Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Chloe
The silence that falls between us is deafening. Basili doesn’t say another word until we reach the gates of the mansion. He just sits there, staring out the window, his jaw tight, and his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, and it sets me on edge like waiting for a bomb to go off.
“Basili —”
“No.” His voice is cold, controlled. “Marcello, pull into the garage, then leave us. We have some things to discuss,” he turns to look at me before finishing, “in private.”
“Sir?” Marcello asks with an element of confusion.
“You heard me. Garage, then get out; you’re off for the rest of the night.” He turns back to look at the man through the rear-view mirror. “And Marcello? You’re not to repeat a single word of anything you heard tonight to anyone. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The car turns in the drive, passing through the iron gates before ascending the winding pathway to the private garage attached to the mansion instead of the main entrance. When we pull inside, the door closes behind us, Matteo kills the engine, and gets out without another word, disappearing.
As soon as we’re alone, Basili turns to face me fully. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m his illegitimate daughter; Shufen is my half-sister.
My mother was American, and I looked too much like her to fit in.
I was never the perfect porcelain doll like my sister, always too smart, too loud, too American.
My father never hid his utter disgust at having me for a daughter. A disgrace.”
Basili rubs a hand across his face but doesn’t interrupt.
“He has other legitimate children — Shufen and Shuren, his sons. They’re perfect.
Everything I was never able to be. Everything I’m incapable of being.
” The words began to pour out, unstoppable.
An emotional dam broken. “I lived in that house for sixteen years. Spent sixteen years being told I was worthless. Abused daily for being too American, for not being a perfect doll. Not being —”
I can’t finish. Can’t put all the ways he broke me into words, too embarrassed to speak of it.
“That’s why you ran,” Basili says quietly.
“I escaped. With help from Shufen — she risked everything to get me out.” I think back on that night, Shufen’s whispered instructions ringing in my ears once more, the money she’d pressed into my hands to start a new life.
“I ended up at Jay’s orphanage. Started over.
Changed everything about myself to make sure he’d never find me. ”
“Do you think he got a good look at you tonight? That he recognized you?”
“I don’t think so. But that’s why I panicked when I saw him tonight.
If he recognizes me, if he realizes his daughter is living in your house —” I wrap my arms around myself, instinctively retracting into myself.
“I don’t know what he’ll do. Try to use me as leverage against you, probably.
Or kill me outright for the embarrassment I’ve caused him. ”
“He won’t be taking you anywhere, Chloe.” The words are hard and absolute.
“You don’t understand, Basili. When he sets his mind to something, nothing can stop him.”
“I don’t care what he wants.” Basili reaches for me, his hands framing my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Listen to me carefully, Chloe. That man orchestrated my son’s kidnapping.
He used Emmanuel to create leverage to coerce me into marrying your sister.
He caused you to live in fear that he’d find you this whole time. That he’d kill you if he found you.”
“You didn’t know—”
“I should have known. Should have put the pieces together.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “But now I do. And I’m telling you right now, I’m not marrying Shufen. I’m not allying with the Triad. I’m going to burn Delan’s entire empire to the ground for the trauma he caused to my son. To you.”
“Basili, you can’t,” I whisper.
“I think you underestimate me, Chloe. I can and I will.” He leans closer, his forehead resting against mine. “I am the Don of this family. I make the rules. You and Emmanuel are mine to protect. And no one — not your father, not the Russians, no one — gets to hurt either of you again. Capisce?”
“I understand,” I breathe.
“In Italian, tesoro.” He smiles then, making me smile too.
“Capisco.”
“Rava ragazza,” he says with a nod.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Good girl.” And then he’s kissing me.
Not gentle like in my room just days ago. Not tender like before. This is true. Possessive. His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he owns it, like he owns me, and God help me, I want him too.
I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer.
We’re in the back of a car in his garage, and I don’t care. Don’t care about anything except the way he tastes, the way he feels against me, the way he’s kissing me like I’m the only thing that matters.
His hands slide down my waist as he moves over me, laying me down so my back is against the seat, and he’s on top of me. Knee between my legs, my skirt pushed up.
“Basili,” I gasp against his mouth.
“Tell me you want me, Chloe.” His hands work their way beneath my skirt and onto my thighs, pushing the velvet up inch by inch.
“I want you,” I tell him. “I want this, us, all of it.”
Something fierce flashes in his eyes. “Color?”
The question throws me. “What?”
“If we’re going to do this, I need you to pick a safe word. Colors are easy to remember at the moment,” he explains.
“Oh.” Like in the kitchen. “Green is go. So, I suppose Red. Red is stop?”
“Good. Color?”
“Green, definitely green,” I whisper breathlessly.
His hands slide higher under my skirt, finding the edge of my stockings. “Because I need you, Chloe. Need to be inside you. To make you mine in every way. But I need to know you are with me. That this is what you want too.”
“I want it,” I assure him. “I want you. I’m just — I’ve never —”
I can’t make myself say it.
“Never what?” He asks as his hands still.
“Been with anyone.” The confession comes out small, embarrassed.
He goes very still above me. “Chloe —”
“I want this, Basili. I want you.” I take a shaky breath. “Take away my fear, replace it with something good. Something I choose for myself, please.”
“We can wait, tesoro.” He pulls back slightly.
“No, Basili, please. I need you as much as you need me,” I whine.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Green. Very, very green.”
He studies my face a moment longer, and I see the exact moment he comes back to me. “Hands above your head.”
The command sends a shiver through me. I reach above my head, clasping my hands together.
He takes my wrists gently, securing them with his tie. Not painfully, just enough to make sure they stay.
“Now, you can’t help,” he murmurs, kissing his way down my neck to the rise of my collarbone. “Can’t do anything besides feel. Let me do all the work, tesoro. Let me take care of you.”
