Chapter 18 #2
She can't explain away the raw, primal connection that crackles between us, the undeniable chemistry that ignites the air every time we're in the same room.
This is something else entirely. Something that defies logic and reason. Something that is purely, irrevocably us.
I shift, my movements careful so as not to wake her. I need to see her face.
Her cheeks are still flushed, a pretty pink that contrasts with her fair skin. Her lips are swollen, slightly parted, and I have to resist the urge to kiss her, to claim her mouth again.
My gaze drifts lower, to the gentle curve of her neck, to the fading red marks I left on her skin. A possessive thrill goes through me. She's mine. Marked. Branded.
My eyes travel further down, to the soft swell of her breasts, to the hard, pebbled nipples that are still visible in the moonlight. I want to touch them, to taste them, to feel them tighten under my tongue.
My gaze continues its journey, over the smooth plane of her stomach, to the slick skin between her legs. I can see the evidence of our fucking on her thighs, a glistening, pearly white in the moonlight through the curtains.
I should feel guilty. I should feel remorseful for taking her so hard, for being so rough. For crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.
But I don't.
I feel… content.
Satisfied.
Eager to do it again.
She shifts in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She turns onto her back, her legs falling open in a gesture of complete trust and surrender.
And it's my undoing.
My cock, already hard and aching, throbs with a need that is so intense it's almost painful. I want to be inside her again, to feel her tight, wet heat engulfing me, to hear her scream my name as I send her over the edge.
But I won't.
I've taken enough. For now, anyway, I'll let her sleep.
Instead, I slide off the daybed, my movements fluid and silent. I need some air. I need to clear my head.
I take the throw blanket and lay it over Teresa, then pull on my pants, the rough fabric a stark and uncomfortable contrast to her soft skin. I don't bother with a shirt.
The night air is cool on my heated skin as I step out onto the sand. The moon is high in the sky, a perfect, silver orb that casts a shimmering path across the water.
The world is quiet, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore and the distant call of a seabird.
It's peaceful.
Serenity.
A stark contrast to the storm that rages inside me.
I walk toward the water, the sand cool beneath my bare feet. I stop at the edge of the surf, letting the water wash over my ankles.
What the hell am I doing?
This was never part of the plan. The plan was simple. Bring her here so she can fix me, then return her. Get back to my life.
My life. The thought is a bitter taste in my mouth. What life? A life of loneliness and regret? A life of hiding from the world, from my own family, from myself?
She's right—of course she is—there is a reason for my three-month deadline. The one no one knows anything about. Not even my brother, Nico, who has been the closest person to me for so long.
Not my uncle, Giovanni, who stepped in as leader of the family when my father went to prison. Who took me under his wing and began to teach me the life of an Underboss.
At least until it was my turn to step up and take over. My turn to become the boss of the most powerful mafia family in the city, maybe the country.
Giovanni was the person who gave me the courage to better myself.
I always knew I would be the don someday. I was born an heir, so there was never any question about it.
But it wasn't until Giovanni showed me what it really meant that I ever truly accepted it.
Our world is one of power and respect, loyalty and honor. He showed me the ropes, showed me what it took to be a leader. He taught me how to be strong, how to be ruthless when necessary, how to command respect with a single look.
Because of that, I realized that I didn't just want to step into my father's shoes and take over. I didn't want to maintain the status quo. I wanted to make it better.
Yes. We are mafiosi, but that doesn't necessarily mean we are all about crime.
And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Caterina came back from school and proposed the idea for the casino resort. It took a couple of years to build it in accordance with her vision, but it now stands as one of the most successful casinos in Atlantic City.
It serves as part of our criminal enterprise, but it also generates millions of legitimate monies and allows us to launder some of the Family’s less-than-legitimate funds.
What no one knows is that I had a similar idea years ago. The only problem is that I had no idea how to go about it.
And I didn't have the courage to face my father and the other members of the family with the idea. Giovanni always told me that I was a forward thinker, but I never believed him.
And the big secret that I've been holding on to for years? The promise that I made to my mother when she was on her deathbed...
Is that I would go to college.
And I did.
But I kept it a secret. I applied to Rutgers and got in. For four years, I studied Business Management. I took remote classes whenever I could.
But when I couldn't, I would drive the couple of hours to the university and pretend to be careless when people called during that time.
To my surprise, I liked it, and I was really good at it. I graduated with honors and walked across the stage with no one there to witness my success.
I didn't even want to tell Giovanni. I knew that it was a silly thing that I should have been able to tell him.
