After I leave Valentina to stew in her room, I make my way back to the pool and try to forget the visceral sensation of her curves pressed against my chest.
It’s worse that I’ve touched her everywhere already, because I know exactly how soft her skin is, and how perfectly her tits fit in my palms. I even know the little sound she’d make if I tugged the tiny triangle of her bathing suit a few inches over and put her nipple in my mouth.
Why did I go to her and Mari? One moment Napoletano and I were walking to my office, and the next I was standing on the pool deck, trying not to audibly groan at the sight of that insane body emerging out of the water.
I think it must have been the glimpse of her silky black hair through the glass that made me change course. I barked something to Napoletano about needing to check on Mari, and he probably saw right through it, the smug bastard. Nothing ever flies past him.
To my utter amazement, my sister has started to bake again. When I walked in on her kneading dough in the kitchen a few days ago, I couldn’t believe my eyes. For weeks, I’ve tried to get her to do something. Anything. She always had an excuse ready. But one day with our prisoner, and everything’s changed.
I step back outside and note that Napoletano and Mari haven’t moved a single inch since Valentina and I left. My sister’s sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, a book hanging from one hand. When she notices I’ve returned, she shoots me a guilty look. She must feel bad about talking back to me earlier.
Standing beside her lounger, Napoletano is as stoic as always, his hands in his pockets, the sun glinting off the face of his watch. Did they exchange a single word while I was gone? Unlikely. My old friend isn’t much of a conversationalist unless it’s about business.
“I’m finished,” I say to him. “Ras is waiting for us in my office.”
Napoletano nods. I move inside, expecting him to follow me, but to my surprise, he hangs back and says something to Mari.
My sister’s brows shoot up before she buries her face in her book.
“What was that?” I ask once he joins me in the house.
“We were talking about the book she’s reading,” he says in his deep voice.
“What book?”
“You haven’t read it.”
“How do you know what I have and haven’t read?”
His response is a subtle twitch in his lips, and it makes me square my shoulders.
“Don’t answer that,” I say. He probably got bored one Sunday and hacked the camera in my library just for the fun of it. I’ve yet to hear of a security system that’s impervious to Napoletano. He’s the best of the best. That’s why he’s tasked with storing so much of the loot the clan has collected over the last few decades—jewelry, fine art, and priceless historical artifacts. They’re spread all over Italy in hyper-secure storage facilities designed by him. If I ever had something valuable I needed to hide, I wouldn’t doubt for a second it would be safe with him.
We enter the office and move to take our seats. I sink into a chair across from Ras. “Do you have the research I asked for?”
Ras picks up a brown folder from the coffee table beside him. “Here.” He tosses the folder at me.
“You shouldn’t leave a paper trail,” Napoletano says. “That’s how plans get exposed.”
I open the folder and scan the two sheets of paper within. “What plans?”
“Your plan for overthrowing the don.”
How could he possibly know that? I raise a brow at Ras. “You told him when you picked him up from the airport?”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Ras says, looking uncharacteristically perplexed.
Napoletano extends his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles. “You told me you need to make this compound breach proof. Unless you’ve managed to piss off all the tourists enough to try storming this place en masse, there’s only one other thing you can be worried about.”
Ras and I exchange a look.
“How are you and Sal getting along these days?” I ask.
Our guest takes out a small metal cigarette case from inside his suit jacket and lights one up. “We haven’t talked in months. I much prefer it that way.”
Interesting. If Sal is growing paranoid like Ras and I are suspecting, why wouldn’t he ask the sharpest security guy in the clan for some reinforcements?
“And your father? Is he still walking the streets of Naples every Sunday?”
Smoke billows out of his mouth. “My father will do his Sunday walk until the day he dies.”
Such is the fate of the clan’s submarines, the men tasked with delivering stipends to the lower-level members of the sistema. Napoletano’s father has been in that job for nearly twenty years, which makes him one of the longest standing submarines in the clan. They don’t have much power, but they usually have the best pulse on any rumors swirling around. “What has he heard?”
Napoletano takes another drag of his cigarette and looks out the window. “The capos are getting nervous. Rumor is, Sal had ordered the hit on the Forgione funeral procession last week.”
“The bombing that killed the dead guy’s kid?” Ras’s tone is incredulous. “Why would he do that? The Forgiones haven’t been a problem for years.”
“A few possible explanations, but none of them are reasonable. It is not the behavior of a rational man. He doesn’t trust anyone these days.”
“Not even you?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“He’s never trusted me. He tends to dislike men who’s mothers he’s killed.” Our eyes meet and an understanding solidifies in the air between us. He wants to get his revenge on Sal as much as I do, and just like me, he’s been biding his time.
I wipe a speck of dust off my desk. “Do you know why I haven’t tried to get off Ibiza all this time?”
Napoletano nods. “Your sister.”
“I thought being capo here and staying far away from Casal would keep her safe. Turns out, that’s not the case. He ordered a hit on Martina.”
