by Robinson, M.
“I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe,” Romeo stated out of the blue.
My gaze fell upon his, and for an instant, we locked eyes.
“I know,” Dad whispered. “Because you are a good man, angry, cold-blooded, but good.”
“We can’t all be saints, can we, Romeo?” Andrei grinned over at Romeo. “Especially when it’s so much fun sinning.”
Romeo cleared his throat.
My entire body went still as I waited for the final judgment.
“Eden, Romeo will stay with you until we know what we’re dealing with. He’ll protect you from outside forces and, more importantly—the ones within.”
My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
Andrei’s eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a comedian?”
“N-no.”
“Didn’t think so,” he bit, shooting to his feet. “Romeo stays. You and your son need protection, but—” He adjusted his black tie. “More than that, when word spreads, people might get curious, and when they get curious, they tend to get lazy, if anyone wants to shut you up or discover more information on what Tristian was doing—they’ll come here, and when they do, I’ll have my black widow waiting.”
I hated that nickname.
Probably just as much as Romeo did.
“You do not catch villains by chasing them.” Andrei tapped his temple with his fingertip. “You catch them by standing still. By waiting.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of my house with every associate following him.
Including my father. His eyes were sad as he looked between Romeo and me, shook his head, and walked out.
He’d never been a man of great affection.
But what he lacked in physical comfort, he gave through his eyes. They always were so expressive.
He loved me.
He was scared for me.
And he was just as irritated that Romeo was going to be staying at my house as I was.
Damn you, Tristian!
How dare he have put Naz and me in this position?
The click of the door shutting was like a final gunshot slamming into my chest, sending me backward into oblivion as blood sprayed all over the room.
I would have welcomed that more than the fact that Romeo would be living in my house for as long as it took.
Eating my food.
Existing in our space.
A space that used to be his brother’s.
Did he think he could just step in and everything would be okay? Like a sad replacement for what we’d had? That’s not how families worked or how life worked.
Suddenly furious over this decision that was made without my consent or opinion, I shot to my feet and stomped out of the dining room or at least tried—after two steps, I was grabbed and spun around, pressed tightly against the countertop as Romeo crowded every inch of space between us.
“Stop,” he hissed.
I tried yanking my wrist away, but it was useless. “Stop what?”
“Pouting.” He clenched his teeth. “I take your life and the life of my nephew very seriously. Don’t for one second think I want to actually live here with his memories—with pictures of your perfect little family lining the walls. If I could, I’d burn every last one of them, so don’t test me. Drop the attitude and show some thanks for living in this hell for as long as it takes because that’s how I see it. A fucking living hell.” He pulled away, chest heaving. “Now, say the words…”
Anger boiled up so hard and fast I wanted to slap him again. This time for good measure. “How dare you come into my home, on the day of my husband’s fun—”
He grabbed my chin in a painful grip, forcing my jaw to close as he pulled me close, his fingers digging into the skin on my face. “I’m going to let go, and when I do, all I want to hear is ‘thank you.’ That’s it. No complaints. No threats. Don’t make this difficult. I’m not my brother. I let you hit me once, several times actually, but my patience is wearing very thin. I won’t let you do whatever you want; I’ll spank you until your ass is red if you disrespect me yet again. Now. Say. The. Words.”
Tears of pain filled my eyes as I glared; with difficulty, I got out a, “Fuck. You.”
I expected him to yell.
Instead, an amused smile spread across his features as he dropped his hand, suddenly moving in a split second. He went for my body and threw me over his shoulder instead.
I beat at his back while he gracefully carried me down the hall and into the master bedroom; kicking the door shut behind him, he tossed me onto the king-sized bed.
Shrugging out of his jacket, he rolled up his sleeves like he was getting ready to work, and I was too shocked to do anything but stare at the golden skin of his forearms and the tattoos that littered his flexed muscles with each movement of his frame.
I sucked in a sharp breath when he was finished. Stalking toward me like a graceful predator, his eyes willing me to run.
However, that’s what men like Romeo wanted.
The chase.
The adrenaline.
The final catch.
The trophy.
I sat shocked as his eyes roamed over me. My mouth trembling with a mixture of anger and curiosity warred inside.
Was he going to hurt me?
Would he hurt me?
More than he already had?
His cold blue eyes flashed before he reached for me. It was pure instinct to scramble away. He caught my ankle and dragged me across the duvet, then very gently put me over his lap. A hand swatted my ass so hard I couldn’t breathe, only to do it over again.
“Stop!” Tears stung my eyes. “Romeo, stop!”
“No.” Swat. “Not.” Swat. “Until.” Another swat. “You say it.”
“Please,” I cried.
“I don’t want you to beg.” He stopped spanking and gave my hair a tug with one hand while he wiped my tears with the other. “I want your submission. I want your understanding. I want you strong enough to endure even this—so I’ll ask one more time—”
“Th-thank you.” It hurt to get the phrase out. Pride bruised, mind confused, I was beyond embarrassed and angry. At least he hadn’t ripped my dress and hit my bare ass.
