by Lux Miller
Luca shakes his head and closes the distance between us, pinning me against the wall again with his massive body. “Never. Remember how I said I might turn into a homicidal maniac?”
I nod quickly, trying to determine if he’s joking. But he isn’t laughing. The fact that his raging boner is still pressing against my stomach tells me that him getting off twice wasn’t enough. He’s still wanting more.
Blushing slightly as his eyes rake over my chest hungrily, I tap my wrist. “Considering you rarely take longer than ten minutes to shower and we’ve probably been in here for thirty… you should probably stop looking at me like you want a taste. If you bury your face between my thighs and snack on this pussy, you’re going to be another hour before you get out of here. I want you to eat me raw until I beg and scream for mercy, because I can’t possibly bear to come again. Then I want you to fuck me so hard that I can’t breathe, and my cunt is dripping with your juices. “
Luca growls and slams his hand against the wall above my head. “Goddamnit, Emily… how the fuck am I supposed to go to work with that mental image in my head? Now all I want to do is stay home and ravage you until every orifice of yours is dripping with my cum.”
I squeak softly in surprise, “Every…?”
Luca nods, his eyes flickering with hunger. “Every single one.”
When I just stare at him open-mouthed, he grabs both of my hands and tugs me under the stream of hot water with himself. He turns me around so that my back is against his stomach and begins to lavish my curves with his hands, caressing every inch of skin that he can reach. It isn’t until I open my eyes and stare down at him deftly moving his hands over me that I notice they’re covered with soap. As he strokes them up between my breasts, along my collarbone and over my shoulders, I can feel my body relaxing against his.
He chuckles and continues his trek up into my hair where he massages my scalp and pulls his fingers back down the length of my hair, which has grown since I first came here. My curves had filled out with regular meals and my muscles have become firmer with the regular workout of satisfying the man’s sexual appetite.
I can feel my eyelids growing heavy as his touches lull me into a relaxed state of mind. Between the incredibly feral sex we just had and the fact that it’s still dark outside and well before dawn, what little pep I had in my step before has vanished. I’m quickly succumbing to sleepiness.
Yawning softly, I lean into him as his body twists and turns in what I’m assuming is him washing himself. After a couple of minutes, the water turns off and I’m lifted into his arms. The first thing I notice as I snuggle my face into his broad chest is the warm, fluffy towel he secures around me. The second thing I notice is the blast of arctic air that ripples over me as we step out of the bathroom and into our shared bedroom.
He carries me through the room and lays me down, still wrapped up in the towel, on our bed. He carefully twists my hair up into another towel and pulls a throw blanket over me, kissing me on the forehead as he murmurs, “I regretfully still have to work today. If I could stay here with you, I would.”
Sighing heavily, he brushes his hand over mine and mumbles, “Sleep peacefully, my love. I will defend my kingdom, and with it my Queen, until I can no longer fight.” His hand brushes down over my body, stopping over the place where I’ve been tattooed with an interwoven design including elements from both my past and my present, including a portion of Luca’s own tattoo. The way his hand lingers there lets me know that despite me never showing him, he’s seen it.
He pulls his hand away and his warmth leaves my side as he mutters, “You own me, Emily. If ever it becomes necessary, I will offer my life in exchange for yours. You’ve broken down my walls, you’ve infiltrated my heart, and my soul be damned, you’ve done the one thing I swore to myself would never happen. You’ve made me fall irrevocably in love with you…”
TWENTY-ONE
“Check,” I murmur as I tuck my legs underneath me in the overstuffed parlor chair I’ve settled into. I’ve been camped out here in front of the antique chess board for the last hour as my opponent matches me move for move. Neither of us is willing to admit defeat, though neither of us has many moves available to us any longer. All of our power pieces have been captured and we’re currently playing a game of cat and mouse with nothing but a litany of pawns protecting our kings.
Dante leans forward in his matching parlor chair and shakes his head in amusement. “How did I not predict this? I like to consider myself to be something of a master tactician and you, my dear, have spoiled my carefully laid plans. There’s no way I can stop you from getting a promotion.” He grips his chin thoughtfully, stroking his index finger along his jaw as he considers his options.
“There’s no way I can let my brother’s girlfriend beat me at my game. I was the ninth grade all-city champion right before I let my life take a nosedive to hell in a handbasket.”
I laugh softly, straightening in the chair. I let one eyebrow arch up as I consider what he’s telling me. “Wait… you played chess as a kid? I thought I was the only kid in America whose father thought it pertinent that I learned chess. I used to hate it when he’d insist I play him instead of going surfing in the evening swells. But back then, he was a doting father, and daddy got what daddy wanted. He hung the moon when we lived in Hawaii.”
Dante nods, shrugging a little bit. “I dabbled a bit, but even chess couldn’t save me from myself and my boneheaded determination to go against everything my father stood for. It wasn’t my father who taught me. It was one of his associates who’d been taught by another associate, and so on and so forth. It proved to be beneficial for predicting our enemies’ mindset. Being able to be two steps ahead of them has been crucial to our survival in the cutthroat world of the underground.”
