"No chance of that," Jimmy snarled. "He's a dead man. Not immediately, though. He's going to suffer first."
"His family will come after you," she whispered, warning him. "I don't want you hurt."
Jimmy picked up the belt, left behind on the floor after the chaos. "I'm not afraid of a war," Jimmy told her. "Particularly not with that trash. He's never getting his damned hands on you again, and if I have anything to say about it, he'll burn in the fires of hell from now until eternity." He handed the belt to Jack. "Make sure Danny gets this. I'll want it when I, uh, interrogate that animal."
"You don't understand," she interrupted, growing more distraught.
Jimmy carefully finished removing her pants. "Jack, find me a clean sheet we can wrap her in. Doc's going to be waiting for us at home."
He waited until the other man left. "Listen to me, mia rosa. I don't give a fuck if you love him or not. He's dead to me and to the family. Even if you like blood with your sex, this is beyond the pale. I'll be happy to spank your little culo, tie you down on the bed and torment you, even flog you or drip hot wax on you until tears pour down your cheeks, but fuck no, he's not getting you back."
She inhaled sharply. "You don't understand," she whispered again. "I don't want him back, I don't want to be here at all."
"We agree then." He made a note to make sure she had a new wardrobe. Nothing Dinapoli had paid for was going on her body ever again. In fact, he reflected, nothing in the house should left to remind her of the terror.
"My papa, he got into debt. Bad debt," she said, her voice finally breaking. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. "Ricardo's family in Sicily paid it off on the condition that I married him. If he dies, they'll retaliate. My grandparents live in Palermo. They'll be the first victims."
"You're going to tell me all about this, and we'll figure it out, but not until I get you out of here and away safe," Jimmy told her.
Rosalia whimpered but nodded. It was all the affirmation Jimmy needed.
FOUR
"Let me out of here," she demanded to Jimmy, when he arrived in her room five days later. "Now."
For the first two days, she'd been too sedated to care where she was. When Jimmy had carried her from his vehicle through a large house, she'd just stayed listlessly in his arms, her face against his shoulder. The doctor had been there, where he'd taken her, and the older man had given her a shot that had sent her to sleep. She'd woken to an IV and a softly lit room sometime later, with Jimmy sitting on the bed beside her. He hadn't said much, except to ask her where her passport, license and other important papers were. She'd told him – she knew where Ricardo's safe was, if not the combination.
On the third day, she was awake when Jimmy came in. She hadn't bothered to quiz the doctor or the nurse, knowing they probably didn't know any more than she did about what was going on outside the door to her windowless room. It had gotten considerably more comfortable since she'd first arrived. There hadn't been more than the full-size bed, basic sheets, the carpet, and a mobile IV unit when she'd awoken that first time. The next day, a bedside table with a lamp had appeared, and a stack of magazines and books. The simple cotton sheets had been changed while she limped to the bathroom, and were now luxurious organic cotton with a higher thread count than she'd ever slept on. On the third morning, a comfortable love seat had been added, and soft silky gowns replaced hospital scrubs. The garments draped over her with the seductive words of expensive designer labels.
When Jimmy appeared, his red-headed admin Joan Holloway trailing behind him, she'd been sitting up in bed and, showered and garbed in a pima cotton pink sleeveless nightdress that buttoned up the front. He'd drawn back the sheet from around her and carefully inspected the bruising on her arms and shoulder, then drawn deep breaths as he stared at her nipples through the fabric without a hint of embarrassment. In response, they'd only gotten harder under his perusal, poking out from the fabric until she'd crossed her arms over her chest and blushed brightly.
That day, he insisted she tell him what from Ricardo's house she wanted, and when she'd said clothes, he just frowned at her and told her that he'd take care of her wardrobe. Whatever that meant.
While Rosalia hadn't known what a nightmare she'd be living in when she married Ricardo, she had known it was a cold arrangement. She hadn't moved any of her personal belongings, other than her clothing, from her parents' house in Chicago.
