Chapter 19
DIANA
When I had woken up this morning and it hadn’t been in my own bed, a surprise wasn’t the first thing that flooded through me—it was contentment. The sheets smelled like Bruno—manly and woodsy and fresh, and I had inhaled deeply and buried my face into the pillow. He hadn’t been next to me when I woke up but I wasn’t entirely surprised. I figured he’d gone off to work, even if I did feel a thud of disappointment in my chest when I woke to an empty bed.
But then the spot between my legs had throbbed, reminding me of last night’s activities—from Bruno’s home office to his bedroom—and a flush had heated my cheeks and a smile I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to spread across my face. I went from having never stepped foot in Bruno’s home office and bedroom to being fucked in both. I hadn’t planned for last night to happen, but God, I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. Not when Bruno kissed me like he wanted to devour me and fucked me like he could live with his dick buried in my pussy forever. My mind flashes with images of his mouth on mine, his hands all over my body, and mine all over his. I see his messy dark hair, the tattoo on his chest of Monica and Matteo’s names written in swirling ink, that wicked smirk on his lips as he makes me come over and over again.
I feel like I’ve been on a high from the moment I woke up to now, mid-afternoon, as the kids finish up their lunch. Logically, I know I crossed a line with Bruno—more than once. Fucking the father of the kids I’m nannying? What a freaking cliché; I never wanted to be one of those people. And yet, I crave the heat Bruno looks at me with; I want to be warmed by him. I crave him now more than ever, after knowing what he tastes and feels like. I’m afraid I can’t ever get enough. I don’t know if I can walk away from him even if I wanted to. And I know that I don’t want to.
As much as I haven’t wanted to admit it, even to myself, despite the danger that clings to Bruno, I still somehow feel safe in his presence. Protected. I’ve seen the loving, caring side of him no one else has ever seen, other than Monica and Matteo, and maybe Gloria. I’ve seen his deep love for his children, his grief and gratitude for his late wife, and I see the fire in his eyes whenever he looks at me. The man who has rough edges but is capable of softening them for those close to him.
How can I walk away from that?
“Daddy! You’re home!”
I’m yanked out of my thoughts by Monica’s voice, head snapping up to see Bruno striding into the living room. There’s an intense fluttering in my chest at the sight of him, my mind instantly flashing back to last night. I watch as he gives his kids a smile, but my own falters slightly when I see the tension that bunches his shoulders, the jump of the muscle in his jaw. He’s on edge, I can see it clear as day.
“Hey, honey,” he says to Monica. “I need to talk to Diana for a second, alright?”
The kids nod and I get to my feet even before Bruno’s eyes meet mine. My heart jumps as I follow him out of the kitchen, and suddenly my nerves are running rampant. “Is everything okay?” I ask, hesitant to know the answer.
Once we’re at a good distance away from the kitchen, by the stairs, Bruno turns to look at me. “No,” he says. His jaw works, and I already know whatever it is, it isn’t good. My stomach bottoms out as Bruno’s gruff voice says steadily, “Your father was targeted by the Russians, Diana. He owed some money—for what, I don’t know. But he couldn’t pay it in time because of his heart attack, so they took matters into their own hands. I’m—” His jaw clenches, and I see the hardness in his eyes melt slightly, his gaze softening with genuine sympathy as he finishes, “I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure when I started crying. I didn’t even realize I was until I tasted the salt of my tears on my lips, and my heart pounds so heavily in my ears that I realize I’m not breathing. I inhale a sharp, shuddering breath, and the grief over dad’s death returns tenfold, overwhelming to the point where my knees buckle.
But Bruno is right there. His arms are instantly around me, holding me to him, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I press a trembling hand to my mouth to silence the sobs that escape. My heart aches in a way I didn’t think possible; it had been devastating to lose dad in the first place, but now that it’s confirmed that someone took him from me maliciously, viciously—the pain and grief are unlike any other. It makes my body tremble as I cry into Bruno’s chest and he holds me, comforting me with one arm around my waist and his other hand at the back of my head, stroking my hair.