I nod a bit, chuckling softly, “Sounds like how my daddy used to talk. What did he used to say? Oh yeah, it was, ‘A man well versed in his enemies’ mannerisms can outsmart them by offensively using their own stratagem against them.’”
Dante coughs, straightening in the chair across from me. He narrows his gaze at me as a darkness flickers through the piercing green. It’s unsettling and causes me to shudder and tilt my head to the side with a look of confusion on my face. Shaking my head, I ask softly, “What?”
He blinks himself out of him momentary stupor and shakes his head wildly as he reaches down to move his king safely behind a pawn, but anyone can see that he’s running out of moves. “Nothing. It just… sounds like your father was a wise man.” Little beads of sweat dot his brow, so if it wasn’t obvious, his body language screams that he’s nervous.
I grin and reach across the board, snagging my newly minted queen and dragging her into a position to deal the final blow. Smirking, I whisper, “Check…” Dante tenses as his eyes meet mine again and I finish my statement, “...mate.”
Dante narrows his eyes at me, staring hard like I’ve betrayed his trust or something. Truth be told, we’ve been playing since he got home from work almost two hours ago and this was the final game in a set of three. We went into this game tied, so with this victory, I’ve bested him, and he’s not happy about it. If Dante was a cartoon, right now there’d be steam billowing out of his ears.
Several tense moments past before an amused voice from the doorway breaks our concentrated stare at one another, “She beat you again? Dante, you’re slipping…”
I glance over to see Mike standing there, leaning against the doorframe. A smirk is plastered on his face and while he’s not whooping and throwing his fist into the air, he’s certainly enjoying Dante’s loss more than Dante is. Dante appears to be straddling the line between surprised and irritated — and it shows.
I reach across the chess table and pat his knee, offering him a smile of truce. “I’ll tell you what… how about I go make you a pizza? Your momma picked up some arugula, fresh mozzarella, ricotta cheese, and some pancetta when she made our grocery delivery order, so I can make a Pizza Bianca for dinner. Does
that sound okay?”
Dante sneers slightly, but nods, sitting back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. He’s still dressed for work in a summer suit in a fetching shade of baby blue that contrasts with his olive skin. A bright yellow, albeit now-unbuttoned at the top shirt accent the fresco material suit. A gray tie that now hangs limply with its knot at Dante’s collarbone brings the look together.
I make a mental note to myself that I have decidedly been hanging out with Royce too much when I can identify the fabric of a man’s clothing simply by sight. I will say, though, that fresco isn’t the hardest thing to spot. The twisted fibers of the wool warn that allow for its breathability also leave a telltale sign that Royce has pointed out to me on more than one occasion.
“So why pizza?”
I stand up and shrug, stretching out my body as I push my arms over my head. I glance over at Dante and laugh, “Because pizza, especially Pizza Bianca, is like a pie… and it’s Pi day.”
Dante raises one eyebrow. “Pie day? What’s pie day?
I shake my head and giggle softly. “Not technically pie day with an e… Pi… the mathematical formula that never ends. It’s starts out 3.14 so March fourteenth is considered Pi day. It would just be sacrilege not to serve pie on Pi day, don’t you think?”
Dante nods, his head bouncing along as he considers it. “Does that mean there will also be dessert?”
He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but roll my eyes and giggle. “Dante, I do believe that the ink from all those tattoo sessions has gone to your head. Of course, there’s dessert. When do I not make dessert for you and Luca?”
Dante shrugs and glances over at the front door as it bangs open, bouncing off the foyer wall with a sound so sharp, it startles me, even though I saw the door open. He points at the bedraggled figure that slumps inside the door. Dante looks back to me pointedly and replies, “Well, when he comes in looking like that, usually. He still gets dessert, but I don’t, since his dessert involves you laid out—”
Luca’s voice is thin and dangerously low as he cuts Dante off, “Emergency meeting. Now. Gather any and all guards who are here. Everyone needs to hear the threat we’re facing.”
Despite his cool gray suit and magenta dress shirt, Luca looks frazzled. His normally stoic demeanor gives way to an expression of fury. He barely acknowledges me as he trudges past the game room. Dante and I both jump up; Dante’s headed in one direction and I in the other, hot on Luca’s heels.
He marches straight to the room I’ve been forbidden to enter and slams the door open. Despite knowing I should stay far, far away from whatever is about to happen, my curiosity propels me forward until his gravelly voice stops me in my tracks. “Emily, this isn’t a place for you, for any woman. This is a room of nightmares, I’m afraid.”
He does step out of the room and gather me into his arms, leaning down to steal a series of chaste kisses before letting go of me and shooing me away. He’s left the door open, but after his stark warning, I don’t make an effort to follow him.
However, my hesitation doesn’t stop his voice from carrying from inside the room to the hallway, “Yes, they’ve officially reopened the case. I suspect it’s due to the new evidence they’ve found. It’s only a matter of time before they connect A to C via B, and then we’re royally fucked.”
I press myself against the wall, holding my breath as I listen in to his conversation for several heartbeats. “No, I don’t know why. Yes, that was the information Givens gave us. That they reopened the case because of new leads. Probably the girls, since they’re all linked to that cesspool at Piacere.”