A dark cloud passes over his expression. “When?” he bites out.
“Last month. She managed to get away with the help of that woman you saw by the pool.”
Napoletano flicks his gaze to Ras. “The one you asked me to run through the system a few days ago. Valentina Garzolo.”
“Yes,” I say. “She gave us enough information to confirm Sal was the one behind it.” I summarize our knowledge of what happened, and by the time I’m done, a thoughtful silence blankets the room.
“Staying on the sidelines is no longer an option after this escalation,” I say. “I’m ready to take back what should have always belonged to me.”
Napoletano reaches for the ashtray on my desk and puts out his cigarette. “You’ve decided to trust me then.”
“We know you’re not a forgiving man,” Ras says.
We wait for him to voice his commitment. Without Napoletano, this will be much harder.
“I’m thirty-two this year,” he says finally, flicking a piece of lint of his leg. “My mother died when I was fifteen. Sometimes I tell myself it’s time to move on. I can’t even remember what it felt like to be loved by her. But I remember the burning rage when I saw her body and the vow I made to make him pay.”
“I know the feeling well,” I say.
He holds my gaze and nods. “It’s time for a change. I’ll help you.”
The tension in the room eases.
I pass him the folder containing details about our security at the compound. He flips through it. “I’ll audit your set up here and give Ras a list of suggestions,” he says before slipping the folder under his arm. “When I return to Naples, I can start planting seeds. You’ll need to give them time to grow.”
“Not just time. We need to give them fertilizer,” I say. “I need to demonstrate to the families that I can lead us better than Sal.”
“You can’t do that when you’re his work horse,” Napoletano says. “The flow of money from Ibiza needs to stop.”
“If we stop paying, he’ll tell his suppliers to stop delivering the goods,” Ras says. “Our revenue will be cut in half overnight.”
We’ll still have the legitimate businesses—restaurants, hotels, clubs—but they need customers. And those will dry up as soon as word gets around that drugs on Ibiza are suddenly hard to come by.
There’s only one thing we can do. “We need to find a new supplier. Cut Sal out completely.”
“That would spell the beginning of his end,” Napoletano says. “If his suppliers find out he can’t control his wealthiest capo, they’ll lose confidence. It’s only a matter of time before they abandon him and agree to work directly with you.”
“We have to find the right partner,” I mutter. “Sal is too well connected with the Moroccans and the Algerians. They won’t turn on him until I prove my power. I have to go further. The Colombians? But why would they take a bet on me, especially when I only need their supply until Sal’s suppliers turn on him? No, I need a temporary solution.”
“You have one sitting by your pool,” Napoletano says. “The Garzolo’s primary business is cocaine.”
Foreboding slithers down my spine.
“You can go through the Americans,” he says while my pulse grows louder in my ears. “Ask them for a few shipments to tide you over. They’ll agree because you have something they want.”
“Valentina,” Ras says.
Her name feels all wrong coming out of his mouth. How am I supposed to trade the entirety of her away when I don’t even like hearing anyone but me utter her name?
But I can’t find a flaw in Napoletano’s suggestion. It works, and it’s clean. Sending her to her father will get me what I need to checkmate Sal, and once I’m don, I’ll have a multitude of ways to make Garzolo pay for what he did to Martina.
It’s a clear path to everything I’ve ever wanted.
Nearly everything.
I rise from my seat. “If her father wants her back, he’ll find a way to get us everything we need.”
From the moment I discovered who Ale Romero really was, I knew there was a good chance I’d have to use her as leverage, and yet that knowledge does nothing to ease the weight I feel as I leave my office.
It’s the perfect plan. So simple that on paper it seems nearly too easy, but somehow, it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
My feet carry me to Valentina’s room. I don’t know why I’m going to her. I doubt that sharing the news I intend to break my promise is going to soften the blow, but for some reason, I want to anyway. We’ve spent the entire time we’ve known each other lying to one another. The truth won’t be sweet, but at least it’ll be real.
I take the key to her room out of my pocket and insert it into the lock. She’ll cry when I tell her what I plan to do to her. Cazzo. Her tears make me feel like the world’s most wretched man.
When I step inside, she’s not there. The shower is running in the bathroom, and steam is slowly seeping from beneath the door. I walk over to the window she hates so much. There are a few sailboats on the water, but there’s barely any wind, and they’re moving slowly. I watch them sail for a long while, and still, the shower runs. What is she doing in there?
Another few minutes pass, and I decide to check on her. For all I know, she’s trying to drown herself. The thought propels me into the bathroom.
I see her silhouette through the matted glass and move closer.
Ah, there she is.
My mouth goes dry when I realize what she’s doing.
She’s pressed against one of the shower’s walls, her legs spread wide, one hand on the safety bar, and the other holding the showerhead to her pussy. Her eyes are squeezed shut. I watch as her lips part on a moan that gets swallowed up by the sound of the running water.
