“Is she okay?” Matias asks as he blows cigar smoke into the air in the cigar room.
I fold the contract and slip it into my back pocket, forgoing the cigar and heading straight for the whiskey in the crystal decanter.
This woman has a hold on me that I can’t seem to shake. The moment she stepped foot into my home and confronted me, I was drawn to her bravery; not even grown men would dare to do such a thing.
She’s strong-willed, sassy, reluctant, annoyingly beautiful, making me…feel things.
Things I don’t like to feel. Things I work hard to never feel. I numb my heart and soul because when I kill, I can’t let myself feel remorse or guilt.
It’s taken my entire life to become the man I am, to kill without blinking, to torture without an afterthought, but one look from her and something inside me unravels.
It’s aggravating.
“She’s fine. A little shaken up, but fine,” I answer, then down my whiskey in one gulp. I pour another, probably a little too much, but I need a buzz caused by anything else besides her.
When she choked on her food, an emotion welled inside me for the first time since I was a boy, and my father held a blade against my skin.
Fear.
I was afraid she would die before I even had a chance to experience the kind of life we could have together. Her face had turned red, her eyes watered. She’d clawed at her throat, and for a moment all I could do was sit there and watch.
I had no idea what to do because I’ve never had to save someone I cared about—and yes, I care for her. I just haven’t figured out what that means, or how she’s managed to sink her claws into me so easily.
But when I’d finally got my head on straight and I saved her, anger was the first emotion I felt. Why the fuck would she put herself in that position? Who shoves food into their mouth like that? And she says she doesn’t need anyone to take care of her?
I scoff at the idea.
How has she lived this long without someone looking out for her? Her father hasn’t. I know all about his mistakes and what she’s done to make sure he stays afloat.
My poor Sweetling. She is always sacrificing herself, but I won’t let that happen anymore. Even if she’s willingly sacrificing herself to me,
it will be the last time she ever has to again. She’ll never have to try to protect others or herself again.
“I sent Marie to her quarters and had the broccoli from the kitchen cleaned up,” Ari says, snagging a book from one of the shelves.
“Thank you,” I answer, finding my voice at last.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, Carmine,” Matias adds. The airy breath he exhales tells me he is still enjoying his cigar.
My fingers curl harder around the glass as I stare out the window, daring my reflection to lie to me, to tell me I’m not bothered by the woman in my home. “I’m not like anything,” I answer, my voice so gruff that even I don’t believe what I’m saying.
“I know you want a child, but dare I say,” Ari sounds amused, and in the glass, I can see him lean forward, bracing his arms on his knees while he smirks, “you like her.”
Matias grins, too, a cloud of smoke leaving his lips as he tilts his head back.
“I don’t like her. Men like me don’t like anything,” I state. “Or anyone.”
“Right. Right. The Devil isn’t allowed to want for himself, right?”
“It’s business.”
“So, I can ask her out? Right?” Ari tests the waters of my anger, and I take a deep breath, images of them together flooding my mind.
She’d be happier with someone like him—if I cared about her happiness. I’m twenty years older than her, and if I were a less confident man, I might not believe I had anything to offer her.
But I know exactly who I am.
My brothers are too soft. They haven’t earned their title of bloodthirsty killers yet. They roll over too easily during a fight. I have them do easier jobs or clean up my mess. And I have a feeling Delilah likes a challenge; she doesn’t want someone who will just give in.
She wants a fight.
She likes the resistance she finds with me.
“I’ll take her out, brother. I’ll show her a nice time. Don’t worry. I won’t put my baby in her unless she asks for it.”
My temper snaps. Hot rage burns me from the inside out. I spin around and roar, throwing my glass across the room. The glass shatters against the wall, and I remember I’ve done this twice today.
Has it only been a fucking day since Delilah came into my life? Already I feel like I’m losing control over myself.
I stomp forward and pick my baby brother up by his collar. Ari looks smug as if he won, and Matias stands to act as mediator.
“You won’t fucking touch her, Ari.”
“Why not?” he probes, and I push him against the bookshelf. “You only want her for business. What if I want her for more? What if I saw her wearing your shirt and saw those mile-long legs? I bet they would look good spread out on my bed, Carmine.”
I thrust him against the shelf, knocking a few books to the floor, then throw him down to join him. I draw back my fist in the air, then let it fly punching him in the face. Knuckles meet skin, and he is still smiling like a sick bastard despite the
blood flowing into his mouth staining his teeth red.
