Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eleonora
I wake up with my lips still tingling.
Even in the hazy early morning light, last night refuses to leave me alone.
Nico’s mouth on mine. The way he kissed me like he was claiming something he already owned. His hand on the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, the low growl that vibrated from his chest into mine.
I press my thighs together under the sheets, trying to ignore the persistent ache between my legs. I’m wet again just from remembering.
It’s still dark outside, the storm having calmed into a quiet drizzle. I slip out of bed, my bare feet cold against the floor. I need water. My throat feels dry, and my mind won’t stop spinning.
Surprisingly, when I try the bedroom door, it opens. No Daniel standing guard yet. He probably hasn’t started his shift, assuming I’d still be asleep. I move quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen, grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and drink deeply.
Instead of going back upstairs, I wander.
The house is silent and beautiful in the dim light. I know Nico told me not to roam, but it’s too early. He’s probably still asleep. What harm could a little walk do?
My feet carry me toward the east wing. I remember seeing a gym down here the other day. The door is slightly ajar. I push it open quietly and step inside.
And there he is.
Nico is on the treadmill, running at a punishing pace. Shirtless. Sweat glistens on his broad back and shoulders, tracing the lines as his muscles flex and coil with every stride.
A white bandage is wrapped tightly around his injured arm, already damp at the edges from sweat, but he moves like he doesn’t feel the pain at all
His workout shorts hang low on his hips, revealing that sharp V that disappears beneath the fabric. The sight is raw, masculine, and unfairly arousing.
I should leave. I should turn around right now.
But I stay hidden just inside the doorway, watching him like I have no self-control left.
He suddenly slows the treadmill and glances over his shoulder, catching me before I can hide.
A slow, dangerous smirk curves his lips. “Enjoying the view?”
Heat rushes to my face. I step fully into the room, trying to appear unbothered. “I was just walking around.”
“Sure you were.” He stops the machine completely and wipes his face with a towel, eyes never leaving mine.
“Shouldn’t you be resting your arm?”
He stares at his arm and gives a shake of his head. “Nah, it's nothing.”
I give a shake of my head.
“You can join, you know. Or are you just going to stand there staring?”
Ashamed but refusing to show it, I walk over to the treadmill next to his and step on. I start at a light jog, but Nico immediately increases his pace, challenging me. A competitive glint flashes in his eyes.
I raise my chin. “Bet I can outrun you.”
“Hmm, and what do you want if you win?”
I shrug. “Haven't decided yet. I'll let you know.” I already know what I want.
“You’re on,” he responds.
We run. Hard. Side by side. The only sounds are our breathing and the pounding of our feet. I used to go for runs, back home. I push myself until my lungs burn, but he’s relentless. Of course, he wins.
He slows his machine first, barely winded, while I’m gasping for air.
He steps off, grabs his water bottle, and takes a long drink. Then, without hesitation, he holds it out to me.
I take the bottle, put my lips where his just were, and drink. The moment feels shockingly intimate. His eyes darken as he watches my throat work, as a drop of water slips down my chin.
When I hand it back, his fingers brush mine deliberately. Before I can pull away, his hand slides around my waist and yanks me against him. A sharp breath leaves me as my body collides with his chest.
Heat pours off him instantly, sweat, soap, something dark and masculine that wraps around me and sinks straight into my bloodstream.
My palms flatten against his chest on instinct, hard muscle flexing beneath my hands. We’re so close I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the brush of his thigh between mine.
Every nerve ending lights up at once, heat rushing low through my stomach, between my legs, until it almost aches. My eyes drop to his mouth before I can stop myself. Remembering how they felt against mine last night, I so badly want him to kiss me again.
He bends close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “I’ll tell you when I decide my price for winning,” he says, voice low and rough.
The sound of someone clearing their throat has me jerking away from Nico instantly.
I spin around and find the same man who interrupted us in Nico’s office the other day standing by the doorway. Heat floods my face in embarrassment.
“Excuse me,” I mumble, mortified.
Before either of them can say a word, I hurry out of the room.
Nico
Marco has the absolute worst fucking timing on the planet.
If he wasn’t my oldest friend and underboss, I’d put a bullet in his head right now.
