18. Santino #3
“I’ve met good people who have turned out to be horrible. I like that you don’t hide who you are while so many do. You might do questionable, horrid things, but I don’t think those actions are who you are. Who you are is who you are with me. Everything else, that’s your job.”
I want her again right now. I want to yank that towel from her body and toss her on the bed, wrap us in the sheets until the day turns to night.
We get dressed in silence. I slip on my usual suit without a tie, and she slips into her clothes from yesterday. I realize she doesn’t have anything here. I text Lorenzo.
Me: “Buy her a few outfits. Anything she will need. Only the best.”
Lorenzo: “Yes, Sir. I can go to her apartment as well to get anything and figure out what size she wears.”
Me: “Do that and install the best security system. I also want bulletproof glass replacing her front windows.”
Lorenzo: “You might want to talk to her about that, Sir. She does own the building and if you step on her toes, she won’t be happy.”
He’s right. I hate not being in control of everything.
Me: “Fine. Hold on the bulletproof glass. Everything else is needed. Today.”
Lorenzo: “Yes, Sir.”
I tuck my phone in my pocket and notice Jovie checking every inch of this room for her shirt. She shucks the covers off the bed, the floor, and it’s nowhere to be found.
Snagging one of my T-shirts that will fall to her knees from my drawer, I stroll over to her just as she falls to her knees to look under the bed.
“While I do enjoy the view of you down there, wear this.” I hold out the black, nothing special T-shirt. It’s soft, expensive, and I hardly ever wear it due to how casual it is. I dress to always show who is in charge and who holds the most power in the room.
That is and will always be me.
She narrows her eyes at me with a cute smile that brings out one dimple on the side of her cheek.
Oh, I love that.
I love her, so that makes sense.
She unfolds it and her brows raise as she holds the shirt against her body. It will swallow her, but I like the idea of her wearing my clothes. It’s another mark. A way to brand that Jovie Morgan belongs to me.
“This is yours,” She tugs the shirt over her head and just as I suspected, it falls to her knees. Jovie holds up her arms to show how big it is, twirling to give me a better view.
“You’re so fucking beautiful that I can’t believe you’re mine.” I snag her by the waist and tug her against my body. “Are you mine, Jovie?” I tilt my head to the side, ghosting my lips over hers with a feather touch. “And only mine?”
Her exhale tickles my cheek. “I’m yours. Only yours.”
My arm tightens around her while my free hand cups the back of her head, pulling her even closer, her soft strands slipping through the space of my fingers.
Our lips are so close, I can almost taste her.
There’s a slight tremble in my hands from excitement—the familiar power I feel when I get what I want.
“Mine.” I ease my lips onto hers. A slow, soft kiss, the kind that appreciates every movement.
I break away, giving myself the needed space to catch our breath and not get ahead of ourselves. Taking her hand in mine, I drag her through the quiet house, the smell of pancakes in the air from the kitchen staff.
We climb down the steps and every time I look back at her, she’s appreciating the artwork on the wall, the high ceilings, and even staring at the polished marble of the steps. Her curiosity and amazement moves to the chandelier, eyeing the crystals in fascination.
I’ll drown her diamonds if she wants. I’ll lavish her in everything that sparkles because that’s what she deserves.
When we finally get to the kitchen, an entire spread is laid out on the kitchen island, and we’re the only ones here.
A fresh pot of coffee is made, a big stack of fluffy pancakes sit next to giant bowls of fruit, along with crispy bacon on another plate.
Freshly squeezed orange juice is in a pitcher, and I pour her a glass just as she takes a seat on the barstool.
I hand her the glass and make her plate, piling it high for her.
“Woah, I can’t eat all that. That’s a plate for five men.”
I stare at it, realizing I am making her plate how I’d make mine. I remove a few pancakes, leaving two, and add one piece of bacon, then two, and three, waiting for her approval. I add another before she tells me to stop.
So my girl loves bacon. Noted.
Next, I make a bowl of mixed fruit consisting of strawberries, blackberries, mangoes, and bananas.
“You aren’t going to make yourself a plate?” She frowns, staring down at her feast.
“Of course I am, but you are served first, Sweet Girl. Always. Now, open.” I pop a piece of strawberry into her mouth, and my mind wanders to bringing fruit and whipped cream to the bedroom.
“Do you want any coffee?”
She covers her mouth as she chews. “Please.”
