Chapter 3 Rome
ROME
Some people think I’m the biggest dick they’ve ever met.
Some fear me and some say I’m a teddy bear.
Believe them all. They got the version they earned.
—Rome’s secret thought
Dillan sits across from me on her living-room floor, her sun-kissed hair tied up in a messy bun and her dress swapped out for black leggings hugging every single curve of her tight little body.
She’s sporting a dark-pink sweatshirt, cropped enough to give a gorgeous glimpse of toned skin.
Bright-pink fuzzy socks slouch at her ankles, and a bottle of beer dangles from her fingertips.
One she’s been nursing for over an hour, which must be as warm as piss.
She’s got this look on her face that’s hot as hell but also has me on edge because this woman is observant, and she’s been observing me since we walked through the door going on two hours ago.
“Okay, but why do you do it?” she asks pointedly, and my hackles raise. “Do you like the pain?”
I nod my head slowly and sip my own drink. “Something like that.”
She wouldn’t understand.
“What’s it like?” Her voice softens. “Knowing when you step in the ring, there’s a fifty-fifty chance you’re either going to get hurt or hurt someone else?”
Before I have a chance to formulate a smart-ass answer, because what the fuck does she think it’s like, she keeps going.
“Just thinking about it makes my stomach flip,” she murmurs more to herself than me as she looks off to the side and gets lost in the snow falling outside. When she finally brings her eyes back to mine, her smile has softened. “I think I’d hate having all those eyes on me.”
I lean back against the couch and stretch out my legs, hating the idea of Dillan Ryan standing in the middle of a ring.
She wasn’t made to be hit. She was made for a softer life.
“Here’s the thing. Anyone who trains at Crucible will tell you there’s no fifty-fifty chance at anything.
We don’t train to lose. We train harder, longer, and more intensely every day than anyone else, so when you walk into that cage, you know you’re going to win.
I don’t ever walk in, thinking there’s a chance I’m losing the fight—because I won’t.
I might get hurt, but I’m going to hurt my opponent worse. ”
Dillan’s arms rest on bent knees as she studies me quietly.
Deciding whether my honesty bothers her.
The silence is nearly unnerving.
“And . . . ?” she asks.
“I like the crowd. The energy. The bigger the fight, the bigger the crowd, the more energy they bring to the arena. It all adds to it. Builds. But once I’m inside the cage, I don’t hear a thing. Don’t see anyone but whoever is standing in there with me.”
“That’s some serious compartmentalizing skills, Beneventi,” she whispers.
“What can I say?” I sip the last of my beer. “I’m a beast.”
The words do exactly what I wanted them to, and Dillan smiles as she shakes her head, a soft curl falling free from her bun. “What about you, Ryan? Why are you working at the flower shop? I thought you were working with Lilah. Rumor has it you were her assistant.”
Bright eyes focus on the bottle dangling from pink-painted fingertips, rocking it back and forth. Stalling.
Everyone thinks Dillan Ryan is the wild-child Ryan sibling. But I’d bet every last fucking dollar in my bank account she’s not. She likes to act like nothing bothers her. Like she’s the life of the party. But I think there’s more to her than she wants to let on. Or she’s willing to let in . . .
She looks away again, staring back out into the snow, probably choosing her words more carefully than she’d want anyone to realize. When she looks at me, her bottom lip caught between perfect white teeth, those turquoise eyes shimmer with something that looks a whole lot like fear.
What the hell?
“Working with Lilah isn’t easy,” she offers softly and waits for my reaction.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you mean? Is Lilah some secret stuck-up bitch?
” There’s no way she is. I’ve been training with her husband all my life.
Killian is the most laid-back of all of us, and he loves Lilah like he needs her to fucking breathe.
No way she’s a bitch. But what else is Dillan not saying because there’s something there.
She shakes her head. “Watch it, Beneventi. That’s my sister.”
Her words don’t hold much bite, but it’s there.
“It’s like that, is it?” I ask as I put my hands up.
“Sorry. I forgot. Number one rule of siblings. We can call them assholes, but no one else can,” I offer up as an apology even if there is truth to my words.
