16. Change of Plans
sixteen
To say she was worried would have been an understatement. Felicity had expected him to be gone longer, based on his note, but the relief she’d started to feel at realizing Cristiano was home already had vanished as soon as she saw him. The sight of the blood staining his clothes was jarring, to be sure, but that hadn’t been what wrapped cold, sharp claws around her lungs. The concern seizing her breath came from the hard set to his jaw and the way he’d avoided her gaze before disappearing in the bathroom.
Something was wrong.
She tried to be patient, to tell herself she was panicking over nothing. She let her eye follow his path in reverse and released one easier breath at the lack of blood smeared across the floor. He didn’t appear to have trailed blood through the penthouse, that was at least good. That doesn’t mean he’s not hurt. That didn’t mean something wasn’t wrong.
Felicity moved from the sitting room to the bedroom, perching on the bed, and tried to wait. But they’d been living together for close to two weeks now. Cristiano showered no less than once a day. And with the exception of the times they showered together, he tended to be very efficient about it.
Unable to stop herself, Felicity made her way into the bathroom.
She was prepared to see his clothes bundled on a large towel on the floor, though she doubted she’d ever be prepared to see evidence of blood on them, and she’d been prepared for the steam that fogged up the glass of the enclosure. She had not been prepared to see what looked like the outline of him hunched toward the far wall of the shower as if … as if he were in pain.
Her heart lodged in her throat and it was all Felicity could do to hurry out of her maxi dress and panties, not caring where they fell. She knew it was a little invasive, but he hadn’t let her hurt alone so the least she could do was support him in whatever moment of need he was having. She unfortunately knew her way around wrapping a wound, if it came to that. So she pulled open the glass, already stepping in before he even turned toward her, and came up short when she realized the most jarring thing of all.
He wasn’t hurt. There was no sign of blood lingering no his skin. No bruise marring his body. From this angle, she couldn’t even see where her own nails would have dug into his shoulder blades the afternoon before. But his eyes were different. His eyes were faintly red, and almost looked … puffy.
Oh. Oh my god.
Felicity stepped closer. “Cristiano?”
He averted his gaze. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said.
Her throat constricted. She closed the distance between them and raised her hands to his chest. “Cristiano, babe, what’s wrong?”
He looked at her again, a shadow of a smile lifting his lips. “Babe, huh?” He settled his hands at her hips and bent forward, kissing her forehead.
She flushed. She hadn’t even heard herself say that. But she rolled with it. “You said I could call you whatever felt right.”
“So I did.”
She stretched her arms around his torso, flattening herself against him. “So? What’s wrong?”
He curled his arms around her, hands splaying over her back, and his chest inflated with a deep breath. “I took care of your landlord, and your neighbor,” he said. “You were right about Chuck having a connection to Tristán, but it was worse than that.”
She tipped her head back to look up at him, ignoring the way the movement caused a stream of water to slide down the side of her face. “Worse?”
“You aren’t going to like this story, baby.”
Felicity frowned. “I haven’t liked stories that involve that family for most of my life. I still want you to tell me.” Especially if it explained his strange, concerning behavior.
Cristiano bent forward, pressing his lips to her forehead, and quietly told her all the ways in which her bastard half-brother and his gang friends had been spying on her. Invading her every attempt at privacy, since almost the day she’d moved back to Newark. He told her that she’d been right to be uncomfortable around Matt, in particular, because the dirtbag had confessed to violating her space when she wasn’t home.
She definitely hadn’t liked that story. She also didn’t like how none of it, upsetting though it was for her, explained his strange response. So, when he was done explaining all that, she stretched her arms up to catch his jaw and pulled him down for a slow, lingering kiss. “Cris, thank you. Thank you for protecting me from them. Now, please, let me be there for you. You said you were going to trust me, that has to mean trusting me with what’s inside, as much as what’s going on around us, too.”
He settled a hand at the small of her back, holding her close, and reached beyond her with his other hand to turn off the water. “You’re right. And you’ll need to know.” He dragged in a breath, but made no move to step from the shower. “We’ve known for a while the Ink Blots have someone behind the scenes, someone with money and possibly influence, but when I had him locked up Tristán never copped to it. Turns out, Matt knew the name. He thought he could use it to scare me off.”
Felicity wound her arms around him again, sensing the tension returning to him. She never would have expected either her landlord or her neighbor to have such deep connections to the De Salvo’s enemies. Not even when Chuck had inadvertently revealed his ties to her half-brother.
