Chapter 11 Annetta #2
My mouth quivers. “Let them have me. I’m nothing. I’m not Serafina—I’ll never be her. Not as good as her. I’m her rotten fucking shadow. Giulia and Marco Chiarelli are going to take me, and it’s just a matter of time.”
“Don’t say that shit, reginetta. You have me. I told you I’d protect you, and I will.”
Reginetta. Little queen.
The nickname pisses me off.
“You,” I spit, slamming my hands against his chest. “You call me a queen, but you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. You didn’t pick up my call tonight. You said you would protect me, but you lied.”
Everyone lies—especially husbands.
Instead of backing down, he grins, capturing my hand with his bloody one. “What a pair we make then, eh? You promised me an innocent wife, and what I got was a killer.”
“You’re one to talk, Butcher.”
That gets the reaction I want. He inhales sharply at the nickname, a wide, dangerous grin spreading across his face. The rough calluses of his hand scratch against mine, his fingers so thick that it fries my brain for a moment.
“What reason have you given me to trust you?” I ask harshly.
“When you were throwing a tantrum at our wedding? Or when you’ve been avoiding me and rejecting me in our home?
I’m not the only liar here. The difference is, you lie to yourself.
I’m willing to be your wife, and you’re too much of a coward to look at me. ”
Dom lets out a cruel laugh. I hope his injuries are killing him.
“You don’t fucking want me,” he says. “You just think if you flash me a pair of tits, I’ll let you lead me around by my balls. That if you feed me and suck my cock, I’ll be your little lapdog.” He leans down until we’re eye-to-eye. “That shit’s not gonna work with me.”
I grab his shirt, and although we both know I couldn’t keep him anywhere he didn’t want to be, he lets me hold him in place, and, for a moment, I think I could.
“Of course, it would,” I say, and his grin widens. “That’s why you won’t let me.”
A single, charged moment passes between us. I lean forward. Maybe he’ll step up to the challenge and finally let me have a taste of him.
Instead, he pulls my hand off his collar like it’s nothing more than a spider and stands tall.
“You want me to protect you, after you lied and manipulated me?” He shrugs. “Fine. I’ve watched over you your whole life—I’m not just gonna stop now. You don’t have to fuck me to make me do it.”
I should be relieved. An offer of help with nothing asked for in return? For once, I can exist without the crushing weight of expectations I didn’t ask for.
But I’m furious.
“Why not? You know I’m not a virgin. We already live together, and we’re married, for God’s sake! Give me one good reason we shouldn’t.”
Dom flicks three fingers into the air. “I’ll give you three.
One, I got my balls snipped years ago. I’m not giving you kids.
Two, I don’t trust you. You and your dad schemed to trick me into this, and you killed your last husband.
Why the fuck would I want you in my bed?
And three, I’m too fucking old for you, Annetta.
I’m twenty fucking years older than you. ”
He waves his bloody hand at me. “Look, I get it. I’ve been in your life for a long time, you’ve got a little crush and a ton of daddy issues, and I’m a convenient older man to play out that fantasy for you, but you’re not seeing the future here. Maybe I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
He sighs, tugging at his short beard. “I’ve been alone for a long time. You can live with me, and I’ll take care of you, but I don’t need a wife.”
A storm of conflicting emotions rages through me. “I don’t want kids—”
He scoffs. “You’re twenty. You’ll change your mind in two years, five tops.”
I cross my arms. “You’re thirty-eight. You think you don’t want a wife? This is when men like you settle down. You’ll change your mind in two years, three tops.”
He chuffs a laugh.
I press my advantage. “You said it yourself—you’ve known me my entire life.
You know I wouldn’t lie without good reason, and I wouldn’t hurt someone without one either.
We know each other. You know we could work together.
We already like a lot of the same things.
You listen to more girly pop than I do—”
“I listen to what’s on the radio—”
I throw him a doubtful look, and he laughs.
I continue. “I like to cook, and you like to eat. You say you don’t want a wife, but look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t liked coming home to fresh-cooked meals.”
He meets my gaze, but he doesn’t say a thing as he folds his big arms across his broad chest. He’s shutting down, which means I’m getting to him.
“I like working out, you like working out. You like hunting? I like camping. You’re too old for me? I love ancient history.”
He cracks a smile, and I match it. I take one daring step toward him and rest my hands on his arms. I can see it in his eyes. He’s softening.
“What if you let me in?” I ask.
Dom rests one heavy hand on my shoulder, threading his fingers into my hair. “You’re already in my house, reginetta.”
I tap him on the chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What do you think being married to me looks like? I can’t stay inside the house with you all day. I can’t be a good husband to a young, grieving woman, especially not now—not when Turi needs me.”
Even if his words are bitter, his face is gentle. I think of him hugging Carlo in my parents’ house.
“Lucky for you, my standards for husbands are very low.”
He frowns and presses his palm against my neck.
I lean into his fingers. “I know you’re a good man, Dom. That’s why I asked Dad to marry us.”
His breath puffs over me in a little cloud as he laughs. “Of course you did. Barbara could never say no to his girls.”