Every drop of blood inside my body rushes to my cock. I feel light-headed. It has nothing to do with the oppressive heat inside this tiny room, and everything to do with her. Her abdomen contracts, and she claws at the wall as her orgasm nears.
When her mouth moves, I can’t hear her, but I read her lips.
It’s my name she moans.
An inhuman growl tears its way up my throat. I’ve never wanted a woman more in my entire godforsaken life.
She hears it. Her eyes spring open, and she registers me standing right there. I try to breathe, but I can’t. It’s like the last bit of oxygen inside the room has disappeared.
Instead of stopping, she drops her head back and finishes herself off before me, her hooded gaze steady on me.
“Merda,” I breathe.
She trembles against the wall while I try to get my fingers to properly work. I’ve never hated button-up shirts before, but I do right now.
My eyes are greedy. They trail over her heavy breasts, the dip of her waist, the thickness of her thighs… Fuck me.
“Why are you here?” she mouths.
I drop my shirt on the floor and unbuckle my belt.
“I came to talk,” I say hoarsely. “You were taking too long.”
Her fingers tighten on the safety bar. “You should leave.”
My pants come off. “If you think I’m capable of walking out that door right now, you’ve got me all wrong.”
She drags her teeth over her bottom lip and drops her lazy gaze to my boxer briefs.
“What did you want to talk about?” she rasps.
Fuck all that. I am not thinking about that right now. I step into the shower, take the showerhead out of her hand, and press a button to reroute the water. It cascades over us, drenching my hair and leaving drops on her thick dark lashes.
She stares at me, want and doubt playing across her face. I want her so badly, I’ll happily fall down to my knees and beg if that’s what it takes.
But she doesn’t make me beg. She sucks in a breath and runs her fingertips over my wet boxers, touching the underside of my cock. I nearly keel over. Slamming my palms against the wall to the sides of her head, I lean into her space.
“You said my name,” I say as I drag my nose against the shell of her ear. “Did you imagine it was me licking your sweet cunt?”
She lets out a slow, steadying exhale. “I imagined suffocating you with it.” Her other hand wraps around my waist, and she drags her nails down the curve of my ass. It makes white spots appear in my eyes.
“That’s not a bad way to go,” I say breathlessly as I grind my cock into her abdomen.
She pushes me away and starts pulling down my boxers. “Then I’ll need to make sure to leave you with a bad case of blue balls first.”
“You’re still mad about that?”
“Not at all. It gave me all the inspiration I needed to thoroughly enjoy my showers.”
“You’re telling me you’ve been doing this to yourself all week?” I grab a handful of her hair.
“Yes. Next time you decide to leave me in isolation, think about that.”
Every molecule of air leaves my lungs. I’m never leaving her on her own again. What’s the point? I won’t be able to get anything else done with that image playing in my head.
When I’m fully bare, I skim my palms down the backs of her thighs and lift her up against the wall. She’s so fucking soft, it doesn’t seem real. I catch one nipple between my teeth and suck on it until she starts to squirm against me, her breaths coming faster and less even.
“Fuck. Damiano.”
I pull away and capture her lips.
She doesn’t let me deepen the kiss. “I want your cock, not your mouth.” She pants as she tries to grind against me.
“Too bad,” I say as I push inside of her. “You’re getting both.”
I take advantage of her gasp to steal the kiss she says she won’t give. She changes her mind on that fast enough. Our tongues tangle, and I begin to thrust into her. She clenches around me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear and digs her nails into my shoulder blades. God, I hope she leaves marks.
The water rains over us, and the steam is so thick I can barely see her. I press her harder against the wall and adjust the temperature with one hand. She moans as the temperature drops and air clears.
Her eyes find mine. “I hate you,” she whispers without any conviction.
Pleasure starts to pool at the base of my spine as I sink my cock inside of her again and again.
“You tied me up and told me you’d use me however you wanted,” she says.
I nip at her lips. “Uh-huh.”
“You spanked me.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Fed me like a wild animal.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “My little beast.”
“Left me alone until I was so bored out of my mind I started anger-fucking myself to fantasies of you.”
“I’m really never going to get that out of my head,” I mutter as I change my angle.
Her eyes roll back. “I hate you so much,” she pants. “Why did you do all those things to me?”
“Is that really why you hate me?” I move my hand between her thighs and find her clit.
She makes a tortured noise and blinks her eyes open at me. “No.”
My movements become more frantic. I bite at the place where her neck and shoulder connect. “Then why?”
She squeezes me so hard I’m sure I’m about to pass out. She’s so fucking close, I can feel it. I won’t let myself fall over the edge until she’s spent herself all over my cock.
Her heels dig into the backs of my thighs, and she lets out a gasp. “Because I still want you, and I hate it. I hate it so much.”
My chest feels like it’s just fractured. But then I feel her start to come, and I let go of my control. My seed spills inside of her, and I’m fucking levitating.
In that post-orgasm moment of clarity, I realize a very inconvenient thing.
I’ve claimed her as mine.
And I’m never letting her go.