I nearly jump out of my skin as a firm hand lands on my arm. Snapping my gaze to the owner of the hand, I feel my blood run cold. I swallow hard and open my mouth to offer an explanation, but Mike just shakes his head at me and points down the hallway. “Go, Emily… nothing good will ever come to you by snooping on him. If he hasn’t shared the information with you, there’s a reason for it. Don’t betray his trust. It’s the hardest thing to earn and the easiest thing to lose.”
Nodding, I twist out of Mike’s grasp and hightail it away from the open door, dashing into the kitchen. I bend over and heave several heavy breaths as I try to even them out. I don’t know who he’s talking to, but the implication of what Luca’s discussing on the phone isn’t lost on me. Something big is on the verge of happening, and it’s enough to frazzle Luca.
I sigh and get to work making the dough recipe Bianca taught me last week. As I throw in the dry ingredients, I try to focus on the task at hand and not the cacophony of voices coming from the hallway as associates arrive.
Just as I sift the dry ingredients together a third time, Dante pokes his head into the kitchen. He gives me a look that I’ve come to recognize. He’s heading to the meeting as well. I nod and wave my hand aimlessly in the air. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll quadruple the recipe and make enough for everybody because even though the door is soundproof…” I lower my voice and clear my throat to make a point, “...when it’s closed, it’s not smell-proof. The pizzas will be ready in about an hour.”
Dante blinks at me. A wide smile creeps across his face as he nods at me without a word and disappears from the doorway. With a heavy sigh, I walk over to where the broom is stashed behind the refrigerator and grab it, then walk across the floor and position the broom underneath what I know is Noemi’s room.
I rap the handle of the broom against the ceiling sharply three times and wait for some sort of acknowledgement. When I don’t receive one, I do it again. I know she’s in her room, so when I still don’t get a response, I bang it continuously against the ceiling for a good minute, then turn and watch the staircase for any sign of life from upstairs.
I glance away to the clock on the stove for a brief moment and catch a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. Whoever just flew down the stairs wasn’t Noemi because she traipses into the kitchen about a minute later. Her long, black hair is thrown up in a messy ponytail, and though she isn’t wearing lipstick and really never has, her lips are bright pink and slightly swollen. I narrow my eyes at her, but I don’t say anything as I listen for the front door to slam closed. When I don’t hear the sound of someone leaving, I arch one eyebrow at her.
“Too busy to help me make dinner for the room full of hungry men that your brother called to an emergency meeting?”
Noemi heaves her shoulders nonchalantly, acting like she has nothing to hide. “I can help. What are we making?” She brushes past me and peers at the mess I’ve already made in the kitchen. “Pizza?”
I nod and decide to file away her indiscretions for now. I don’t have proof of anything. And whatever she was doing upstairs, it can’t have been anything too bad, because she got down here too fast to have been putting clothing back on. She may be almost eighteen, but I get the feeling that whoever fled down the stairs ahead of her dodged a major bullet since both of her brothers are on the property. Not to mention the shadow-guard that’s supposed to be patrolling the upstairs at all times to ensure there are no intruders.
Maybe Kyle heard something going on upstairs and ran off whatever little punk was obviously getting a little too close with Luca’s baby sister. He’s been loyally protecting her for three years, so that’s probably what he was doing before he was summoned to Luca’s meeting.
I really hope there isn’t a knocked-out overambitious boy in her room. Maybe I’m totally off base, and she had a massive fail with some kind of lip injections. I’m tempted to ask nosy questions to narrow down the possibilities, but Noemi cuts into my thoughts before I can decide which question to ask.
“How many pizzas are we talking? How many men did he invite over?”
I shrug as I start sifting together another round of dry ingredients. “He didn’t say, nor did he ask me to make more, but I know what this is going to smell like once it hits the oven. I’d say four is good to start, probably. I bet any one of them could destroy a whole pizza on his own. Worse
comes to worse, if nobody eats, we’ll be set for days of leftovers.”
Noemi nods in agreement and begins working the dough that I’d already made, stretching it slowly until it covers the pan. Then she starts on the next ball of dough until she’s got four empty crusts panned. She looks at me and arches an eyebrow, motioning to the slew of other ingredients laid out on the counter. “Momma never taught me how to make anything other than Margherita pizza, so I’ve got no clue what goes where or how much to use.”
I smile and grab the ingredients, layering them up on each pizza one by one until the first four are done. “Be prepared, because it’s about to smell amazing in here. Once the pancetta starts mingling with the cheese. Man, I’m fully convinced that the Romans cheated when they conquered the world, and they made something similar to this pizza. Probably lured the warriors into the streets and forced them into surrender for a slice.”
Noemi giggles as she puts the first pizza in the oven. Over the next five minutes, we load up all four of the pizzas into the stacked ovens, then we start to clean up the massive mess we made as the pizzas bake. I’ve just finished wiping down the counters when the doorbell rings. Noemi and I glance at each other and she shrugs. None of the associates ever knock or ring the doorbell when they drop in for a meeting.