Chapter 7
Saint
The gallery is quiet at two in the morning.
I move through the shadows, using the intel Gemma gave me. The blind spots in the cameras. The guard rotation schedule. The access codes for the climate-controlled basement.
Everything she told me is accurate. Down to the fucking detail.
The guard, Seth, according to the name tag, is exactly where she said he'd be. Back entrance, smoking a cigarette on his break.
He doesn't hear me coming.
One quick motion. The knife slides between his ribs, angled up toward the heart. He makes a sound, surprise more than pain, and then goes limp.
I lower him to the ground, wipe the blade clean. I probably could have knocked him out, but I like to send a message. Plus, if Adrian is anything like me, he’d kill the guy on principle. So really, I was doing him a favor.
Not that I need to justify myself.
I don’t operate that way.
Inside, I use Gemma's codes. The vault door opens with a satisfying click.
I don't take anything. That's not the point. Instead, I pull out the Morozov family crest I brought, a perfect replica, and paint it in blood across the vault door. It’s a little dramatic, but the Morozov are flashy.
I'm back in the car by two-thirty, adrenaline still pumping. The whole operation took less than twenty minutes.
Perfect. Clean.
I couldn’t have done it without Gemma. That does something to me.
I'm halfway to my penthouse in the city when my phone rings. Antonio.
"We need to talk," he says. No preamble.
"Now?"
"Now."
I turn the car around, head to the compound. Find Antonio in his study, looking older than I've seen him in months.
"What's wrong?" There’s no way my uncle would call me this late at night unless it was bad.
And it’s not Gemma. Lyla assured me she went to bed hours ago.
No, something else is going on.
He pours two glasses of scotch. Hands me one. I feel antsy. "The cancer's back."
The words hit like a punch. "What?"
"Stage four. Pancreatic.” He takes a drink. "Doctors give me six months. Maybe less." He chuckles. “I don’t plan to die in hospice, so that time is likely shorter.”
I set my glass down, trying to process. "There has to be treatment—"
"I'm not doing chemo again. I'm seventy-two years old, Santino. I've lived a good life. A long life. I'm not spending my last months sick and weak."
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at him. Antonio is as close to a father as I’ve ever had. As much as he pisses me off, if I were capable of giving someone love, he’d have it.
"So what, you're just giving up?"
"I'm accepting reality." His eyes bore into mine. "Which means you need to step up. Take over. And you need an heir to secure the transition."
Of course. Always back to the fucking heir.
"We're trying—"
"It's been months. I want results." He refills his glass. "Is there a problem with the girl?"
"No problem. These things take time." I snort. “You know that.”
"We don't have time." His voice hardens. "I need to know this family will continue. That everything I built won't fall apart when I'm gone.”
“You have three sons,” I remind him.
He rolls his eyes, knocking back his drink.
“I love my boys, but you know they are weak. Jesus, Marcello wants to be a lawyer.” His eyes are tired, and I swear I can already see the cancer eating at him.
“You will be Don, and your son after you. I won’t see him born, but I will go easier knowing he’s on his way. ”
I bite back any retorts and nod. “We will do what we can.”
He nods, and I place a hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest,” I say.
I leave his study, glancing at the clock. It’s four in the morning, and I’m somehow exhausted and wired at the same time.
The cancer's back. Antonio's dying. And I'm supposed to secure the succession by knocking up a woman who hates me.
And fuck if I haven’t been trying.
I go to the guest suite, turning the shower on, and allowing the scalding hot water to clear my mind.
I keep circling back to Gemma. To the way she looked on her knees in my office yesterday. The determination in her eyes. The intel she gave me that was so fucking good.
She's more than I thought.
More interesting.
More useful.
Smirking, I get out of the shower, dry off, and head to our shared room.
I enter silently. Gemma is still asleep sprawled across her side of the bed. Her dark hair is a mess. Tonight, she wore one of those silly nightgowns she favors, todays a pale peach only slightly darker than her skin.
I take a moment to examine her.
I could wake her normally. Tell her about last night. Discuss next steps.
But where's the fun in that?
I climb onto the bed, push her nightgown up. She's wearing matching silk panties. I pull them off slowly, careful not to wake her yet.
Then I settle between her thighs and put my mouth on her.
She tastes like vanilla and something uniquely her.
