Chapter 34
Rico
An insistent buzzing awakes me from my deep slumber. After an intense night of sex I’ve never been more physically exhausted.
Arm heavy I reach for my phone. Imogen shifts in my arms, snuggling closer but remains fast asleep. I would have never imagined myself as someone who needs physical contact, but with Imogen I can’t go without it.
Through bleary eyes I see the caller ID.
I groan inwardly.
Knowing he’ll keep calling, I reluctantly answer the phone. “Pietro.”
“We have a huge fucking problem. Like massive.” His voice is urgent. I rub my temporal, sobering.
Pressing my phone between my chin and shoulder I gently untangle myself from Imogen’s limbs. I already miss the warmth of her as I sit on the side of the bed. It’s as if she’s become a second skin and I feel bare without her.
“Are you being dramatic or is this serious?”
“Serious enough that I’m outside your private elevator banging on it like a scorned lover.” I hear him pounding against the elevator doors through the phone.
I sigh heavily. If I let him up he’ll know of Imogen and I. And while he’s always had his suspicions now he’ll know it’s true. He’ll tell Constantine and Carina I’m sure. He’s kept my secret about Sebastian. He won’t about this.
We’ll be over before we’ve truly begun. I gaze back at her on the bed. Her lips swollen. The markings of my rope on her skin.
She’s where she belongs. But my Famiglia will never accept her. I’ll be forced to choose.
“Rico,” Pietro’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. “It’s concerning Sebastian. Let me in.”
If it’s concerning Sebastian then it concerns her. The consequences of him finding out be damned. Sebastian can not. . .will not come anywhere near her. “I’ll input the override to let you in.”
Hanging up without a goodbye I go to my security app. I override the security protocol and open the elevator, inviting him to my home.
I toss my phone on the nightstand and scrub my hand roughly down my face. Stubble pricks at my palms. The sensation physically makes me recoil. I’ll have to shave first thing in the morning.
The bed slightly groans as I ease myself off. With light feet I pad across the room and enter my walk in closet. Half of the clothes in here now belong to her.
At first it fucked with my head. For so long this had been only mine. My own color coded system. Even separating the clothes by arm length. All part of my routine to wake up and start the day right.
Now her clothes are sprinkled within. Splashes of vibrant color and different textures. It all seems fitting now. Which is insane. Or perhaps I really have lost my mind.
I throw on a crewneck pullover and a pair of sweatpants.
When I leave the walk in I find Imogen sitting up in the middle of our bed with strands of her hair escaped from the braid, a tired expression on her face and the sheet barely covering her breasts.
“Is everything okay?” Concern colors her tone.
Wanting to ease her worry I sit back down on the bed and tuck the loose strands behind her ear. “Everything is fine.”
“Then why are you leaving?” A vulnerability cracks in her voice.
“Famiglia business,” I respond vaguely.
She seems almost hesitant to ask. “Does it involve me?”
“Si.”
“Should I be worried?”
I palm her face in my hand. She leans into my touch. I kiss the bridge of her nose, then her cheek, her forehead and finally her lips. “I promised no harm would come to you. There’s no need for you to be worried.”
Doubt scrawls upon her face. I loathe to see it. “Our families are at war, Rico.”
“Yes. And?”
“And your Famiglia won’t allow you to choose me. Not with Seamus’ blood running in my veins. And my family will never allow me to choose you. The man who killed their son. The man who took their daughter.”
“What happened to fate deciding for us?” I challenge, upset with her base found logic and fact. “What happened to you telling me you chose me despite the consequences? Did you or did you not gift me your soul? Has the reality of our relationship have you running scared?”
“No,” she says firmly. “Despite all logic and reason, against my better judgement I choose you. I choose you, Rico. It’s just. . .” Her eyes then fall as she nervously toys with the sheet against her breasts.
“What is it?”
“I know what loyalty means to you,” she swallows. When her eyes chance a glance at me they’re almost sorrowful. “And I know even if you decide to choose me you’ve pledged your loyalty to the Famiglia. To Constantine.” She emphasizes his name particularly.
She’s right, of course.