On the fourth day, counted more by the number of times she'd been served breakfast rather than any exposure to sunlight, Rosalia found out what Jimmy intended. Joan Holloway, whose proper name was Margot, arrived with a veritable mountain of packages and boxes, delivered by overnight courier from the finer stores located on Fifth Avenue in the City. The IV had been removed and Rosalia had been curled up on the love seat with a book, but Margot wouldn't let her help. Margot painstakingly unpacked everything and let Rosalia examine the contents. Dresses, skirts, tops and a few pairs of hip-hugging blue jeans went in the closet, along with a heavy winter coat and several lighter ones, and a number of pairs of shoes from heels to snow boots. Halfway through the unpacking, the doctor and Jimmy arrived wheeling in furniture stacked on a cart – a full-length mirror he set up in a corner of the room and a bureau with cedar-lined drawers. She'd gaped at Jimmy but forgot to object. He couldn't keep her locked up forever, could he? Did she really need all of this? But the bureau was quickly filled with silk lingerie: bras and panties in various colors and styles, the few silky nightdresses she already had been given, socks, stockings, and camisoles. It was too much, but Jimmy Savaggio hadn't given her an opportunity to object. Not that day, at least.
On the fifth day, Jimmy arrived alone and she could finally talk to him. She'd been ready to insist even if Margot was at his side, but he'd come in alone, closing the door behind him. She already knew it locked from both inside and out. She'd tried it that morning after she'd showered and eaten her breakfast, all under the eagle eye of the nurse who had come every morning to check on her and supervise her care.
"I don't need a nurse anymore, and I don't want to be locked up in here," she told him belligerently. "You have to let me out. I have to find out what's happening to my family. Do you have my phone?"
Jimmy set down the box he was carrying on the bureau and turned to her. She didn't look away. Ricardo had very nearly broken her, but she wouldn't become a timid little mouse and cower under this man's intimidating glower. "I'm working on it, mia roas." He gestured her back to the love seat she'd risen from, but Rosalia shook her head.
He sighed and leaned against the bureau, considering her. "We've cracked Ricardo's safe. Your documents and the contents of your handbag are here. Margot will send out for a new bag today if you tell me what you prefer: Balenciaga, Givenchy, Jimmy Choo, Christian Louboutin, Bottega Venata?"
Rosalia shook her head. "No, that's too much. Something less -"
"If you say Kate Spade or Parker Thatch, I will spank you and let Margot have free rein," Jimmy said amiably. "We've also beaten the security on his phone and found the text message thread he has with his brothers and father. My security team has been in touch, masquerading as that fucker until we're prepared for any reaction on their part. I've already got six men on the ground in Palermo, doing reconnaissance and working out how to defend your grandparents. I've also got two men and an accountant in Chicago with your parents, making sure they're covered when we inform his next of kin that he's been relieved of duty for crimes against the family."
"I need to go home," Rosalia insisted. "To Chicago, I mean. Mama will need to see me, need to know that I'm fine. She doesn't know what he did to me, but she suspects. She's been worrying."
"You need to be with me," Jimmy told her, straightening and glaring at her. "As for leaving this room, that's an absolute no. No one can see you and get suspicious. Ricardo is on vacation from his position with the corporation. He had four standing weeks and he's using them to take his new wife away somewhere."
"Four weeks?" Ros
alia suppressed the urge to scream.
"We don't want anyone reporting either of you missing to the cops, but we also can't have you traveling on your credit cards or going through airport security with your identification, especially without him. And I don't want anyone seeing you on my property either. It won't fit with the line of bullshit we are feeding his family about vacationing with you. So you are staying right here, like it or not. I doubt it will be the full four weeks, though – just until we're ready."
"Fuck you," Rosalia burst out, giving him the middle finger. "I can't even storm out and slam the damn door!"
She didn't know if it was her words or the bird that broke his control, and didn't care. He came across the room faster than she expected.
Without thinking, she froze. She wouldn't flinch, would not step back –
His hands landed, one on each jaw.
But his fingers were gentle, cradling her as he tipped her head back. He lowered his head until his lips touched hers. "Gladly," he returned, his voice husky. "But I didn't think you'd ask quite so soon."