At first, she’s dry, like always. But I know better.
My pretty little ice princess is made of fire; you just have to know how to stroke it.
And I do my best, flicking my tongue over her clit, circling it slowly, until I feel her start to drip with desire.
She stirs, makes a soft sound.
I add pressure, suction. Her body responds even though she's not fully awake yet. Getting wet. I press my tongue to her opening, and her tight little hole tries to suck my tongue inside. I smirk.
"Saint—what—" She tries to get up, but I hold her down.
"Stay still."
Her confusion is entertaining. She's trying to process what's happening, but her body knows. It's already chasing the pleasure. Her nipples are hard against the silk, and I want to bite the peaks until she screams.
I settle for adding two fingers inside of her cunt before I go back to her clit.
The combination has her gasping, hands fisting in the sheets.
Her hips press into my face, and I can tell she’s close. “Saint,” her thighs wrap around my ears as she rides my face, and I smirk.
There she is.
I bite her clit softly and that’s all it takes.
She comes hard, clenching around my fingers, and I work her through it until she's oversensitive and squirming.
When I emerge, she's staring at me with wide eyes. Lips parted. Breathing hard. There’s a flush on her skin, and her breast are straining against the fabric of her dress.
Fuck, she's beautiful like this.
"Good morning," I say, wiping my mouth.
"What was that?"
"A wake-up call." I climb up her body, settle between her thighs. "Get on your hands and knees.”
"What?"
"You heard me. On your hands and knees. Now."
She hesitates for just a second, then complies. Rolls over, gets into position.
The sight of her like this—ass in the air, nightgown pushed up, waiting for me—does something to me.
I want her. Not just as a vessel for Antonio's heir.
I actually fucking want her. Her sweet cunt is so tight and wet, and when she’s fired up, she’s delicious.
I grip her hips, pull her back against me. "You did good. The intel was solid. We got in, opened the vault, left our calling card."
"Did you—" I draw a hand down her ass, her little puckered hole winks at me, and I wonder if she’ll let me shove a plug up there, and then my cock.
"Steal anything? No. Better. I killed one of Adrian's guards. Made it look like the Morozovs. Your brother's going to be pissed."
I’m already naked and eating her sweet pussy made me hard. I position myself at her entrance.
"Why didn't you come last night?"
"I was busy.” I push inside her, and fuck, she's wet from the orgasm, and this angle is tighter than our usual missionary. "Then I had to clean up. Dispose of evidence. By the time I finished, it was four in the morning."
I don't give her time to adjust. Just start moving, using her hips for leverage. Hard. Deep. Punishing.
She gasps, bracing against the headboard.
"This angle's different," I tell her, even though she can probably feel it. "Deeper."
I'm hitting spots I couldn't reach before. The sounds she's making prove it.
"Fuck," I groan. "You feel incredible like this."
And she does. Tight and hot and perfect. I'm starting to understand why some men get obsessed with their wives. Delicious pussy at your beck and call…I get it.
"Touch yourself," I order.
She hesitates.
I slap her ass, not hard, just enough to sting. "Do it, Gemma."
She reaches down, and I feel her body shift as she finds her clit. The angle changes slightly, makes her tighter around me.
"That's it," I encourage, watching her hand move. "Let me feel it."
Her work is sloppy, but I can feel her cunt tighten. “I’m going to shoot my cum into you,” I tell her, fucking her harder, deeper. “Put a baby inside you.”
She moans, and I feel her cunt tighten.
“Fuck, you like that?”
I snap my hips again, pulling out fully, and then, burying myself inside of her.
“Saint!” she cries.
“Come!” I order, and damnit, if she doesn’t.
Her pussy clenches around me so tight, I spill myself inside of her, collapsing onto of her body, pushing her into the mattress.
I don’t spend much time inside. My cock is soft, and I have things to do.
I pull out slowly, watch the mess leak out of her. I want to shove it back inside, plug her full of it, and let it take root.
I’d love to say that that desire is because of my uncle, but apparently, I’ve got a bit of a breeding kink. The idea of Gemma being marked as mine, fully, almost makes me hard again.
Interesting.
“Shit,” she says, trying to catch her breath.
I roll off the bed.
“I have a meeting." I expect her to whine about cuddling, but instead, she sit ups, eyes wide and interested.
