by S. Massery
“No, really.” I frown. “It was last minute. She was supposed to marry Wilder.”
“Your brother backed out so you stepped in?” She narrows her eyes. “Or did you steal the bride away, Luca?”
“Wilder was killed.” It hurts worse to say it to her, because she’s removed from the situation. Telling her is like telling a stranger my elder brother died. It crystalizes. I can’t meet her gaze. “He was actually on the altar when he got shot. I think the gunman would’ve tried to take out Amelie, too. Ruin the deal between our families. But I just couldn’t let that happen.”
She circles the island and takes my hands. Hers are dry and smooth, strong from decades of work. “You love this girl? Amelie?”
I scoff. “I don’t know her, zia. Maybe I could love her someday, but it’s a duty. She was brought into the family because her parents demanded certain protections.” Whether they deserve such protection is unknown.
She sighs. “Antonio and I had an arranged marriage. I hated him at first, but he eventually won me over. Sometimes fate likes to mess with us, to create a struggle, so we appreciate the end.”
We’re both silent for a moment. I like Antonio. He used to be a fisherman before arthritis made hauling lines impossible. He’s almost ten years older than Paloma, with weathered dark-brown skin and green sea-glass eyes. They make you feel like he can examine your soul with one glance.
But he’s kind, too. He treats my aunt with tenderness, helps her now around this restaurant that’s been handed down her side of the family for generations. Back when I would hang out with her, my mother would be the one on the front lines—pouring drinks and laughing with customers, delivering their food. She was the life of this place.
“Where is this girl?” she asks.
I raise my eyebrow. “Amelie? I left her at Mom’s.”
She smacks the back of my hand. “You took an American girl away from her family after her fiancé was killed in front of her, brought her to a foreign country, then abandoned her? Bring her here at once.”
“You wouldn’t like her,” I say immediately.
“Bullshit,” she grumbles. She turns away, wiping a rag across the wood. “If she was your girlfriend? Maybe. But this is your wife. Of course I’ll try to like her.”
Try.
I crack a smile. “Okay. I’ll bring her by for dinner.”
She calls my name when I’m almost out the door, worry etched in her features. “Did you give her a ring?”
I freeze. “A ring?”
She swears at me in Italian, and I shake my head. I didn’t get Amelie a ring—didn’t know it was needed until five minutes before we signed the marriage license. I wonder if we’ll ever have a normal wedding… once we like each other, perhaps we can entertain that idea.
Look at me, talking with surety. If we ever like each other…
“I didn’t,” I say.
She scoffs and works the ring off her own finger—not the little band, but the engagement ring that must’ve been in her family for decades. It features a large round diamond in the center, supported and framed by smaller diamonds around it. The metal weaves between the smaller diamonds, creating a rope-like effect. And the stones continue halfway down the thick band on either side. It’s probably worth a fortune.
A lump forms in my throat. “You’re still using it.”
She smiles and touches the simple band of twisted white gold left on her ring finger. “That gets in the way when I knead the dough, and this band is all I need. If your mother had married, it would’ve gone to her. And then to you.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she bats away my concern.
“It’s yours. Don’t make a fuss.”
I nod slowly. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay—”
“Bring her,” Paloma says. “Let me meet your new wife and give her a proper Italian welcome.”
“I will.” I dip my head and slip outside, back up the steps.
A little way down the street, someone whistles to me.
I pause and find the man. He leans over the half-wall fence of the house above the road, grinning down at me.
“Long time, DeSantis,” he calls.
“Matteo,” I answer. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“My good graces.” He comes around, trotting down the ceramic steps until he’s on street level. “You know we’re due a call when you come into town.”
I grimace. “Is that so? I’m not here for trouble.”
“You’re here for something,” he points out.
He’s grown since the last time I saw him. It’s been almost a year, and the patchy stubble on his young face has filled out. He seems sturdier, less sharp angles of a gangly kid and more like a fighting man. I note all of this with a sweep of my gaze, keeping it as subtle as I can.
“A honeymoon,” I finally say. “Just visiting my aunt.”
He sighs. “You look good, DeSantis. It makes me wonder if the Costas shouldn’t take a little trip to visit New York. There seems to be plenty to go around.”
“There isn’t.” I force myself not to cross my arms.
His brow lowers. “No? You take and take and then when you’re tired of the hard work, you come crawling back here. That’s always the way of it. And the people in this town are sick of you.”
“Sick of me, Matteo, or my last name?”
“Be careful,” he warns. “Don’t think your lack of family loyalty will win you any favors around here. The opposite, perhaps.” But then he perks up. “Honeymoon, you said. You have a pretty wife in your bed?”
Nowhere near my bed. “Does your brother want to see me, then? Or shall you just give him my regards?”
He smirks. “How about this? You come in with me, and I’ll have Santiago go fetch your woman. We’ll have lunch.”
“You will do no such thing,” I growl.
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I silently curse myself for my tunnel vision. I grab it and twist. The man yells, doubling over to relieve the sudden pressure. I glance around, and dread tightens my chest. I’m surrounded.
Aiden taught me to fight at a young age. I was a fast learner because I had to be—that’s the only way you survive in our world.