Those minutes on the dance floor came back to her in a rush, that moment she'd come just from riding against his hips. A soft moan escaped her, and this time, Rosalia's hands slid past his shoulders and cupped the back of his head. She was, she realized, completely defenseless against Jimmy Savaggio when he wanted her, and possibly even if he didn't. She couldn't have said if it was the aggression that leaked from his very pores, or his touch, or his voice, or maybe a combination of all three, but when he had her close to him, all thought fled from her brain and she operated on pure physical instinct.
He was already unzipping the back of her dress, a lacy jersey dress by Chloe in dark navy with a high ruffled neckline and long sleeves. She'd picked it to hide the bruising on her arms and shoulders, even though the damage to her thighs would be visible if he inspected her closely. The dress was short enough that he could have sent his hands up the back of her thighs and touched her rear, but instead he set about removing it altogether. He tugged it over her shoulders and it caught between them.
She let him pull it over her wrists, then rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. She tasted the remains of coffee and a mint on his breath, and soaked up the rich scent of cedarwood oil and bay leaf wrapping around her. A second later, he took control of the kiss, pushing his hands inside the back of the dress and trying to push it down over her hips.
Rosalia whimpered.
He stilled immediately. "Minchia!" he swore. "I hurt you!"
"No, no, don't stop touching me." She breathed the words, rocked against him and clenched the black hair that hung in dark tresses around his head.
"Mia tesoro, you still hurt," he insisted, trying to set her away
She let him take that single step back, then let the dress drop to the floor, leaving her completely bare but for a sheer lacy tube bra that covered her breasts. "Don't walk away," she said, holding her arms out to her side. "I need you, Jimmy, I need to remember the good parts about being touched. I've been waking up from nightmares in this dark room, alone, without anyone to hold me or even a nightlight."
That was apparently too much. "Mia rosa," he groaned, stepping forward and lifting her into his arms. "You did not say."
"I haven't had the chance." This time, she went to work on his shirt buttons, slipping them free and burying her face into the small of his neck. She licked there, soaking up the taste of him. "Don't you want to make love to me?"
He groaned, laying her out on the bed's quilt, spreading her hair around her in a wild nimbus and running his hands possessively over her form, from shoulders to hips, looking carefully for the signs of distress. For the most part, all the evidence of her trauma was fading, in the form of healing bruises and faint scratches. Without asking, she tipped herself up and reached behind her, unhooking the remaining band of lace and tossing it to the floor.
"Paradisio," he grunted, drawing his lips and tongue over her neck and lower to trail over her upper breast, then down the few inches to her nipple. Rosalia couldn't help the small squeak that came from her, but she gripped his scalp and kept him close, dragging her thighs around his hips to cling to him.
He treated the other nipple to the same treatment, seeming to understand now that the small noises she couldn't suppress were not signs of distress, but arousal. "Clothes," she demanded, tugging at his collar.
Jimmy slid down her body, unbuttoning his shirt as he continued to press kisses to her skin, beneath her perky nipples and over her ribcage. He nipped at her navel with his teeth and her small involuntary noises of appreciation became a low moan.
She had to release him so that he could sit up on his knees and discard his shirt. Rosalia sat up as he did so, reaching for the button of his trousers, but he got there first, flicking it open and lowering the zipper.
Instead, she slid her hands inside the waistband, then inside his boxers, urging the fabric down.
He obliged, moving to accommodate her, until his pants were at his knees and his cock was fully free and pointing at her.
Rosalia gasped and stared, a reaction she knew would only feed his self-confidence. But she could hardly help it. He was handsome in a suit and tie, sensuality personified in a button-down shirt and jeans, but without his clothes on at all? The man was a marble statue come to life. His skin gleamed in the lamplight. A light dusting of hair that matched the black of his hair trailed down his chest to his groin. He wasn't the eye-popping thing of legends that she'd seen modeled by dildos in London, but his cock was thick and rigid, fully erect and already creaming at the tip. He was in proportion to his height, too, so she knew he was longer than average.