My loyalty lies deep with Constantine. If it weren’t for him my father would still be alive. I’m indebted to him. Tied to the Famiglia or not I can’t betray him. But I also know I can’t betray her. It’s a very precarious line I’m walking on.
“I will always keep you safe. Trust me, Imogen,” I say thickly.
Her mouth quirks up in a bittersweet smile. “My pa said the same thing to me as a little girl. And look at him now. Could care less if I live or die. He’s only concerned about the family.”
“Gazzella, I am not your—” My phone going off interrupts us. Agitation flares within me. I have half the mind to destroy the damn thing.
Nodding her head towards the phone she says resignedly, “You should get that. Famiglia business.”
I feel heavily conflicted. As much as I want to stay here and further ease her mind I must hear the concerning news from Pietro in order to keep her safe. “This conversation isn’t done.”
“Okay.” Her tone suggests otherwise.
Pinching her chin I kiss her hard. I try to convey every promise, every feeling I can’t precisely describe for her in the kiss.
She must know. . .she must know how much she means to me.
As our lips part I rest my forehead against hers. I breathe her in. The calming peaceful scent of lilies.
“I understand Rico,” she says softly. My stomach twists in knots from the use of my name instead of shadow.
“Wait for me,” I whisper but it sounds more like a plea.
“Where else can I go?” And the way she says it, a broken truth batters the poor vessel inside my chest.
I drop my head, rubbing my fist over my chest naively hoping it will soothe the ache.
She lays back on the bed and turns on her side.
Away from me.
With a churning feeling in my gut and a tightness in my throat I leave far more pissed and frustrated than I have ever been in my life.
Entering the living area I say to Pietro heatedly, “This better be fucking good. I don’t need you wasting my fucking time.”
Pietro snaps his head back, his mouth gaping open like a fish on a hook. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
I bypass him and head towards the mini bar. I grab the decanter of whiskey and pour three fingers. Staring at him I down it all in one go. It’s a welcome burn compared to the one I received knowing I unintentionally hurt Imogen.
“You,” I respond bluntly.
“Me?” He scoffs.
“Si, you. You’ve interrupted my night.”
His brow wings up. “I’ve interrupted your night,” he echoes curiously. He eyes me then, scrutinizing every detail of my appearance.
Disheveled hair. Informal attire. Marks only a lover can provide peeking from the neckline of my crew top pullover. My lips swollen from her feverishly passionate kisses.
“Holy fuck,” he says astonished, eyes comically wide. “You fucked runaway, didn’t you?”
I grit my teeth. “I didn’t fuck her.”
“What would you call it then? Making love?” He waits for an answer and I only stare at him harshly. A string of curse words in our native tongue are muttered under his breath. “Since when are you sentimental?”
“I’m not continuing this conversation.” My voice holds a dark edge.
“Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re fucking—”
I take a menacing step towards him. And I’ll give it to him, he doesn’t cower. We stand eye to eye. I lower my tone and I chillingly threaten him. “Say that Imogen and I were just merely fucking one more time and I’ll cut your tongue out so you can’t speak.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re threatening me over her?”
I tilt my head. “Do I have to repeat myself? Or will action make you comprehend what I’m saying?”
He puffs out a large breath and takes a step away from me. Shaking his head he tells me seriously, “You have to know this won’t end well for either of you, Rico. Where the hell has your mind gone? Logic? Reason? Why are you not seeing it?”
“I see it just fine.”
“And you’re ignoring it?” He questions incredulously.
“I’m not ignoring it.”
“Then explain why you’re not making decisions based on it. That’s who you are. Fuck, it’s why we as a Famiglia value your input so much. And now it’s just to hell with it?”
“I don’t expect you to understand and frankly I don’t care if you do. But if you disrespect her, if you cross her, if anything of ill intention comes her way because of you I will not be responsible for my actions.”
“Dio mio,” he breathes. “You do realize you sound an awful lot like Constantine when it comes to Carina. Do you fully understand what that means?” I raise a brow. “You’re in love with her. You’re fucking in love with Imogen Murphy.”
Love.
Love doesn’t encapsulate what I feel for her. A need. A craving. She consumes my every waking thought. She follows me in my dreams. The feeling without her in my arms is cold and hollow. I want to rip the throat of any man who dares to look at her.