My skin buzzed where he’d hit.
“See?” He leaned over until his breath hit my ear. “It wasn’t that hard, was it?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to snap at him that someone was hard, and it wasn’t me. His length pressed up against my stomach, long, protruding, pulsing.
I tried to wiggle away, but he kept me there against his lap; his hand moved back to my ass as he rubbed up and down, up and down like he was comforting me.
After a few seconds of silence, I finally relaxed against him while he continued his sweet torture until his hands were in my hair, playing, twisting, tugging.
I frowned as the pull on my hair grew harder and then realized in shock that the monster had braided my hair. In my peripheral vision, I caught the movement as he reached for a rubber band I’d left on my dresser and wrapped it around the end, only to gently lift me off his lap and set me on the bed.
He got up, and that was it.
Or so I thought.
Instead of leaving the room, he went into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the water.
Minutes later, he was back with a steaming washcloth and some of my makeup remover.
What the hell was happening?
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
I was too exhausted at that point to argue; I did exactly what he said.
He rubbed the makeup remover on my face, following with the steaming wet cloth.
My shoulders immediately went lax with the rest of my body; he rubbed the sadness of the day away from my skin in an act so gentle that had I not known it was Romeo, I would have assumed I was getting a facial.
“Open.” He leaned down, inspected my face, and then rubbed the cloth below my eyes in slow, gentle swipes.
His eyes darted
to my mouth several times before he jerked back, only to return from the bathroom with moisturizer.
Seriously?
“Stop frowning,” he rasped, digging into the moisturizer with his fingertips and dabbing it onto my cheeks. His fingers massaged the lotion all over my face and down my neck, then moved to my arms as he helped me stand and spun me around.
The sound of my zipper going down, the feel of his warm hands against my back, the cold air biting each inch of exposed skin was almost painful to endure.
What was happening?
The dress pooled at my feet.
I stepped out of it, wearing nothing but a black lacy bra and matching panties. He moved next to me, pulling all of the pillows from the bed and tossing them to the floor, then fluffed mine like a freaking maid.
“Sleep,” he ordered, gently pushing me toward the bed.
I didn’t argue.
The sheets were cold as I crawled in and drew them up.
Seemingly satisfied, Romeo gave me a curt nod then went back to the bathroom. The hell was he doing now?
The door shut.
Was he using the restroom?
I grimaced at the subtle hiss coming through the door.
Was that water turning on?
He was in there maybe ten minutes when the light turned off.
I threw my body against the bed, pulled the covers up, and squeezed my eyes shut.
The bedroom light flickered off.
I sighed in relief.
Then nearly choked on my tongue when the other side of the bed dipped.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
“I can hear you thinking,” he rasped. “I’m too tired to argue, and I’ll just end up spanking you again. Sleep, Eden.”
“You can’t sleep with me!”
“First off, I never sleep with women, ever, you know unless I’m slitting their throats. You’re the one exception. You always have been. And I’ll sleep by your side until I know you’re safe. Fucking deal with it. I have cameras hooked up to Naz’s room.”
“When did you do that?”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s safe; my men are watching over him. Now go to sleep.”
“But—”
“Eden, keep arguing, and it’s gonna be your bare ass up in the air.”
With a heavy sigh, I hugged my pillow and said nothing only to have him lean over, the heat from his body pressed against mine, as he murmured, “Good choice.”
Although I was exhausted beyond belief, it took me forever to fall asleep.
Because less than forty-eight hours ago, I’d committed the greatest sin of all.
I’d been angry with Tristian.
I’d coveted his brother.
I’d imagined him in my bed.
I’d remembered our hateful night.
And I’d dreamt of Romeo Sinacore, falling asleep with me in his arms.
Now there we were, a dream come true…
But why did it feel like a nightmare instead?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“The more successful the villain, the more successful the picture.” —Alfred Hitchcock
Romeo
Then: Nine months later
“It’s a boy,” I read in a flat tone the banner hanging across the living room.
Laughter trickled out of the joint baby shower, the house was littered with happy couples and screaming children, something that a year ago would have sent me running in the opposite direction or at least forced me to lie face down on the pavement in the middle of rush hour traffic.
Instead, there was a small twinge of pain in my chest where my heart of stone beat. The saying, green with envy, never made sense until that moment.
I felt physically sick as my eyes drank in the blue balloons, blue cake, blue confetti, and what seemed to be hundreds of tiny little blue clothes folded near the unwrapped gifts.
I’d been late on purpose.
I knew I would only be able to stomach so much, and not showing up would be insulting to the family, Eden included; after all, I would be his godparent. This would be my godson.
Worst idea Tristian had ever had, but there it was.
Part of me wondered if he did that so that his son would always be protected, never hated by yours truly. I would never touch a child. Our relationship had been strained in the last year, ever since his marriage and their instant pregnancy, instant happiness, instant family, I’d drifted away, burying my head between women’s thighs some nights, slitting their throats the others. Some might say I became the hardest underboss in the Cosa Nostra.