Cristiano pulled in another deep breath. “The man backing the Ink Blots today is Brendan Coughlan,” he said, nearly growling the name. “He’s the last survivor of an Irish mob family that used to pretty much dominate Pennsylvania. I’ve never met Brendan, or any Coughlan, but twenty-six years ago the Coughlan Mob tried to push its way into Jersey. The way I heard it, they wanted to take over already established territory rather than claim their own, and they liked our family’s position opposite New York. I didn’t understand most of that as a kid, I just knew my parents suddenly got a lot more paranoid. One day I was being sent to school with bodyguards, the next I was pulled out of classes altogether.”
She stayed silent when he paused, recognizing that he wasn’t done and fearing what was about to follow. This story … goes that far back? He never talked about his parents. All she knew was that he’d lost them as a boy. Her throat swelled as concern mounted. Twenty-six years ago, Cristiano would have been about eleven years old. He would have been a boy just shy of puberty.
“After a couple weeks of … what felt like chaos,” he said, speaking slowly, “I was at Aunt Eleonora’s, skipping school with my cousins, and my uncle—who was Boss at the time—came barging in. It was the most disheveled I ever saw him, and for a second, I thought we were in trouble somehow. I would have preferred that, in hindsight, but instead he dropped to his knees and grabbed me to him … and that was how I learned that my parents were gone.”
It was the strain in his voice that pulled the tears from her eyes. Or maybe the visible tightness in his jaw. She’d suspected where his story was leading, but hearing how hard it was for him to repeat out loud, close to three decades after the fact, made her want to sob with him. For him. For that little boy who lost his parents so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so undoubtedly violently. All she could do, however, was tug his head to her shoulder and hold him for as long as he could endure the position.
He tangled his hand in her hair and said nothing for a long minute.
Then he straightened, exhaling with the movement, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Come on, let’s dry off before we get cold.”
She wanted to ask questions. Obviously, there was more to that story. But she also didn’t want to push. So she followed him from the shower and didn’t fight when he insisted on toweling her off, his large and always sturdy hands scrubbing studiously down her legs and arms as well as dipping the fabric beneath her breasts to catch the moisture there. She redressed while he then toweled himself off, and opted to wait for him to rejoin her in the bedroom.
He didn’t keep her waiting. Cristiano stepped out barely a minute later in another pair of dark gray sweats and practically pointless T-shirt, and he lifted her up before settling them both on the mattress. “The Coughlans had been attacking our family for weeks,” he said, speaking barely above a whisper. “A bunch of their men had pinned my parents down in broad fucking daylight and opened fire. My parents had thought they were smart, driving an unassuming sedan and sending a decoy car with an escort, but they got caught. Something like eight other people died, all civilians who had no goddamn clue what was happening.”
Felicity sucked in a breath at the thought. What he described was horrifying, on so many levels. She burrowed closer to him, tucking her head beneath his jaw and wedging her legs between his.
His arms tightened around her. “My aunt and uncle took me in, she pretty much handled everything for the funerals, and on the day we put my parents’ caskets in the ground, my uncle wrapped me in another hug and promised me it was over. He said there wasn’t another Coughlan by name or blood old enough to drive, and if I wasn’t satisfied with that, he’d find men willing to take care of their son, too.” Cristiano’s arms tensed, his voice darkening. “I should have insisted. But only one, barely older than me, I thought was good enough. I thought about my mother, and how she tried so hard to protect me from my father’s world—only to die in it. So I asked to have him left alone.”
Felicity reached up to rub her fingers along his jaw. “You were a child,” she whispered. “You’re hardly to blame for having a sense of mercy, or even compassion. It was enough, or it should have been.” She pushed herself up enough to find his eyes, hating the way they pinched at the corners with the strain of the memories he was reliving. “What’s happening now is not your fault, Cris.”
He blew out a rough breath and cupped her cheek with one hand. “I let him live, and now his resources are giving power to the men that are hurting you.”
She smiled, tipping her head into his palm. “My family’s been hurting me my entire life. Honestly, using other people to spy on me is invasive and creepy, but not nearly as bad as the violence.” She poked his cheek. “Besides, eleven-year-old you couldn’t have seen the future. If you did see this all unfolding, I’ll be more mad you didn’t show up to sweep me away the day I turned eighteen.”
He finally grinned and the next thing she knew, he’d flipped them over, pinning her to the mattress. His lips replaced his hand on her cheek, kissing along her jaw and up to her ear. “Baby, I’d have been there the night that fucker tried to force himself on you if I had that kind of magic.” He trailed his kisses down her neck. “I know you’re right. But the idea of you being hurt by the same bastard whose family already took nearly everything from me—”
Felicity dragged his head up, catching him off-guard enough that he only blinked at her in surprise. “No one’s taking me away, Cristiano. I’m yours. I choose to be yours.”