He reaches behind my back for the zipper, drawing it down slowly. The dress loosens, and he uses the extra room to draw it down just enough to expose my breasts. Contact with the cool air instantly peaks my nipples as he does so.
I’m exposed. Vulnerable.
“Bellissima,” he breathes, taking one into his mouth and lapping at it gently before moving to the other and repeating the motion, then rising to kiss me again. “So fucking beautiful.”
His mouth explores my throat, kissing and nipping his way down to my collarbone. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they ache.
“Basili, please,” I beg.
“Please, what?”
“More. Please. I need more.”
His hand slides down my stomach, careful of the still-healing wound, and beneath my skirt back to the band of my stockings. He pulls them down in one swift, flawless motion, and I gasp when his fingers find me, already wet and ready.
He groans at the contact, eyes rolling happily. “So eager. So responsive. So perfect.”
When he slides the first finger in, my back arches in automatic response, and I moan instantly. He’s slow and careful, stroking gently.
“Color?” He asks, his voice strained.
“Green. God, green.”
“Rava ragazza,” he praises as he adds a second finger. The pressure, the slight stretch, is intense but not painful. His thumb finds the bundle of nerves at my clit, circling in time with the gentle thrust of his fingers.
Instantly, I’m lost. Completely overwhelmed by sensation. My hands are straining against the tie, wanting to touch him, dig my nails into his shoulders. The restraint doesn’t give; his knot impervious to my desire for release.
“That’s it, tesoro. Let go. Come for me.”
He’s relentless, picking up the pace of his thrusts until I’m panting. The pleasure builds until I shatter, crying out his name, my body clenching around his fingers. Working me through it, gently now, easing me down from the high.
When I can breathe again, I find him watching me with such heat and desire in his eyes that I nearly go over the edge all over again.
“That was —” I don’t have the right words.
He kisses me softly. “But we’re not done yet. That was just to take the edge off and make this next part more pleasurable for you, tesoro.”
I feel my eyes widen as I focus on him. He grinds against me, and I can feel he’s hard and ready. Even through his pants, I can feel the size of him. A nervous look must have crossed my face because he cups my chin. “I’ll go slow. And if it’s too much, just say red.”
I nod.
“Rava ragazza.”
The praise peaks my desire. I watch as he leans back, undoes his belt, then unzips his pants, and I feel him hot and hard against me when he frees himself.
“Color?” He asks.
“Green,” I murmur, breathlessly, excitement building with each passing second.
He smiles, a sexy, irresistible smile that makes me melt against him as he leans down and devours my mouth once more. One hand slides beneath my back to hold me while the other works at my entrance. Then, slowly — so slowly — he pushes into me.
There’s pressure, stretching, then a slight burning sensation that makes me tense.
“Breath, tesoro. I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my lips, using the union of our mouths to distract me.
I force myself to breathe. I trust him, his experience, his motives. He inches deeper, and the burn intensifies, but his thumb finds that sweet spot again, circling, creating pleasure to balance the discomfort.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Rava ragazza.”
Another inch. Another. And then —
“There, tesero.” His voice is tense, controlled, but just barely. “I knew you’d be able to take it all. Such a rava ragazza.”
The feeling of him fully inside me is overwhelming. Full. Stretched. But oh so right.
“Color?” His voice is low, strained with effort.
“Green,” I manage, anxious.
He moves slowly at first, letting me adjust. Each thrust fills me more than I ever knew possible. The feelings, the sensations of this ultimate union between our bodies invokes tears in my eyes. But not the bad kind.
The discomfort fades, replaced by a warmth that builds within.
“More, Basili,” I beg, arching against him. “Please, harder, more, I need —”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. One hand moves to my hip, careful of my injury, as he picks up the pace. He’s thrusting harder, pulling out further, and going deeper with each stroke. Hitting something deep inside me that makes me see stars.
“That’s it. Take it. All of it. Use me to take what you need, tesoro.”
The combination of his voice, the words, his hands, his lips, and his cock inside me — it’s too much and not enough all at once. I come apart again, even harder than before, clenching around his length as pleasure crashes through my body.
He follows me over the edge moments later, groaning my name as his body shutters, filling me.
We stay like that for a long moment, both breathing hard. Then, gently, he pulls out of me. Reaching for the tie around my wrists, pressing kisses to my exposed skin.
“How do you feel?” He asks.
“That was —” And again, I don’t have words. I feel boneless, satisfied, completely wrecked in all the best ways.
“Good.” He helps me fix my dress. “Let’s get you inside, cleaned up, and into bed.”
“I can —”
“Chloe,” his voice is soft but firm, “let me. Just stop. Let me take care of you for once.”
I don’t argue further as he whisks me out of the backseat and carries me through the quiet of the mansion. Cradled in his arms, I feel the safest I’ve ever felt.
When we reach my room, he uses his elbow to open the door, kicking it closed behind us. He sets me on my feet long enough to help me out of the dress — careful of my bandage, checking it to make sure the wound didn’t reopen.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “You were careful.”
“Good.” He strips down to his boxers, muscles moving under tattooed skin, and I can’t help but stare.
“See something you like?” He smirks. The words bring back the memory of that day in the gym.
“Maybe,” I say flirtatiously.
He pulls back the covers on my bed. “Get in.”
There’s that tone again. I slide between the sheets, and he follows, pulling me against his chest.
“Basili,” I murmur, “you don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.” His arms tighten around me. “What do you think I am? A barbarian? I’m not letting you sleep alone after what we just did. Not a chance, tesoro.”
I relax against him, into the warmth and safety of his embrace.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For choosing me.”
He presses a kiss to my hair. “Always, Chloe. I’ll always choose you.”