I’d gut anyone who said something about my brothers or sister.
Although if we wanted to get technical, my sister could probably gut you faster. She’s really fucking good with a knife.
“Sure. Something like that. Anyway . . . It wasn’t like that. There’s just a lot that goes into working in Lilah’s world, and it isn’t good for me to work with her.”
“Cryptic,” I note. “Okay. But the flower shop? Is that what you want to be doing?” Not a fucking clue why I’m pushing her like this. I don’t think the two of us have ever had a deep conversation. Not with each other, at least.
She sips her beer and scrunches her nose. Yup. Piss warm. “It really isn’t. I just needed a job.”
“You’ve got a trust fund. Why do you need a job?” I ask, intrigued. She’s a fucking Ryan. Her dad is a Hall of Fame quarterback who coaches for the pro football team now, and her mom’s books were turned into a Netflix show. This girl isn’t hurting for money.
Her eyes narrow. “So do you, but I don’t see you living off yours.”
“Point taken . . . Okay. So you needed a job and what—you love flowers?”
Dillan shakes her head. “Nope. Trying to save a little more before my next move. That way I don’t have to empty that trust fund, smart-ass.”
“And what’s the next move, Dillan?”
Her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, and I wonder just how far down that flush goes.
The flame of the gas log burning in the fireplace behind her casts Dillan in a golden glow, and I get the sudden, overwhelming urge to strip her naked right there in front of it, feasting in the firelight.
“You’re going to make fun of me,” she says, a little less sure.
“I promise you I won’t,” I tell her as my voice catches in my throat, the lust fucking with my head.
“I want to open a bookstore,” Dillan admits softly, but there’s more she’s holding close to the chest.
“Okay. No shame there. Open a bookstore. It’s not like we have one on Main Street, so go for it. What else?” I tap her foot with mine. “You’re holding out on me, princess.”
“Jesus, you’re tenacious,” she grumbles, and I grin. She’s got no idea. “Why do you think there’s something else?”
“Seriously? You might as well have just admitted it,” I taunt her. “Come on, Dillan. Don’t hold back now.”
“Why not?” she argues, fire lighting her from the inside, and my God, this woman is fucking beautiful. “We don’t share, Beneventi.”
“And why is that, Ryan?” I challenge, enjoying this.
Enjoying us.
Dillan blows out a sharp breath, her shimmering eyes locking on mine.
“Fine . . .” The rise and fall of her chest is intoxicating as she breathes in and out, debating how to tell me whatever secret she’s about to share.
And fuck if I’m not salivating like Pavlov’s fucking dog as I hang on her every word.
“I’ve been writing a book. But I swear to God, psycho, if you tell a single soul, I will cut you. ”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby.” I grin and duck when she throws a pillow at my head.
“I’m kidding.” Not really. I grab the pillow and hold it in front of my face to smack away the next one that comes flying my way as if she can read my mind.
“Okay, fine. I’m not kidding. But honestly, what’s the big deal?
You’re writing a book. So what? Write a book.
Your mom’s an author. Isn’t one of your cousin’s wives an author too?
Why the big secret?” Then I lean in closer.
“Wait . . . Is it a dirty book?” Her flush deepens.
I drag my tongue over my lip, fucking fascinated. “Oh, it is, isn’t it? It’s a hot, smutty book.” There goes that damn flush again. “Fuck, Dillan. That’s awesome. I volunteer as tribute if you need someone to work out a scene with.”
She kicks me, and I laugh. It’s like an ant swatting at a wolf.
“I’m just not ready to talk about it, okay?” She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now, so that’s a win. “And you promised you wouldn’t tell.”
“I didn’t—” Shit. Her eyes turn glacial, and I shut the fuck up. “Okay. You got it, I won’t tell a soul. But I do think it’s cool as shit that you’re writing a sexy book. If you don’t want anyone to know, why don’t you just use one of those fake names . . . an alias?”
She crinkles her nose and fights back a smile. “A pen name?”
“Yeah . . .” I agree, dragging it out. “A pen name. Use one of those.”
I watch her shrug, unable to look away. “If you had to pick one, what would it be? Your mom uses her maiden name, and your sister-in-law uses initials, right?”
