CHAPTER 3
DOVE
The hands, the ones that always have a way of reaching for me no matter where I hide or how far I run, are almost touching me. They always find me in the darkest time of night. It’s like they know when I’m vulnerable and when I’m the weakest. Then they come for me.
They always come for me.
Just when the tips of their fingers graze my skin, I sit up straight in bed. I’m gulping down air as my body shakes from the fear of them almost getting me. Again.
As the seconds tick by, I realize the bed I’m in is far too soft and comfortable. Comfortable doesn’t even cover it. The bed feels like a cloud. Is this what other people are experiencing when they get into bed?
I’ve been missing out.
I look to the side and expect to see the room divider in my apartment, even though this doesn’t feel like my bed. When I don’t see it, my heart starts to pound in my chest.
Fuck. This room is huge. And it’s only a bedroom. There’s no kitchenette hiding in the corner. Not that there isn’t plenty of room for one.
I think you could fit two of my apartments in this room. And a dining room table which is a luxury I don’t have.
Where the hell am I? I sure as fuck am not in my rundown piece of shit apartment. This place screams expensive in sheer size. Does anyone need a bedroom this big? It’s almost too much.
Not only is it huge, but it’s beautiful. It’s decorated with bold jewel tones, and the furniture feels expensive. Heavy. There’s no way this furniture came in a box and required a hex key to be put together.
No, this is solid and handcrafted. It looks heavy. Substantial.
Has anything in my life been as substantial as this furniture looks?
“You’re thinking very loudly,” a man’s voice rumbles from behind me and I jump.
My movements are slow, as if it would make a bit of difference considering I’m still wearing lingerie from my shift, as I turn toward the man next to me in a strange bed. When I see him, everything comes rushing back to me.
Going to work.
Working the room.
Romeo calling me into his office like a little pet.
Him putting his hands on me and hurting me.
Angelo walking into the office, taking it all in, and doing something I never would have expected. He stood up for me, he protected me, and he punched his brother. The man drew blood for me.
I danced for him.
My neck and face starts to heat slightly. I’m not entirely sure which is more surprising—being in Angelo’s bed or the way I’m blushing right now. When it comes to my line of work, blushing doesn’t happen often. I’m not ashamed of what I do.
That doesn’t mean it’s my dream. It’s not.
I’ve just been in survival mode for so long.
“What am I doing here?” I pause and my eyes narrow as I look at him. “Where is here?”
Infuriatingly, Angelo smirks. Fucking smirks at me.
This man should not be as handsome as he is. But there is something about him and it’s more than his looks. Yes, the stubble on his sharp jaw and the focus in his hazel eyes is hot as hell, but there’s more to him. He exudes power.
It doesn’t scare me.
Which is what doesn’t make any sense to me. Alarm bells should be ringing in my head. Blaring really.
But for the first time in as long as I can remember, they’re silent. Completely silent.
Oh, I’m not stupid. I don’t think Angelo is a choir boy by any means. The man is soaked in blood. The power he holds is his. To wield. To exert. To lord, if he chooses.
“I was dancing for you and then you threw me over your shoulder and carried me out to a car?” I pose it as a question and hope he fills in the blanks.
“You fell asleep in the car, la mia pace,” he explains, his tone deceptively neutral.
It’s infuriating. My eyes narrow as I adjust and face more of my body toward him. He doesn’t look away.
He doesn’t look down at my body. There is no perusal. There is no caressing with his eyes.
But I’ve never felt more seen. Everything about Angelo screams…aware. He’s attuned to me and doesn’t miss a thing.
He’s seen the way the strap of the nightie I’m wearing has slipped down over my shoulder. Even though his gaze hasn’t wavered.
Angelo Amato sees far more than I want him to.
“Yes,” I keep my words measured, very aware that this man is dangerous, “I figured I fell asleep in your car. Is this a fancy hotel? I’m sure you could have easily found my address.”
He sits up, the movement is fluid and reminds me of a predator. Knowing he has his sights set on me has a shiver running up and down my spine. My body wants to sway toward him, but I don’t allow myself to move. I barely even breathe.
When his hand shoots out and he grips my jaw, I let out a gasp of surprise. I’m waiting for his touch to turn painful, but it doesn’t happen. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I can see your confusion, la mia pace.” For the first time, as I’m held immobile by his hand, more unwilling than unable to move, he allows his gaze to roam over my face.
I feel the tingle of his touch, the intensity of his gaze melting into something sweetly sinful.
“How about we make an agreement. Then we’ll talk. ”
I eye him, my words coming out as suspicious as I feel, “What kind of agreement?”
Angelo slides closer to me; the heat of his body is tantalizing. When our eyes meet again, something clicks inside of me. “We’ll never lie to each other,” his words are a promise, one bound to me without my input.
“You won’t lie to me?” My question and the disbelief in my words make me an instant target. His target. “You’re a mob boss,” there’s an edge to my voice, “you can’t exactly tell me the truth.”
“Oh,” he fires back as he leans forward and runs his nose along my jawline, his voice dropping an octave, “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Why would you do that?” I can’t help the way my voice comes out breathy with how close he is to me. If only he were making any fucking sense.
We don’t know each other. I was working at his family’s brothel when he…abducted me? I would have gone with him willingly. Who would say no to a man like him. Me? No.
“Because I crave your trust, Dove,” Angelo’s voice is serious and sincere. He kisses along the column of my neck. “I crave your secrets. Give me the things that weigh you down and feel like they’re too heavy to carry on your shoulders alone.”
While it makes no sense, I believe him. I can feel how much he wants this from me.
Crave.
He said he craves it. And I know he does. A hunger lives between us, breathing and growing with every heartbeat.
