Chapter 13 #2
Her smile falters slightly. "It's not a charade. It's people enjoying themselves. Family traditions."
"Then go enjoy it with your family."
"All work and no play makes Marco a dull boy," she teases, but I can see the hurt behind her eyes.
Good. Maybe now she'll leave me alone.
"I prefer dull to foolish," I reply, stepping back.
“I’ll skate with you.” Paulie Peretti, a captain in Dominic’s business, materializes beside Gabriella.
Gabriella studies me a moment.
If she’s waiting for me to step in, she’ll be disappointed. She shakes her head in disappointment at me before cranking up the wattage in her smile and turning it to Paulie.
“Thank you, Paulie.” She loops her arm through his and they head off to rent skates.
I watch her go, telling myself I'm relieved. This is better. Distance is better.
Until Paulie leans in close, saying something that makes her laugh, that laugh that is free and full of joy. Then his hand settles on her lower back as he helps her onto the ice.
Something hot and vicious twists in my gut.
He has no business touching her like that. Not that it's any of my concern who Gabriella skates with. Or laughs with. Or lets touch her.
I watch as Paulie and Gabriella glide together, her initial wobbles steadying as he supports her.
When she slips, he catches her against his chest, holding her there longer than necessary.
My coffee cup crumples in my grip, hot liquid splashing over my hand. I barely notice the burn.
"You look like you're contemplating murder," Roman says, appearing beside me.
I don't respond, my eyes still fixed on the pair circling the rink.
"You know," Roman continues, "there's a simple solution to your problem."
"I don't have a problem."
He snorts. "Right. And I'm not Italian." He nods toward the ice. "Paulie’s just filling a vacancy. One you created."
“What the fuck are you talking about, Roman?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You might think you’re hiding it, but you’re not. You’re attracted to Gabriella—”
“No. I’m not,” I say through gritted teeth.
"Keep telling yourself that." Roman claps me on the shoulder. "Meanwhile, I'm going to rescue my wife from your scowling. It's scaring the baby."
He leaves me alone with my thoughts, which have become a battlefield of contradictions.
I shouldn't care. I have no right to care.
And yet watching Paulie’s hands on Gabriella makes me want to rip him apart limb by limb.
This is exactly why I avoid entanglements. They make you weak. Irrational. Vulnerable.
And still, my eyes track her every movement, cataloging each smile, each laugh, each time Paulie pulls her closer than necessary.
I'm pathetic. And I hate it.
I force myself to look away, but her pull is too strong. I walk to Roman, now holding the baby as Isabella skates with Angelica.
“I’m heading home.”
“You just got here.” Roman gives me a look that says I’m being a pussy. If he weren’t holding his son, I might shoot him for that.
“I made my obligatory appearance. Now I’m leaving. I’m handing off guardian responsibility of Gabriella to you. When she’s done, please arrange for her return to my place.”
Roman’s expression doesn’t change as he lifts his hand and salutes me.
The drive home is a blur of city lights and Christmas decorations that mock me.
I only escape it when I walk through my door, empty of wreaths and lights. Just the way I prefer it.
I descend to the basement, shedding my suit jacket and tie as I go.
I reach my private gym, stripping my clothes and putting on shorts and a T-shirt from the closet.
The punching bag receives the first assault of my frustration.
Each impact sends shockwaves up my arms.
I don't bother with gloves.
I want to feel something, anything other than this empty ache.
Paulie’s hands on her waist. Her laughter drifting across the ice. The way she looked at him.
The bag swings wildly as I unleash a combination that would shatter bones if directed at flesh.
By the time I’m finished, I’m not numb, but the intensity of my agitation is lessened.
I move to weights next.
I load the bar with more than usual, seeking that edge where physical strain drowns out mental turmoil.
Each rep burns, muscles screaming in protest, but I push through.
One more. And then one more.
Sweat pours down my face, my back, soaking through my shirt. But it’s still not enough.
Nothing is enough to purge her from my system.
A year apart did nothing.
What chance do I have with her sleeping under my roof?
My muscles finally give out. In an effort to purge my feelings, I’ve only weakened my defenses against them. I’m pathetic. Weak. Everything my father said I was.
I drag myself to the shower, washing away the sweat, and then with a towel wrapped around my hips, I head to the sauna.