I’m not a man who is religious. But if there is a heaven it’s when I’m buried deep inside her sweet cunt. And if there is a hell it’s whenever her and I are apart.
If this is love then so be it. But love is hardly the word to describe what I feel for her.
“I don’t want to kill you, Rico.” His voice chokes. “If you choose her over us then you’re a threat.”
“I don’t have to be.” He shakes his head disagreeing. Torment pierces his eyes. “Pietro, listen to me. I. Don’t. Have. To. Be.”
“How could you not be?”
I go about this with another tactic. “Then why did you come here tonight? Do Constantine and Carina know you’re here? Do they know the information you’re about to present to me?” His silence answers for him. “Then you have already decided, Pietro.”
“I’ve decided what?” He bites.
“That you’re not going to kill me. Even if I choose her, you're not going to kill me.”
In a second he has the barrel of his gun pressed to my forehead. I stare at him unperturbed. “What makes you so confident?”
Fear.
The one emotion I can specify clearly.
And it’s seeping from every pore of him. The way the gun slightly shakes in his hold. The sweat that beads at his forehead. The tremor at his pulse point in his neck. His pupils dilated and eyes unfocused.
“Because Pietro, you care for me as a brother. Not a Famiglia brother. But a blood one. Deep down, despite my nonchalance and tolerance of your antics I care for you as a brother as well.” The confession comes easier than I thought it would.
I never would have admitted it before knowing Imogen.
But damn it. I do care about Pietro. In a way an older brother would look after his younger brother despite how childish and annoying they are.
“You’re lying.” His lip trembles as he presses the gun harder.
“You know that I don’t.”
His eyes keep flicking about. His finger stays poised on the trigger. And I wait. I wait. I wait. I wait.
“Fuck!” He roars. With no effort at all I dislodge the gun from his hand. I pull out the chamber, empty it and toss it on the floor.
Clamping my hand on the back of his neck I do something uncharacteristic but necessary. I pull him in and embrace him.
At first he pushes at me. But I keep my hold strong. Then when the fight leaves him, when the reality of his decision hits him he embraces me back.
And Imogen was right. It is nice to have people who care for you.
I pull away first but not before clapping him on the back.
He wipes the back of his hand over his glistening eyes. Then in a humorless laugh he says, “We are so cooked.”
My brows furrow at the terminology. “Cooked?”
He snorts and this time it’s sincere. “It means we’re fucked, Rico. You’re fucked because you’re in love with the enemy’s daughter and I’m fucked because I’m aiding and abetting it.”
“I assure you, you’ll be acquitted of the charges,” I say drily.
“Yeah just on this fucked up game of monopoly I’m not getting the go to jail card I’m getting the death sentence card,” he quips.
“There’s no such card, Pietro.”
He gives me a leveled look before dramatically saying, “Obviously.”
I head back to the mini bar and pour him two fingers of whiskey and a finger for myself. Joining him opposite of the sofa I set down his drink on the coffee table.
Just as I had he tosses back the liquor without a grimace.
“So, what’s the plan?” He asks.
“That depends.”
“On?”
I press forward, my elbows resting on my knees, my fingers steepled under my chin. “What information do you have regarding Sebastian that sent you over here like a madman?”
“Right. That.” With the empty tumbler he nudges it in the direction of the minibar. “Pour me another glass.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“It takes more than a couple shots of whiskey to get me drunk. You don’t have to worry about me crashing and imposing your sexcapades.” He winks. I take the tumbler and pour him two fingers. He adds, “Pour yourself another, too. You’re going to need it.”
And so I pour myself another and rejoin him. “What is it?” I demand.
“Sebastian was seen in a town car outside of Hell’s Kitchen.”
“That’s hardly surprising,” I say rather disappointedly in his news. “I had high suspicions it was him and his crew behind the latest Eden incident.”
“Rico,” he says, eyes imploring me to listen, “he wasn’t alone in the town car.”
Seamus must be accompanying him. Perhaps they’re willing to have an in person meeting with Constantine and Carina.
“Who was in the town car?”
“Kirill fucking Vasiliev.”