I make my plate and then pour our coffees. When I sit down, I frown, not liking how far away we are from one another. Why are the barstools so spaced out?
Jovie doesn’t seem to mind. She’s pouring cream and sugar into her coffee.
“What is it?” Jovie asks, glancing around to see what could be bothering me. “What’s wrong?”
Without saying another word, I reach down and grab one of the barstool legs, then slide her to me. Jovie yelps, steadying herself so she doesn’t fall. When her shoulder touches mine, I stop, then grunt my approval before taking a sip of coffee.
She giggles and blushes, smiling around the piece of bacon she bites into.
This. I love this. I want to spend every morning with her for the rest of my life.
Someone comes into the kitchen from another entrance. I look up, my heart stopping when I see Luca. He’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants.
That’s it.
He must not see Jovie yet. I block her the best I can, but she gasps for breath, her hand squeezing my knee.
“Morning, Dad.”
“I thought you were staying in the other apartment.”
“Decided to come home.” He looks over, his hair messy from sleep, and his eyes widen when he sees Jovie.
“Jovie, what are you—” He trails off, his gaze dropping to where her hand is on my knee.
“How…” The questions build in his eyes, the connections are made, and when realization hits him, rage morphs his features into someone I don’t recognize.
The mug drops in his hand, shattering on the floor. Luca paces, every hateful glare torn between me and Jovie.
“Is this what you wanted, Jovie? Did you ever really want me, or did you use me to get close to my father?” He sneers, swiping the bowl of fruit off the counter.
Jovie jumps when the bowl shatters against the wall.
“Enough, Luca,” I warn, wrapping an arm around Jovie’s shoulders.
His eyes narrow, sliding from me to Jovie, then he points at me, yet glares at her.
“You’re fucking him, aren’t you? Aren’t you!
” He roars, slamming his fist on the counter.
“You’ll fuck my old man, but you won’t fuck me?
You’re nothing but a whore. I bet so many have had your pussy.
I’m fucking glad I never touched it. You are a fucking lying slut, Jovie. ”
I stand so fast, the barstool falls to the floor. I’m around the kitchen island, snag my son by his shirt, then drag him to the next room.
Slamming him against the wall, I sneer down at him, keeping a tight hold of his shoulders so he can’t move.
I drop my voice to the deadly tone I use before I shoot someone between their eyes.
“You won’t ever talk about her like that again.
How dare you speak to her in that way when the whore here is you.
You are the one who cheated on her. Jov ie is good.
She is kind. She deserves someone to worship the ground she walks on.
And you have the audacity to speak to her that way?
I should remove your tongue so you can never speak to another woman like that again.
You don’t deserve her when you think you can treat people that way.
Jovie is mine now. She always has been whether you like it or not.
I’ll treat her better than you ever did. You clearly didn’t know what you had.”
He tries to push me away, but I slam him against the wall again, shaking the artwork hanging next to us.
“You don’t get to treat people like that.
You don’t love her. You never appreciated her.
She was someone you wanted to fuck and that’s it.
You’re blaming her for your bad behavior, and I don’t know where the fuck you learned to treat women that way, but it wasn’t from me.
You cast her away as if she were nothing.
I won’t apologize for loving her in a way you never could.
If you have a problem with it, you can leave.
Whatever issues you have, figure them out because you’re ruining everything around you. ”
“Fuck. You.” Luca shoves me hard enough that I stumble backwards. He rams his shoulder into mine, running up the steps towards his room. “Fuck this house and fuck this family. The only back you ever had was someone you could lay flat anyway.”
“Luca!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “We aren’t done here!” He knows after his mother died, I never took another to bed. I’m not sure why he would say anything like that.
Jovie tiptoes in the room, tears running down her cheeks, and her arms wrapped around her waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause drama. I shouldn’t be here, Santino. This… this isn’t right. This was wrong of us. He’s your son. What were we thinking?”
“I’m thinking I love you and that’s all that matters to me,” I admit, taking her into my arms. “We’ll figure this out.”
As I speak the words for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if I believe them. Luca’s anger is dangerous and can’t be trusted, but I also understand if he can’t trust me. Regardless of the reasons, I fell in love with his ex, and all I can do is hope in time that he can forgive me for that.
He never loved Jovie or he wouldn’t have cheated. He’s only mad because Jovie was his safety net, the girl he thought would always be there due to his bad behavior.
I kill people for betraying me.
Will Luca do the same? Like father, like son, isn’t that way they say?