He’s leaning against the doorframe of the gym with that stupid, knowing smirk on his face, eyes flicking between me and where Eleonora just went, like he walked in on something he can use against me for the next ten years.
“Did I interrupt something?” he asks, voice dripping with amusement.
I give him a flat, warning look and don’t bother responding. Instead, I pick up the water bottle Eleonora just drank from and take a slow sip, hoping to catch even a trace of her on the rim.
Fuck. What am I turning into? What is she turning me into? I set the bottle down harder than necessary.
Marco raises an eyebrow. “So… things going to be more between you and the Caruso girl?”
“No,” I snap. “How about you tell me what I actually want to hear instead of fishing for gossip like a fucking schoolgirl.”
He doesn’t buy it for a second, but the look I give him makes him shut his mouth. He knows when to push and when to back off.
“We weren’t able to get any identification on the guys who hit the warehouse,” he says, switching to business. “No wallets, no phones, no tattoos that link them to anyone. Ran their fingerprints through every database we have, and came back empty. They’re ghosts.”
I groan and drag my fingers through my sweat-damp hair. “Has to be Gallo. That fucker.”
“Yeah,” Marco agrees. “He’s getting antsy. Sending roses yesterday, ghosts today. He’s losing patience.”
I nod, mind already spinning. “We need to find Sienna before he does. If he gets to her first, he’ll use her as leverage against both us and Caruso.”
“Still searching,” Marco says. “No solid leads on her or the boyfriend yet. They’re staying off the grid.”
“Eleonora said Sienna’s in love with him. They ran so she wouldn’t have to marry Andrea.” I pause, thinking. “If she marries the guy, that actually works in our favor. Makes the original alliance null and void.”
Marco leans against the wall. “True. But we still need to control the narrative. If Massimo thinks we have both daughters, he’ll be more willing to bend on the port terminals.
We cut off Gallo’s main shipping routes, we weaken him significantly.
Then we move in on the East Coast routes he’s been protecting. ”
I nod. “Exactly. We squeeze the Caruso-Gallo alliance until it snaps. Once we control the terminals, we dictate the flow of weapons and product up and down the coast. Gallo becomes irrelevant.”
Marco studies me. “You really think the girl will cooperate when her father calls again?”
“She will,” I say, voice hard. “She doesn’t have a choice.”
Marco pushes off the wall. “I’ll keep the teams hunting for Sienna. You… handle whatever the hell is going on with the older sister.”
I shoot him a glare, but he’s already walking away, chuckling to himself.
I stay in the gym a moment longer, staring at the treadmill where Eleonora had run beside me.
This situation is getting far more complicated than I planned.
I can't lift weights because of my injured arm, hoping to clear my head, I run a few more miles on the treadmill, before heading to my bedroom to get ready for the day.
After my shower, I spend the rest of the day locked in my office, buried in contracts, shipping manifests, and financial reports. I try to focus. I really do. But my mind keeps drifting back to her.
Eleonora.
The way her body felt pressed against mine this morning.
The soft gasp she made when I kissed her last night.
How her lips parted so perfectly for me, how she melted and pressed closer like she couldn’t get enough.
The sweet vanilla scent of her skin. The way her breath hitched when I gripped her waist.
My cock has been half-hard for hours. Painfully hard. At this rate, I’m going to die from blue balls in my own fucking house.
I swear under my breath and shove my chair back, standing up abruptly. I have a meeting to prepare for tonight with Nikolai Volkov, the Pahkan of the Russian Bratva in New York.
We’ve done solid business together for years.
I supply them with high-grade weapons and certain controlled substances that move through my ports.
Nikolai has been pushing to increase volume significantly.
Tonight we’re meeting at one of my clubs downtown to discuss expanding our arrangement and securing new routes.
I head out of the office, adjusting my sleeves, when I hear Eleonora's laughter. Light, genuine, and beautiful.
Something I’ve never heard from her before. Not once since she arrived. She’s only ever given me sharp words, glares, and defiance.
I follow the sound to the living room and stop in the doorway. Eleonora is sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, looking relaxed in a way she never does around me.
Across from her, Daniel is grinning like a fucking lovesick idiot, clearly charmed out of his goddamn mind.
She laughs again at something he says, soft and warm. The first time I hear her real laugh… it’s because of him?
What the fuck could the damn fool have said that was so funny?