Chapter 26
Rico
Aharrowing cry pierces through the night.
I immediately cover my ears. The sudden sound is like shards of glass being shoved down my ear canals. My pulse picks up at an alarming rate. I blow out a long breath and try to center myself. As my eyes adjust in the dark I keep with my breathing technique to help regulate myself.
When my heart rate returns to its restful stage I uncover my ears.
Beside me in bed Imogen lies trembling with her face etched in sorrow.
I’ve never been one who offers comfort. Quite frankly I’m not good at it. My words are often construed as hollow and harsh when it’s never what I intend. And inviting myself in one’s personal space with an embrace or a shoulder to lean on always feels wrong.
But when I hear her small whimper I know I must do something to comfort her.
Lying on my side I pull her into my frame. I wrap my arms around her and rest my chin on top of her head. The way we fit perfectly screams at me.
She shifts. She presses herself further against me and I tighten my hold. It’s as if she’s trying to meld us together.
Her soft voice breaks. “I miss her.”
“Your mother?” I ask softly.
“Yes,” she sniffles. “I knew I would miss her. Even when I planned on my escape I knew I’d miss her but god,” she breathes painfully, “it hurts, Rico.”
This is the part where I always metaphorically fuck it up. The words never sound consoling. “Would it comfort you to know she’s more than likely missing you, too? Feeling the same pain as you are?”
“No,” she croaks. “It only makes it worse.”
My brows knot together. “Why?”
“Because I caused it. If I hadn’t been selfish I would have never dreamt of escaping that farce of a marriage. I would have sucked up my pride and done my duty for the family.”
She lays the blame so heavily upon herself when there is no reason to carry such a weight. “Even if you hadn’t decided to escape yourself, Imogen, we were there that night to capture you. It wouldn’t have mattered.”
“But it does,” she disagrees harshly. “You don’t understand.”
My thumb brushes along her hand. “Then explain it to me.”
“You saw how my ma cried. The utter devastation upon her face. God, I see it every night. And I tell myself I’ll do anything to make her pain disappear.
I tell myself I’ll return home to her. That she needs to worry no longer.
That I’ll escape this prison myself, like you said.
I tell her I’ll make things right. I’ll avenge the man who killed her son.
” She twists in my arms then. I loosen my hold to allow her to.
Even in the dark I can feel her eyes penetrating past mine.
Trying to dig into the soul I don’t believe I have.
Her hands come to encase my throat. Fuck.
It spikes my blood. I almost want her to apply more pressure.
“And every night I come into your room and tell myself that tonight’s the night.
Tonight is the night I kill you and will be set free.
But once the blade kisses your skin I can never follow through.
Even with my ma’s cries haunting me. Even with my brother’s ghost following me. I just can’t seem to kill you.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know,” she breathes. “Maybe it’s madness. Maybe I’ve lost myself to the insanity of it all.”
She grants my wish and applies more pressure to my throat. All the blood within me runs south. If she was to brush her cunt against my cock I’d blow at the second.
The tears of frustration in her eyes make them shine like jewels. And I think I understand Constantine now. I think I may be able to grasp how one can become lost in someone else.
“Why can’t I kill you?”
My hands find purchase on her hips. It’s a mistake. An absolute terrible mistake that shouldn’t feel right but it does. And I don’t know what to do with that information. I’m at a complete loss. For the first time I actually act without questioning myself.
I lower her over my groin. Between the thin fabric of our clothes and even thinner fabric of the sheet I feel her heat against me.
It’s the first time a woman has rubbed up against me.
And fuck. . .it’s euphoric.
Her breath catches as she feels how hard I am. There’s no mistaking it. She stills. If I could feel embarrassment I would for how quickly I’m about to come in my briefs. But her sweet warm cunt against my cock and her hands wrapped tightly around my throat have me in pure rapture.
Boldly, she moves her hips. A soft slow motion that frays every one of my nerve endings. My fingers bite into her flesh as my eyes roll back and I let out a deep moan.
It’s when she nips along my jawline I’m unable to control the pent of up desire and crazed lust.
Moaning her name I come quick and hard.
All it took was an elevated dry humping session with my inexperience to have me coming in under a minute.
My first orgasm from another woman belongs to my enemy’s daughter.
But it’s not just my first orgasm she’s claimed. My first sexual encounter belongs to her too.
And now that I’ve experienced pure undulated desire and pinnacle bliss I don’t want to let that feeling go.
Fuck, it’s the first thing I have ever felt without feeling confused or left wondering what it is I’m feeling.
But damn it, I have to.
This is Imogen Murphy. Daughter of Seamus Murphy.
I killed her brother.
Kidnapped her.
Drugged her.
I’m keeping her as my fucking prisoner.
That’s who she is. That’s all she can ever be.
Firmly grasping her hips I remove her with more force than necessary. Her brows pinch together, confusion marring her delicate features.
Even I know it’s cruel to not glance back at her as I head to the en-suite bathroom, but I don’t.
I close the door behind me knowing her eyes have never left me.
Hands formed in fists, knuckles white, I lean against the counter with my head dropped.
When I finally look in the mirror I see a different man. One who I can possibly understand. One who can possibly be understood.
Conflicting emotions battle within me. As much as I want to fight reason and fact I know with her I can not. I am without armor. Vulnerable and exposed. With her I am only flesh and bone. A look, a touch and I become malleable.
The saying goes, God created us in his image.
But it’s wrong. It always has been.
I always believed we are born in this world as our own. We are our own deciders. Made by atom and atom to represent what makes us our own person. Not by god. Not by religion. We represent no one but ourselves.
Except now it’s wrong for a different reason entirely. One not of logic or fact or science.
A god has not created me in his image.
La mia gazzella Imogen has created me in her image.
And the man she created will bring devastation and havoc upon this earth for her.
Dare any man to raise their tongue against her.
Be consumed by jealousy and rage for any man who touches her.
To have a sick need to possess her and watch her fall apart beautifully in my arms only to restore her.
I am a man with no limitations and no morality.
In her creation I am a man not bound by honor and loyalty but something much greater.
The ruination of The Donati Famiglia will not be because of Seamus.
It will be because of his daughter.
And no one, not even my famiglia will be able to stop the man I’ll become once I have a taste of her.
Which is why I must put distance between us. Sever this tether and remind her of who she is. Of who I am.
But the lines have never been more blurred.
And it begs the question, how long can I resist the inevitability of us?