Remo pulled out of me, and I winced, sucking in a sharp breath. I rolled over to my side, away from him, but the shame stayed with me. Remo brushed my hair away and kissed my neck then lightly bit down, and I shivered. “You are mine now, Angel. I own you. Even if I ever let you go, I’ll still own you. You will always remember this day and deep down you will always know that you are mine and mine alone.”
I closed my eyes, trying to hold back tears, fighting them, holding on to my composure with sheer force of will. The sheets rustled as Remo got out of bed, and I didn’t look over my shoulder to see what he was doing. I heard the water running in the bathroom.
He returned moments later and ran his fingers down my spine then back up before he grabbed my shoulder and rolled me onto my back. My eyes found his. He parted my legs, his eyes taking in my thighs covered in my blood.
Not taking his eyes off my face, he knelt between my legs. I tensed, confused but too stunned and overwhelmed to act. With a dark smile, he leaned forward and ran his tongue over my thigh, licking up the blood. I was frozen. He traced a finger up my leg and circled my opening with it. I stiffened. I was sore but Remo slid his finger inside of me very slowly. His dark eyes held mine and after a moment, he gently pulled his finger back out, now slick with my blood. A horrible suspicion wormed its way into my head, and he proved it right. Remo put his blood-coated finger in his mouth with a twisted smile. “The taste of blood never disgusted me, and your virgin blood is sweeter than anything else.”
My nose wrinkled in disgust, and shame warmed my cheeks.
Remo assessed me calmly as he released his finger from his mouth. He stroked my inner thighs as he lowered himself to his stomach between my legs.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Remo pressed a kiss to my center. “Claiming my missing prize.”
My hand shot out, wanting to shove him away, but he caught my wrist and pressed it to my thigh.
His mouth gently moved over me, followed by his tongue. He was so gentle, my body responded despite my soreness. He held my gaze as he traced his tongue along my slit over and over again. Then he closed his lips over my clit and began sucking softly.
I moaned, unable to hold it in. Remo smiled against my flesh. I stopped fighting it and sank into the mattress, my legs parting further. Remo kept up the soft touch of his tongue and mouth but pulled back slightly. “There you go. Let me make you forget the pain.”
And he did. There was still an undercurrent of a dull ache, but somehow it heightened every spike of pleasure Remo’s tongue brought me.
“Look at me,” Remo ordered, his lips brushing against my folds. I met his gaze and started trembling as my core tightened. Pain and pleasure mingled as Remo’s tongue worked my nub. My lips parted and I cried out, unable to contain it. Remo’s eyes flashed with triumph, and he pressed closer to my center, devouring me. I thrashed under him, gasping. It was painful and mind-bendingly pleasurable. I was torn apart and put back together, miss-matched and wrong but back together.
I slumped against the bed, resigned, exhausted, my body throbbing with pain and the remnants of my orgasm. Remo stayed between my legs, but his tongue had slowed. His fingers pulled me apart, and he lapped at my opening. I moaned as it caused another aftershock. Everything about this was wrong and filthy. With a last kiss to my clit, Remo climbed over me and claimed my mouth. The taste of blood and my own juices made me shudder.
Remo pulled back. “Pain and pleasure,” he rasped. “What do you prefer, Angel?”
Shame crashed down on me hard and fast. “I hate you.”
Remo smiled darkly and pushed off me. “There is a washcloth on the nightstand.” His erection and upper thighs were smeared with my blood, but he didn’t bother covering himself as he walked out of the room, leaving me alone.
The door clicked shut.
I sat up, wincing again. My eyes were drawn to the sheets, and I closed my eyes again. This was supposed to happen on my wedding night. It was supposed to be Danilo’s privilege, and I had given it away because that was exactly what it was: giving not taking. I got up and moved slowly toward the bathroom. The soreness wasn’t even the worst part. Not even close. That was the shame, the guilt over what I let happen.
I stepped into the shower and turned it on. The water was hot, on the verge of being painful but it felt good. I leaned back against the wall and slowly sank down. Pulling my legs up against my chest, I cried because Remo was right: what I’d done today, I’d never forget. Even if I returned to the Outfit, how could I face my family again? How could I face Danilo, my fiancé, the man I had promised myself to?
I wasn’t sure how long I sat like this when Remo stepped into the bathroom. I didn’t look up, only saw his legs in my peripheral vision. He moved closer and then the water stopped. He crouched before me. I still didn’t look up. My throat and nose were clogged from crying and I started to shiver without the warmth of the water.
“Look at me,” Remo ordered. “Look at me, Serafina.”
When I refused to do as he asked, he reached for my chin and nudged it up until my gaze met his. His dark eyes searched my face. I couldn’t read the emotions in his eyes. “If it helps, try telling yourself I raped you,” he whispered in a low voice. “Maybe you will start believing it.”
Nothing had ever cut deeper than Remo’s words. He didn’t need a knife to make me bleed. I glared at him, wanting to hate him with every part of my being, but a tiny, horrible part of me didn’t, and it was that part of me I despised more than I could ever hate Remo.
REMO
After claiming Serafina, I left her in the bed. I needed time to gather my fucking thoughts. I went to my bedroom and put on briefs but didn’t bother cleaning my thighs or face. It was late in the evening, so Kiara should still be in her bedroom with Nino.
I could still taste Serafina, sweet and metallic.
The sweetest triumph of my life.
Fuck. This woman …
I fixed myself a drink, a bourbon, then leaned against the bar, swirling the liquid in the glass, fucking averse to washing away her taste. The memory still burned bright.
