Luca
Seeing her there was such a fucking turn-on, with the sweet blush blooming on her cheeks, the flustered look in her eyes as she managed to tear her gaze away.
Fuck. I fist my cock harder, finding a more determined rhythm, relishing the pleasure that seems to circle my erection at every piercing, the intensity that comes with it.
Longest fucking four months of my life to get this done, but Jesus, did it pay off.
I’m all for kink, bondage, some light BDSM, but honestly, getting pierced upped my dark-room game a hundred-fold.
The discovery of it usually left women speechless, and they had my cock in their mouths pretty quickly—not because I encouraged it, but because they wanted it.
Now all I can think of is Milana, here with me, us, my hand in her hair as her head bobs, me pulling her to her feet and then hauling her up against the wall, slowly penetrating her one barbell at a time.
Just thinking of how she’d feel—tight, wet, warm—makes my orgasm rush in from out of nowhere and I spray cum into the water.
I’m out of breath, bracing against the wall, spent.
What a fucking day. For five minutes, I just stand there, let the water beat down my back, drain away the last of the tension as my mind flits through key scenes.
Matty’s determined but haunted face as he worked with Nicky to stabilize Gabi.
Ben passing whatever they needed as if he was a fucking nurse in an operating theatre.
Ivan…fucking Ivan Petrov declaring his love for Gabi in the moment everybody was still unaware of me rushing into the room.
Things moved fast, but Matteo’s instructions were clear. Tasha couldn’t come home to that mess. Lucky Luca. It wasn’t the first time I got to clean up and play undertaker so at least it’s a streamlined process. Except I’ve never had to extract ten bullets from a woman’s body before.
Jesus. Mara…so fucking delicate, her body a riddle of tattoos.
Some older, some newer. Some so fresh, the skin was still peeling away from the ink.
I tried to keep them intact as I worked the metal out of her flesh.
It reminded me of Franco Fiore’s snake-covered body I dealt with months ago.
A person might be dead, but their body still tells a story.
Mara’s whispered to me she might have died as an assassin, but these were just the last words in her last chapter.
There’s a whole book of her life none of us got to read.
I scrub myself with soap, repeatedly, trying to wipe the visuals from my mind. Eventually, I turn off the shower, knowing some images are burnt into my soul and some blood never really washes off.
As I towel-dry, I head to my closet, only to realize I’ve moved my clothes next door. This is no longer my room.
For now.
I walk out, towel around my waist, and catch Milana sitting at the godforsaken grand piano again, staring into space.
“Get ready, Milana. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
She glances my way, her gaze sliding down with the water droplets still dripping from my hair, all the way down to my navel and just that short stretch lower. I suppress a smirk, but fuck, the way she looks at me—
Is she a virgin?
Jesus. That’s never crossed my mind. I don’t do virgins. What a fuckup that would be. Let’s just say, doing what I do—what I did—required some pretty extensive paperwork, vetting, and a load of privacy. Women who are into this type of thing are definitely not virgins.
“Where’re we going?” she asks, meeting my gaze again but wringing her hands in her lap.
“The clinic, to see Gabi. And Ivan. It’s the only way you’ll see him. He won’t leave her side. I believe Yuri will fetch the girls from Long Island at some point.”
“Okay.” She stands, brushes her hands down her hips. “I’m ready.”
That light blue cashmere sweater…fuck, I want to peel it over her head and see if she’s wearing sexy underwear underneath it all.
Weird, to have these desires normal people take for granted.
I could always hazard a guess what it looked like from touching the fabric, feeling the lace and embroidery as if I was reading Braille, but to actually see her in it?
Instead of giving in to the urge to drop the towel and tell her to help herself, so I could in turn help myself, I head to the second bedroom to get dressed.
We’re snowballing. It’s just a matter of time before we trigger the avalanche building between us.
I get dressed at speed, and when I walk out into the lounge minutes later, Milana is standing by the windows, clenching her phone. I’ll crack that code too, hopefully sooner rather than later.
We head out and to the elevator in silence. For all that there was a sensual moment in the bathroom, the weight of the day rests heavy.
My driver is waiting, and I hold the door for Milana. She won’t run. Not until she’s seen her brother. She hasn’t even brought her purse along.
“Do you know if she’s out of surgery?” Milana asks once we’re on the highway.
“Apparently, she is.”
“So it went okay?”
“I don’t know, princess. Gunshot wounds are something else. Time will tell.” I reach for her hand, needing to touch her, comfort her. She doesn’t pull away but curls her fingers with mine.
“Ivan got shot. In July. I hate that I wasn’t there—” She breaks off, emotion thick in her voice. “I don’t know how he pulled through.”
I shoot her a glance. “He has two little girls. He couldn’t afford to die.”
She bites her lip and looks out of the window again. “It’s amazing what you would do, the lengths you’d go to, to survive for your children’s sake.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Today was a close call. I haven’t told her that the bullets that ripped through Gabriella were meant for Ivan.
I couldn’t do it. Let him tell her. Our sister isn’t the only one being hunted by Chertnikov.
The man is way too bloodthirsty for my liking.
Good thing Milana chose wisely in the bathroom today.
Chertnikov doesn’t know where he’s thrown his hook in.
He might be Bratva , with tech and security on all sides, but every man has his weak spot, and we have the means to figure out what it is.
We’re not kings of the dark net for nothing.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, lost in our own thoughts. When we reach the clinic, the garage door opens. The driver rolls in, giving the other security who are waiting in their vehicles in the service road a smug nod of superiority.
Yep, the man that needs to stay hidden gets to drive from one garage to the next behind blackout windows, following every fucking precaution I’ve hated since I got shoved into this doppelg?nger role.
I will not be seen. I will not exist. I will be nothing unless I have to play at being someone else.