“Utensils are in there.” I pointed.
She looked as though she wasn’t sure if the conversation was over or not.
I went into the living room and found a bottle of wine, picked it up, and took it and two glasses back into the kitchen. Gia was sitting by then, silent, her gaze on me.
“Hope you like red.” After rinsing the glasses, I sat at the table, poured the wine, and started to eat.
Gia ate too, each of us silent, the clanking of forks and knives on the plates the only sound breaking the heavy silence.
“What now?” she asked when we’d finished. “I don’t want to hide.”
“I need to listen to those conversations. Where’s this library?”
“Philadelphia.”
“We’ll go tomorrow. Does Victor know about the recordings? Does he know that you know about them?”
“I don’t think he knows there’s a copy. I know he had a flash drive he destroyed. He’s dumb enough to think that’s the only copy. When he questioned me, he didn’t ask me outright about it, so I think Mateo told him I wasn’t involved and knew nothing.”
“Don’t underestimate him.” I didn’t think Victor was a stupid man. An asshole, but not stupid. Although arrogance tended to give one blinders. I’d learned that myself. Maybe his arrogance would get him caught.
After eating, Gia took the dishes to the sink and began to wash them. I watched her as I finished the wine. Neither of us spoke.
“I’m sleeping in Lucia’s room?” she asked once she’d finished and wiped her hands clean.
I nodded.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“Not in your bed. Don’t worry.”
She gave me a smirk. “I’m going up to bed, then.”
I watched her walk to the swinging door. “Gia,” I called once she’d opened it.
She turned.
“Don’t go anywhere else.”
“Like where do you think I would go?” she asked, a hand on her hip.
I crossed one leg over the other and smiled, tilted my chair, and balanced on its back legs. “Like don’t do anything stupid,” I said, mimicking her.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She turned on her heel and left the room. I laughed outright, knowing she would do exactly what I told her not to.
I followed Gia upstairs half an hour later and walked into Salvatore’s old bedroom. I had a shower then put on a fresh pair of briefs, opened the bedroom door a crack, pulled the cover off the bed, remade it with fresh sheets, and climbed in to wait. I hadn’t locked Gia’s door on purpose. I wanted to see what she’d do. She didn’t trust me, which was wise, but I still needed her, and letting her go out there on her own would only get her in trouble. She most likely didn’t believe that, but she didn’t know this world like I knew it. Victor wouldn’t just let her go. And if Roman was involved, he was not one to leave loose ends. Gia was most definitely a loose end.
I leaned my head back against the pillow and closed my eyes. I was tired and had just drifted off to sleep when I heard it: the whine of a door unused for too long opening. I blinked my eyes open and listened. She walked softly, but the house was old, and it creaked. A lot. I waited until she was on the stairs before throwing the covers back and getting out of bed. I didn’t bother pulling pants on and left the pistol on the bedside table. Instead, I crept out of the bedroom and watched her in the dark. She stumbled once, righted herself, and moved toward the front door. She picked up the keys to the SUV I’d stupidly left on the hallway table, and when I saw her punch in the code I’d used to get us inside—sneaky little thing; she’d been watching—I sprinted down the stairs.
Gia turned at the sudden noise, and that second was what I needed. I caught up to her by the time she’d stepped outside the door. Catching her around the middle, I almost fell on top of her as we stumbled forward.
“Never put anything past a woman with an agenda,” I said, hauling her back inside.
“Let me go!” she screamed. “You fucking asshole, let me go!”
She kicked and punched. I turned her, tossed her over my shoulder, and slapped her ass. The door banged shut behind us as I carried a fighting Gia up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I tossed her down on the bed. Looking at her flushed face, her hair splaying out on my pillow, her eyes wild with fury—wild like a feral cat—it made me fucking crazy.
She lay still for all of a second, then tried to push me off. I flattened a hand on her chest and shoved her backward, climbed on top of her, and with one knee between her legs, trapped one of her thighs between mine. I laid my weight on her, caught her wrists, and transferred them to one hand. I then lightly tapped her face twice with the other.
