"How the hell did you end up there?" Lorenzo asked, completely at a loss. His eyes looked small and pained, and I couldn't help but worry about his condition, what directions the doctors had given him that he was likely already disregarding.
"It's funny how much a woman in a bright red party dress and blue flip-flops stands out in a crowd," Chris said, giving me a warm smile. "It wasn't hard to track her. And once I knew what town she was heading to, I knew where she was going. Terry used to talk about that fucking house all the time. When I got there, it was a mess, blood completely covering those two," he said, shaking his head. "Looked like a horror movie."
"So you cleaned it up," Lorenzo guessed, knowing his men had been trained well.
"Started to. Then Anthony showed up," he said, smirking. "It was like a fucking party in that place. Between the two of us, we got the body out of there, cleaned everything up. But it wouldn't hurt for a team to go back and do another scrub."
"Noted," Lorenzo said, nodding. "I appreciate it."
"Doing our jobs," Anthony said. "Well, not exactly," he admitted. "I was supposed to be the one doing the killing."
"Killing?" another voice asked, making us all look up, finding Brio walking in through the house toward us, smile a little devilish. "I missed more fun?" he asked, coming into the space. His gaze cut to me, and that smile grew warmer. "I told you those were some nice shoes there, doll," he said, walking over toward the coffee pot.
"Nice shoes?" Lorenzo asked, looking at me.
"No," I said, shaking my head at Brio's back.
"Yes," he countered, turning back, taking a long, slow sip of his coffee.
He'd intentionally drawn my attention to them.
He knew the buckles could be used to escape.
"The candy bar too?" I asked, watching as his lips twitched.
"Nah, doll, that was all you. Took me a while to figure it out, too. You're fucking slick, G."
"But... why?" I asked, shaking my head. "Why wouldn't you just... take the shackles off? Why did you want me to do it myself?"
"Figured when little boss man here up and went missing with Milo, that he didn't die like his old man was hoping. And I saw the way he ripped a man to shreds for you. I wanted to see if you were the kind of woman who deserved the boss, which was what he was going to become. Figured if you could figure out how to get out of that basement, then you could handle being with him."
"Brio, man," Emilio said, pressing a hand to his heart. "I had no idea you were such a romantic," he teased.
Brio ignored that. "Killing the capo, though, that was," he said, bringing his fingers in to do a chef's kiss, "perfect. I never should have doubted you."
"Alright," Lorenzo said, shaking his head. "So, let me get this straight. Brio told you how to escape," he started. "You escaped, poisoned my father, then went back down into the basement, and locked yourself back up."
"I didn't want anyone to think it was me," I told him, shrugging. "I thought you were gone. And I figured that if your father was gone too, they might just let me go. And I could go back to my life."
"And then you found evidence that my mom was alive, then went to save her, stabbing Terry in the neck in the process?" Lorenzo asked, tone getting more and more awed as he went on.
When it was recapped like that, it was pretty awe-inspiring, even I had to admit that.
"Racking up two bodies in a week. Gotta respect that," Brio piped in, almost gleeful about my body count.
"Three," Lorenzo corrected. "Emptied a mag into her old man. That's what got her in the basement in the first place."
"Three? Fuck, man. Marry her," Brio declared. And, what's more, he wasn't joking.
"Speaking of that," Celeste said, moving to stand. "I think these two could probably use some time together. You," she said, looking over at Brio. "How about you take me to go see my other son? And meet my grandson?"
Within ten minutes, new orders had been sent out to most of the other men, and Lorenzo was walking up the stairs with me. One hand was pressed to my lower back, but it didn't escape me that his other hand was gripping the railing hard.
He tried to be strong, but the man was just out of the hospital after getting shot, after being beaten. He needed to rest.
"I'm fine, Gigi," he told me as we got into his room, seeming to sense my train of thought.
"You were shot in the head. You're not fine."
"I'm not one-hundred-percent," he admitted, dropping down on the edge of the bed, looking over at me. "But I will be there soon enough. Until then, there are just some minor, annoying side-effects. I'm fine. Better now that I know you're okay," he added, reaching out, snagging my wrist, pulling me forward. "Was having trouble sleeping not knowing where you were, if you were okay. I failed you."
"You didn't fail me," I said, rolling my eyes. "What were you supposed to do that you didn't do?"
"Save you."
"Well, that would have certainly saved me a lot of trouble," I admitted, smiling at him, my hand raising, carefully tracing above his new scar. "But I think I proved I can take care of myself."
"Knew it the second you cold-cocked me with a whiskey bottle," he told me, smirking. "You alright?" he asked, getting more serious.
"Not a scratch on me, incredibly," I told him, forcing a smile. I was a bit too worn out for a real one. I wasn't sure the last time I got any real sleep.
"Not what I meant. Had a lot of shit go down the past few weeks. You weren't raised in this. It's got to have some impact."
"It probably will," I admitted. "Once I have a shower and some food and some sleep. But I figure you're rich enough to pay for all the therapy I am probably going to need," I said, smiling a little.
"Anything you want," Lorenzo told me, unexpectedly serious, the words more like a vow than anything.
