Chapter 9 Lorenzo
Lorenzo
My phone vibrating against the nightstand dragged me out of sleep. Pale sunlight was peeking in through the curtains, but I could have slept for a few more hours.
Whoever was on the other end had better have something important to say.
“What?” I grunted, trying to disentangle myself from Isabella without waking her up. She needed all of the sleep that she could get.
“Don Vitali, it’s Bruno from the city morgue.” Bruno had been installed at the morgue back in my father’s day, and it was easily one of the smartest things he had ever done. “We’ve started getting bodies from a fire in the Russian territory.”
That had taken longer than I thought it would. Either they’d pulled more survivors out of the fire than I thought, or the damage had been substantial enough that it had taken them this long to recover the bodies. “Anything interesting?”
Bruno hummed. “Two bodies that are almost unrecognizable. One is wearing a Rolex that has AV inscribed on the back. He matches Artem’s build.”
My shoulders relaxed. “And the other?”
“He had a gold cap melted into his tooth. Dental records match Santino Rossi.”
Thank fuck. “Good. Keep me updated if anything else of interest comes in.”
“Of course, Don Vitali.”
I put my cell back on the nightstand and turned to look at Isabella. She was awake. “How are you feeling, dolcezza?”
“My head feels a little wobbly still,” she said, “but I’m not hurting.”
I reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. She allowed the touch, but I could see fire in her eyes. Definitely still mad, then. That was all right. I could handle a pissed off Isabella. “I want you to stay in bed today.”
She snorted. “I wasn’t planning on getting up,” she said. Her eyes flicked to the nightstand. “Who was on the phone?”
“My man at the morgue,” I said.
She pushed up on her elbow. “You have someone at the morgue?”
I shrugged. “My father wanted eyes in certain places, and when I took over for him, it made sense to leave those eyes out there.”
By the look on her face, Isabella didn’t quite understand, but she pushed past that. “What did he say?”
“They had bodies that came in from the fire at Artem’s. There’s a good chance that two of them are Artem and Santino.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “A good chance?”
“Nothing is definite,” I explained to her. “When a body is that badly burned, there is only so many ways to identify it. Visually speaking, my man has Artem and Santino in a refrigerator drawer, but we won’t know for sure until there are DNA results.”
“How are you going to get DNA results? You’re not family.” She shrugged.
I put my hand over hers, and she tried to jerk back this time, but I didn’t let go. “Believe me when I say that I will make sure that those two are dead. One way or another, all right?”
She stared at me for a long moment, and then nodded. “All right.”
I wanted to lean in and kiss her, but I wasn’t sure if she would fight me on it like last night. “Are you hungry? I can order in some breakfast.” With Amalia still in the hospital, plus all of her recovery time, I was going to have to hire a temporary private chef. Amalia was going to hate that.
Isabella nodded. “I want waffles and crispy bacon.”
“I’ll have it delivered,” I promised. “You stay here, and I’ll bring it up when it gets here.”
She lowered herself back into the pillows. Her haughty expression went straight to my cock, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to roll her beneath me and fuck her until she melted under my touch.
I grabbed my cell and forced myself to leave the room. Down in the kitchen, Amalia kept a drawer full of takeout menus. I found one for a nearby breakfast place and called in Isabella’s order.
Twenty minutes later, with food set out on a tray, I went back upstairs. Isabella, true to her word, was still in bed, and for a moment, I thought she had gone back to sleep. But when I stepped into the room, she opened her eyes and smiled. “That smells good.”
It was just some takeout—I didn’t even make the damn waffles—but I felt ridiculously proud of myself for bringing her something that made her smile, even if it wasn’t aimed my way.
That’s pathetic, I told myself. I wasn’t the type of person who got excited for scraps of affection. I didn’t need affection at all. So, what was it about Isabella that had me so addicted? Why did I care so much if she forgave me?
I set the tray in her lap. “Enjoy,” I told her and turned to leave the room again. I would come back for the tray in a little while.
“You can stay.”
I looked back at Isabella. She had scooted over so that I could sit down on the edge of the bed. When I did, she held up a piece of bacon to me. I liked my bacon with a bit of a chew, but I took it anyway. “Thank you.”
We shared the meal in silence. Until finally, she said, “I don’t know how to forgive you.”
I was quiet for a heartbeat. Two. “I don’t need your forgiveness,” I told her, moving the tray from her lap to the bedside table. I took her hand in mine, and although I could feel the tension in her arm, she didn’t pull away. “Are you planning on leaving me again?”
Isabella stared at me for a long moment. Almost absently, she rubbed at her belly with her free hand. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to leave again.”
“Even as mad as you are?”
She nodded. “Even then.”
“Then, be mad at me, dolcezza.” I leaned in, skimming my lips against her cheek. “Because I am still furious with you.”
She shivered; she didn’t need to ask why. “So, what do we do with all of this anger?”
Our eyes met and held, and then I was moving, pressing her down into the mattress. “I have an idea,” I said.
Isabella’s honey eyes looked molten, beautiful. Trembling, she nodded. “Okay.”
I situated myself between her thighs, pushing them apart with my shoulders. I could feel her shaking and looked up the long line of her body. “Are you all right, dolcezza? Are you hurting anywhere?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m just—”
“Nervous?”
“Yeah. The last few days were a lot.” Her hand slid over her baby bump, and she didn’t have to explain to me what was making her nervous.
I soothed a hand over her bare thigh. I could tell her that we didn’t have to, that we could do this another time, but I was a fucking selfish man. I wanted…no, I needed to touch her. “I’ll be gentle.”
Isabella chuckled; it was a humorless sound. “Can you?”
I kissed her thigh softly. “I’ll show you.” With more care than I had ever shown anything, I pulled her panties down her legs before I buried my face against her.
“Oh,” Isabella moaned as I circled her clit with the tip of my tongue. I felt her hand hovering, unsure of where to put it; I grabbed it and placed it on top of my head.
Looking up the line of her body, I met her gaze as I sucked at her gently. Her fingers tightened in my hair for a second before she nearly let go entirely. “You can pull it,” I told her. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
Her fingers immediately dug into my hair, and I groaned. Every time she tugged on the strands, it was like a direct line to my cock. “Lorenzo,” she whimpered. I slid my tongue down and pressed inside her, fucking into her as deeply as I could manage. Her hips bucked against me.
“That’s right, dolcezza. Ride my face.” I licked into her again and used my hands to encourage her to move, to use me for her own pleasure.
Isabella took in a deep, sobbing breath.
“I’m going to—!” She yanked on my hair hard as she came, sending a bolt of lightning down my spine.
I drew my own hips away from where I had been rubbing against the bed.
I was not going to come in my pants like a fucking teenager.
Instead, I put all of my focus on Isabella as she rode out her orgasm.
When I leaned back, chin wet from her, I smiled at the thoroughly fucked look on her face. “Gentle enough?”
She carded her fingers through my hair. “What about you?”
For as hard as I was, I shook my head. I could wait. “Rest,” I told her. “Then, take a shower. I want to take you out tonight.”
Isabella stared at me for a long while, like she was trying to figure out some kind of puzzle before nodding in agreement. “Okay.”