Chapter 17 Aurelia #2
My hand moved up the hills and mountains of muscle on his arm as I studied the details of his tattoos, a sword that was used by gladiators, words written in Latin I didn’t understand, and when my eyes moved to his chest, I saw the outline of Sicily .
. . right over his heart. “That’s cute.” I traced the outline of the island like I could feel the mountains and the sea beneath my fingertips.
“It must have taken a long time for you to do all of this.”
“I started when I was young, to my mother’s horror.” A little smirk moved over his lips. “It’s a miracle she’s still alive, raising two boys identical in every way you can imagine.”
“Well, your sister seems nice.”
“Because she’s an angel,” he said. “Did well in school. Helped out at home. All about the family.”
She’d been nice enough to me, but I could tell she preferred Isabella.
She wanted only her as her sister-in-law, not anyone else.
Now that I knew they’d hooked up some time recently, I understood why his sister still hoped they’d find their way back to each other.
And that was probably why his mother didn’t show preference, because she had no idea.
If she did know, would that have changed anything?
His hand left my hip and moved to my flat stomach, cupping it like a husband touched his pregnant wife’s belly. “Hungry?”
“Why? Can you feel it rumble?”
He smirked. “A little.” His hand continued to rub over my skin, and while I should feel self-conscious with him touching me like that, it made me feel somewhat petite. “Want to go out?”
“I dunno. Kinda tired.” Now that I was in this warm bed with this gorgeous man, I didn’t want to leave.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything.”
He left the bed to fish his phone out of his pocket, his rock-hard, tight ass on display.
I wanted to bite a chunk out of it.
He came back to bed with the phone and fired off a quick message before he set the device on the nightstand. “Be here in about an hour.”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“You ordered from one of those food delivery apps?”
“No. Told my assistant to do it.”
“You have an assistant?” I asked in slight surprise.
“Yes.”
“Like . . . a female assistant?” He seemed so self-sufficient that he wouldn’t need an assistant. But I forgot he had a demanding job, so he probably did have help. Help with his home, groceries, laundry, all kinds of stuff.
Amusement moved into his gaze. “You need time to heal, and now you’re jealous?”
“I’m not jealous. Just curious.”
“You’re in luck, because I don’t employ women.”
“You don’t? Seems a little sexist.”
“Maybe. But my intentions are good.”
“How so?” I asked.
“It’s a dangerous business. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them. I like women a hell of a lot more than men, so . . .”
“Because you can’t help yourself?”
He looked like he might smile, but that smirk never came to the surface.
“Because they’re better in every way. Morally.
Emotionally. Physically. My father was a good man, and I loved him dearly.
He taught me how to punch, but my mother taught me how to fight.
He taught me how to fish, but my mother taught me how to cook.
Whenever he’d catch a cold, he’d be sick in bed for days, but when my mother had the flu, she’d still get us ready in the morning, cook breakfast, and take us to school.
My mother carried and birthed three children while running the house and taking care of everyone else.
I’m the man I am today because my mother raised me that way. ”
And just like that, he pulled me in deeper. He trapped me in his magnetism like a moth to a flame.
“Emperor Augustus had a daughter. Her name was Julia. She had six children, and my line comes from one of those six.” He propped himself up on his arm, looking down at me slightly.
“But when his reign ended, he chose to adopt his nephews and make one of them the next emperor.” He gave a slight shake of his head as if he was personally offended by something that had happened two thousand years ago.
“Took away her birthright simply because she was a woman rather than a man. It’s fucking bullshit, because this world would be a much better place if more women were in charge.
The world we inherited would be better. Fewer lives would be lost because fewer wars would have been fought.
Because women think before they punch. They can fight an entire battle and eviscerate you with just words, while most men can barely put a few words together and form a sentence.
” He looked away like he was reflecting on a memory.
“My job is to protect women, so no, I don’t employ them.
But if I ever have a daughter and she ever wanted a job, it’d be hers. ”
“You wouldn’t worry about her?”
“Of course I would. Every moment of every fucking day. But any daughter of mine would be fucking tough, and she could handle herself.”
We sat at the round dining table together, me wearing his black T-shirt while he wore only his boxers. Thankfully, the apartment came with plates, eating utensils, and drinking glasses, so we were able to take everything out of the containers and eat a meal like I’d cooked it from scratch.