“He could if he had to, but he trusts you, too. Do you remember who broke Tommy Halle’s arm when I was a freshman?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I spread one hand over his forearm, greedily soaking up the sensation of his firm muscles beneath my fingers. He’s covered in his own blood, but for a fighter like him, it suits him.
“He was a senior,” I say. “He kept making jokes about a threesome with Serafina and me, and he followed us home one day, harassing us the entire time. The next day, he came to school with a broken arm and wouldn’t look either of us in the eye.”
Dom’s mouth presses into a firm line. “Your dad asked me…”
“When I turned eighteen and Cousin Red was making jokes about me being legal? What did you do?”
Pine and smoke surround me, mouthwateringly tempting.
“I don’t remember.”
“You took him to the back of the house, emptied a bottle of whiskey on him, and told him if he cracked another joke, you’d light him on fire.” I rise, just an inch, onto my toes. “I saw you do it. Can you blame me if all I see when I look at you is a good man?”
Dom releases a short exhale, his pupils swallowing all the light. “Those aren’t things good men do.”
Heat blooms in my body. I can barely feel the cold in this moment. “To me, they are.”
And I can see it on his face. I thought he’d forgotten the night of my eighteenth birthday that I’ve carried with me all these years like a little secret jewel of happiness. He remembers, too—he must.
“Dom, please.”
Last time, he looked kind and a little patronizing. This time, he’s watchful. But he plays along anyway. “Please what, reginetta?”
“Please kiss me.”
I rise on my toes, nearly en pointe, to close the space between our faces, planting my hands on his sturdy chest, which rises and falls with more speed than I would’ve expected. I affect him more than I thought.
He reluctantly drops his head down, his heat enveloping me.
“Fuck,” Dom whispers.
He drops his mouth to mine.
At first, it’s a hard press of his mouth to mine and the feel of his lips against me. I wrap my arms around the back of his thick neck and thread my fingers into his hair, pulling us together at the same time that I lick along the seam of his mouth like I did at that church.
Let me in.
This time, instead of pulling away, he falls forward over me with a deep moan, like a skyscraper toppling. His wide hands splay over most of my back, and his mouth finally opens. Excitement fizzles through my chest.
I suck at his tongue, tasting mint again, and when I nibble at his bottom lip, he chuckles against my mouth.
Maybe I would feel self-conscious about it with someone else, but with Dom, it’s a compliment.
He may be a big, scary guy, but he likes to laugh, and he loves to play—and I realize, I do too.
I want to be with someone fun and relaxed.
He’s not just a faceless protector for me, even if that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
I don’t want him for what he can do for me—I want him.
I want to be around someone whose smiles are like sunshine and whose laugh you can hear through the entire house.
I want to be around someone who chases the nightmares away.
His arm bands around my back, lifting me into the air. I’m weightless and breathless. I wrap my legs around him, and he shifts so he’s supporting my weight with one strong hand under my ass.
Warmth floods my panties. It’s been too long since I’ve felt anything like this. I luxuriate in the taste and feel of his breath, his heady scent, his tongue playfully rubbing against mine.
I draw back, my mouth raw from our efforts, and lock eyes with him. My heart slams against my chest. More than anything, I want him to believe in us like I’m starting to.
I take his broad face in my hands and slowly kiss his cheek, his temple, his eye, the places he was cut defending me, until I return to his lips and lean back to look into his eyes.
The wicked smile he usually wears has been wiped away, leaving behind a wary expression. If I kiss that look off his face next, what’ll be left?
I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling the base of his ponytail down, and he willingly exposes his neck to me. Mine. He’s all mine. I squeeze my thighs around his waist and tug down his shirt collar to kiss and suck on the spot where I bit him, mostly healed over, but still lightly bruised.
His low voice rumbles against my mouth. “You gonna bite me again?”
“You want me to?” I nip at his neck.
He flinches, and we both laugh.
He doesn’t lower his head again until I’ve finished kissing and sucking along his neck, lavishing extra attention to my bite.
I don’t feel bad for it, though I should.
I like knowing he’s strong enough to take anything I could do to him, and I like knowing I’m there, right under his shirt collar, invisible to the world but still real, a secret we share.
When I pull back, I find what I’m searching for—hungry curiosity, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next. Excitement thrums through me.
A car honks, breaking the spell, and Dom jerks me off of him, whipping us around and pinning me to the brick wall behind him so he’s shielding me from the road with his body.
The car drives off into the night, leaving us heaving against each other. Dom’s exhale rustles the top of my hair while I bury my face into his chest and smile.
“We can’t stay here,” he says.
He’s right, of course, although I almost want to make him promise that he’ll be the same when we return to the penthouse. I don’t need a long drive to sober his thoughts and return his conscience. I need him just like this—pliable and willing to let us have what we both want.
I nod against his chest, and we walk back to the car.
In the passenger seat, my body’s loose and relaxed, but my mind’s on a knife’s edge. He’s given me a taste of him, and I’ve discovered I’m starving.
He keeps looking over at me as he drives, stealing long glances. I want to make him wait. I want to stretch his resistance into a thin strand, and then I want to make it snap.
When he misses the turn back to our penthouse, I speak up. “Heading to the hospital?”
“No. We’re going to Turi’s.”