He whispers in my ears, and through my cries, I know they’re words of reassurance, of comfort. But how can I possibly feel any kind of comfort, knowing what I know now? Part of me wants to know why dad borrowed money from Russians, but a bigger part of me doesn’t care. As much as I wanted him to have just asked me for money, my grief twists into something fiercer—into anger. These people took him away from me, the one person who loved me most in the world.
Did they want to punish him for not paying their money back? Then I want them punished for taking him away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bruno is whispering, and I squeeze my eyes shut as he holds me closely, comforting me. The warmth of his solid body relaxes me a bit, but my blood still hums in anger and devastation.
I shake my head, pulling away from him. I wipe at my wet cheeks, sniffling, feeling Bruno’s gaze on me as I try to pull myself together. My eyes sear from more tears I hold back and I take in another deep breath. “I need another favor from you,” I find myself saying, my voice raw from crying as I lift my gaze to meet Bruno’s. He looks at me expectantly, all ears, and my heart jumps. There’s a hollowness in my chest as I tell him, “Promise me you’ll kill the men who killed my father.”
I see the shift in Bruno’s expression like he hadn’t entirely expected me to say that, but at the same time, he isn’t surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth. His arm drops from around me, his jaw working, and I stare at him, feeling dread lock up my throat when he doesn’t answer immediately.
But then, the man who I know has the blood of many people on his hands, tells me, “I can’t promise you that, Diana.”
His words feel like a blow, and I try not to flinch as I gape up at him, hurt and angry all at the same time. “Why not?” I ask harshly, teeth grinding.
Bruno doesn’t look happy to be denying me, and I want to know why he’s doing it in the first place. He shakes his head, jaw tight. “How many times have I told you? I don’t discuss my business with you.”
This time, I do flinch, and I see him catch it. His throat works as I take a step back from him, my anger still present, yet the ache of my pain takes over. Frustrated, hurt tears burn my eyes. Are we seriously back to this? He told me someone purposefully murdered my father, and he’s telling me he won’t discuss his business with me? It was my dad who was killed!
“Bruno—”
“I know what I’m doing, Diana. You need to trust me,” he says tightly, and my jaw drops in a scoff, staring at him incredulously. Before I can say anything, though, he continues, “I’m upping the security around the house. Under no circumstances can you leave this house, with or without the kids. Unless and only if it’s an emergency, and even then, you call me and I’ll assign some men to go with you.”
I’m already shaking my head, and I see the irritation flashing across his eyes. “Are you kidding me?” I burst out, breathing heavily. “You’re keeping business secrets from me when it involves my dad, and you just expect me to blindly follow your orders?”
“Yes, because it’s for your own protection—” Bruno begins through gritted teeth, but I cut him off.
“Fuck my protection!” I exclaim. I inhale sharply through my nose, trying to quieten down because the kids are in the kitchen down the hall, and I don’t want them to hear this. Glaring up at Bruno, I hiss, “What about my dad? Who protected him?”
Bruno’s expression is thunderous, and if I was anyone else, I’d probably be shaking in my shoes. But I’m so hurt, so pissed the hell off, so devastated that I don’t care that he’s the most dangerous man in the city. Right now, he’s someone I’m so angry at that I don’t care he’s a criminal, a boss. In this moment, he is someone who is hurting me, and he should know it.
“This isn’t a fucking negotiation, Diana,” Bruno snaps, his voice sharp like a razor’s edge. He takes a step toward me, dark eyes glued to mine, the heat of his powerful body radiating into mine. “Need I remind you of our deal?” My heart launches itself into my throat. “I found out who killed your father, and now I expect you to hold up your part of the deal, too. Stay here. Look after my children. Listen to what I fucking say. That’s it.”
He doesn’t give me a moment to respond. He lays those words down like they’re the law, and he turns and walks out of the house, the door slamming shut behind him. I don’t react to it. I just stand there, frozen, feeling like a complete idiot.
My father was murdered. What had started off as a theory to make more sense of his death has proven to be true, and the grief and anger run amok in my body.
And Bruno. . . None of this meant anything to him, did it? His words echo in my head, making me dizzy and intensifying the hurt. He doesn’t care about me. Maybe he never did. And I was just an idiot, falling for a man who saw all of this as part of a deal we made months ago.
My tears return anew, and I know I’ll have to pull myself together soon, but for now, I allow myself to sink to the floor and cry.