Chapter 6
DOMENICO
Ithought my soul was black enough to send me to hell, but after moving in with Gabriella, I realized I was already there.
Every day, I told myself to send her to her brother’s house and end this torture, yet every damn day, I couldn’t bring myself to let her go.
“Good morning, Domenico.”
Gabriella’s soft, sleepy voice floated to my ears, and her honeysuckle and jasmine scent filled my lungs. Who needed morning coffee when they could soak up all of Gabriella’s sweetness?
Steeling myself against the lust I knew was about to slam into me, I slowly turned away from the living room window. I’d been scanning the street for anything out of place, and once again, lecturing my dick to stand the fuck down.
I nearly sighed in relief when she padded across the room toward the kitchen in a T-shirt and shorts, although they showed off far too much of her long, sexy legs. Motherfucker! Stop picturing them wrapped around your head, De Angelis!
“Buongiorno, Gabriella.”
Her brown eyes melted whenever I spoke to her in Italian, and it was a guilty pleasure that I couldn’t seem to quit.
“Aston has me building the newest exhibit at the gallery, so I’ll be meeting with several collectors and museum curators over the next week.”
Aston managed The Family’s largest art gallery and museum in Atlanta. He was also one of the world’s most talented forgers and handled all of the smuggling operations in and out of France—where he was from. His brother, Charles, still lived there and ran things from the Paris end of the operation.
“He mentioned it when we spoke yesterday.” I took a drink from my mug. “I have the list of places you need to visit.”
Gabriella’s lips twisted with annoyance, which shouldn't have looked adorable, but she managed it somehow. “I am perfectly capable of managing my life, Domenico. You’re my bodyguard, not my babysitter.”
“Fidati di me, sole, I see the woman you’ve grown into. That’s the problem.”
Gabriella’s jaw went slack as she gaped at me, and it hit me that I’d said the last part out loud. Shit.
“Go get ready, Gabriella,” I ordered gruffly.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and I knew she was trying to formulate a response. I couldn’t go there. Talking about my desire for her would make it real. At least this way, I could lie to myself that it was all in my head.
“Domenico—”
“We aren’t discussing this, Gabriella. Go.”
Her lips compressed into a straight line, and her eyes clouded with resentment. “You can’t avoid a discussion about us forever, Domenico.”
“There is no us, sole.”
Gabriella glared at me before spinning around and marching back to her bedroom.
I heard the shower turn on and shook my head to clear away the fantasies of her wet, naked body. Water sliding down every curve, her silky skin pressed against mine—fuck! I barely avoided throwing my mug at the nearest wall as I struggled to reclaim my self-discipline.
Clenching the cup in my hand, I stalked to the kitchen and poured the remaining contents down the sink. Then I gripped the edge of the counter and took several deep, slow breaths.
Even as a child, I’d been a master of my emotions.
They were there. I wasn’t dead inside. I simply had a tight rein on them, allowing me to pick and choose the times when they were appropriate.
When Gabriella returned from New York, it was the first time I felt a fissure in the walls I’d built around myself.
Being so close to her every day, every minute, I felt those fractures growing into cracks.
With enough pressure, I was afraid she would breach them completely.
When I felt more stable, I went into the guest room and gathered up my clothes and toiletries.
I waited until I heard her bedroom door close, then I made my way into the bathroom.
Honeysuckle and jasmine lingered in the air, and I wondered again how she smelled so incredible.
When I moved in, I’d looked for body wash, shampoo, or some kind of fragrance but hadn’t found anything.
The scent was simply Gabriella. And I suspected that her pussy would taste just as sweet.
Porca puttana.
I hurried through my shower, dressed, then used some gel to tame my curly hair, which had been the bane of my existence since I was a kid. When I emerged from the bathroom, Gabriella was in the kitchen drinking from a mug that said, I get away with everything. It’s adorable, really.
Her mug collection made me chuckle a few times over the past few weeks. Especially when I saw the ones that said Mess with me, and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes and Keep talking—I know a guy.
“Are you ready to go, sole?” I asked as I tucked my keys and wallet into my pocket before slipping my gun into my holster.