The heat seeps into muscles that still ache from my punishing workout.
I close my eyes, willing my mind to empty, to find that meditative state where Gabriella Monti doesn't exist.
It doesn't work. It never works.
Even with my eyes closed, I see her laughing on the ice, Paulie's hands on her body, her smile directed at someone else.
The memory burns hotter than the sauna stones.
I adjust the towel around my waist, lean back against the wooden bench, and force myself to think about business.
I’m strong, dominant in business.
It never lets me down, never makes me feel inept.
The door creaks open, sending a brief rush of cooler air into my refuge.
My eyes snap open to see Gabriella entering the sauna.
Her hair is piled messily atop her head, tendrils hanging along her neck.
She wears only a towel, and my body reacts instantly, viscerally, blood rushing south.
My gaze is immediately drawn to the swells of round tits, which only makes the situation with my dick worse.
I try to drag my gaze lower, but then I see long legs and immediately remember how they used to wrap around my hips and pull me deeper inside her.
I let out a frustrated growl as I look at her face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“It’s cold out. I wanted to get warm.” She saunters in like she owns the place and sits on the bench across from me. “You abandoned me today.”
“No, I didn’t.” I wish I could get the image of Paulie’s hands on her out of my head. I should tell her to leave. I need to protect what little sanity I have left.
She adjusts her towel in a way that reveals nothing yet somehow everything.
Why does she keep doing this to me?
Invading my space, my thoughts, dismantling my defenses.
It's like she's determined to unravel me completely.
"I looked for you after skating. You were gone. That’s the definition of abandoning.”
I should apologize, but I don’t.
I keep my eyes fixed on a knot in the cedar wall behind her, avoiding the sight of her bare shoulders and the way her skin glistens. "I’m surprised you noticed. Besides, I’m no fun, remember?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Why is that?”
“Why is what?” I lean back and close my eyes. Maybe if I act indifferent, she’ll take the hint and leave.
“You’re no fun.”
“Why do you care? Paulie was able to step in and entertain you.” The minute the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I've revealed too much, shown my hand. I open my eyes to see if I’m right.
Her lips curve into a knowing smile that makes me want to kiss it off her face. "You're jealous."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Then what would you call it?" She shifts, the movement causing her towel to slip slightly before she catches it.
Heat crawls up my neck, and it has nothing to do with the sauna. "Relief that you weren’t going to hassle me about skating anymore.”
Her expression tells me she doesn’t believe me. “Why can't you just let go for once, Marco? Why can't you let yourself enjoy something—anything?"
"Life isn't about enjoyment."
"Then what's it about? Control? Power? Being the most miserable man in the room?"
I hate that she can read me so easily when I've spent decades building walls no one should be able to penetrate.
"Not everyone gets the luxury of happiness, Gabriella."
"It's not a luxury. It's a choice. One you refuse to make." She stands and comes to sit next to me. I tense to guard against her nearness.
"You know I hate the holidays."
"It's not just the holidays." She shifts closer, the scent of her filling my senses. "You're always like this. Closed off. Controlled. Why can't you ever just be happy?"
The question is painful. "Happy. You think I don't know how to be happy."
"Do you?"
I almost laugh. The irony is too bitter.
For a year, I've carried memories of her.
Moments stolen between meetings, nights spent tangled in sheets, mornings watching her sleep in filtered sunlight.
Moments when something dangerously close to happiness had crept into my carefully guarded heart.
And she didn't even notice. If she had, would she have stayed?
"I am who I am, Gabriella." I’m pleased that my voice is controlled, nearly indifferent considering how crazed I feel. “You should give up trying to change me. I don't see you trying to conform to what I want."
“What do you want?” she asks.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I am who I am. I don’t need saving or changing."
"I don't want to change you. That’s not what this is about.”
"Isn't it? You want me to skate, to decorate for Christmas, to smile at children. You want me to be someone I'm not."
"No." Her voice softens, but her gaze remains unflinching. "I believe there's more to you. I've seen glimpses of it. When you talk with Roman, when you protect my father without taking credit, when you…" She hesitates. "When you were with me last year."
The mention of our time together sends heat through me that has nothing to do with the sauna.
"That part of me doesn't exist," I lie.
"It does." Her fingers brush my arm, featherlight. "You just refuse to reveal it. You keep it locked away where no one can reach it. Not even you."