"I was joking," I insisted. "I'm not expecting anything."
"No? You should be," he told me, shrugging.
"I didn't do what I did because I wanted something. Aside from my freedom."
"Well, see, we have a problem there, hellcat."
"What?" I asked, stiffening. "What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid you can have anything you want. Except your freedom."
"Wait a minute—"
Lorenzo's chuckle cut me off. When I looked down, his green eyes were dancing. "Christ. Look at that attitude. Were you going to shoot me with my own gun?" he asked, patting his holster under his jacket.
"I still haven't written the possibility off," I told him, even though we both knew that while I was, apparently, capable of a lot more than I could have ever known, killing him was not on that one of those things. "What do you mean I can't have my freedom?"
"Well, you are free to come and go. To go back to that bakery to work. Whatever you want to do."
"But?"
"But... you come back here at night," he finished, giving my hip a squeeze.
"What? In the basement?" I asked, heart starting to trip into overdrive, having an idea what he was saying, but a part of me needed to hear him spell it out for me.
"In this bed," he clarified. "With me," he added, pulling me closer, then down to straddle his waist, hungry hands starting to roam.
"We don't know each other that well," I insisted, even as every part of me wanted to believe we could make something work.
"We know enough. I know enough. And we will learn more as time goes on," he told me, fingers starting to pull up the back of my shirt. "Say yes," he demanded, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
He wasn't a man who showed that often, but he had given it to me a few times. The real side of him. The raw part.
Those parts of me responded to it, too, knowing that there wouldn't be a single person on this earth who could ever possibly understand what I had been through over the last few weeks more than Lorenzo. And, what's more, I didn't want anyone else to try.
"Okay. Yes to trying. No to what you are doing with your hands right now," I objected, feeling his fingertips teas
e the sides of my breasts. "I need to shower," I added, cringing at how much I needed that luxury—a long, hot, soapy shower, and a date with a razor, too, I imagined.
"Mmhmm," he agreed, lips buzzing against my neck as he made the sound. "We can shower. Later. We gotta get dirty first."
There was no way to fight that logic, now, was there?
If there was, I didn't want to figure it out.
So we got dirty.
Then we got clean.
And then we started this strange, scary, wonderful new life together.
Epilogue
Lorenzo - 1 Day
"Go back to bed," Giana snapped at me as soon as my foot stepped into the kitchen.
"Got shit to do, babe," I said, walking up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, leaning down to bite into her neck. "No rest for the wicked," I added, my fingers slipping down to press between her thighs.
Her reaction was immediate, her back leaning into me, her ass wiggling against me, her head falling onto my shoulder as a little mewling noise escaped her.
I was just starting to get used to that sound. I wanted to hear a fuck of a lot more of it in the coming days, weeks, months, years, decades if things went the way I wanted them to.
Because Brio was right.
If there was ever a woman who could handle this lifestyle, it was one who fearlessly racked up a body count in just a couple days.
Sure, we had a lot to learn about each other. That would come. But I knew the basics. Her hard-working mindset, her loyalty, her stubbornness, her attitude, her pride, the movies she liked, the food she preferred, her history with her family, the way she curled into me at night.
We'd laid some groundwork.
The rest would come.
"You need to take it easy," Gigi scolded me, even as her hips did a roll, getting more friction for her needy pussy.
"I took it easy for a week," I reminded her, pressing my hard cock against her.
"A coma is not rest," she insisted, trying to laugh, but my finger did another swipe against her clit.
"I slept for a week. That's rest. More than you've gotten," I added, releasing her, turning her, lifting her up onto the counter. Her thighs parted for me as I moved between, my cock pressing against her pussy. "I should be telling you to go back to bed. In fact, I like that. Get back in bed. Naked," I told her, rocking my hips against her.
"I will go back to bed. Naked," she agreed, hands drifting around my hips. "But only if you go back with me. And stay there," she clarified. "For two days."
"I can't go to bed for two days, babe," I told her, my hand sliding up under her shirt, closing over her breast, rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. "I can spare an hour or so, though," I said, my fingers pinching her nipple hard, watching as her head fell back, her lips parting on a silent moan.
"Morning, roomies!" Emilio said from behind us, making my hand slide out from under Gigi's shirt as she let out a quiet whimper.
Yeah.
Emilio was going to be one hell of a cockblock.
I wanted a chance to fuck Giana on every surface of this house. It wasn't going to be easy to do that with Milo constantly popping into rooms randomly.
That said, I said he could crash for a while. I couldn't take that back. Besides, even if I did, he wouldn't listen. He was going to stay close until things were more stable. Or, at least, until I was fully on my feet again.
"You have shit timing," I informed him as Gigi shot me wide eyes, embarrassed at the insinuation.
"I am all for some kitchen fucking, but have the common courtesy to hold off until everyone in the household gets a cup of coffee," he told us, giving Giana a sly smile as he moved beside her to get a cup. "Were you about to cook?" he asked.
"I, ah, yeah. I was going to make some pastries for you guys. And all the men in and out all day."
"Did you hear that?" Emilio asked, looking over at me. "She is going to bake for us."
"She wants to bake for me. You just happen to be here," I corrected.