“Like I said before, you’re so fucking predictable.”
“I was out the fucking door before you got to me!”
I gripped her chin, pressed my knee against her crotch, and watched her eyes darken. “Not far enough, though, considering you’re in my bed now. You play, you pay, Gia.”
She tried again to escape with her free leg, her torso, battling against me with every part of her she could move before I closed my mouth over hers for a quick kiss. I broke it long enough to warn her. “Don’t fucking bite me again.” I kissed her hard, devouring her, liking the taste of her, the fight in her. I forced her lips apart and bit down on one, not too hard but hard enough to taste the sweet, metallic taste of blood. I sucked.
Gia made some sound beneath me and, still keeping both of her wrists in one of my hands, I pushed the hoodie she had on up and cupped a breast, pinching her nipple through the bra and kissing her again, eating up her moan, my own, as I pressed my cock against her and slid my hand down to unbutton the jeans she must have switched into to make her getaway. I shoved them down, needing to free her wrists to grip the tight jeans with both hands and get them over her hips.
She pulled at my hair, but her eyes were closed and her mouth open, taking my tongue. I pushed my briefs halfway down my hips and gripped my cock, positioning myself between her spread legs, pulling back once to look down at her, at her pretty face, her lustful, panting mouth.
Her hands held onto my head, her fingers tangling in my hair, and when I fisted one handful of her dark mass and tilted her stubborn chin up, she reached to kiss me back, giving as good as she took, biting, her little teeth sharp as I brought my cock to her wet, hot entrance and met her gaze. I pushed into her, to the hilt in one thrust, eliciting a cry of pain from her, her fingers pulling at my hair again. I closed my eyes and kissed her again, moving inside her, her passage tight. She tilted her hips, wrapping both legs around me, and when I opened my eyes again, I found her watching me, her eyes dark and pupils dilated, biting her own lip as her pussy clenched around me, squeezing her pleasure from me. It took all I had to hold on until she released the vice-like grip of her thighs around my waist. I pulled out, my breath tight as I came on her belly, my cock throbbing between us, emptying, and finally, falling heavy on top of her, holding her beneath me, both of us spent, our breathing shallow gasps, her shuddering as I rolled off onto my back, one hand around her wrist, neither of us speaking.
12
Gia
Fuck.
I looked over at him. Dominic watched the ceiling, his breathing slowing down. Sweat covered his brow. His hard and damp tattooed chest rose and fell. I studied the artwork. Intricate drawings in color and black-and-white spanned his right-side upper chest and arm ending just below his elbow. I knew it wrapped around back too. Over his shoulder. I’d glimpsed the edges earlier.
Central to the design was a clock. Three-thirty-three. Heavy chains circled it, and a skull, a grim reaper, trapped a rosary between its grotesque teeth. Beneath it an eye, the blue-like crystal, watched, and around it, intricate dark designs of which I did not know the meanings bordered both clock and reaper. Within these were carved dates. The whole thing gave off a sense of regret. Of time having run out. Of doom and damnation.
Seeing this, the name I’d given him when I
hadn’t known his name fit.
Death.
And I’d just fucked him.
Or he’d just fucked me. Hell, we’d fucked each other. He hadn’t had to make me. I’d spread my legs wide and gripped him hard, taking my pleasure from him, liking the taste of him, wanting it. Wanting him. Needing him inside me. Making sure he knew he wasn’t taking anything from me.
I would not be a fucking victim. Not again. Not ever again.
Dominic turned to me, his gaze on my face.
“You fuck like you fight.”
What was I supposed to say? Truth was, I’d never been like this with anyone else. And as much as I tried to convince myself that I did it in order to not give him power over me, I’d never wanted anyone like I wanted him. His darkness drew me as much as it should have repelled me. His loneliness, his secrets—they all worked like a magnet, making it impossible to ignore.
He slid off the bed and dropped his briefs on the floor. I couldn’t help it; I let my gaze roam all over his body, his perfectly sculpted, powerful body.
