Chapter 16
GINA
Ihead for the shower as soon as I enter the penthouse.
Though I never saw who was following us, I can’t wait to strip off my clothes like a contaminated second skin.
I crank the faucet as hot as it’ll go and step under the spray. Water pounds against my neck, my breasts, and my stomach, washing away the feeling of being watched.
The pleasant scent of my body wash fills the steamy air as I work it into a thick lather. I slide it across my body, making sure nothing of the outside world remains on me.
Just as I’m drying off and tying the sash of my robe at my waist, I hear the front door slam.
My heart jumps into my throat.
“Gina!” Dante’s voice echoes through the penthouse.
I rush to meet him, my bare feet slapping against the marble floor.
“I’m here!”
He’s standing in the entryway, chest heaving, suit jacket askew.
Dante’s black eyes lock on mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. Sweat beads at his temple, and I can see the rapid pulse at his neck.
“Tell me everything,” he demands, closing the distance between us.
His hands grip my shoulders, fingers digging in enough to make me gasp. “What happened?”
“I’m not really sure. I didn’t even see them. But Angie was certain we were being tailed...”
His jaw clenches. “How dare they…” he says, almost spitting the words.
The heat from his body radiates through my robe, making me aware of how little I’m wearing.
I grip his arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath his expensive suit.
“Dante, what’s going on? You can’t keep me in the dark like this.”
My voice comes out higher than I intended, betraying my fear.
His eyes darken as they sweep over my face, then down to where my robe has slipped down my shoulder.
He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa in the living room, his fingers hot against mine.
“You know that the purpose of our union was to symbolically consolidate the Italian families in the United States.”
“Yes,” I force myself to say. After everything we shared together, Dante obviously meant to say ‘original purpose.’ I forgive him forgetting that all-important word.
“The Petrovs are a new threat,” he continues, his voice thickening with anger. “The most violent, most ruthless Russian mob we’ve ever faced. And because they’re so new, we don’t know what they’re capable of.”
I nod, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as his intense gaze pins me in place.
My robe suddenly feels too skimpy and revealing.
I swallow hard. “They followed Angie and me to...to provoke you?”
Dante edges closer. His crisp white shirt stretches across his chest with each breath. His calloused fingertips tilt my chin up to face him.
The touch sends electricity racing to my nipples when his thumb moves slowly to my lower lip.
“Yes. By following you, the Petrovs tried to prove they can reach what is mine. I won’t allow that to happen.”
“What happens next?”
Dante’s expression darkens. “Not your concern. But until then, you need protection. From now on, you don’t leave this house without a bodyguard.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “Who will it be?”
“Remember the man who drove you home after you visited the club? That’s Thomas. He’s young, but a good soldier. Sharp. Always on his toes. He’s proved his loyalty. He’ll be responsible for you. You go nowhere without him. Understood?”
I nod.
“Good. Did your father ever show you how to use a gun?”
I shake my head. “No. He crunched numbers for a living.”
Dante frowns. “Have you ever seen a gun?”
“Only in movies.”
“Well then. Here’s your first lesson.”
Standing, he takes a handgun from his waistband. “This is a Beretta Jetfire. It’s saved my life dozens of times. You’ll need to use it if you want to stay alive. Now come stand here.”
I join him near the mirrored wall in the living room.
Dante positions me in front of it. Except for my white robe, we look like the cover of one of Alice’s mafia romances.
Me, wide-eyed and uncertain. Dante, dark and unyielding behind me.
“Look at yourself,” he says. He places the gun in my right hand. Cold, heavy. “Hold it steady.”
His hand closes over mine, adjusting my grip. His chest presses against my back. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I’m scared,” I admit.
“Good. Fear keeps you sharp. But you can’t let it control you.”
I stare at our reflection. His hand slides from my waist to my hip, anchoring me against him. “Lift it,” he says. “Aim at your own reflection.”
I raise the gun, my hand trembling. He moves with me, his arm guiding mine. “Steady. Breathe.”
His hand tightens over mine. I inhale his scent of cedar and smoke.
