Chapter 29 STEPHANO
I can't say the betrayal didn't sting. Finding out that one of my most trusted lieutenants has not only been spying on me for my father, but also was ready to end me is… hitting. And so is the fact that my father ordered him to kill me. The bastard didn't even have the decency to do it himself.
"We need to up Nico's security," I tell Oksana, fully aware that I'm trusting her men more right now than my own. There is no way my old man could have infiltrated the Bratva. The irony isn't lost on me.
"Already done, Nico is on his way to my brother's house. He'll be safe there, and Grigori has a state-of-the-art hospital wing at his home."
I close my eyes and run my hand through my hair. Of course he does. Fuck. A small, ironic chuckle escapes me. How in the hell did I allow this to happen? My little brother is safer with a psychotic Pakhan than with his own people.
My anger is directed at myself, and my fury is at my father.
At me, because how in the hell did I not see him for what he really is? And him? A grunt escapes me. There are too many reasons why I'm furious with the old coward right now. But all the puzzle pieces are finally on the table. If one or two are still flipped face down, we will soon know.
The plane is on its way to New York, where Oksana and I'll crash a meeting of the only other men I know I can trust, men who all hold pieces of the puzzle: Enrico, Toni, Marcello, and, yeah, even Raf. I'd say I'm holding a surprise for him in store as well, but I'm pretty sure he already knows.
The moment the plane lands, Gianluigi's head will be delivered to my father, and Oksana and I will be on our way to the meeting to catch up with my old friends.
It's ironic how we've all known each other for most of our lives, attended many of the same schools, weddings, and family parties, but it took the events of the last year to fuse us together like brothers in our fight against a common enemy—one who should have been our leader.
Grigori sends a limo to pick us up, and the drive to Raf's house in the Catskills is quiet. One of the things I love about Oksana is her ability to read the room, or the car in this case. She not only understands my need for silence but shares it.
Love?
I look over at her. Her profile is turned to me as she stares out the window at the passing streets, watching people walking about their lives, unaware that two of its finest predators are driving by.
There is nothing about this woman that isn't perfection, beauty.
But that's not what causes this new emotion inside me.
No. It's her. It's every fucking part of her.
I have no clue when it happened or how, maybe the moment I stepped into the fucking hospital room and saw that murderous bastard about to stab a knife into her.
Or maybe when she threatened to kill me.
Or when I said, "I do." Who knows? This woman is an enigma; it'll take years to figure her out, years I'm looking very much forward to.
"I love you," I say into the silence, because… it seems appropriate.
Her lip curls slightly up. She doesn't turn yet, but her profile is still to me.
She doesn't stiffen, doesn't acknowledge my words at all, but I can see by a small gentling of her jawline that they affect her.
She's always been beautiful, even bruised, battered, and swollen.
Her diamond-shaped face holds a hardness that's not easily penetrated or lifted.
Slowly, ever so slowly, her head turns, her features soften more, until she is nothing but a vision of ageless exquisiteness.
Jade green eyes meet mine. "You should, you married me. "
Her quip doesn’t deter me. I lean back on the bench seat, keeping our eye contact. "By that logic, you should love me too."
Her smile deepens, softens her hard features even more, turning her into a version of herself I don't think anybody has ever been privileged to see. My chest swells with the gravity of what she is allowing me to see.
She unbuckles her seatbelt and scoots over to me, then she unbuckles mine and straddles me. We never stop looking at each other. Her arms sling around my neck, and her head tilts. "Well, you're in luck then, Mr. Conti. Because I am very much in love with you."
I would have never thought those three words could mean that much to me. Could unravel me like this. With a groan, I bury my hand in her hair and angle my face forward until our lips align.
"Will you let me kiss you?"
Her smile deepens, "I thought you'd never ask."
Fuck.
Kissing her has always been hot, but this?
This is next-level scorching. My dick doesn't just get hard; it turns to granite.
She lifts her ass in invitation, and I don't hesitate for a second to undo her pants and shove them down her long legs.
Her pussy is already drenched. A groan escapes me when I find out.