He’d ordered a steak with a side salad, and he’d ordered me cacio e pepe with a side salad. The perfect meal to hit the spot. We ate together in comfortable silence. His elbows were on the table, and he ate like he’d skipped breakfast and lunch.
“How was your week?” I asked.
“Same. Busy.”
“What do you do when you aren’t working?”
“Work out. Eat. Sleep. That’s about it.”
“You don’t get burned out?”
“No,” he said before he took a bite of his steak and chewed it. “It’s not the kind of job that comes with burnout.”
“But you must be tired.”
He laughed uproariously. “Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t tired. I’m always fucking tired.”
“What have you been working on?”
He finished his bite before he sank back into the wooden armchair. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Because every time I talk about it, you pull away—and I fucking hate that.”
I pulled away because I was scared of what I was getting myself into. Scared what this relationship might cost me—an arm or a leg, or maybe my life. “Well, I can’t keep my head buried in the sand.”
He set his plate aside, only the juice from the meat left behind.
I’d found a bottle of wine in the cabinet and we shared that, but it was practically vinegar compared to the stuff he usually ordered.
But he was nice enough not to complain. “President Barsetti has received intel from MI6 that a terrorist attack is on the horizon. But that’s all we know.
No further details. We’ve forged an agreement with the European countries to make sure arms aren’t being sold to enemies of Western civilization, but I fear some are slipping through the cracks.
I usually confer with the First Emperor of the Fifth Republic on this matter, but that power recently changed hands.
I’m waiting for the dust to settle. I fear a violation may be happening there.
I’ll know more soon. Within our borders, we’ve had issues with black market dealings.
Young people have been disappearing in pockets throughout Italy, mainly Rome, and we know someone is harvesting their organs for a secret transplant list. I caught on to their scheme and tracked them down, but the head of the operation was killed by his own men, and they moved their operations.
Now, I have to start over. But make no mistake, I will find them and kill them all. ”
He was a different man when he spoke about these things. No hint of a smile or bemusement. No jokes. His tone dropped, and a lethal stare burned in his eyes. Even his composure and body language changed, his muscles stiff and flexed, his jawline tight.
“We also implemented a new hotline, for lack of a better description. Do you know what the number one cause of death is for women under thirty-five?”
Frozen by his tone, I didn’t speak.
“Murder. They’re fucking murdered by their partners.
If women ask for help at the wrong time and it comes back to them, they’re murdered.
If their abuser goes to jail, he gets out eighteen months later and kills her.
There’s never been a good solution to it, because even if a woman is lucky enough to get away from him, he just finds another woman . . . and does the same to her.”
“Then what is the hotline?”
“It’s a service we started about six months ago.
You call the number and hit one if it’s an emergency.
As in, she’s gonna die in the next couple minutes if help doesn’t get there.
That location is broadcast to the entire force, and whoever is closest to that location heads over there.
Because the police take forever and will just take him to jail, so the cycle continues. We kill him and make him disappear.”
I was terrified and also deeply impressed.
“They hit two if it’s not an emergency. As in, they’re in an abusive relationship and need help getting out of it.
We interview them and review their case, just to make sure their account is true before we ruin someone’s life.
And depending on the severity of the situation, we either kill him or we implement our own rehabilitation service. ”
“What’s the rehabilitation service?”
He stared me down before he answered. “We treat them exactly the way they treated their victim. Stalk them. Blow up their phone with threatening messages. Show up at their apartment and beat the shit out of them whenever we feel like it. We keep an eye on the victim, and if he goes within a mile of her, we break his nose and his collarbone. And so far, it’s worked pretty damn well.
Once their rehabilitation ends, they’ve learned their lesson.
In jail, they just sit there and fester in their rage.
But in our rehabilitation program, they actually learn.
” He grabbed his glass and took a drink before he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s just this week. ”
I had no words for what I’d just heard. Speechless yet again, like all the other times. “I had no idea.”
“There’s a lot of other stuff happening too. Monitoring the dealers, making sure their product is meeting standards for consumption. Then there’s the truce . . . or war . . . with the Skull King in Florence.”
War? Skull King?
“Never ends.”
“I’m surprised you have any time for me,” I said with a slight chuckle, trying to break up the tension that poured out of him like smoke. “With how busy you are.”
He stared at me across the table, arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed way, his eyes focused on my face like I’d said something serious rather than humorous. “I always prioritize the things that matter. I prioritize my family and everyone who’s as good as family—like you.”