by K. M. Raya
"You thought we betrayed you. We had you beaten and tortured, only to lure you back in with promises to love you... We lured you out to that clearing and broke your heart, didn't we."
I don't say a word. Thinking about that night makes me sick.
His eyes darken and the angles of his tanned face look harsh in the moonlight through my window. "I know you remember, because sometimes I can still see it in your eyes. Even when you don't think I can, it's still there, Angel. As much as it fucking kills me, I know it's always going to be there in the back of your mind—wondering when the other shoe will drop. Wondering when we’ll betray you again."
“Why are you telling me this—”
“Because it made me realize how blind I’ve been these past few weeks,” he says harshly. “I was so quick to believe you betrayed us that I didn’t bother to recognize it. We tricked you once, when we had no other choice. We let you believe we were the bad guys, but it was all to protect you until we did what we had to do. There’s a reason for everything and I guess I just didn’t want to see yours.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. It sounds like he’s telling me he believes everything. He believes I never meant to betray them, and that he’s opened his eyes to my Papa’s treachery. Warmth blooms in my chest—filling me with hope.
Holden grabs ahold of my face—hands on either one of my cheeks as he holds my stare. “I’m so fucking sorry, little bird. I feel like all I ever do is apologize for breaking your heart, but I’m sorry. I believe you, and I’ll do anything you ask to make it right.”
Reaching up, I lay a hand over one of his, leaning into his palm. He smells like mint and leather and I want to breathe him in deeply and savor his closeness. How many times these past few weeks had I laid awake in this bed and pictured his hands on me? How many times had my fingers skimmed my own skin with images dancing behind my eyelids of his touch? That last night in our home plays though my brain on an endless loop, constantly tormenting me with everything I had but lost in seconds. I miss him. I miss his kiss, his touch and his voice in my ear. I miss waking up to his arms wrapped around me.
“I love you…” he whispers—his breath wafting over my lips. My eyes fly open as I stare at him in shock. He’s never said those words to me before. Not once.
“What—”
“I said I love you and I mean it. I’ve loved you for a long time, Angel. I never told you out loud, because I was afraid it was too soon, but I know how I feel. When I thought you betrayed me, it ripped me apart. It almost destroyed me… you don’t get destroyed over someone unless you love them, baby. I’m not a man who loves easily… but please believe it, because you’re the only woman I ever plan on loving.”
My eyes search his and my heart swells in my chest. “I lo—” I start to say, but he doesn’t give me the chance. His lips crash into mine as he holds my face between his palms even tighter than before.
Our lips mash together almost painfully, but I don’t care. I need him close. I need to own him in every way possible. My fingers grip his dark hair—tangling around the thick strands like I can’t get enough. He groans into my mouth as my tongue clashes with his. He tastes like sin and heaven rolled together. Holden reaches down, releasing my face before ripping my night shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. I do the same with his offensive tank top, needing to feel his hot skin.
My hips grind against his hard cock until I’m panting. I could come right here, right now, but my body screams at me for more. I need him inside me the way I need air to breathe. Holden takes me by the upper arms and shoves me down on the bed. He kisses his way down my exposed abdomen before placing his hot tongue on my center and licking in one long swipe. I roll my hips into his face as his hands clamp down on my thighs to hold me still. He feasts on my pussy as I writhe in agony. It feels so hot and wet—so fucking delicious that I think I might actually explode. I need to come… I need to ride him hard and fast.
His tongue enters my opening, darting in and out until I feel two of his fingers join in. He curls one at the knuckle, the pad of his fingertips grazing that special spot and making me scream into the pillow I’ve pulled over my face. The wet slaps of our skin fill the room as he fucks me with his fingers. I ride out my orgasm until my thighs are shaking and my wetness is trailing down my legs.
Removing the pillow from my face, I watch in fascination as he stands up and peels his pants off, freeing his cock. I watch it bob in front of me—long and thick and pulsing. He’s hard as granite as he climbs back onto the bed, still kneeling on his knees when he pulls me back to him. I’m straddling his thighs as we sit up in the center of my bed. Smoothly, he places my body over his throbbing cock, guiding me until I’m sinking down onto him with a satisfying groan.
