicuous two-story brick building. There were cars of all different makes and models. As I got out of the car, I looked around at the dilapidated neighborhood. Dario placed his hand in the small of my back and led me toward a glass door.
Inside, there was an older man behind a window, his gun and holster visible. The overpowering scent that first hit me was that of cigarette smoke. A cloud hung below a suspended ceiling. Noticeable surveillance cameras were pointed at the front door.
The man obviously knew Dario, but his eyes widened at the sight of me.
“My wife,” Dario said in a tone that encouraged the man to stop his gaping.
“Ma’am.”
Keeping his hand on my back, Dario led me through a swinging door. I wrinkled my nose. The smoke odor was replaced by what could only be described as spoiled body odor.
“I warned you,” he whispered.
I nodded as everyone in the gym turned our direction. As Dario had said, there wasn’t another woman in sight. And the men were all a bit on the scary side.
“My wife,” Dario repeated.
The heads all turned away.
Looking around, I saw a boxing ring and multiple sparring mats. Beside one empty mat was a rack of knives of different lengths and handles. I ran my fingers over the handles. “I didn’t need to bring mine.”
“Every knife has a life of its own. It’s important to feel secure with the hilt in your hand. Come with me.”
I followed Dario to a bank of lockers where he deposited his guns and two knives. A smile came to my lips, knowing he still had a knife on his leg. This wasn’t bed or a shower; he wasn’t completely unarmed.
We went back to the empty mat, and I could feel the stares of the other men. “We’re being watched,” I said softly.
“I’d have to remove their eyes to make them stop. Blind soldiers aren’t useful. Show them what you can do. Reach for your knife.”
Looking down at the holster, I pulled the blade from its sheath.
Before I freed the blade, Dario was upon me, his hard chest against me. “You’re already dead, Catalina. Reaching for the knife is the easy part—you have to be able to do it without thinking.”
I nodded, realizing how ill-prepared I was.
“Okay.” He took four steps back. “Come at me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Dario laughed. “I’ve never felt safer.”
Pursing my lips, I held my knife low and near my thigh, like Em had taught me. I moved quickly toward him, swinging the knife in an upward arc toward Dario’s groin. He captured my wrist.
“I see you remember Emiliano’s instructions.”
“Let me try again.”
Perspiration coated my brow as I tried over and over. Each time, Dario either caught my wrist, or pulled me against him, his arm around my neck and shoulders. It was as he was releasing me that I spun, determined to find a target. Dario bent at the waist avoiding my knife, while lifting me over his shoulder. I landed on the mat, staring up at the ceiling fans.
“Are you all right?” he asked, appearing over me.
Nodding, I gasped for breath before moving to my feet. “I think the only way I can cut you is in your sleep.”
He pulled me against his chest. “You have stamina. We just need to work on your moves. Are you ready to call it a day?”
I looked up, my cheek still against his chest, and met his protective gaze. “Yes. And I promise, Armando or Giovanni will be with me.”
“You didn’t do badly.” He released me from his embrace. “Practice. At home you can work on removing the knife from the holster.” His dark eyes shone as he grinned. “Just not when I’m asleep.”