Forty-five minutes later, Savannah comes down the stairs. And she’s clearly raided my closet again, which, considering that’s where I left her, isn’t a surprise.
This time she’s wearing a pair of thick dark gray sweatpants, with elastic around the bottom, so they’re bunched at her ankles, and not trying to kill her by flopping past her toes. On the top, she’s back to wearing her form-fitting floral tank. And––dammit––her bra.
Though it’s hard to be mad about the bra, because if I can’t admire her nipples poking through her shirt, at least I can appreciate the function of the push-up bra. Because those tits look like fucking heaven right now. And if she’d let me lay my head on that cleavage, I bet I’d sleep like a damn baby.
A memory from last night, of that shirt hanging in the shower to dry, pops into my mind. And my eyes move back down her body, like I can see through her pants, wondering if she’s wearing those lacy red panties. If the panties I wrapped around my dick last night are currently snug against her hot little…
I shift my weight, as my cock wakes up.
Savannah side-eyes me. “You said something about a cook?”
“Y––” I clear my throat and shift again. “Yeah.” She eyes me more. And I nod toward the back of the house. “After you.”
I follow her, keeping my eyes above her waist ––because that plump ass is not helping my half chub situation.
You’re forty-five years old. Get a grip.
The scent of well-made food fills the air, and Savannah is able to follow her nose to the expansive kitchen that overlooks the backyard.
Cici, my cook, turns at our arrival.
Usually she’s gone by this time of day, retired to the staff house, on the far side of the manicured lawns, where she lives there with her sister Ginger, my housekeeper, and Jamie, Ginger’s husband, the gardener and all around handyman.
But instead of leaving me dinner in the fridge and relaxing with her family, she’s been in here preparing an elaborate meal of beef wellington, mashed potatoes with gravy, and my favorite sauteed green beans with garlic and lemon zest. All because some fucking loud-mouth Preacher had to tell her that I got married today.
Savannah stops at the island, opposite from Cici, and I watch as she takes her in. Cici, and the staff, are all mid to late thirties, and have been working for me going on a decade.
From the surprise on Savannah’s face, I’m guessing she was expecting someone older, maybe a Mrs. Doubtfire situation.
I step up next to Savannah, lightly gripping the back of her neck. “Cici, this is my wife, Savannah. Savannah, this is Cici.”
Cici, always quiet around new people, gives a small smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
Savannah looks up at me before addressing Cici. “Hi Cici, I’m a prisoner here.”
I shake my head and address my cook, “We’ll take our meal in the dining room.”
Cici’s eyes flit back and forth between me and my troublesome wife. “Oh. Um, okay.”
Savannah tosses her hands up, and I flex my fingers on the back of her neck. “My staff will treat you with the respect you deserve as my wife. But they won’t cross me for you.” Savannah glares up at me. “It’s not personal, Honey. I just pay really well.”
She scowls up at me, and I can’t help myself. With my grip on her neck I drag her closer and press a kiss to her furrowed forehead.
I watch as she slides another mouthful of perfectly cooked steak, surrounded with buttery pastry, into her mouth.
And when she finally breaks her silence with a moan of pleasure, I break my own. “Knew you’d like it.”
She slowly raises her eyes from her plate to look at me. “It’s fine.”
I scoff, “It’s more than fine.”
She picks up her steak knife and slices off another piece before lifting the knife, letting the light glint off the blade. “Aren’t you worried about giving me a weapon? Or is that why you seated us so far from each other?”
The thought of her trying to come at me with a knife makes me laugh. She’s a runner, sure, but she’d never draw blood. Not on purpose.
“I don’t see how this is funny.”
Instead of answering, I pick up my plate and utensils in one hand, and my heavy crystal water glass in the other and carry it all down to her end of the table.
When I’d told Cici we’d eat in the dining room, I hadn’t meant for her to set us up at opposite ends of the large rectangular table with seating for fourteen. But since Savannah looked like she could use some space, I gave it to her.
But time for space is over.
I set my things down at the spot closest to her knife hand. “You won’t try to kill me.” She doesn’t answer me, just rolls her lips before forcefully shoving a forkful of potatoes into her mouth.
Watching her eat is fucking adorable. I’m so used to being at fancy dinners and shit like that, where the women, big or small, always seem to pick at their meals. As though females aren’t allowed to eat. But watching Savannah destroy that steak has my cock perking up. Again.