“Holy shit, baby—” he moans, resting his head on my shoulder. “You’re so fucking tight,” he whispers.
“I need you to let me fuck you,” I tell him, and his head comes off my shoulders and his eyes blaze into mine. “I need to do this right now, Holden.” Something wild comes over me.
He nods, gripping my hips while he twists us around until he’s falling onto the mattress with me still straddling his cock. “Ride me,” he says, and I don’t waste any time.
Swiveling my hips, I start out slow. His brown eyes roll back in his head as I start moving faster—up and down in a steady rhythm. When he starts to move his hips, I hold him down even tighter, smirking and shaking my head no. “I said I need to fuck you, Holden. Let me fuck you.”
He moans—his whole body trembling beneath me. I squeeze my thighs and clench my core around his throbbing length. I start to move faster, loving the feel of his warmth as he fills and stretches me. I feel powerful as I start to slam my body onto him with wild abandon. He’s cursing now, loving every second of being in my control.
I fuck myself on his dick hard and fast until I can feel a deep, aching heat in my lower stomach. My limbs tingle and my head is light and airy. Bliss is on its way as sweat pours down my back mingling with his. His tanned skin glimmers in the moonlight. His strong fists grip my bed sheets as he lets me have total control. “Holy shit… harder, baby girl!” he moans, almost straining as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting up into me. “Oh—fuuuck!” he curses, shutting his eyes tightly. My pussy slams over him, then I roll my hips just right. Hot spurts of cum full me and I feel my mouth stretching into a soft smile as he pulses deep inside of me.
He comes hard, groaning and moaning while I continue to writhe on top of him. I reach a hand behind me, laying my palm over his balls as I gently caress them. His eyes fly open and his lips part in what I can only describe as pure ecstasy. No sound leaves his mouth as I rub him. With a sudden burst of speed, I fuck myself faster, gyrating until his pelvis hits my clit. Stars explode behind my eyelids as I come harder than ever before. I come and I come some more until my body can’t take it and collapses over his in a useless heap of jelly...
His arms wind around my sweaty torso, hugging me to his chest and I listen to the erratic thumping of his heart against my ear. We lay there for a while; both refusing to move and break this spell we’ve woven around us. I feel his heart begin to steady once more, and the sweat on our skin starts to cool, making me shiver. “You need to leave soon, if they catch you in here—”
He stops me with a small kiss to my forehead. Pulling back, I meet his eyes and smile. He grins at me as his brown eyes sparkle in the darkness. “I know, little bird… just give me a little longer to hold you.” He chuckles. “And to wrap my head around what the fuck you just did to me because holy shit…”
Angel
"Your making this harder than it needs to be,” the woman called Alana chastises me. I just glare at the prissy blonde, trying to ignore the throbbing in my skull as she yanks a brush though my tangled hair.
Papa hired her to get me ready for this evening's festivities, and I can already tell she’s hating every moment of it. I'm basically sitting here like a w
et noodle, fresh out of the shower, sopping wet and not lifting a finger to help her pluck and primp me to within an inch of my life.
I don’t even want to go to this fucking thing. Weddings leave a bad taste in my mouth... always have. Alana grumbles as she begins to dry my hair, blasting me with heat and tapping my neck every so often with the end of the hairdryer, causing me to wince. The corners of her over lined lips tug up in satisfaction every single time. I’m about ready to take the hairdryer and see how far up her perky little ass it can possibly go. She's a waif of a woman, with long skinny limbs and brittle blonde hair that doesn't match her dark brows. On some, it might seem like a look, but on Alana, it's nothing short of a travesty.
"You really should be grateful you're even invited to an event like this. Georgiana and Giovanni are influential people. You should feel honored."
Rolling my eyes, I can't help but huff, blowing a small breath from my nose. "I'm fucking thrilled." My mouth stretches into a smile while I purposely keep the upper half of my face blank. "Can you tell?"