Matias tackles me to the ground, and I fight against him. My usually styled hair falls into my face. My knuckles are bleeding, my heart is jackhammering in my chest, and my anger has only reached the surface.
I’m far from being done.
I rip myself free of Matias and lunge forward again, only to have Matias stop me before I beat his twin to death.
Ari is sitting up, his back against the shelf and he rips a page out of a book to use as a napkin to wipe the blood from his lip.
“Talk about her like that again and I’ll fucking kill you, Ari.” I pull myself away from Matias and rub a hand over my mouth while Ari chuckles.
“I’m right,” he says, red saliva dripping from his chin. “You like her.”
“All this to prove a point?” I stretch my fingers as the ache spreads across my knuckles.
He stands and spits blood onto the floor. His lip is split open, and he has a bruise across his cheek. “Yes, all this to prove a point. You won’t let anyone else touch her, but you say she’s only business? Transactions don’t have feelings, Carmine. If she makes you feel this unhinged, she isn’t business. She’s more.”
“I’ve known her a day.”
“As if that matters,” he scoffs, snagging the decanter full of whiskey as he swings open the door to leave. “I’m going to get some ice and get drunk. Don’t interrupt me,” he announces, keeping the door wide open.
“You need to get your head on straight.” Matias shoves me with his shoulder. “Whatever this girl is to you, figure it the fuck out. The last thing we need with our Romano issue is you losing your mind over a woman. You can’t afford to even look like you have a weakness.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“No,” he says, a little too honest for my liking, and my eyes turn to slits as I look at him. “I think some of the power has gone to your head, and now you have something worth taking, Carmine. Do you get that? This woman will be your wife, the mother of your child, and she will be a target. Your child will too. This situation doesn’t only complicate things for you, but all of us.” Matias exits the room next, and I’m left alone in the cigar room, staring at the destruction I’ve caused.
“Damn it,” I hiss, kicking one of the fallen books across the floor. “What’s gotten into me?” My brothers are right. I am quickly becoming unhinged.
It’s time to fix that.
I leave the cigar room, climbing up the steps to the hallway that leads to my wing. When I open the door to my room, it’s empty. She isn’t in bed, and after I check the bathroom, she isn’t there either.
Needing a break from her presence, I see having the room to myself as a victory. Exhaling, I fall against the sink’s counter and hang my head, the cuts on my knuckles burning. Cracking my neck, I push myself away, turn on the shower, then undress.
The scars on my chest, abdomen, shoulders and back reveal themselves. The twins didn’t have to deal with our father’s abuse. I killed him before he could do the same to them. Every morning, every night, my father would want me to learn how to become a real man…the lesson carved into me with a knife.
The day I stopped crying was the day he was no longer able to inflict pain on me.
It took years to build up the strength to not flinch, to not make a sound, to not scream, but eventually, I did. Now, I bear the marks that show my weakness.
Someone gasps behind me,
and without a word, I turn around. My pants are undone, and I let Delilah see the monster she’s tied to.
Nothing but death can separate us now.
Without blinking, I slam the door in her face, and punch the wall with my injured hand. My reflection mocks me, and without giving it another glance, I step out of my pants and head to the shower.
I toss my head back, letting the hot spray rush over me, coating my flesh. Spinning around, the water’s pressure beats against me. Chin to chest, I watch the water turn a light pink from washing off the blood from my knuckles.
I won’t apologize to Ari. He provoked me on purpose. Apologies are for people who feel regret and recognize what they’ve done wrong—I don’t fall into either category.
My life would have one less complication if I released her and let her go home, let her live the rest of her life without me—another shadow darkening her every step.
I press my palms against the wall. The water rushes down my back, and all I can think of is her fucking someone else, having someone else’s child. I can’t let that happen.
I won’t allow it to happen.
Her experiences are mine.
I need to accept that now. I’m not the same man I was this morning before she walked into my home. This man that I have become is confused, trigger-happy, and restless.
A new normal I’ll have to get used to with her around.
After washing, I turn off the water and grab a towel from the built-in shelves. I wrap it around my waist after drying myself and open the door to the bedroom.
She’s still standing there, looking pissed-off. Her hand is on her hip, but her eyes trail down my body slowly.