Our lips are still fused when she works the buckle of my belt, the button of my pants, the zipper.
Her cool hands around my shaft harden it even more.
She doesn't waste a second feeding my cock into her greedy cunt.
She nips my tongue while I suck her lips against my teeth.
Pushing my hips up, I plunge deep into her warm wetness, groaning in pleasure as her tight walls close around me.
One hand squeezes her ass, while my other moves up underneath her blouse.
I push the cup of her bra up and palm her tit.
She moans into my mouth, bites me harder.
In response, I squeeze her ass again, not holding back much.
Her head moves back, breaking our kiss, and I latch on to her exposed neck while her hands pull on my hair without mercy. I'm pretty sure she pulls a good chunk of it out, but I couldn't care less as she moves up and down on my cock like a goddess.
"Fuck, Oksana," I mumble, biting into her neck.
She retaliates by loosening my tie enough so she can shove her hands down my shirt and scratch my shoulders. Her nails dig deep into my skin, half-moon imprints I'm sure I'll wear with pride for the next few days. I suck her skin by the base of her neck, leaving marks she will wear just as proudly.
Our movements become more frantic as we chase our releases.
One hand slides up her ribcage, hesitating for a split second on the padded gauze covering her stitches.
I know I should be gentle, but the animal in me can't resist the urge to possess.
My thumb brushes the spot where she nearly took a bullet.
She notices my hesitation. Captures my face in her hands, fingers hard against my jaw, smudging my stubble with her own sweat.
"Don't you dare slow down," she growls, hips grinding even deeper. "You want it. Take it."
I oblige, palming her ass. Her pussy clamps down, and my vision whites out for a hot second. She senses it, clamps her palm over my mouth, and whispers, "Not yet," before dragging my lower lip between her teeth.
She slows, grinds out a rhythm, her thighs quaking, her eyes locked on mine. "I want you to remember this," she whispers. "I want you to remember who you belong to."
"You're delusional," I say, my voice half-muffled by her hand.
There's nothing in the world I want more than to let her claim me like this, to lose every ounce of autonomy in this exact moment.
My body is already betraying me, hands slipping up her sides, mouth latched onto whatever bare skin I can find.
I taste sweat and perfume and the metallic tang of yesterday's violence.
She leans in, teeth grazing my ear. "You think I'm afraid of pain? I grew up on pain," she says, and plunges herself down again, taking me to the hilt. The stitches have to be pulling, but she doesn't even flinch. If anything, she gets wetter.
"You're the soft one now. Mio Marito." She teases.
"Yeah?" I thrust up, meeting her with everything I've got. "Let's see you break me, then."
She throws her head back and fucks me so hard I see stars. The air in the car goes feral: it's sweat, leather, and the electric burn of ozone before a storm. A bottle rockets off the mini-bar and shatters somewhere behind us, but I don't look back. I only see her.
She's close. I can feel her legs start to shake as the first wave hits.
She shoves her hand into the scruff of my hair and yanks until my neck snaps back, and she holds me there—completely at her mercy—while she orgasms, teeth bared, eyes wet and wild.
I nearly lose it at that, but she softens just enough, loosening her grip and letting me roll her onto her back, so now she's under me, still joined, heels on my ass.
"Mine," I growl, this time not as a challenge but as the supplication of a dying man.
Her lips curve upward, and she threads her fingers through mine, pulling both our hands up over her head. Her body arches, pushing her hips up to milk every drop from me, and finally, I come, all the way to the edge of blacking out, gasping her name like a prayer, a scream, and a curse.
The world snaps back to center. The limo is a wreck of sweat, clothes, and broken glass. Oksana is sprawled beneath me, utterly spent, hair tangled across her face and neck marked by my mouth in a way that should embarrass a woman, but she’ll wear it with pride.
For a while, all either of us can do is lie there, breathing hard.
She pulls me down by the loosened necktie, her lips brushing my ear, and says, "I love you, Marito."
Her jade-green eyes are even darker than before; the black of her irises is pushing against them.
"I love you, Zhena, from here to eternity."
She smiles, "I like that."