Chapter 24
Massimo
“It seems you had an eventful morning,” Stefano drawls as Evelyn and I take our seats on the sofa across from him and Carmen.
His black eyes rake over my face, studying me with intensity that would make a weaker man squirm. He notes the small, stitched cut on my brow.
“But you got out mostly unscathed.”
“Yes,” Carmen adds with a bright smile. “We’re so relieved that our friends are all right.”
She places her hand on his arm, a subtle restraint.
Duarte is pissed that our trip has been delayed, and he’s probably also angry that Crawford isn’t dead yet. His wife is attempting to smooth his harsher edges.
They make a formidable team.
Carmen’s gaze slides to Evelyn, and her overly bright smile softens into something more genuine.
“How are you doing, Evelyn? I’m sure it must have been a difficult situation.”
My delicate little butterfly lifts her chin and laces her fingers through mine, squeezing in a pulse of reassurance.
“I’m okay,” she says, the promise meant for me more than for our hostess. “Massimo protected me.”
Carmen nods her approval. “You see? I told you our big Italian friend would keep you safe.”
I blink at the women. Is that what they talked about at Duarte’s party last night? I’d worried that Carmen was trying to take Evelyn away from me, but it seems the cartel queen might be on my side.
“I never doubted it,” Evelyn asserts. She squeezes my hand again, a silent promise of sincerity.
I brush my thumb over her palm, marveling at the delicate beauty who’s captured my full attention. She fears the cartels, and she’s made it clear that she’s uncomfortable around Duarte. But here she is, pledging her confidence in me for all to hear.
My chest swells with pride, and my cock stiffens. If I didn’t have an obligation to stay for this conversation, I’d throw her over my shoulder and carry her away like the precious prize she is. I want to bury myself inside her and hear her scream my name as she clenches down on my dick.
“You’ll take the helicopter to the airport in the morning and then the private jet to Colombia,” Carmen continues, satisfied that Evelyn isn’t traumatized by what happened with Los Zetas. “No one will ambush you on the road again, and Stefano will be traveling with you. I’m staying home.”
“Yes,” Stefano agrees coolly. “We wouldn’t want to put our friends at risk. The city can be a dangerous place if you cross the wrong people.” He kisses Carmen’s cheek. “I know you’ll defend our interests while I’m gone, my love.”
“You’d never allow Los Zetas to step into your territory and live.” I remind him that they’re his enemies too.
I promised to kill Crawford for him, but his issues with the rival cartel are a larger problem for his business. Duarte has a reputation to uphold, and he’ll defend his territory with swift brutality, regardless of my presence.
Duarte’s head cants to the side, and his dark eyes consider me for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Of course not,” he allows after several heavy beats of silence. “And when we return from Colombia, I’ll tie up any loose ends in that regard. I’m sure you’ll be happy to help, won’t you, Massimo?”
“I look forward to it,” I reply with savage sincerity.
“Enough business,” Carmen declares. “I’m famished, Stefano, and I’m sure Evelyn would like to eat something too. Let’s give these two some privacy.”
I turn my attention to Evelyn, satisfied that we’ve passed Duarte’s scrutiny. After they leave the suite, I kiss her soft cheek.
“You did so well, farfallina. You make me very happy.”
“I meant what I said,” she replies without any guile. “I know you’ll protect me, Massimo. I’ve always known that. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
I lift our joined hands and press another reverent kiss to her knuckles.
How am I lucky enough to ensnare the brave devotion of this stunning woman? She looked a cartel king and queen squarely in the eyes and declared her loyalty to me. She fears them, but she’s passionate enough to boldly advocate for me.
My chest warms. I’ve never known a connection like this. I’ve never shared the secrets of my past with anyone.
In my world, women are fleeting indulgences, a way to attain carnal satisfaction through exerting my control over their pleasure. I don’t have time for distractions, so I like submissive women who obey me without question.
Evelyn has dared to defy me a few times, but I enjoy her fire. I relish the challenge of dominating a woman with such strength of character. It makes her submission so much sweeter.
The raw honesty I shared with her in the wake of my nightmare should unnerve me, but I only crave her more. I want more of her tender, soothing touches, more intimacy. It’s utterly foreign to me.
A knock on the door indicates that Carmen already ordered food for us, so I quickly retrieve it. Evelyn helps me set the dining table, and the odd domesticity of the moment warms something deep inside my chest.
I suddenly need to know more about her. I’ve seen glimpses of her sweet soul, and I’m enamored with her beauty.
But she now knows some of my darkest memories, the ones that still torment me in my sleep after all these years. I need her to be vulnerable with me too. The desire to possess her completely consumes me. I’ll learn every one of her secrets, just as I’ve entrusted her with mine.
“Tell me about your family.”
I don’t bother to soften the command to something more conversational. She will tell me everything about her. I’ll coax her if I have to, but in my eagerness to know her, I can’t summon up any finesse.
She drops her gaze and picks up her fork, her expression smoothing to a neutral mask. Her hand tugs free of mine so that she can cut into the fresh melon on her plate. She takes a bite before she answers me, and her eyes briefly close in a moment of blissful enjoyment.
I won’t allow her to hide from me, even if that expression of bliss makes me want to pull her into my lap and feed her from my own hand.
“Are you close with your parents?” I press.
Unease nips at me. Is that why she keeps demanding to go home to America? Because she wants to be with her family?
The prospect makes my stomach churn. I don’t want to make her unhappy, but it hasn’t occurred to me that I might be causing her pain by separating her from her loved ones. I’m so accustomed to my own lack of parental attachments that I haven’t stopped to think about hers.