She frowns, yanking yet again on my long strands before reaching for the curling iron. "Ungrateful... I'd kill for an invitation. They say it's going to be the wedding of the year... " Her voice is wistful and for a moment, I pity her and her small life.
"I'm sure they do."
She shuts up after that and finishes my hair like she was hired to do instead of giving me advice I never asked for. "All done, you can put your dress on, just don't mess your hair up while you’re at it; your father will have me fired if you walk out there looking anything less than perfect."
Snorting, I stand up from my vanity mirror and shoo her from the room. She leaves in a bustle of hair products and mumbled curses. Leaning back against my door, I glare at the dress splayed on my bed. Another monstrosity, this time in the lightest blush pink it almost looks white. I can't help but shake my head in exasperation. Wearing white to a wedding seems distasteful. But I'm sure Papa carefully picked it out specifically for that reason. He’ll do just about any petty thing to assert himself no matter the situation.
I can’t help but stare passed the dress for a moment, studying the messed-up sheets—tangled up from last night's activities. A pleasant hum travels through my limbs as I replay the feel of Holden’s tongue inside of me—or his thick cock filling me up until the only thing that mattered in the world was the pleasure we could bring each other. Excitement and dread fill me in equal measure, knowing that he’ll be at the wedding today. I’m sure he hasn’t said a word to the others about what happened last night, and it’s just another lie that we can add to the endless string of them keeping us apart. I’d give anything not to attend this fucking event, but Papa’s given me no choice.
I know Giovanni. He's a twenty-year-old heir to his grandfather Alessio's fortune. Alessio’s worked with Papa for decades—he might as well be an uncle. There was a time when we were younger that I considered Gio a friend. But alas, it could never last. He soon grew up just as ruthlessly as the rest of our mob boys. He became a made man the year he turned eighteen—too early in my opinion, but ever since, my father’s been singing his praises. A part of me is honestly shocked her never tried to pair the two of us up. I bigger part of me is forever relieved.
I don't know who Georgiana is, though, I’ve never heard the name come up in any of our familial circles. I'm assuming she’s some sort of rich man’s daughter, another pawn for our fathers to barter with in the place of forging actual contracts like normal human beings. I pity the poor girl. I'm not sure how I plan to stomach this ordeal, but when I slip the dress on, I can feel myself sinking back into that robotic fluidity that I've honed over years and years of sitting quietly beside Mama.
Like a good little Valentino.
✽✽✽
There’s no series of words in the English or Italian language that can accurately describe how much I don't want to be at his wedding. I’m fucking seething. Mama sits to me on my right, and it’s the first time I’ve laid eyes on her since this whole ordeal started.
It takes everything inside of me to stay in this seat instead of dragging her out of this fucking place. Of course, the wedding is being held at our estate, so really, we didn’t even have to leave home. As Valentinos, people come to us. I flick my eyes to Mama, trying to be as discreet as possible, not wanting to bring any attention to the fact that I’m looking her over. She looks skinny—too skinny and there’s a slight bruising beneath her eyes that I’ve never seen before. She looks exhausted. I bite the inside of my cheek and curl my hands into tight fists. It kills me to see her this unkempt and I have to wonder if anyone else here sees it too.
She hasn’t said a word to me—barely even acknowledging my existence and I know that can’t mean anything good. Since the moment I sat down in this seat in the front row between her and Papa, I’ve kept my mouth shut tight, despite my need to scream like a banshee. A million different scenarios plague my mind's eye until I feel myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
I remember the first time I knew something was wrong with Mama. It was the day of my nineteenth birthday when she’d risked her life to call and warn me. I can still hear the desperate urgency her voice as she urged me to flee far away and never look back. I remember the bumps and bangs somewhere in the distance over the silent phone line. I have to wonder if Papa was the reason. I wonder what became of Mama in the hours following my capture, especially after my boys took out their fathers. Papa was probably furious, regardless of the fact that he was planning to have the men killed anyways. But that’s how Papa is, unless it happens according to his plans, it’s not good enough. The fact that we were able to blindside him must have sent him into a fit of rage.
