Chapter 17
Lula
The Regis mansionis the heart of La Famiglia. Dark and filled with heavy, imposing furniture, it’s a shocking contrast to the sterile, modern decor Victor prefers. Royal used to keep the temperature five degrees cooler than what was comfortable, but then he found his wife. Now, the air is a tad too warm but perfect for Leah and the spaghetti strap camisoles she likes to wear. And if she gets overheated while baking, sliding things in and out of the oven, well, Royal’s always trying to get her naked, anyway.
There was a day when I swore that Royal would never marry for love. Some would say he didn’t, but I know better. When it comes to devious, dangerous men, love looks a lot like obsession.
I lean on a sturdy mahogany leather chair, studying my cousin’s dark expression and sipping my wine. I refused any food—my stomach is still unsettled—but accepted a glass of merlot. It’s still not as good as the wine Victor keeps for me.
Royal and I have caught up on a lot of things in the past hour. Family, business, Gino’s betrayal, Stephanos’ death, and the way Victor turned his gang. We’re in agreement on many things, but?—
“So you’re telling me I have to accept this murderer into my family?”
“Yes.” I toy with the sword charm on my necklace. My mother bought it to give to me when I turned thirteen, and I used to feel her presence whenever I touched it. Now, the miniature blade reminds me of Victor.
Royal shakes his head, muttering in Italian.
“He’s a useful asset. But even if he wasn’t. . .” I shrug. “I want him.” I gave up everything for vengeance. It’s time I claimed something for myself.
“If he betrays you. . .”
“He won’t. Any more than you could betray Leah.”
Royal accepts this with a growl, and I hide my smile. One day, I’ll tell him my theory on how much he and Victor are alike.
“I’ll allow it,”Royal says finally. “On one condition.” He digs in his pocket and holds up a dull silver coin. On it, a long-haired man stands with his head bowed, holding a cross. Or is it a woman holding a sword?
“You’ve offered this to me before.” I didn’t take it because I’d just met David. And because Royal was still solidifying his power base, ushering the old guard out and replacing them with new, well-trained men who wouldn’t mind taking orders from a woman. From me.
“It’s time.” He presses it into my hand. For such a small thing, it’s heavy, carrying the weight of the Regis family.
“Accepted. Although, with Gino out, there’s an extra seat.” When Victor proves himself, he’d be perfect for it.
“Don’t push it.”
I turn with a smirk. “If that’s all, then I’d like to see Victor.”
“No more disappearing,” Royal says. He’s pretending my time in captivity was by choice. Like an extended vacation. It’s probably easier for him to think of it that way. It’s not as if he didn’t do the same thing to Leah.
“No.”
Royal downs his drink in one swallow and sets the glass down. He moves around the desk to flank me but doesn’t stop me. “And I can make it official? To the Family?”
“Yes. I’m already acting as the family attorney; I might as well be in truth.” I stop and face him and let him take my face in his hands and kiss my cheeks.
“Then, consigliere, welcome home.”
* * *
“Consigliere?”Victor murmurs as we make our way to the car. Enzo is behind the wheel. Joe, Spiro, and the rest of Stephanos’ old gang are still being vetted. But eventually, they’ll be brought into the Regis regime. Another one of my acts as second in command of the Regis Family.
“Yes. He’s been wanting to make it official for a few months now. It comes with a seat at La Famiglia’s table.” Royal always took my advice before he voted. But now I have a vote of my own.
“There’s another seat free.” The one that belonged to my father and then Gino. “Royal isn’t ready to fill it, but perhaps if an outsider made himself indispensable to the Family. . .”
“Then I’m sure I can make myself useful.”
I sink into the car. It’s not that late, just after sunset, but I’m tired. Royal tried to get us to stay for dinner, threatening to unleash Leah on us, but I negotiated our escape by promising to come back in the morning for brunch.
Victor lets me rest, leaning forward to murmur directions to Enzo.
I must have dozed off because when I open my eyes, the car is pulling up outside the building that houses Victor’s penthouse. The one he originally took me to.
The first time, he carried me in. This time, I walk in of my own volition after Victor helps me from the car.
It feels like a lifetime since I’ve been here. Stephanos is gone. My mother’s been avenged. The truth about my brother is out, and he’ll be punished. And I may have lost a brother, but I gained a lover. Victor brings a handful of made men with him, along with his own unique skills.
Ultimately, La Famiglia has won.
And I’ve claimed a victory of my own.
“Where’s the dungeon?” I ask Victor as we step into the elevator. I have a theory, but I want him to confirm it.
“In the basement.”
I knew it.
He hovers a long finger over the button for the lower floor before he presses the one to take us to the top.
He takes me to the bathroom and positions me in front of the sink. His big hands roam over me, checking for blood, bruises, and tender spots. I took a moment in the bathroom at Royal’s mansion to dust off the worst of the wood splinters and debris that coated my dress and hair from the explosion.
The worst of my wounds are carried over from my time in captivity—the letters carved above my heart. When Victor tackled me to protect me from the explosion, I crashed to the ground. The force broke the fragile skin, and the letters he carved were bleeding again.