“When someone threatens you, you don’t hesitate. You don’t freeze. You aim, and you pull the trigger.”
His hand slides from the gun to my wrist. “Say it again.”
“I aim and pull the trigger.”
“Good girl.”
The words send a quiver down my spine.
Dante’s hand glides to the damp knot of the robe at my waist. He unties it, sliding his palm across my naked belly. I let the fabric part.
“Now you have the magic tool,” he says, turning me to face him. “And you know how to use it.”
The Beretta dangles between us.
Dante presses closer, the rough fabric of his expensive jacket against my exposed nipples. To my surprise, I thrust my hips closer to his.
“Good girl,” he says. With his right hand, he uses the Beretta like fingers, its cold muzzle brushing along the curve of my hip. Then I feel it slide to my breast.
I gasp as the hard ring of the barrel circles my nipple. Dante’s other hand fists my hair and tugs my head back, forcing me to turn and meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Do you see yourself, California Girl?”
I nod, my pulse thrumming.
The Beretta circles my nipple again, slower this time. He drags the muzzle down my skin, past my ribs, pressing it into my belly.
Dante watches me in the mirror, his expression dark with lust.
“Spread your legs,” Dante orders. I do as I’m told.
“Now strip.”
I shimmy my shoulders, and the robe pools at my feet.
Dante’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward until my hips touch the mirrored wall.
To my right, I see the city below through the window. I catch sight of myself nude, Dante positioning himself behind me.
He presses his body to mine, pinning me in place.
With my legs still spread, the gun strokes the inside of my thigh. I brace myself against the mirrored wall, dwarfed by Dante’s height.
The gun edges higher, nudging between my legs.
I whimper for more, jutting my hips backward to meet his firm erection covered by silk trousers.
Dante hushes me with a growl. “You’re going to remember this moment every time you look at your own reflection, aren’t you?”
The Beretta nudges higher, cold against the fever-heat of my skin.
He uses the gun to trace a line between my legs, the length of it slipping through my slick folds.
I gasp as the metal brushes my clit, and Dante laughs—a hoarse, hungry sound.
Then he twists me slightly, forcing me to grasp the glass windowpane for support.
I imagine how we must look from outside, with me naked and pressed against the window for the whole city to see.
Dante grips a tangle of my hair, the other hand tipping the Beretta toward the seam of my ass.
I moan, and Dante’s strong hand covers my mouth.
Then I hear him unzip.
The first stroke pushes the breath out of me. Dante’s all the way in, all at once.
No mercy.
I see him in the mirror. Face dark over my shoulder. Jaw set. The Beretta still in his right hand, propped against my ribs where he can use it.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
He pulls back and drives into me.
The glass fogs against my cheek.
He sets a rhythm I can’t keep up with. Hard. Full. The muzzle traces my breast on every stroke, cold across my nipple, while his cock fills me.
“Good girl. Take it.”
The city blurs through the window. My pulse races. I hear myself whimpering against his hand, against the glass, my hips chasing his every time he pulls back.
He slows. Then almost stops.
I push back.
He laughs — low, hungry. The Beretta drags down my belly and circles my clit, just the rim of it, light enough that I shake.
“Now —” I gasp.
“Quiet.”
He makes me wait. Three breaths. Four. The cold ring of the muzzle holds me at the edge.
Then he moves. Hard. The Beretta presses flat against my pelvis as he fucks me through it, and I come around his cock, clenching, shuddering, my legs going limp.
He doesn’t stop.
“Mine,” he says against my ear, and his hand leaves my mouth so I can hear it.
A few more strokes and he explodes, saying my name low with his lips pressed against my hair, his hips locked against mine.
The Beretta still warm from my skin in his hand.
We stay like that. Glass against my cheek, his weight at my back, his cock still inside me.
Then he pulls out and leaves me for the shower.
What seems like just moments later, he’s in bed beside me, stroking my hair.
“Rest,” he says. “We’ve both had a day. In a little while, we’ll order something to eat.”
I snuggle in and lose myself in Dante’s warm, protective arms.