"A meeting?"
"Adrian called first thing. Wants to see me. Probably about last night." I tuck myself back in, zip up. "Which means our plan is working."
I head for the door, then pause. She needs to know she did well. Positive reinforcement.
"You did good, Gemma. Really good. Keep it up, and we'll make this interesting."
She smiles. My pretty little wife is happy.
Good.
The Nero mansion looks the same as always. Cold. Imposing. And now, a monument to Adrian’s ego. The place had been blow to shit, and he built back immediately. Italian marble and steel. The gilded age house is now even more of a fortress.
I hate the sight of it.
But I play nice, allowing his guards to escort me to his office.
The guy's tense, hand near his weapon. They're on high alert.
Excellent.
Adrian is behind his desk when I enter, Luca standing by the window. Both look like they haven't slept. Leo is probably patrolling.
"Saint." Adrian doesn't offer his hand. "Thanks for coming on short notice."
"You say jump, we ask how high?”
Her narrows his eyes. “Someone broke into our gallery last night. Killed one of my guards Opened the vault but didn't take anything."
I arrange my face into concern. "Any idea who?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out." Luca steps forward, slides a photo across the desk.
It's the Morozov crest. Painted in blood. My handiwork.
I study it, then look up. "The Russians?"
"That's what it looks like." Adrian's jaw is tight. "But something feels off."
Interesting. He's suspicious. Good instincts, even if they won't help him here.
"Off how?"
"The Morozovs are bold, but they're not usually this theatrical. They take what they want and move on. This feels... pointed. Like a message."
“Alexei isn’t theatrical?” I snort, throwing the photo back. “The fucker once crucified someone.”
“True,” Adrian admits. “But he enjoys carnage. This is tame. Silly.”
I feel a bit miffed. I rather liked the art I left. Felt poetic.
But I keep my mouth shut and my face neutral.
"I think someone wants us at each other’s throats. There are still some players on the board from what happened with Sera.” He meets my eyes.
Ah yes, his wife. The one with the stupid ass brother.
"I need to know if the Marinis are seeing similar activity."
"Not recently. But I can increase surveillance, see if there's chatter." I lean back, casual. "Could be they're testing you. Seeing how you respond before they make a real move."
He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm going to need to increase security at all our locations. Which means reallocating resources. Pulling men from other operations."
This is my opening.
"If you need additional manpower, the Marinis could help. For the right compensation."
Adrian's eyes narrow. "What kind of compensation?"
"Nothing major. Just...consideration. When territory disputes come up. When deals are negotiated. A seat at the table as equals.” Antonio has played second fiddle to these fuckers for decades. They won’t find the same compliance in me.
Equal power or destruction. Adrian doesn’t know it but those are his choices.
And he handed me a nuclear weapon.
I can see him calculating. He needs the help. But giving the Marinis more power goes against his instincts.
“Now that we are family, we should be closer in this. Whoever is after you, may be after Gemma.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and I suspect I may have taken it a bit far. Finally, after a beat, he nods.
"I'll think about it.”
"Take your time. But if the Morozovs hit again..." I let the implication hang.
He nods. “How is Gemma?” he asks.
“Adjusting.” It’s not a lie, per se.
He sighs. “I suppose that’s all we can hope for.”
He doesn’t say anything else, clearly dismissing me. I allow it. This time. But only because I have bigger plans.
So, I allow Luca, baby brother, to walk me out.
At the door, he stops me.
"You seem happy today."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Which makes me wonder why."
I grin. "Maybe I'm just in a good mood, Luca. It happens."
"Not to you."
I leave before he can probe further.
In the car, I allow myself a real smile.
Adrian is rattled. He's going to increase security, which makes him look weak and paranoid. He's considering giving me more power just to feel safe.
And all it took was one dead guard and Gemma's intel.
She deserves a reward.
I pull out my phone, text her.
Be ready tonight. I'm taking you out. —S
A minute later, her response comes through.
Out? Where?
Somewhere fun. Wear something nice.
I pocket the phone, feeling better than I have in months.
Antonio's dying. The heir situation is still unresolved. But for the first time since this marriage started, I'm not just going through the motions.
I'm enjoying myself.
And it's all because of her.
Gemma Nero, no, Gemma Marini, might be the best investment I've ever made.