I pull down the dress’s square neckline and push my sword necklace aside so Victor can remove the dirty bandage. He growls as he fusses over the marks.
“You’re the one who did this to me.” I roll my eyes at his muttered curses. “It’ll heal.” I stop him before he covers the cuts with another bandage. “Wait. Let me see something.”
I point to the letters carved into my chest. The V is the easiest letter to read. Next to it, in the same size script, is the letter R.
I studied them when Victor left me but didn’t understand. The V is obvious: V for Victor. But the second letter. . . “R? What’s your last name?”
“I have none,” he says. “Not anymore. I figured I could take yours.”
I drop my hand, my arm muscles suddenly too weak to hold it up. “Romano?”
“Or Regis. Your mother was a Regis, correct?”
“She was.”
“And here I am, part of the Regis family. If you and your cousin will have me.”
“He will accept you.” He will if I have any say in it.
“You saved me from him.” His touch is tender on my cheek.
“Yes.” I turn fully and rise to tiptoes to thread my arms around his broad shoulders. I pull him down until his lips brush mine and whisper, “If anyone is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.”
He straightens, lifting me off my feet as he claims my mouth. His kiss is ice and fire, and I savor the solid power of him, rubbing my swelling breasts against his chest. His dick jabs my thigh.
He swivels and sets me on the bathroom counter. I’m already spreading my legs. The dress he gave me was form-fitting but modest enough, with a hem that ends an inch above my knee. I wriggle, trying to pull it up, but it’s too tight and doesn’t budge. Until Victor helps by ripping it in half so it’s open to my navel.
“Yes,” I gasp and scoot forward to the edge of the counter. I’m not wearing underwear. He didn’t give me any earlier today, and after spending so long naked, a bra and panties would feel weird.
Victor’s already opened his pants. The head of his cock is red and angry, dripping pre-cum. He finds my sopping wet entrance and pushes in an inch. I’m squirming, trying to stretch to accommodate him when he digs his hand into my hair to hold me still.
“I will give you everything,” he promises. In one swift move, he pushes inside, spearing me as he wrenches my head back. Bombs explode in my brain. I cum right then, shaking in his grip. He watches me with his icy gaze.
“Krasiva. Mi kama.” He cups my bottom and lifts me so he can sink even deeper, filling the depths of me. My insides stretch around him, slowly accommodating his girth, but nothing can help me get used to his length. At this angle, pressed against him with gravity pulling me down, the head of his cock is knocking on my cervix.
I tear at his shirt collar, sending buttons flying as I rip the dress shirt open so I can fasten my mouth to his neck. I find the cut I made and suck on it, hard. His growl rolls through me, the delicious vibrations making me pulse around him.
“Fuck, Lula. You will be the end of me.”
That’s the idea. I sink my fingers into his hair, bare my teeth, and nip at the vein stretching from his neck to his shoulder. His winter scent swirls around me. Before I can bite him fully, he tugs my head up by my hair, and the sting in my scalp is enough to make me cum again.
Victor’s voice rings savagely in my ears as I convulse, squeezing down on his dick like the orgasm turned my inner muscles into a vice. He sets me back on the counter, pulling out. His shirt’s torn open, his hair disheveled from my fists, and there’s a red mark on his neck from my teeth. His own mouth is contorted into a snarl. He doesn’t look like we’ve been making love. He looks like he’s been in a fight.
He backs away slowly, his dick bobbing in the air. Come, he gestures, and I do, stalking after him, further tearing my dress so I can strip it off as I go. Naked in nothing but stilettos, I wait until he’s reached the bedroom before dropping to my knees. I crawl on all fours, my body swaying sinuously all the way to the bedroom. My breasts swing, the necklace dangling between them. I keep my head up and my gaze on Victor so I can savor the blue flame burning in his eyes. I prowl like an animal on the hunt, like an obedient pet, like a submissive safe in her Dom’s control. My humiliation and his happiness are a delicious heat that warms me through and through.
He sits on the end of the bed to wait for me, pulling off his shirt and baring his chest. Miles of pale, sculpted muscle, pretty enough to make Michelangelo weep. I crawl to him, mouth watering at the sight of him and his gorgeous dick, but I don’t get to play. As I’m reaching for his cock, he wraps his hand around my neck and pulls me up to meet his mouth. His fingers dig into my throat as his lips sear mine, whispering promises of pain and pleasure. My body aches, my gaze darkening until I’m blind with need for him.
I push on his shoulders so he lies back on the bed, and I climb him. Bracing my palms on his hard pectoral muscles, I set my entrance over his erection and plunge down.
My necklace bounces as I ride him.
His hand collars my throat, controlling my movements even as I’m on top. “Mi kama. My weapon. My sharp-tongued sword. Fate forged you for me.”
“A sheath for the dagger. A dagger for the sheath.”
“You belong to me.” He snaps his hips, driving into my depths.
“Yes.” I rock over him, accepting the pain as he batters my insides. I dig my nails into his pale shoulders, willing to scratch him bloody. “And you to me. Because. . .” I hesitate, the words so sharp, so real, they cut. My heart aches like a bruise.
But Victor shows no mercy. “Say it.”
“I love you.” And it’s the truth.
* * *