He groaned and kissed her, hard and demanding, crushing her beneath him as if he needed to consume her entire body. And she was happy to let him.
Eventually, he rolled them over again, pulling her into his lap without withdrawing from her and stretching out his arm for the phone he’d left on the side table. His other arm remained anchored around her, in case she might have the crazy idea of climbing off. “This is information I have to share with the family,” he said after a few seconds.
Felicity let herself lean back against him, still flushed and breathless. Part of her wondered what it said about her that she loved just resting with his thick cock buried inside her. That was not a question she planned to ask Dr. Laura, though. At a more appropriate time, she would share the thought with Cristiano. For now, she asked, “Does that mean you have to go?”
He turned his head enough to press his lips into her hair. “I’m not leaving until it’s time to pick up your ring. He said he’d have it ready by the end of the work day.”
“Today? Really?”
Cristiano chuckled, the vibration going straight through her. “He knows good business when he gets it.” His fingers massaged across her belly, brushing beneath her boobs. “I do have to make a call. I’m going to ask them over tonight. There’s a large conference room we use sometimes about ten floors down. I want to tell them everything—but not if you’re not ready for that.”
She couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves that danced through her for a moment. Felicity licked her lips and reached down, laying her hand over the back of his. “If you think this is the right time, I trust you.”
He reached over, caught her by the chin, and tilted her head back until he could slide his tongue into her mouth. The kiss was wet and messy and delightful, and it left her breathing too hard when he retreated. Without saying another word, he picked up his phone and swiped his thumb across the screen.
From her angle, Felicity was able to glimpse the screen before he lifted it to his ear. He really did use that photo for a wallpaper. She’d almost forgotten, and the realization made it hard not to squirm.
Cristiano moved his anchoring arm until his hand was curved around her hip, holding her still. “I need to meet with the three of you. Tonight.”
She pulled in a quiet breath and resettled against him, not wanting to distract from his call.
“No, I’d rather not talk at the house. I was thinking about using the room here at the tower.” Cristiano was quiet again while the voice, distinctly male but too low for Felicity to hear with any clarity, responded. Then Cristiano continued. “That’s entirely up to you, cousin. It won’t be an easy conversation, but I imagine you’ll share at least most of the content when you get home, anyway.”
She felt Cristiano tense up and started massaging his arm gently.
His body relaxed. “Yes, it’s about that. I got information from them. In person would be better.” Another pause. “That’s fine. I’ll see you then, thank you.”
She waited until he set the phone down. “So, tonight?”
His arm tightened again. “Tonight.” He kissed her temple. “I’ll make them see.”
Trust was a very complicated thing. He knew what he’d promised, but Cristiano couldn’t remember a time he’d been more nervous. If he was wrong about his ability to persuade Dante, this day could end up in absolute disaster. He wanted to trust his cousin, who’d been more like a brother to him for most of his life, but the idea of exposing Felicity to such danger went against Cristiano’s every instinct.
His eyes tracked the digitally displayed numbers overhead as the elevator descended. It was the first time he’d taken Felicity out in this elevator—in part because the elevator was accessible to everyone in the building, and in part just because he so rarely used it. The added element of vulnerability had his shoulders tense, his body ready to move with the first sign of danger.
Felicity tucked both her hands into his. The still-cool metal of the ring that now resided on her finger drew his focus and he looked down as her quiet words reached his ears. “Does the De Salvo family own this whole building?”
He gave her smaller hands a squeeze, thumb stroking over her knuckles. “I own it. It was part of my inheritance.”
The elevator came to a stop as the readout settled on twenty-five. Cristiano drew a breath, squeezed Felicity’s hands tighter, then let go and moved his hand to the small of her back.
She tipped her head back as they started forward, a smile teasing her lips. “Now I have more questions,” she said, keeping her voice quiet.
He could feel the tension in her. He knew she wasn’t as calm as she was trying to present, but he appreciated her effort all the same. “Later,” he murmured as they neared the corner in the hall. He kept pressure at her back, guiding her to one of the main spaces on the floor. They were several minutes ahead of schedule, but there was still no guarantee they would be the first to arrive. That was why they had to approach this calmly and purposefully.
Cristiano was proud of Felicity for not letting the nerves she had to be feeling completely overtake her. She wasn’t shaking, or clenching the sides of her nice dress in her fists. Still, he doubted he was the only one who breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed into the conference room and found it empty. Empty of other life, at least.