With laser-like focus and determination to forget the woman in the other room, I’d poured myself into making more of a name so that even if I couldn’t touch her, see her, kiss her, be with her, she had no choice but to hear my name until she was sick with it.
If that made me a monster, so be it.
She needed to hear my name like I did hers in my head with no end in sight. There were nights where I pictured her lips I kissed, her tongue I sucked, her pussy I stuck my dick in. Those were the times I felt the most guilt, picturing my brother’s wife so I could come.
What kind of monster had I become?
“Romeo.” My brother’s voice interrupted my morose thoughts. He was wearing a blue shirt with the moniker Dad to be scrawled across the front. “Glad you could finally make it.” He held out his hand.
Was it my imagination, or did he emphasize the word finally? I took his hand, completely unfazed as his fingers squeezed mine to the point of all-out strangulation before I dropped it to my side.
It was the first time we’d shaken hands in months, the first time we’d been forced to talk, the first time we’d been in the same room together voluntarily.
“It seems like all I’ve been doing lately is congratulating you.” My smile felt so fake I wanted to choke myself. “And a boy? I bet Mom’s excited. She always did favor boys. Much to Juliet’s dismay.”
Tristian scowled. “I used to think that, but have you seen Juliet recently? If she’s not at the house, she’s out shopping with Mom, getting her hair done, nails. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom took her wine tasting as a teen.”
A shriek sounded as Juliet rounded the corner, ran at me at full speed, and launched herself into my arms, her glossy black hair swinging into my face. “You’re here!”
“And you learned how to strangle a man, good for you.” I chuckled, hugging her back.
She laughed against me, her body humming with energy as I set her back on her feet. Damn, she was growing up really fast. It seemed every time I saw her, she turned more and more into a woman.
Where had the time gone?
Great.
Another female in my life I needed to worry about. Fuck. I saw a lot of shooting and torture in my future.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I lied through my teeth, earning a snort from Tristian.
Bastard.
Juliet rolled her eyes. “Mom and I had a bet. I told her you’d show, but she said you’d rather get drunk than—”
I cupped a hand over her face. “You talk too much.”
She jerked away. “Don’t mess up my lip gloss.”
“Wouldn’t dare.” I winked. “Where is Ma?” I peered around her and froze.
There she stood, rubbing her pregnant belly while my mom stood by her side. I could always decipher what was behind each emotion each time she showed them.
She was happy.
Fucking elated.
And as if sensing me in the room, she turned and gave me a glimpse of a sad smile.
Pity.
It nearly hurt worse than the sorrow and anger.
She knew.
Of course, my own mother knew how much I’d loved the girl standing by her side—how many times had I imagined this very scenario until it was explained that my purpose would not be a contribution to the family by way of marrying and settling down.
No, my contribution would be death.<
br />
Murder.
Just like my brother’s contribution was clearly life.
“She’s so beautiful,” Juliet uttered next to me.
“She is,” Tristian agreed.
If they were waiting for me to say something, they were shit out of luck; I pushed past both of them on wooden legs toward the object of my love.
Of my hate.
Of my affection.
Of all my emotions.
After all, they weren’t opposites, were they? Not even close.
They were like twin brothers constantly warring with one another until one day, a winner was crowned, a loser killed.
My love had lost.
So I fed my hate even more.
That was my sin.
My cross to bear.
Heavy was the crown to the one who wears it, and I carried it proudly on my head.
“Ma.” I leaned in and kissed each of her cheeks, inhaling the Oscar de la Renta perfume she always wore behind her ears.
Her jet black hair was pulled tightly back, twisted into a bun, kept there by two pins worth more than most people’s cars.
“You don’t come around as much as you should.” Ma’s red lips spread into a small pout, and I wrapped an arm around her, kissing the top of her head. “But you’re here now; that’s what counts.”
“Yes.” I swallowed, once, twice, then finally turned to Eden.
Her eyes dripped with a hatred I’d carefully built there, constructed, watered, and tended like the garden she was.
“Eden,” saying her name hurt, the one word like poison on my tongue. “You look absolutely lovely.”
My smile hurt.
Hers was nonexistent.
“Thank you, Romeo.” She turned to my mom and reached for her hand. “I’m going to go grab some fresh air.”
Ma instantly deflated. “Good idea, keep that baby healthy.”
“Always,” Eden stated before walking off, her ass swaying even pregnant in her tight white strapless sundress.
Something pinched my side.
“Ouch!” I swatted Ma’s hand away. “Son of a bitch, why so violent?”
“Why such an asshole?” she countered.
I narrowed my eyes. “I said she looked lovely.”
“You sounded half dead!”
Didn’t she know? I was. At least my heart was.
“Ma.” I looked over my shoulder to make sure Tristian wasn’t watching or reading my lips, then lowered my mouth to her ear and whispered, “You know why I can’t.”