Rosalia swallowed, licking her lips before she thought of what that might mean. But he tumbled her back to the bed and held her to the bed by pushing her hips into the mattress and nudging her knees up with his elbows, spreading her open to him.
Her entire body jerked. "Sometime I'm going to find a way to keep you open just like this, so I can use my fingers as well as my mouth on you." His tone was deep and guttural, the words hard to understand, but maybe that's because heat was rising up Rosalia's neck and clouding her ability to think clearly. The only thing she could seem to focus on was his head as it descended. Her fingers grasped his ears but it didn't seem to re-direct him.
"You don't have to –" she tried to say.
"You aren't going to deny me this," he insisted, just before his lips met her labia. She sank back into the bed, the heat not just clouding her mind but causing the nerves in her spine to short out as sensation raced over her. "Ora sto per baciare la mia piccolo rosa," he muttered.
Rosalia barely was able to translate it before she was engulfed by it. I'm going to kiss my little rose now, he'd said. He meant her clitoris, she thought frantically, almost afraid of how violently she might react. His lips found it and he sucked gently and Rosalia's world exploded into a kaleidoscope of feeling that wasn't confined to her clitoris or her spine or even her brain. Pleasure ran through every limb, every muscle and she made some unintelligible sound as she orgasmed.
He chuckled, his warm breath washing over her lady parts. She tugged on his ears. Surely now he would fuck her?
"No, non ancora." He gritted out the words, not moving an inch. Not yet. Rosalia nearly fainted when he added, "Sei delizioso. Non sono finita."
"Oh dear god," she whispered. He wasn't finished?
Nothing in her life had prepared her for what followed. She thrashed on the bed, screaming, as he held her in place and licked every inch of her, fucked her with his tongue, sucked again on her clitoris. He didn't pause even when orgasm after orgasm rocked her, leaving behind an ache that even his tongue couldn't assuage.
Her juices covered his lips and chin when he finally rose up from between her thighs to look at her. She could barely lift her head, but moaned in ecstasy as he slid his chest up over her nipples, covering her. She was actually relieved when his muscles pressed down against her breasts and nipples
and his cock rubbed on her inner thigh as he positioned himself.
Jimmy slid in, just an inch, eyes on her, but she was too far gone to care how much he stretched her. The heat and hardness filled the ache her orgasms had left behind. "More," Rosalia told him. "Please, fuck me. Jimmy."
At her whimpered request, he slid in further, pushing up into her. His face twisted as he struggled to control himself, to hold back. Her hips jerked and she shifted, moving to both welcome him and keep him. Inside of her, where they were so intimately connected now, she knew the walls of her wet tunnel were squeezing him.
Then he was so deep in her that his balls rested against her bottom, and his chest shook as he growled something so low and masculine that it didn't matter what the actual words were.
"Yes, god yes," she whispered, urging him on by thrusting her hips.
He reached down, re-positioned one hand on the mattress beside her right breast to hold himself off of her by half a centimeter, and slid his other hand beneath her and filled his hand with her ass. Then he pumped his hips back, withdrawing just halfway, and thrust forward again.
Rosalia felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes. She cried out, her hands clutching his hair now. Her eyes drifted shut as pleasure ripped through her body.
He withdrew again. "Mia rosa, eyes on me," he demanded, and she opened them immediately, as if he'd compelled her. "I want to see you as I fill you, as I fuck you," he went on, then thrust into her again.
Rosalia was certain she was dying from the complete bliss. Every inch of her skin was alive with energy, and her mind was awash in pleasure and sweet joy. Nothing could improve upon this moment, nothing would take away the pleasure she'd taken and received in return.
But he spoke, and she knew she'd been wrong. "Vieni per me," he insisted. "Adesso, mia rosa."
Now? One of his fingers slipped between her bottom cheeks and pushed up against her rear hole. His other came off the bed and clamped around her nipple. Now. She flew off the cliff and screamed again, the cry hoarse and smothered by his kiss as he spent himself deep in her womb.
The Don's Rose Page 3