“Maybe I don’t want to. Has it occurred to you that I don’t want all this Pollyanna bullshit?”
Irritation flashes across her features.
She pulls back, creating distance that feels both welcome and devastating.
"Maybe I'm wrong." Her voice hardens slightly. "Maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see because it's hard to accept the truth."
"What truth?"
"That you didn't care when I left. It was probably a relief when I walked away. One less complication in your perfectly controlled life."
The accusation knocks the air from my lungs. If she only knew how the past year has been. The sleepless nights, the constant ache.
But I say nothing because she's right about one thing I am a fortress.
And fortresses don't crumble, even when they're empty inside.
Gabriella rises, adjusting her towel with one hand. “Let me give you relief again by leaving. I know you want me gone.” She moves to pass me heading to the door.
As she does, regret settles in my gut.
It’s the same old pattern.
She pushes, I resist, she leaves, and I hate myself for it.
But as she passes me, something breaks. One moment, I'm resolved to let her go, and the next, my hand reaches out and takes her wrist.
"Why do you care?" The words escape. "Why does it matter how I felt when you left?"
She freezes, her gaze on my hand as it grips her wrist.
"You accused me of betraying you and your father," I continue. "You walked away without giving me a chance to explain. And now you’re mad because you think you didn’t hurt me?”
Gabriella turns slowly, her dark eyes meeting mine. "Did I?"
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" I release her wrist, regretting that I didn’t let her leave. "Knowing you hurt me."
"No." She shakes her head, a strand of damp hair falling across her face. "I don't want to have hurt you, Marco."
"Then why ask?"
"Because…" Vulnerability flickers across her face. "Because if it did hurt you, it would mean you felt something for me. That I wasn't just… passing entertainment."
The honesty in her voice strips away my defenses.
For a moment, I see us as we truly are, not a Don and an off-limits Don's daughter, not adversaries in some power struggle, but two people afraid to admit how much power they hold over each other.
"You weren't entertainment," I admit.
"Then what was I?"
I could lie. I should lie. But at this moment, I find I can't.
"A risk I wasn't prepared to take."
She steps closer, close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
The air around us shifts. Softens.
Animosity leaves, replaced by a growing need.
Fire builds inside me.
One word from her and I might burn to ash.
She feels it too. Her eyes darken with desire and her lips part, her breath hitching.
Time suspends as we stand locked in this moment of possibility.
"Marco," she whispers.
I'm lost. Completely, utterly lost.
My hand rises of its own accord, cupping her cheek. Her skin burns against my palm, impossibly soft.
I trace the curve of her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. She trembles beneath my touch, eyes fluttering closed.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur, giving her the chance to save us both.
Instead, she leans forward, closing the space between us. Her lips meet mine, tentative at first, then hungry, desperate, a year of absence, of longing, of regret poured into a single point of contact.
I'm drowning, and I don't want air.
My arms encircle her waist, pulling her flush against me.
The thin barrier of our towels does nothing to hide my desire for her.
She gasps into my mouth, the sound igniting something primal within me.
“Don’t stop,” she breathes against my lips.
My hands slide down her back, over the curve of her hips, reacquainting myself with her body.
I find the edge of her towel, hesitating only a moment before tugging it away. God, she’s beautiful.
Her skin is warm, dewy from the steam. Her tits are firm and round, and I lean forward, taking a taut nipple into my mouth and sucking.
She moans when I touch her, the sound reverberating through my chest.
I trace my fingers up her inner thigh, teasing, remembering exactly how she likes to be touched.
Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat. I can't resist tasting her there too.
"Please." Her voice breaks with need as she rocks over my pulsing dick.
I find her pussy, hot and slick with desire. Her body arches into my touch, seeking more. I give it to her, circling, stroking, building her pleasure.
“Yes… more.” Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps against my ear.
She's so responsive, so perfect in my arms.
When she comes, she cries out my name like a prayer.
The sound undoes me completely.
I rip my towel away and guide her over me. She sinks down, creating exquisite friction that threatens what little control I have left.
I need this… need her like I need air to breathe.
It fucking terrifies me. I’ve faced death many times, but nothing has scared me as much as Gabriella’s power over me.
This woman can bring me to my knees and I’m helpless to stop it.