"I'll still take it," he said, shrugging. "Well, Giana, sweetheart, we will get out of your hair, so you can get right to that. What?" he asked when I glared at him. "Oh, keep it in your pants. When was the last time you had a woman bake for you? Exactly," he said when I had no answer to that. "Besides, we have some things to talk about. You can get some afternoon delight with her," he added, leading me out into the hallway.
I glanced back over my shoulder, finding Giana's cheeks pink with embarrassment, her eyes still hungry.
Yeah.
I could get used to seeing that woman in my kitchen every morning.
What's more, I was looking forward to it.
Giana - 1 Week
"What is all this?" I asked, sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the massive stack of magazines, fabric samples, and paint swatches that Celeste had dropped down in front of me.
Celeste had jumped back into life with both feet.
She'd been to the DMV to get her IDs renewed, had been to the family attorney to get access to all the accounts again, had gotten her nails done, went shopping for a whole new wardrobe, hit the doctor, started at a gym, spent time with both her sons. She'd even gone to the salon to fix the patchy job I'd done with the box dye back in the prison house when she'd insisted that she couldn't go back to New York without her hair done, some makeup to play with, and a nice dress and heels to wear. Luckily for her, she was incredibly charming, and Christopher and Anthony had agreed without even thinking twice.
I knew she was trying to make up for lost time, but I felt so lazy compared to her. I'd ducked into the bakery once, flanked by guards, telling the workers about my father's disappearance, hiring one of the part-time workers as full-time now that the business was no longer indebted to the Costa family. I'd filed the missing person's report with Lorenzo at my side. And I had managed to go to the grocery store, stocking the house for all the hungry men in and out.
I thought it was a lot.
Until I heard what Celeste had been up to.
She'd also, apparently, been to the home improvement store.
"The house is being renovated, darling," she told me, dropping down into the chair across from me, giving me a smile. Her new long layers did wonders to frame her face, made her eyes look brighter, her features sharper.
"I, ah, yeah. Are you decorating?"
"Me?" she asked, brows scrunching. "Why would I ever redecorate the brownstone?"
"Because, technically, it is your house," I reminded her.
"Oh, that," she said, waving a hand in the air. "That is a formality. This house belongs to the family, Gigi. I won't stand in the way of that. Besides, I don't have great memories here. I am happier in Lorenzo's penthouse. It is nice to be up above the world after being below it for so long. Lorenzo and I decided to swap. But the brownstone will stay in my name. At least until he marries you. Then it will go in your name. The houses are better off in the woman's name," she clarified. "That way, if something happens and the war gets bad and the men don't make it, they still have some stability for themselves. For their kids."
"You know a lot about the families," I said, shaking my head. "Arturo didn't seem like the kind of man who shared that information."
"He wasn't. But his father was. And his mother. And my uncle. That was how we met. Through my uncle's connection to the Costa family. I was a Lombardi," she said, lowering her voice like the name was a sin, and I was starting to understand the power dynamic of the families after a couple long talks in bed late at night with Lorenzo.
The Costas were the upper echelon. Their closest allies were the Morellis and the D'Onofrios. The other two families, the Lombardis and the Espositios outwardly played by the rules, but did a lot of things behind the backs of the other families, were always hungry for more money and more power, maybe even the seat at the top.
"That has never been an issue? Loyalty-wise?"
"I had a very loose relation to the family back then. I was
fascinated by the whole thing, don't get me wrong, but my parents were never directly involved, so it wasn't like anyone was worried about the alliance. If you can call it that. All Arturo and I did was wage war in private. But, thankfully, that is all over now. Because of you. So, you and Lorenzo, you are keeping the house. Which means you need to decorate it."
"I think that is more Lorenzo's place."
"Darling," she said, leaning forward, placing a fine-boned hand on my forearm. "These powerful men, they really don't care about the drapes and the backsplash in the kitchen. But since you will be the one in the kitchen, you do care. I hear you bake for the men all the time," she added, eyes warm. Dare I think it—approving.
"I am a much better baker than I am a cook," I admitted, shrugging.
"No worries, Gigi, we will work on that together. I know. I don't look like someone who knows a spatula from a frying pan, but I practically lived in the kitchen when the boys were young. They had hollow legs, I swear, always needing more and more food to fill up. But I loved that. Do you want children?"
"I do," I told her, smiling a little at the idea of a bunch of little green-eyed children running up and down the halls.
"You don't worry about bringing them into this?"
"Did you?"
"Of course. But that being said, the world as a whole is an ugly place to bring children. War and homelessness and people dying of preventable diseases, climate change, kids being shot in school—sorry, I have been binging the highlights of the news since I have been away. It's all a little overwhelming. My point is, no one can actually guarantee their kids safety. At least with this family, the kids have armed guards around all the time looking out for them. Do you want just a couple?"
"I used to tell my mom that I wanted a football team of kids. Now, I am thinking maybe a few less than that."
"I always wanted a bunch as well. I probably would have kept going. If it was another man. But, as you can imagine, Art was not a good father. He was harsh and overbearing and I cringed at the idea of bringing more children into this environment. I would love it if you made me a grandma of a football team."
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