I grip the top of the doorframe and lean forward. “Look all you like, Sweetling. After today, it’s all yours.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and she steps away. Her attention moves to the scars, but she looks away and doesn’t ask about them.
Good. It’s none of her business. If I want to share it, I will.
“Sit down, please.” She points to the bed.
I let go of the doorframe and stalk forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”
I brush by her and sit down, the towel parting enough to show everything but my cock.
She gasps, flustered, takes my injured hand and places a frozen bag of peas on my knuckles.
“You act as if you’ve never seen a man naked, Delilah. You don’t have to play coy with me,” I say, enjoying the softness of her touch as she presses the bag against my hand.
She doesn’t say anything. Delilah won’t even look at me. Instead, she examines my knuckles and grabs the first aid kit. She sits out on the bed.
“What happened?” she asks, cleaning the wound with alcohol.
I hiss when it begins to burn.
“Really?” She lifts a brow at me. “Big bad Carmine Milazzo can handle gunshot wounds, but he can’t handle a little disinfectant?”
“It’s different,” I say, bristling at her criticism.
“Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t hide her humor well. Her lips are tightly rolled against one another, but the smile is still there. Lifting my hand, she peeks up at me through her dark lashes and blows cool air over the cuts and bruises.
I hold my breath, staring at her with wonderment.
“Better?” she asks, before dabbing more ointment across my knuckles.
I nod without saying anything. I don’t trust my voice.
No one has ever taken care of me before. I’m not sure I like it.
She wraps my hand in a bandage and places the icepack on it again, every movement gentle and careful, as if not wanting to hurt me more.
Nothing she could do to me could hurt.
“Thank you,” I say honestly, our eyes meeting in a heated embrace.
Time seems to slow, and the air in the room stills, making it hard to breathe. I lean forward just an inch to make her wonder if I will kiss her.
I’m won’t, but I want to.
I won’t break my word or the contract. The ball is in her court.
Her gaze drifts from my lips to my chest and to my cock, then she scrambles from the bed. “You need to be more careful. Make sure your cuts don’t get infected.”
She tries to run into the bathroom, but I’m there in a flash, grabbing the door before she can shut it.
I kick it open, take her in my arms, and force her to look at me by tugging on the thick of her hair. “Have you ever seen a man naked before, Delilah?”
“Yes,” she says, as if she’s offended.
I drag her hand across my chest, and a dark purr builds inside me. “Have you ever touched a man? Have you ever been fucked?” I pin her against the wall and hold her hands above her head, shoving my knee between her legs. The towel around my waist holds on for dear life. “Have you ever orgasmed on another man’s cock?”
“You’re foul. And that’s none of your business,” she seethes, our lips mere centimeters apart.
One hand drifts to her waist and clutches her hip. “It’s my business. Everything about you is my business now, Delilah.”
“No,” she whispers. “No, I’ve never been with anyone.”
An unstable breath floats between us, and I realize it’s from me. My cock hardens beneath the towel, my lust climbing to new heights. I shut my eyes, trying to calm down.
“How unfortunate,” I mutter, snapping my eyes back open while trailing my finger over her hip bone. “Your first time will be with a man like me.”
I back away, not bothering to hide how she affects me. I want her to know.
“Only when I’m ready.” She dares me to say otherwise, but I would never.
It’s important that when we have sex, she want me so much, she’ll beg for me, plead for me to ease the ache I’ve created. That she makes the first move is an essential aspect of the agreement that I will never change.
I’ll die holding to that agreement.
“Only when you’re ready,” I repeat softly, the nerves in her voice loosening the tight string managing my arousal. “I swear it.”
“How do I know you mean it?” She pulls at the hem of my shirt she’s still wearing, her gaze locked on the floor.
I don’t like that. I want her attention on me. I know our relationship is unconventional, but it is one I want to build. I have a lot to learn, and I will for her.
“And how do I know you won’t bring other women to bed? I’m supposed to trust that you only want me. We just met—”
With a growl, I wrap my hand around her nape. “I take my agreements seriously. I am not a fucking twenty-something-year-old idiot who doesn’t know what he wants. I don’t take time to make decisions. I know what I want. I take what I want, Delilah. No other woman will warm our bed for as long as you lie in it.”
I’ll sleep well tonight in that bed, knowing I’ll be her first, and I don’t care whom I’ll have to kill for me to be her last.