I should probably leave her alone.
But that’s not my style.
“Cat got your tongue?” I smirk.
She stabs a pile of green beans, muttering something about lion eyes.
“I didn’t quite catch that.”
Savannah ignores me, and I watch her every move as she meticulously works her way through the plate.
Already done, I’m relaxed back in my chair when she sets her fork down, wiping her mouth with the white linen napkin. Neither of us leaving so much as a scrap behind.
“Would you like more?” I ask, knowing it’s the first time she’s eaten all day.
Savannah slides her chair out, angling her body to mine. “What’s the Alliance?”
I drop my head back and groan. “Fucking Nero.”
She scoffs. “Yeah, what a surprise that the man who laughed when I screamed for help said something you didn’t like.”
My mouth pulls into a grimace. “Remember that, do you?”
The tiny bit of humor drops from her face. “I’ll never forget it.”
That guilty feeling crawls across my ribcage, and I adjust my seat to face hers. “Nero is a complicated man.”
She lets out an incredulous laugh. “Complicated. Sure.”
I want to tell her that she can trust Nero. That he would never hurt her. That we might be bad men, but we aren’t bad like that.
But––and here’s the complicated part––I need her to keep believing that I’m willing to kill all her family and friends if she crosses me.
Not exactly the foundation for a trusting marriage.
“So, what is it?” she asks. “A gang or something?”
I sigh. “Or something.” I uncross my arms and drag a hand down my face. How do I explain this? “The Alliance is a, well, for lack of a better term, it’s a criminal organization.”
“Criminal organization,” she repeats slowly. “Like the mafia?”
I let my head tip back and forth. “More or less.”
“More or less?” her brows raise in challenge.
“Yeah, Honey. More or less.”
“Stop calling me that.”
I smile at her defiance. “No.”
She crosses her arms to show her displeasure with me, but it just pushes her tits up even higher and I can’t help but drop my eyes to the temptation.
She drops her hands to her lap with a huff. “How is something more or less like the mafia?”
“I don’t suppose you’d settle for me telling you that you’re better off not knowing?”
“Not a fucking chance.”
“Fine.” I take a breath, deciding to just lay it out. She’s stuck with me now, so what’s the harm in her knowing? “Nero and I started The Alliance about fifteen years ago when we took out the two major mafia families in the area.”
“Took out…” she interrupts.
“Killed,” I say simply. “I wiped out the Irish, Nero brought down the Russians, and we combined the men that we left alive to create The Alliance. Where loyalty and trust means more than contaminated bloodlines.”
Her lips pull to the side, I watch her eyes as she takes in this information. “But, what do you do?”
“Bad things, Savannah. We aren’t good men.”
“But like what? Some of us aren’t familiar with mafia shit. Does that mean you sell cocaine and Tommy guns?”
My brow lifts. “You watch too many movies.”
She lifts her hands in a well gesture.
“We have different facets of men that do different things. And yes, some of those things include illegal substances and firearms. But most of it revolves around money. Around influence. Keeping our territory under our control and keeping other people out.”
I watch her swallow. “So, earlier, when you mentioned enemies…”
I nod. “There are a lot of people that want what we have. There are a lot of people that want what I have.” No use holding back now. “I’m a wealthy man. I have my own investment company that I started around the same time as the Alliance, and I’ve done well for myself.” I bite back a smile when she rolls her eyes. “For a long time, everyone thought that Nero ran The Alliance by himself. No one, outside of the original crew that went to war with me, even knew that Nero and I knew each other. Let alone that we were friends. It was easier to organize the men with just one person to answer to. And I had family to consider. You’ve met my sister Aspen already.” I don’t miss her slight flinch. “My mom was also still living with me back then. And I have another, well half-sister, Val, who we’d found out about around that same time.” I shake my head. “All that to say, I had people I needed to protect from that life.”
“But not anymore?”
“Some things happened last fall, and I decided it was time to show my hand.” I think back to the look on Nero’s face when I showed up outside of Mikhail’s house, and I know I did the right thing. “My time in the background served its purpose, but it had run its course. Making my ties to The Alliance public has brought some new dangers, but it also tells people who I really am.”
“And who are you?” Savannah’s voice is quiet.