I reach out and trail my fingers down the column of her throat, drawing her attention to me. She shivers, and her stunning gaze snaps to mine. Her eyes are dark with pain, and an echo of it knifes into my chest.
“No,” she replies softly. “We’re not close.”
“Are they dead?”
I could’ve asked in a gentler tone, but my nightmare about my parents’ murders is still close to the surface. If someone dared to deprive Evelyn of a loving family the way my enemies took my parents from me, I will make them pay.
“No,” she says again. “We just aren’t close.”
She’s shutting me out, withholding the information.
If they’re still alive, I don’t understand why they aren’t close. Any parent would be lucky to have Evelyn as a child. They should adore her.
My jaw firms with determination. She won’t escape my questions so easily.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” she murmurs, her eyes pleading.
I struggle to master my roiling emotions. My possessiveness is driving me to the edge of my control. I’m skilled in compelling people to tell me what I want to know, whether through charm or interrogation. I’ve honed my skills over the years; they’ve helped me survive.
I won’t force her to talk with crude demands. Especially not when she’s clearly distressed. I can question her more deftly.
“All right, dolcezza.”
I smooth her shining hair back over her shoulder, revealing my mark that’s still visible on her slender neck. The sight of it calms me.
“Enjoy your meal,” I prompt.
She hasn’t touched her melon since I started questioning her, and I won’t neglect her needs. I pledged to take care of her, and I intend to keep her comfortable and happy with me.
She takes another bite. Again, her eyes close, and a serene expression chases away the lingering tension around her lush lips. Her features soften into something almost orgasmic.
My cock stiffens, and I crave to hold her close while she indulges in her sumptuous meal.
“You like it?” I ask, my voice slow and deep, like I’m drunk on her pleasure.
“Yes,” she replies before taking another bite.
She tries to keep her eyes on me, but her attention returns to the dish that’s bringing her such bliss.
“If I’d known how much you liked melon, I would’ve ordered some for you sooner.”
“I don’t get to have it as often as I’d like,” she confesses.
“My stepsister has a lot of food allergies, so my options were very limited when I was growing up. Since leaving home for college, I’ve tried to enjoy more of a variety, but money has always been tight.
A delicious meal is an indulgence. And George… ”
Her eyes darken with pain again, and I have to tamp down my answering rush of murderous rage.
“Well, he controlled our budget. He earned more than I did on my teacher’s salary, so I couldn’t complain.”
“It’s a man’s job to provide for you.” My hatred for the cowardly piece of shit roughens my tone.
“That’s a very outdated view.” She sounds disapproving. “I contribute what I can. I’ll never take more than what I earn for myself.”
I cup her nape, keeping her locked in my steady stare. “You’re with me now. I will provide for you. Anything you desire is yours.”
She shifts, strangely uneasy in response to my declaration.
Irritation needles me. She will accept what I offer.
“You don’t have to work another day in your life,” I assert. “You don’t have to scrape by anymore. I will take care of you.”
Her brows rise. “And what if I want to work? What if I want to pay my own way? I don’t want to owe you anything, Massimo.”
Her defiance sets my teeth on edge. She’s rejecting my offer to provide for her. I won’t fucking allow it.
“Do you want to be a teacher?” I ask. “Because if teaching is your passion, I won’t stop you. But you don’t need to earn a salary anymore.”
Her full lips press to a thin line. “You’re being very presumptuous. What makes you think you can stop me from doing anything?”
“You’re mine. You will never want for anything. So, if you want to teach, you are welcome to pursue that career.”
Once we’re in Naples, she can go to work as a teacher, as long as she shares my bed every night—as long as she understands that her home is with me.
She huffs an exasperated sigh. “I don’t particularly care about teaching. It just paid the bills. But you can’t order me around like this. I can support myself.”
I note the small admission. If she doesn’t want to work, why would she?
“And what would you rather do with your time?”
All she has to do is name it, and I’ll make it happen.
“I studied Photography, but that’s just a hobby,” she replies. “I’m not really qualified to do anything other than teach. It’s not like I could ever make a living off my art.”
Something about the way she said the words sounds rote, like she’s repeating a truth she’s heard often.
Suspicion stirs, and I don’t think I’ll like her answer.
I ask anyway. “And who told you that?”
She shrugs and drops her gaze, hiding from me again.
“It’s just a fact. Art degrees don’t pay.”
“Who told you that you’re not good enough?” I compel her to reply, leaving no room for evasion or defiance.
Her cheeks flush. “My parents,” she mumbles. “George. But they were right. It’s just a silly hobby. I’m not a real artist.”
I gnash my teeth and taste copper on my tongue. I resolve to gift her with a camera at the first opportunity. Then I’ll see her talent for myself.
“You studied Photography at university?” I prompt. “You got a degree for it?”
She shakes her head even as she answers, “Yes. But I—”
“Then you’re an artist.”
It doesn’t surprise me. She’s observant and a bit reserved at times, quietly assessing the world around her. I remember how she studied the wares when I stalked her through the market, as though she saw beauty in every item.
She snapped a photo of some flowers with her phone, and that motherfucker, Crawford, said something to make her frown. She quickly hid it, replacing the sad expression with a sunny smile. But he upset her.
My fingers itch with the need to wrap around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.
But she wouldn’t like to hear that, so I ease off questioning her.
She’s almost finished her melon, but I have more on my plate. I have some decidedly wicked ideas about tasting the sweetness on her lips.
She’s had a difficult day. As much as I’d like to ravage her, I can be gentle if that’s what she needs from me.
I’ll fuck her soon enough. A kiss will do for now.