But I couldn't.
I needed to prove something to myself. I needed to prove that I could be more than just a mafia don, that I could be something else entirely.
And when I knew I could, I decided to see how much further I could take it. I took an even bigger risk and applied to an even better program for my MBA.
Again, to my surprise, I got in. I was all set to start a year-long online hybrid MBA program at Carnegie Mellon's Tepper School of Business.
This one would have been much farther away from home and harder to keep secret, but I was willing to do it. Hell, I even had plans to tell the family this time.
For the first time in my life, I had the confidence to believe I could do it.
I was all set to start that fall. And then we got the news that my father was being released early.
And all that self-confidence came crashing down. All the fears I had been trying to run from, all the insecurities I had been trying to bury, came rushing back.
Suddenly, I was a little kid again. That same kid that I was when he was put away twelve years before.
I was impulsive. I was reckless. I was angry.
Thoughts and doubts swirled in my head and punched at my confidence until I was absolutely sure I couldn't do it. I pictured people in my family looking at me like I was crazy for thinking I could accomplish something like that.
I mean, Carnegie Mellon? Who was I kidding?
I was a failure.
I felt my mother’s disappointment. A mother who had been dead for a decade.
A wave of cold washes over me. I run my hands over my face, and I am not at all surprised when I look at my hands that they're shaking.
So I turned down my acceptance to the school and chalked it all up to a stupid mistake.
But the school wasn't so willing to let me go that easily. They called and asked if there was anything they could do.
There was nothing they could do.
They called again. This time, the admissions dean told me that if I wanted, I could defer for up to three years with a guaranteed spot.
I accepted it, just so they would leave me alone. I never had any intention of actually attending.
And so the deadline was set.
The problem is, it's been three years. The deadline to either accept or reject is at the end of this summer.
And, though I was sure I wouldn’t care, there’s a little part of me that does. The same little part of me that had the courage to apply in the first place.
And what if I did accept? I am not the same man I was then. The thought of doing that now is… terrifying.
I can't seem to muster up the same courage I had before, but I also can't let it go. It's the only thing that's been on my mind since the letter reminding me of the deadline arrived a few months ago.
For the first time in my life, it feels like I'm at a crossroads. It's not like I've never faced hard things or change before, but I've never had a choice before.
I was born an heir. When my father went to prison, and Lucia was whisked off to witness protection after testifying against him, I dealt with it because I had to. When my mom got sick, I dealt with it because I had to. No choice in any of that.
When my father and Giovanni decided I was ready to take part in the business, I did it because I was told to.
When my father got out of prison and decided that I shouldn't have as much responsibility as Giovanni had allowed me and busted me back down to a soldier, even after twelve years of busting my ass and proving myself, I accepted it because I had to.
I've never really had a say in my life.
This is the first choice that's truly mine to make. And it has me completely paralyzed. So much so that I stalked and kidnapped a psychologist, and now I'm hiding away on this island with her, desperately hoping that she can fix me.
That I'm not a lost cause.
A soft sound from the cabana pulls me from my thoughts. I turn, and my breath catches in my throat.
Teresa is shifting on the daybed, stirring awake. The blanket has fallen away, and the moonlight catches on her bare skin, illuminating the soft curves of her body, the marks I left on her, the evidence of our coupling.
And just like that, the turmoil in my head quiets.
The conflict, the doubt, the fear—it all fades away, replaced by a singular, all-consuming need.
Her.
A wave of possessiveness washes over me, so strong it almost brings me to my knees.
I don't want to think about what it means, so I push it to the back of my mind and go to her.
I walk back to the cabana, my movements slow, deliberate. I watch her as she stretches, a soft, sleepy sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes flutter a couple of times before she settles back into the cushions.
I push my pants down, already knowing I'm not going to get any sleep tonight until I'm inside her again. Not even an hour has passed, and the need to feel her wrapped around me is back.
I climb onto the daybed, careful not to jostle her too much. I'm gentle with her, much gentler than I was before.
I part her legs and settle between them. I'm already hard and aching for her. The head of my cock nudges against her still-wet entrance, and a soft moan escapes her lips, sleepy and full of need.
She’s so fucking responsive.
I pause, giving her a chance to tell me to stop.
But she doesn't.
Instead, her legs fall open wider in invitation. Her hips lift slightly, and her arm comes up to wrap around my neck, pulling me down to her.
"Vito," she murmurs against my lips, my name a sleepy, breathless sigh. Then a long moan as I slip into her warm, inviting pussy.