“I’m a dangerous man to fuck with.” I let that sink in for a moment, before I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, putting us at eye level. “I know you don’t want to be here, Savannah. But you are. And you’re mine now. So, my protection extends to you. Anyone that crosses you will die. I mean that. Literally. You won’t be locked in the house forever. Once we learn to trust each other, you’ll be able to go out and do whatever it is you want to do during the day. But you’ll never be alone, because the protection of my name also comes with a target. Which is the other reason why you’re here.” She blinks, a mix of emotions filling her eyes. “Even if I could believe that you’d lie to the police, the breadcrumbs between us are too thick to brush aside, and someone else could’ve followed them. Someone who would hurt you, just to bring heat down on me and my family.” I see her starting to form an argument, but I don’t let her get it out. “It’s not far-fetched. It’s the world I live in, the world you live in now. And before you get any ideas to call the police and ask for their help, know that most of them are in our pockets. And the ones that aren’t are in the pockets of others. So either way, it wouldn’t do you any good to run to them. And I’m not telling you this to scare you. I’m telling you so you’re informed. You and I are a team now. And I know it’s a lot to take in, but the sooner you can accept that, the sooner you can find a new normal.” When she doesn’t say anything, I prompt her. “Do you understand?”
She searches my eyes. “You’ll let me paint?”
The question sends a spear of lightning through my chest. She doesn’t even ask about the other stuff. Doesn’t protest or try to convince me to let her go. She just asks if I’ll let her paint.
I stand, holding my hand out for her to take. “Yeah, Honey. You can still paint.”
She eyes my palm for a long second before taking it.
I lead her out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and down the back hallway.
The house looks like a normal two-story mansion from the front, but from above, it looks like a U, the lower level jutting out on either side to create a sort of courtyard in the back. Each leg of the U consists of a large window-laden sunroom. Neither is used much, and I was tempted to put her on the other side of the house, near my office. But I decided on this one, below our bedroom, thinking she’ll feel more comfortable if my office wasn’t next door.
I just won’t mention that if I stand at just the right spot in my office, I can see across the courtyard, and through the windows, into this room. Where I’ll hopefully be able to watch her work.
Savannah has been walking subdued at my side, not asking me where I’m taking her.
So when I swing open the door leading into the sunroom––her new home studio––her gasp fills me with satisfaction.
I step to the side and let her walk ahead of me.
I had all of the original furniture removed from the room and had the walls painted a bright white. I don’t know if it was the right call, but from my online research it sounded like white walls were the best for art studios because of the way they reflect light.
Savannah walks the perimeter of the room, her bare feet quiet on the tile floor, as she runs her hands all over everything. Touching the edges of the stack of blank canvases I ordered. Tracing the wooden frames of the half dozen easels scattered around the room. Running her fingers over the tables laden with tubes of oil paint, the same brand I spotted in the background of one of the photos she shared online.
Because of the way the room sticks out from the rest of the house, three of the walls are windows, with a set of French doors––identical to the ones in the bedroom––leading out into the courtyard. And there’s a trio of skylights in the ceiling that I had fitted with remote control blinds if she needs to block out the sun.
It’s currently growing dark outside, but I had adjustable lamps put in each corner, and the overhead lights are set on low, so it’s easy for me to see Savannah’s face when she stops at the far side of the room and slowly turns to face me.
After inspecting every inch in silence, I’m almost surprised to hear her ask, “When?”
“Last night.”
Her eyes move around the room. “How?”
The side of my mouth pulls up. “Disgustingly rich, remember?”
“Why?” Her voice catches, and I’m already striding across the room, capturing her face in my hands.
“Because I can. And because the world needs your art.”
A single tear spills down her soft cheek, and I use the pad of my thumb to wipe it away.
“Do you mean that?” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.
“Yeah, Savannah Baby. I mean that.”
With my hands on her face, I feel her intentions, feel her lifting onto her toes. And whether she knows what she’s doing or not, I don’t hesitate to meet her movement. Leaning down, placing my lips against hers.
I watch as she squeezes her eyes shut, setting another tear loose. But she doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t tense.
Her mouth is soft against mine. And I let myself linger for one breath. One movement of my lips against hers before I pull back.
“No more crying.” I wipe away the next tear. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you can be happy here.”