“Yes,” she answered flatly as she rinsed her cup and added it to the dishwasher.
Once we were out of her apartment and in the car headed to her first appointment, I finally lost some of the sexual tension that had been eating away at me in such a confined space with way too many flat surfaces to fuck on.
“Why are you calling me sole all of a sudden?” she blurted after we’d ridden in silence for ten minutes. “You already call me Gabriella instead of Gabbi.”
The tension returned as I scrambled to come up with any reason except the truth. I couldn’t tell her that she was the light in my darkness, the only thing that helped me see what humanity remained in the midst of the killer carved from ice inside me.
“Because you’re too damn bright in the morning,” I grumbled.
She was quiet for a minute, so I glanced over and found her dark eyes studying me as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed my explanation.
Then she turned in her seat so she was facing forward again and declared, “It seems only fair that I get to use a nickname for you, too. Rompicoglioni seems appropriate. But I think I’ll just go with Mico instead. ”
Worried that the nickname would seem too intimate and send up red flags, I almost contradicted her. But Rafa had called me Mico from time to time since we became friends. It was rare, but not completely improbable that Gabriella could have picked up on it once.
“I suppose that’s better than ‘pain in the ass,’” I remarked.
She giggled, and the sound pierced my chest, spreading warmth through my body.
Another reason I called her sole. She lit up when she was happy, and if I couldn’t make her mine, then that was all I wanted for her.
Although, I wasn’t sure how to make that happen when I couldn’t stand by and let another man have her.
I’d come to accept that after I put the fear of the devil into George.
He might not have balked at the name De Luca, but he was still a pussy who had crumpled under my threats of death and dismemberment if he so much as touched Gabriella.
However, I’d also told him not to break up with her.
I didn’t want to see her hurt in case she cared about him at all.
But my bigger concern was that if he went running right away, she might suspect Rafa or I had something to do with it.
My train of thought was interrupted when we arrived at our destination. I was pleased when Gabriella stayed in the car, allowing me to come around and open her door.
“Brava ragazze, sole,” I murmured as I reached in to help her out of the vehicle.
Her cheeks turned pink, then her whole face flushed when our hands clasped and sparks erupted where we touched. When she was standing beside me, I told myself to let go but reflexively squeezed a little tighter. Then I gritted my teeth and forced reality to take over, reluctantly releasing her.
Gabriella cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly. “I know better than that. Rafa would lock me in a tower if I didn’t take my safety seriously.”
“Sounds like a smart move to me,” I said evenly, my expression mostly unreadable.
“Of course you’d think that,” she scoffed, tossing me a disgruntled frown. Obviously taking my comment at face value—practical and protective and siding with Rafa as usual.
She clearly didn’t catch the slight edge in my voice or the flicker in my eyes that would have told her I wouldn’t mind being the one to keep her safely out of reach.
When she turned away without another word, my gaze lingered on her a second too long—imagining that tower and her in it, all mine.
Over the time I’d spent with Gabriella, she had constantly impressed me with her knowledge, her business sense, and her ability to connect with her clients. She’d talked more than one reluctant collector into loaning a piece to the Belladonna Gallery or Vellum & Vine art museum.
She had a keen eye, which Aston had obviously discovered early on because he often asked her opinion when making choices. He also took any suggestions she brought to him seriously.
I was proud as fuck of my girl and wished that I could convey that to her in more than a friendly way. But since I didn’t think I could draw that line, I stayed silent, something she was used to anyway.
The toughest part of my day was returning to Gabriella’s apartment at night.
It would have been all too easy to slip into a comfortable routine of making and eating dinner together, then cuddling—a word I never thought I would use—on the couch in front of a movie. I had to have my guard up in the literal and metaphorical sense, and it was fucking exhausting.
Gabriella didn’t make it easy, either. She had an innate sweetness, mixed with moments of sassy attitude, and a natural seductiveness to the way she moved.
It was driving me out of my mind with wanting her.
And then there were the times when she deliberately pushed my buttons, teasing and tempting me in subtle ways.
It was a battle with my restraint, and with each moment we were together, I worried I would lose.