I remember being so angry with Mama for most of my life. It pissed me off that she was content to stand by while Sofia was sold off and while I was shuffled around to different boarding schools. I knew she could see the bruising on my skin every time Marco had his men beat me when I did something wrong during training. I remember coming home from the shooting range sometimes with blisters on my fingers and tears in my eyes. Mama would wipe them from my face and tell me to toughen up before Papa saw. For so long I thought she was just being cold and ruthless like Papa, but now I am beginning to realize that she suffered too. She’s married to the monster—forced to share a bed with a killer. Forced to watch her daughters be abused and used over and over again. She must have felt so fucking helpless.
Guilt crashes over me in waves. The bruises under her eyes and probably under her tailored dress are all my fault. If I would have minded my own business and not let myself get caught up with the four men I should never have gotten caught up with, none of this would have happened. I should have stayed away. I should have gone straight from the Hamptons to Vancouver when I’d had the chance to get away last year. I never should have gone to Seaside or Draven Academy. But I did, and now look at us… hostages in our own home.
Giovanni stands tall and proud at the head of the aisle. He’s filled out so much since we ran around together as children. His face is harder now, his eyes more haunted, and I see a dark gleam there that reminds me too much of Papa. Mob men are all alike. I've developed a knack for picking up on the subtleties. There’s a vacancy in their eyes that is only barely noticeable, and only by those who know what to look for. Becoming a made man does something to a person. I won't sit here and pretend that I’ve never done anything wrong in my life, but when I killed, it was out of necessity. I don’t kill for sport or enjoyment. I don’t treat life like something to be exchanged for pats on the back. But made men do. A life is only worth as much as the loyalty you might earn by taking it away.
I see all of this in Gio’s eyes when his bride stands at the threshold of the long petal strewn aisle. She’s a vision in ivory, with her blonde hair curled to perfection and bound with strings of glistening pearls. I don’t know the woman at all, but I do know she's not from around here. I would have noticed her. With eyes like emeralds and cheekbon
es that could cut glass, she strolls down the aisle with her father on her arm like a runway model. He’s a portly man—more wide than he is tall, with thinning grey hair and a heavy mustache. His face is ruddy, and his eyes are vacant. It’s actually astonishing that such an angelic looking woman could possibly be genetically related to such a troll-like human being. I track her the closer she gets to Giovanni. My eyes swing between the two of them, but halt suddenly as a golden gaze snags my attention from across the aisle.
Captain’s staring straight at me—making no secret of his focus. While his strong jaw remains clenched tight, it’s the look in his eyes that has my heart sinking to my feet. I know what he’s thinking about right now and my body has to physically refrain from darting across the yard and throwing myself into his warm embrace. Flashes of that day in the clearing flit through my head. I remember the way the air tasted of campfire and pine trees, and how the storm clouds were rolling in overhead. I remember the way his white tiger mask glowed in the moonlight, and how the yellow in his eyes glinted between the slits. I know he’s seeing the same thing. He’s seeing my torn white dress and muddy feet—my hair unbound and tangled around my face as rain pelted my cheeks. He’s remembering the hopelessness and betrayal in my eyes and I hope he still feels every ounce of it. I hope he sees it still, because I need him now more than ever.
He and I would have been married that night—joining our two families together and sealing a binding contract that neither of us knew anything about. We were to be pawns in our parent’s games. If they hadn’t taken matters into their own hands, I’m not sure where we’d be right now. I don’t know if Captain would have gone through with it, or if he would have figured something else out, but that’s something I don’t like to think about. Cap told me, a few months back about his cousin Micah, whom I still have nightmares about, and how he’d only just married a young girl from out of state. He told me about the night he watched their binding, and how he hated every second of it. He thought the ritual was archaic, and I’ll be the first to agree with him there. Remembering those crazy ass masks they wore for secrecy and fucked up sadistic pleasure still makes me cringe. Their fathers were certifiable, to say the least.