This was the moment I’d worked toward, had been patient for. For once in my life I’d been patient.
Your reward will be worth it.
I will be your first angel.
Serafina was so much more than I’d hoped for. She was magnificently gorgeous, ruinously breathtaking. Even lesser men would kill to have someone as regal as her in their bed only once. I almost got a fucking boner thinking about how Danilo would feel seeing the sheets with Serafina’s virgin blood on them, how acutely he’d feel the loss of something he had desired from afar for years, something that had almost been in his reach only to be painfully ripped from him. It was enough to drive even the most controlled man into a rampage.
And her father and brother … for them it would be a painting of their greatest failure.
“That smile on your face creeps me the fuck out,” Savio muttered as he came in, smelling of perfume and sex.
“Thinking of my next message for Dante,” I said, setting the glass down without taking a single sip. I couldn’t bear the idea of getting rid of Serafina’s taste just yet.
Savio’s eyes flitted down to my upper thighs coated in Serafina’s blood then up to my face.
He crossed his arms. “Either you mauled a kitten and rubbed your face and groin all over the spoils or you had a disturbing meeting with virgin pussy.”
Something dark and possessive burned my chest hearing him talk like that about Serafina. I shoved it down. “Not a virgin anymore.”
Savio regarded me curiously then shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. “You really got her to come willingly into your bed. Fuck, Remo, you must have twisted that girl’s mind.”
I grinned. “And tomorrow I’ll bathe in my triumph and send Dante the sheets.”
Savio laughed, came toward me, and downed the drink I’d poured for myself. “To your twisted mind and all the twisted shit it comes up with. You wanted to break her and you broke her.”
I left him standing there, not in the mood to talk about Serafina anymore. My body yearned for her, for more. For everything. When I entered the bedroom, I found the bed empty, except for the stained sheets. I followed the sound of running water into the bathroom.
Serafina was huddled in the shower and the sight caused an unpleasant twinge in my chest. I turned off the water then knelt before her. “Look at me,” I said. “Look at me, Serafina.”
Her blue eyes held anguish and guilt when I forced her face up.
“If it helps, try telling yourself I raped you,” I murmured. “Maybe you will start believing it.”
Hatred flared in her eyes, and for once it didn’t give me a thrill.
I got up, frustrated by my body’s reaction. I stalked back into the bedroom and stripped the bed of its sheets, not wanting them ruined. Serafina would probably try to burn them to destroy any proof of what we’d done, but she couldn’t burn the memory. I threw them into the hallway before I returned to Serafina. She stood now, her fingers clutching the edge of the shower stall, her other hand pressed against her stomach. She took a step, wincing.
I moved closer and her eyes darted down to my bloody thighs. She grimaced. “Why don’t you clean up?”
“Because I want to remember.”
“And I want to forget,” she bit out.
“You need to own up to your actions, Angel. You can’t run from them,” I said, stopping in front of her.
Hatred swirled in her blue eyes, but not all of it was directed at me. “Leave.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Leave!” she rasped.
“The Tylenol will help with your soreness.” I turned and walked toward the door.
“I don’t want the pain gone. I deserve it,” she muttered. I paused in the doorway and tossed a glance over my shoulder, but Serafina wasn’t looking at me. She was glaring at the floor.
I left the bathroom, took new sheets from the wardrobe and threw them on the bed before I headed out and locked the bedroom door. Stuffing the discarded sheets under my arm, I hesitated. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but something didn’t sit well with me. Ignoring the sensation, I went downstairs.
Nino crossed my path as I headed into the game room. He, too, was only in his briefs. His eyes flitted down to the stained sheets then lower to my thighs before he raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose it’s menstrual blood.”
“It isn’t. It’s Dante’s downfall.”
Nino trailed after me in that annoying, brooding way he had when he disapproved of something I did. “Not only his downfall.”
I moved on into the office. Our father’s office. It was one of the few rooms we’d left mostly as it was, but neither of us worked out of it. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you referring to Serafina?”
“She will be ruined in her family’s eyes, in her circles. Some might even consider her actions betrayal. She is a woman and Dante won’t kill her for it, but she will be shunned … if she’s allowed to return to her home at all. I assume you intend to send her back now that you got what you wanted.”
Something in his voice set me off. “I haven’t gotten everything I wanted from her yet. Not even close. And she will stay until she gives me every little thing I desire.”
Nino stepped in front of me. “Is this even still about revenge?”
“It has never been only about revenge. It’s about obliterating the Outfit from within, not mere revenge.” I sidestepped him and went in search for something I could wrap the sheets in. Finally, I found a box and stuffed them inside.
“Don’t lose yourself in a game you don’t have full control over, Remo.”
The worry in his voice made me look up. I touched his shoulder. “When have I ever been in control? Losing control is my favorite pastime.”
Nino’s mouth twitched. “As if I don’t know it.” His expression turned serious again. “In these last few weeks you’ve spent a lot of time with Serafina. We need you, Remo. The Camorra can’t risk an endless conflict with the Outfit. Go in for the kill.”
“These sheets are the point of my knife. Are you going to help me with that note to Dante and her family?”
Nino sighed. “If it puts an end to this, then yes.”
I rummaged around for a fancy piece of stationery in the old wood desk then took out a pen.
“Now let’s figure out the best words to crush them. I thought we could start with a reference to the bloody sheets tradition of the Famiglia for an additional kick.”
Nino shook his head. “I’m glad you are my brother and not my enemy.”