“Up.” He held out his hand.
I sat up, then stood, attempting to pull my jeans over my hips as I did, feeling the smear of him leak down my belly beneath this stranger’s hoodie I’d found in the closet.
“No,” he said, pulling my hand away. “Take it off. Take everything off.”
I gritted my teeth, but my belly fluttered at the command.
“Off, Gia. Now.”
I stripped, angry, pushing my jeans down and stepping out of them and yanking the hoodie up and over my head. There was nothing erotic in my disrobing as I tugged the panties off and threw them on the floor as I unhooked my bra, dropping it onto the soiled pile. This man had seen me naked more often than clothed.
Dominic looked me over. Having his eyes on me, as much as I despised myself for it, only made me want. They made my pussy ache. Again.
But they also made me want to understand the darkness behind them.
“You look good wearing my cum.”
“I hate you.”
He closed his hand around the back of my neck and brought his face to mine.
“I don’t care,” he whispered.
I believed him. He did not care what I thought, what I felt. I wasn’t sure he cared about much at all.
A shudder ran through me. He moved, leading me by my neck into his bathroom. It was similar to mine but bigger, and for all the white in mine, his was black. Droplets of water clung to the glass wall and door of the shower. He reached in and turned on the water.
“In.”
I stepped into the stall, my belly to the spray. That was when I felt him behind me, his naked body touching mine.
I turned, panicked.
“What?”
He casually ran his gaze down to my ass, his hands gripping my hips. He leaned down, his mouth at my ear.
“I liked fucking you.”
I froze when I felt him harden behind me again, and when he rubbed himself against me as he leaned over me to pick up the bottle of body wash, I stopped breathing altogether.
“I think you liked it too.”
He squeezed some out onto his palm and began to rub it over my belly, my breasts, down to my sex then back up as I sucked in air. He turned my face and kissed me, his fingers finding my nipples as he did so, the soap slippery as he kneaded them. His tongue dipped inside my mouth, swallowing my moan whole.
He turned me so my back pressed against the wall, looked down at me, and spread my arms out to either side. His cock lay thick and hard and ready between us. God forgive me, but I wanted to touch it, to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him inside me.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
He dipped his head to kiss my face, my neck, as the water of the shower rained down on us. He released one of my hands, and I brought it to his chest. He slid his hand down between my legs to first rub, then pinch my clit hard. Holding on to it, he leaned back to watch my face.
I grunted, an involuntary sound, and tried to reach up to kiss him, but he moved so his nose touched mine while he twisted and squeezed my clit.
“I should punish you for trying to run off.”
He reached down and bite-kissed my lower lip.
“You won’t,” I said, closing my eyes as he squeezed harder. “Fuck.”
“You like that?”
I curled my hand around the back of his neck and looked up at him, watching him watch me, knowing my vulnerability, knowing he saw it, the fact making me hotter. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”
And beneath his gaze, I did, his fingers working as I panted and moaned, knees giving way so that he had to keep me upright, the orgasm quick after what we’d just done, and when he released my clit, I cried out, my eyes flying open to watch him lift me up only to impale me on his thick shaft.
It seemed the only word I could say was fuck again and again and again. Dominic chuckled, but his face grew serious as he took both of my wrists up over my head and brought his mouth to mine, his eyes wide open, fucking me harder, faster, until we both cried out with the release, my third, his second, the walls of my pussy clenching around the throbbing of his cock before he pulled out, again covering me with his cum.
I don’t remember the rest of the shower. All I know is that by the time he tucked me into his bed and climbed in beside me, I was half gone, exhausted, thoroughly spent and empty. And when he turned to wrap his body around mine, I drifted off to the deepest, most restful sleep I’d ever had.
When I woke the next morning, Dominic was already gone. I got out of bed, shamefaced at the soreness between my legs, the memory of the previous night at once humiliating and arousing.
I’d wanted him. I’d wanted every inch of him. And I’d had it.