I shove the man into one of the others and snap my foot out, connecting with one’s stomach. He lets out a sharp exhale and falls back. They come in closer now, pummeling me. One’s knuckles catch my cheek, and it cuts against my teeth. Blood fills my mouth.
I spit, blocking where I can, but there are too many of them. I doubt even Aiden would’ve been able to fend them off. No, scratch that. He’d be strapped with guns and would just fucking kill them all. Consequences be damned.
A whistle cuts through the noise of their grunts, and everything stops.
At what point did I fall to my knees? Hands pull me upright, and I blink through the sweat and blood to see Matteo approaching. The bastard is clean. Hell, most of them look untouched.
I’m furious at myself for this surprise attack.
“This is a warning,” Matteo says. “Next time, we’ll get your wife involved. Maybe take a finger for each time you ignore our ways.”
Next time.
They’ll die before they touch her.
I just have to be more prepared.
They drop me, and I fall to my side. They disappear like dust carried away by the wind. It’s only after I’m alone that I slowly push myself upright. Pain lances through me, more vivid than I would’ve expected. Still, I can walk. The right side of my face has its own heartbeat, but my ribs seem okay. Maybe bruised.
My eye is swelling shut, and the taste of blood is heavy on my tongue.
Just get home.
9
Amelie
I am annoyed at myself.
For being weak. For being selfish. For being hungry.
It’s the last one that drives me back downstairs and into the kitchen. It takes me a minute to decide on a meal—limited by what’s in the fridge, really. It’s su
rprisingly full. Ricardo must be more than someone to get the bags. Hired help for collecting groceries, too?
At least he didn’t put flower petals on the bed for us. That would’ve been awkward.
I’ve managed to get most of the meal put together when the garage door rumbles below my feet. I made enough for two people—grudgingly—and now I’m glad I did. If only to offer an apology to Luca.
He says he sees me, but that’s what I need to apologize for: I don’t think he does. He probably gets the same picture everyone else does. Cheerleader and popular girl, the one who has all the answers. She sometimes comes off as weak, but that’s just one slight character flaw. Everyone has those.
The door opens, and Luca strides in.
I gasp, drawing his attention sharply toward me.
He’s bloody, bruised. One of his eyes is swelling shut, and it’s a kaleidoscope of reds and purples.
I’m sure there’s more damage than just his face. The closer I watch him, the more concern edges out my discomfort. He strides toward me.
I can’t stop staring.
I open my mouth, then abruptly close it.
“Don’t ask me questions about that side of my life,” Wilder used to say. “I won’t be able to tell you.”
I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask Luca. I certainly don’t know if he’ll tell me. No one ever tells me anything. Not my parents, certainly never Wilder. They thought I was something fragile to be locked away.
“It smells good,” Luca says gruffly. He rounds the counter and gingerly sits on one of the stools.
I move back to the stove, directly in front of him, and eye him warily.
“Breakfast sandwich,” I reply. “I made two…”
He nods slowly.
I pluck the English muffins from the toaster and place them on two plates, carefully sliding the eggs and cheese onto them. Then the bacon, and avocado simply because it was available. I set his in front of him and pick mine up where I stand.
We eat in silence, and I keep one eye on him. Like he might teeter off the stool at any moment—even though I know that’s a lie.
I finish before him and grab one of the dishcloths, soaking it in water. He watches me with hawk eyes as I come around and stop next to him. He swivels toward me.
You can do this.
I step between his legs and raise the cloth, dabbing it along his face. “This should probably be iced to prevent the swelling,” I whisper. “I’ll…”
He catches my wrist before I can leave and draws me back into him. His hand slides along my jaw, and we meet in the middle. Our lips slam together. He licks the seam of my mouth, parting it, and our tongues tangle. I swear, I’ve never felt fireworks before—but there’s a bottle rocket bouncing around my brain now.
We’re fused together.
I can’t kiss him. The thought is unwanted but strong. Kissing is intimate, but I can’t seem to stop. My first mistake.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and his hand leaves my jaw. He stands, then lifts me.
I’m no stranger to sex. In fact, I’d say I probably enjoy it too much. He pushes me against the wall and moves to my throat.
“Fuck,” I groan, tilting my head to give him better access.
His erection strains against his jeans. I reach between us and palm him, grinning when he thrusts in my hand.
I didn’t feel the tension boiling between us until this moment. The lust is unmistakable, a hot and heady sensation.
“Fuck me,” I moan. “Luca.”
He groans, tearing himself away. “Get naked.”
My feet hit the floor, and I put one hand on his chest. He backs up a step, eyeing me.
I wink and slowly pull my top over my head, dropping it beside me. His gaze is hungry when I move to unhook my bra, sliding it off.
He steps forward, but I keep him back.
This is my show.
I’m not certain I like him, but a little sex never hurt anyone.
Famous last words.
I shimmy out of my pants, turning to give him a view of my ass. I smirk to myself, risking a glance over my shoulder.
He’s already lost his shirt, and now he steps forward, kneeling behind me.
My mouth dries. “What—”
He grips my hips and drags me back, biting my ass cheek.