The deceptively large, round table remained just off of center as it should, all ten of its chairs neatly tucked into place. There was more seating than they’d ever needed at this table, but that was by design. Just as the equality implicit in a circular table tricked the mind of any less-illuminated individual who might happen this far up. It was all intended to seem innocent, modestly professional while maintaining a functional casual balance. They did, in fact, sometimes play poker here. But most of the time, this room served a much less casual purpose, and the men who sat at that table absolutely knew their hierarchy.
Cristiano continued through, moving Felicity quickly to the small side room. The vertical blinds were already shut, as always, and he would leave the door open as it should be. But there was a chair inside, so he indicated for her to take it. They’d already discussed this plan. The room was set up with drink supplies, for the times when users of the adjoining room wanted a quick cup of water or one of several instant beverages. There was a mini-fridge, always stocked, which tended to see more use. If this meeting were happening during working hours, this plan would carry a much higher risk. But an after-hours, heavy conversation with just them would not likely incur any drinking. Not before he got to the part where he called for her, at least. That was what mattered.
Felicity released a quiet breath and smoothed her hands down her skirt. Her nerves were a bit more visible now, but that was understandable.
Cristiano crouched in front of her and curled a finger beneath her chin. “Remember to keep still and quiet until I call your name, baby. I’ll try not to drag it out too long.”
She nodded. “I can do that.” She smiled faintly. “We can do this.”
Fucking hell, he loved this woman. He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead, stood, and practically stomped from the room. He hated this plan. Rather, he hated the need for it. He hated that he couldn’t just show up at his surrogate brother’s house or the house where he’d basically been raised with the woman he loved on his arm and declare that he, too, was engaged. He hated that he was going to have to argue for her future, for their future.
He hated the situation her birth family had put her in.
And he tried not to let all of that anger show on his face as he leaned his hip on the table and settled in to wait.
Her dilemma was Tristán’s fault. Tristán had only had the resources for that—had only managed to indirectly put Felicity in this position—because the last motherfucking Coughlan had barreled back into their lives. So, really, she was a victim of the same scum of the earth that the rest of them were. He would explain all of that, and Dante would understand. He hoped.
The door opened again a couple of minutes later and Dante led the way inside, Romeo on his heels. Iris was nowhere in sight.
Cristiano arched a brow as he straightened. “No Iris?” He was surprised. Dante had specifically asked about bringing her.
Dante inclined his head. “She offered to babysit and give Mother a break.”
“It is past Mom’s usual babysitting hours,” Romeo added.
“Pretty sure it’s also past Lucy’s usual bedtime,” Cristiano said. He watched the pair move around the table, toward the seats they typically preferred.
Romeo shrugged. “I told her she could stay up an extra hour, if she was good to Aunt Iris. It’s good bonding time.”
“Iris is looking forward to it,” Dante said.
Mikey stepped in, shutting the door behind him. “Just the four of us?”
Cristiano caught himself before he narrowed his eyes at his youngest cousin.
Dante sighed quietly. “Iris is babysitting. If we’re all here, let’s get started.” He motioned to the table, then took his seat. Cristiano, Romeo, and Mikey followed suit. Mikey set his tablet on the table in front of him, as per usual. Dante’s gaze darted briefly between his brothers before settling on Cristiano. “You’re the one who called this meeting, Cris. What’s so important?”
Romeo leaned back in his seat, smirking. “I’m honestly more curious about your lady friend. Can we talk about that, too? Is it serious?”
Both of Cristiano’s brows shot up his forehead before he could stop them.
A grin teased Dante’s lips for just a second. “Iris said you mentioned a woman.”
Mikey looked over. He didn’t say a word, just stared pointedly. Expectantly.
Cristiano mulled it over for a beat. He’d intended to talk about Coughlan first, but an opening was an opening he supposed. So he let out a careful breath. “There are multiple things I need to tell you,” he said. He stood. “The first is that I’m sorry. You might be angry, and that was never my intention, but I need you to understand that this is my decision. She’s not ‘my lady friend.’ She’s my fiancée, and I’d like to introduce you, if you can at least give me your word you won’t shoot first.”
Mikey dropped his head into his hand as if he were surprised.
Romeo sat forward; eyes wide. “Fianc—”
Dante chuckled, blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Is she here? In the other room?”
“Seriously?” Mikey mumbled.
Cristiano inclined his head.
Dante leaned back, settled his hands in his lap, and raised his voice. “Come join us, Ms. Garcia. We can’t get to know you if my cousin keeps hiding you away.”