I picked up the clothes I’d worn on my getaway attempt—which had almost succeeded—and crept out the door and down the hallway to my bedroom. Mine at least for the moment. I chose clothes out of Lucia’s closet, thanking my lucky stars she and I were similar in size so most things fit well enough. It felt weird wearing a stranger’s underwear, but I did anyway. After choosing today’s outfit, I went into the bathroom to dress. I wanted to check how the brand was healing, since the scabs had started to peel off.
Standing at the mirror, I turned to my side and looked at my hip, picking at the crusted, raised skin, hating the mark, this permanent brand Victor had burned into me. It would remind me always of that night. Of his power over me. I knew it was stupid to think of it as weakness. Me alone against him and several of his men? I’d had no chance. I’d fought anyway, though, knowing I’d lose. Knowing I’d pay. That’s what had earned me all the bruises, which were mostly faded by now. Victor was a bully. A thug. But it didn’t mean I didn’t feel shame every time I looked at the damned brand.
It was a circle containing what appeared to be a family crest maybe. I half expected it to be the Scava family crest, actually, and was surprised when it wasn’t. I knew their symbol. It had been on a necklace James had given me after we’d been dating for a month. This wasn’t it.
A B stood at the center of this mark, large and decorative. Spears protected that B and the Famiglia beneath. A lion’s mane acted as backdrop and anchor of the design.
I leaned down to have a closer look, confused. What the hell kind of mark was this?
Would Dominic know? He seemed to know a lot about the mafia world. He’d called it “our world.” He was an insider. I had assumed a foot soldier at first, then maybe a mercenary later, after I had gotten to know him a little more. He’d know what it was.
“Gia?” Dominic called out sharply from the bedroom.
I startled, grabbing a nearby towel and holding it up against me when he came into the bathroom, fully dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting, black-cashmere sweater. My eyes fell to the edges of the tattoo the V-neck left exposed. He stopped when he saw me, his blue-gray gaze sliding over me then rising to meet mine.
“What?” I asked once I could get my voice to work. I so
unded annoyed, like him. It was an act, though. Was it an act for him? Did he act tough and cruel when he wasn’t?
No. It would be a stupid mistake to think that.
“I want to go,” he said, walking inside. He stopped, and it seemed to me he had to force himself to keep his gaze on mine even though he wanted to act like he didn’t give a damn. Like he was unaffected. I knew he felt it too, this insane physical pull charged and sparking like a live wire between us.
“I just have to get dressed. Give me a minute.”
His eyes narrowed a little, and I turned as he moved, keeping myself covered as best as I could, realizing the mirror exposed everything to him when his gaze slid to it.
“Please,” I said, no longer able to help the dropping of my head. I needed to manage this, to figure out how to be around him. Fucking like we had last night, it didn’t help. Only blurred the already fuzzy line.
He nodded, but I noticed how his gaze settled on my hip as if he too were trying to get a good look. I could ask him. I should. He’d know. But I pulled the towel over it instead. He turned to walk out the door, giving me room, letting me breathe as if he stole all the oxygen out of any room he entered.
I dressed quickly, brushed out the mess of my hair, pulled it into a ponytail, and headed out, stopping at the vanity in the bedroom to smear lip gloss on my lips and mascara on my lashes, not sure why I did. Not like I was trying to look good for him. He was my jailor. It’d be good if I could fucking remember that at some point.
Dominic stood in the hallway, keys in hand, impatience clear on his face.
“Can I eat something first?”
“You eat a lot.”
“It’s breakfast time.”
He sighed, but his stance relaxed a little.
“I saw granola bars. They stay good forever, right? I’ll just grab a couple.” I walked away before he could stop me.
“Fine. Hurry up,” he called out to my back.
In the pantry, I found the bars—dark chocolate and sea salt, my favorite—took two, grabbed two bottles of water, and went back out into the foyer, where I found him holding the door open for me. I walked toward the SUV. Dominic followed.
Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance (Benedetti Brothers Book 2) Page 11