I let out a shriek of surprise—but what’s more surprising is the rush of wetness at my core. He kisses the spot, then nips it again. I grab on to the counter and bow my head, unsure why I’m enjoying this so much. I was expecting… normal.
More of the same.
But this is so much different.
He reaches around and finds my clit.
“Luca,” I say.
My legs are going to give out, but he doesn’t seem to mind. And then—oh god. His tongue plunges into me and my brain shorts.
His hand digs into my hip, stabilizing me as he tongue-fucks me. And his finger on my clit is almost overwhelming. I come without warning, clenching around him.
He pulls out of me abruptly, but his finger doesn’t stop moving on my clit. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stop the whimpering erupting from my throat.
“Hold tight,” he warns, then thrusts into me.
His grip is bruising, and he yanks me back to meet him. He stretches me, hitting a deep spot inside me. I’m already strung tight from my orgasm, but I’m greedy. I need more.
“Harder,” I grit out.
He fists my hair, almost dragging me upright. I reach back and scratch my nails along his ass and thigh. His tempo increases, and his finger returns to my clit.
“You like it rough?” he asks in my ear, then chases it with a nip.
I groan, my eyes fluttering shut.
“Dirty little wife.”
This is too much. Wife? Now? “Luca, I can’t—”
“You fucking agreed to this,” he growls.
I push back on him, but he’s everywhere. Invading every one of my senses. I struggle. “I didn’t agree, you bastard.”
He slides out and hits the back of my knee with his own. We both go down. He pushes me forward, face to the floor. I try to kick him, but he easily blocks it. He pins my legs together, between his, and I grunt in frustration. He captures both of my wrists, holding them together at the small of my back. He wraps something around them, effectively binding me.
“Beautiful wife,” he murmurs.
I wriggle, but I have no leverage.
And I’m scared out of my wits. He could do anything to me. He never even took his jeans off—the rough fabric brushes my legs. And yet, part of me is intrigued. It’s the curiosity that will get me into trouble.
“Get off me, Luca,” I demand.
He tsks. “You only panicked when I called you wife. Is that right?”
“N-no—”
“Do not lie to me.”
His finger slides into me, and I press my lips together.
“What’s a just punishment, wife? For every lie, I’ll rip an orgasm from your body. Even when you beg me to stop. Even when your body breaks. Your mind must break first.” He’s silent for a moment, but his finger doesn’t stop moving.
Fear bleeds through me, and I struggle. He’s got me perfectly exposed. I hate the vulnerability—that he’s taking advantage. That of all the things he could’ve done, this is one of them.
My mind goes back to the buttons on my wedding dress.
I knew, even then, that sex would be used as a weapon against me. That I was meant to be fucked, impregnated, and left. I didn’t blame Wilder for it—I hated him for it. I wanted love. Luca is wrong, though. I’ve been mentally preparing myself for this type of war for years.
“I won’t forgive you for this,” I whisper.
He leans forward and brushes the hair from my face. “Do I scare you, wife?”
I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “Yes.”
He withdraws, and I push my forehead into the floor. Ice seeps into my body from the cool tiles, but it d
oesn’t help. I’m already frozen.
“Why you?” he asks.
I go still. “What?”
“Why you, Amelie Page, and not your sister? Why does a parent ever choose one child over another?”
Ouch. But he’s aiming to hurt me, and I can’t let that show. “I suppose I should ignore the fact that I went from marrying the DeSantis heir to you.” I roll my eyes, knowing he can’t see it. “You’re worse than him.”
He chuckles and slaps my ass.
I jolt. “What the fuck was that for?” I yell.
His fingers massage the spot, then dip into me again.
“Just testing a theory,” he says.
He rises off me, and I turn my head in time for him to drop his jeans and kick them away.
I flip onto my back and wince. My arms are still bound behind me, but I manage to push myself into a sitting position. His erection is thick and long, glistening at the tip with precum. He’s already been inside me, but I still tense.
He’s too beautiful naked. Dark hair, abs, and a cut line of muscle straight to his cock.
I navigate to my knees and go toward him.
“Amelie—”
He quiets when I take him in my mouth. My hands will be no help, so I use all the skills I have. I take him in until I gag, and tears spring into my eyes. He doesn’t move while I suck him off, he just sharply exhales. He cups the back of my head, sliding himself deeper inside. I swirl my tongue around. White stars burst at the edges of my vision as he gets more into it.
I abruptly sit back on my heels.
A quick glance up shows me he’s burning with the desire to take my mouth. His eye looks worse than before. It’s an ugly purple, swollen almost all the way shut. But he pays it no mind, so I ignore it, too.
I lean back farther and spread my legs. “You want to fuck the truth out of me, Luca? The least you can do is look me in the eye while you do it.”
This is how I will survive—by pushing back.
He nods, joining me on the floor.
Who would’ve thought we’d have sex for the first time here? I could’ve guessed a bed, a couch, a wall…
Luca undoes my restraints and guides me back. He tosses the belt he used aside. I rub my wrists, glaring at the offending length of leather. He grips the backs of my thighs and slides the head of his cock up and down my slit.