“You’re asking a lot, Mr. Amato,” I try to sound unaffected by his nearness and the way it feels for his lips to ghost over my skin, but it’s impossible.
“Angelo,” he growls, “always Angelo to you, la mia pace.”
“What does that mean?” As much as I don’t want to ask anything of him, I can’t help it. My curiosity is too much to contain.
Angelo pulls away slowly as if he’s waiting for me to stop him. Does anyone stop a man like him from doing what he wants?
“My first test,” he rumbles the words, his eyes flashing with victory before he even answers the question. “It means ‘my peace’.”
I suck in a sharp breath while his answer settles around me with a sweetness I don’t know how to grapple with. This is a man who kills, a man who holds power like its air. And he calls me his peace?
His hand slides down over my shoulder to push the strap still on correctly down my arm.
The cups of the lingerie I’m wearing starts to gape at the front and exposes the tops of my tits even more.
He doesn’t look though, his hazel eyes remaining locked with mine as the tip of his finger runs along the edge of the fabric and leaves goosebumps along my skin wherever he touches.
“You don’t know me,” I try and argue with him, but my words are weak.
“I don’t need to know the details, even though you will tell me everything there is to know about you. The moment you looked into my eyes I knew,” he assures me.
“Knew what?” My question is so soft it barely makes it past my lips.
“That you’re mine.”
Angelo’s words brand me. I jolt as the realization and depth of what he’s saying starts to shift my reality. As it does, I start to shake my head without even realizing it.
“You don’t want me,” my words are louder this time, stronger and surer.
There’s no way what he’s saying can be true.
No fucking way. “I’m just a whore who you rescued from your brother.
I could have been anyone with the misfortune of being on the wrong end of his anger and you would have done the same thing.
That doesn’t mean there’s something deeper here. ”
I brace myself for his rage. I’ve talked back to him, and Angelo Amato is not the kind of man you talk back to.
The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back and Angelo is looming over me. He gives me some of his weight while also holding himself away from my body. His eyes bore into mine, holding me hostage even more than the way he has physically pinned me in place.
“I never want to hear you say such a thing again,” he hisses the words, the anger in them like knives sliding along my skin. “You will never call yourself a whore.”
“You know where I work,” I point out as gently as I can.
“Worked.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise as I start to shake my head. “No, I work there. Just because you carried me out like some rag doll doesn’t mean I don’t still work there.”
“Yes,” he states like his word is law, “it does.”
Even though I want to argue with the man, I don’t believe it’ll do me any good. This is something we can revisit. Later.
Maybe when he’s not hovering above me and making me feel delicate and fragile when I’ve spent my life fortifying my strength while finding ways to survive in the worst of circumstances. What the hell is this man doing to me?
When I don’t argue further with him, a self-satisfied smile spreads across his face. I can’t help but take it in and the way it transforms his features. When a man like Angelo smiles, you make sure to get a front row seat. This is not the kind of man who shows his emotions.
I might not know nearly enough about him, but I don’t think he’s anything like Romeo always expressed his anger and unbridled lust while craving another’s pain.
The heat coming off Angelo is soothing. I could get lost in how safe it feels to be pinned underneath him.
He could hurt or kill me without even breaking a sweat.
Unable to help myself, my hands come up to touch the expanse of his broad chest, his naked chest. The tattoos decorating his body are mesmerizing.
I want to study them while he tells me all his stories.
And his secrets.
I shouldn’t want anything from this man, but I’m starting to understand what he means when he mentions craving something from me. I feel the same way about him.
“Tell me,” his voice is soft, “about you?” His voice drops an octave, the warning clear as he reminds me, “No lies.”
My gut clenches and I huff out a breath. This is where everything breaks down. This is when he runs. Just like everyone else.
“What do you want to hear, Angelo?” I scoff and shake my head before looking away from him, unable to look into his hazel eyes as he learns the truth about me.
And how worthless I am. “I never knew my father. My mom was a drug addict who used men to keep her head above water while they used her for her body. My childhood was never stable and never safe.” I swallow hard and force myself to look into his eyes so he can see how broken I am.
“When she died, there was no family to claim me. I was put into the system and bounced around from house to house. No one wanted to give me a home.” I shrug one shoulder and murmur, “Maybe I never deserved one.”
As much as I haven’t wanted to admit it, I hoped he would be different. I needed him to be different.
“Dove,” my name on his lips sounds like a prayer and has me looking at him.
A soft gasp escapes my lips because he’s looking at me with steady affection and an understanding which I’m not sure I deserve.
“You have a home now,” he insists. “I’m your home and you are la mia pace.”
“I think you might be a little insane, Angelo Amato.”
This time when he smiles, it’s genuine. And wide. And fucking breathtaking.
“I think I might be, too. Crazy for you.”
Laughter bubbles out of me as the man above me, the man feared by more people than I can comprehend, wiggles his eyebrows at me like a mischievous flirt. Who the hell is this man? What is he doing to me?
As we stare at each other, the past feels like it melts away. The abandonment. The pain. The lack of caring. The violence.
When his fingertips brush against one of the bruises his brother left behind, all levity vanishes. In its place is a fierce protectiveness that makes me shiver.
“Never again,” he promises.
His vow renders me speechless as something breaks inside of me. A wall. A dam. A shield.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until he leans down and kisses every tear away. He takes my past and the scars left behind and makes them his.
My arms wrap around his neck and when he pulls back to look down at me, the emotion in his eyes is soft to the point of terrifying. I’m not ready to admit what his look conveys.
Not yet.
Instead, I close the distance between us and press my lips against his. I hope he doesn’t push me away.