“They do,” she answers slowly, like the wheels are turning, and damn, what I wouldn’t give to be able to read her mind.
“So . . . If they both use them, why can’t you? No one needs to know unless you tell them.” I swear women make shit harder than it needs to be sometimes. My sister and mother are perfect examples. They overthink like it’s an Olympic fucking sport.
“What would I even use?” she asks, like she’s too scared to consider it. So I do it for her.
“Well . . . you don’t have a maiden name. And using your mom’s maiden name as a last name might be too obvious. What’s your middle name?”
“Laine,” she purses her lips. “But that’s not common. So maybe a little too obvious.” Dillan cocks her head, her eyes lighting up. “What’s yours?”
“My middle name?” I ask and she nods like she thinks she’s getting some deep, dark, secret out of me. “DeLaurentiis, after my Uncle Dean.”
“That’s a pretty name. How did you get The Titan as a fighter name? That’s kinda like a pen name.”
I shrug, admitting, “I’ve got a thing for the stars.”
“Movie stars?”
“No.” I tap my foot against hers again. “The constellations. They go hand in hand with Greek mythology, and they’re kinda fascinating.
Titans were gods who ruled Earth before the Olympians.
Big and powerful, and the name just . . .
”—I think back to the first time I mentioned them to Hudson while I was training in high school, and the way he smiled and told me I’d be a titan one day—“stuck, I guess.”
Dillan’s mouth opens and closes before she nibbles her lips. “That’s perfect for you . . . Do you have a favorite?”
I could geek out right now if I really wanted to, but that’s not what I want. “I have a few. Theia is one of my favorites. She’s the goddess of the sky and is said to have given sight to the world. She’s also the mother of the moon goddess, Selene.”
“She sounds pretty important,” Dillan whispers.
“Impressive is more like it,” I tell her, unsure whether I’m talking about Theia or Dillan. “So tell me, princess . . . what’s your book about.”
She purses her pouty lips but doesn’t say anything.
“Come on. Don’t go all tight-lipped on me now. How am I going to know if you need help working out those hot scenes if you don’t tell me?” I tease her, as close to deadly serious as I’ve ever been, because the fire rising in her eyes and on her skin is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“I don’t need your help, Rome.” She says the words, but they’re breathless as she stares at me, both of us locked in a battle of wills neither is willing to be the first to break.
We’ve been dancing around this for a year.
And I’m about done dancing.
“You sure about that, Dillan?”
With her eyes locked on mine, she sets her beer down on the floor and pulls her hair out of the knot.
I watch, fucking enthralled as her fingers run through it until it’s spilling around her shoulders.
This gorgeous woman cracks her neck, then stretches her beautiful legs out in front of her, wiggling her toes. “Why are you here, Rome?”
“Realized this was inevitable,” I murmur, balancing on a tightrope of need. Drawn to her in a way that makes no fucking sense at all. But fuck if I care about sense right now.
Long black lashes kiss her cheeks as she closes her eyes and shakes her head the tiniest bit before opening them again.
Her greenish-blue irises shine in the snowy moonlight trickling in.
“What would we have done before . . .”—she pushes up to her feet and stretches her arms over her head, flashing a beautiful glimpse of soft curves and creamy skin—“if we were so inevitable?”
A million dollars wouldn’t be enough to force my eyes from her as she crosses the small distance between us, stopping in front of me. But I somehow manage to stay silent, giving her time. Waiting for her next move.
“You don’t do relationships, and neither do I, Beneventi,” she practically accuses, so fucking gorgeous it hurts.
I run my hand up the back of her leg, and my cock jumps as she bites down on that pouty bottom lip. “Do you always do what everyone expects?”
“I guess you could say I don’t like disappointing people, even if I seem to be pretty good at it.
” Her words are whispered as she steps each foot on either side of my legs and lowers herself to my lap, a dimple popping deep in her right cheek.
“But I’m also tired of denying myself something I want. ”
I grip her hips in my hands, slowing her descent, needing to hear it from her lips. “And what do you want, Dillan?”
“Tonight?” She cups my face. “You.”