I've always prided myself on conducting my affairs in a quiet, almost clinical fashion. After all, I never wanted to descend into the same madness that took my parents.
But as I look at the woman by my side, her expression feral as she tries to put distance between the two of us, that's all I can see.
Recklessness.
Pure abandon, because there's no way I could detach myself while I'm balls deep inside of her, those long legs wrapped around my waist, her sweet cries ringing out as I thrust...
Goddamn it.
I need to keep myself in check if I'm to approach this logically.
She's a Guerra!
Yes. Not only does she embody everything I loathe in a woman, since my own mother's shameless example is still fresh in my mind, but she's also a Guerra.
From birth, every DeVille is indoctrinated to see Guerra as the epitome of evil—that who should be vanquished. And I'm no different. I've killed Guerras and Guerras have tried to kill me. There's simply no middle way between our families. That thought helps me recenter myself, her physical appeal suddenly paling in the face of decades-old grudges.
But just as I manage to put a damper on my growing arousal, Marie starts screaming and kicking at the man holding her, tears pooling down her cheeks as she tries to get free. She pushes her heel onto the man's foot with enough force that he's momentarily distracted. Running towards Gianna, the sound of the gunshot echoes through the store.
Eyes wide, mouth open in pain, Marie drops to the floor, the carpet quickly soaked in the blood pouring from her wound.
Fuck.
They nabbed her in the neck, too. And as I raise my gaze towards the shooter, I note the chuckles that permeate the air.
What men did Cisco send me? They're fucking ruining everything.
Gianna shakes her head as she tries to crawl towards her fallen friend, a sob escaping her lips. Before I can pull her back, the man who'd shot Marie is on her, dragging her to her feet.
"Seems like we need a new one," he tells the others.
Everyone is frozen on the spot as the masked men start loading the goods into their bags.
I move slowly, catching Gianna's eyes.
She tries to look fearless, but there's no mistaking the way her legs are trembling, her muscles strained as she tries to keep herself from moving.
She meets my gaze and I give her a slow nod.
She blinks, panicked, but she returns my signal with one of her own as she bobs her chin down ever so slightly.
On my elbows, I move quickly as I spot the nearest man. Since this is a race against the clock, I don't give him any opportunity to spot me before I tackle him, his neck in the crook of my arm as I hold him tightly from behind.
The others turn their attention to me, but I move faster, using the gun in the man's hand to shoot round after round, managing to nick all the men save for the one holding Gianna. And in their attempts to get back at me, they did me a favor by killing the man in front of me, now his entire body riddled with bullets.
Eyes wide, the last man standing keeps jamming the end of his gun against Gianna's temple, his eyes wide with terror as he sees me approach.
"No, stop!" he cries out. "No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go," he mutters. "No one was supposed to die," he continues to prattle, wildly looking around the corpses on the floor.
"You pulled the first shot." I tsk at him before I aim the gun I'd taken from the dead man straight for his face.
Since he's at least a head taller than Gianna, I'm not afraid I'm going to hit her.
My finger squeezes the trigger and sure enough, the shot is clean. His arms go slack around Gianna and he drops to the floor.
By this point all the staff is on the floor, crawling as far away from the site of the gunshots as possible.
"He's dead," Gianna whispers, her shoulders quaking. She blinks rapidly as she stares at the dead man at her feet, blood leaking from the round circle on his forehead. "You killed him..." she continues, finally raising her gaze to meet mine.
She shakes her head, taking a step back as if terrified of me. And as she tries to put distance between us, she trips on the man's legs, falling to her ass in the pool of blood, the back of her dress quickly changing color.
As she realizes the situation she finds herself in, she turns those big, gorgeous eyes of hers towards me, looking so achingly vulnerable that for a second I feel my chest contract in an unfamiliar sensation.
She parts her lips as she's about to say something, but no sound comes out. One more flutter of her lashes and her eyes roll to the back of her head.
She's out.
I purse my lips at her, somehow missing the fire she's shown earlier. For fuck's sake, what did I expect? She's a spoiled little girl. Of course, she'd faint at the sight of blood.
Gathering her in my arms, I try to ignore the way my wound pains me as I move her out of the pool of blood. I take a moment to quietly peruse her features, once again noting how exquisite her face is.
Like a fucking painting.
And they sent me, a shredded canvas, to take care of her.
Oh, but take care I will. I'll make sure I fulfill my mission and I'll enjoy seeing the look of disgust she's given me earlier morph into one of desire. Because Cisco was right. What punishment would be worse for the belle of the ball than to be seen consorting with the beast?
Her strong reaction to me only makes me want to prove her wrong even more. Knock her down from that mighty tower of hers and show her how we mortals get down and dirty.
And fuck, by the time I'm done with her she will be dirty.
The alarm rings, and it's not long after that the police and the ambulance arrive. Not surprisingly, I'm hailed as a hero, and with my new identity devoid of any arrest record, they don't even bat an eye when I tell them what happened. Especially as every eye witness testifies in my favor. Manuello's death is written off as part of the robbery too, with most people too frightened to even remember what happened to him.
And after my arm is patched up, I get the visit that I was most looking forward to.
"I must thank you for saving my daughter's life." A man in his forties says as he shakes my hand.
"Thank you..."
"Benedicto Guerra," he quickly introduces himself, looking at me expectantly.
"Sebastian Bailey. At your service." A wolfish smile spreads on my face.
And so it begins.
Chapter Four
"Fuck this," I mutter to myself as I lift up the mattress, searching for my hidden stash. Immediately, the shiny glint of glass beckons me as I pick up a bottle hidden within the bed frame.
My hands are shaky, my entire body on the verge of a meltdown. And there's only one thing I want to do.
Mute it. Mute everything.
I don't even look for a glass, quickly unscrewing the cap of the vodka bottle and chugging the nasty substance. The liquid burns as it goes down my throat, and tears coat my lashes as I force myself to bear it.
I need this.
I drink as much as I can before I start coughing and sputtering. Taking a deep breath, I allow myself to give over to the warmth that seems to envelop me, making my limbs become numb.
Hand on the neck of the bottle, I raise myself up, heading for the wall length mirror in my closet.
My eyes survey my form, taking in my legs and my slender frame. I move closer, bracing my hands on the mirror as I look at my face.
The face that everyone seems to love.
But it wasn't enough for him.
Bitter laughter bubbles in my throat, and I can't help myself when it reaches the surface, loud sounds combined with tears of frustration reverberating in the tiny room.
"Why am I so unlucky?" I shake my head at my own reflection.
It hadn't been enough that I'd almost died in an armed robbery. That I'd witness a beast murder five men in cold blood without even working a sweat. That I'd had said beast touch me.
Even now, a shiver of r
evulsion goes down my spine as I remember his icy fingers on my skin, his heavy palm resting against my ribcage. A sob catches in my throat at the memory.
If there's such a thing as the epitome of a personal nightmare, then he's it. With his big frame, and hulking muscles, he's everything I fear when I close my eyes at night. When I feel helpless outside of my safe haven where all my vulnerabilities are laid out in the open. He's what I fear the most because that strength has the power to break me—completely.
I'd noticed him from the beginning. One tends to do so when every man in one's vicinity seeks only one thing—to possess. I think I've developed this habit from when I was old enough to realize what my appearance did to people, and how it made men react. Since then, I've always been able to see them lurk around, looking me up and down in that lecherous way that always makes the hairs on my body stand up.
So I'd known. From the moment he'd entered the store, I'd felt his gaze on my back, his eyes slowly raking over my form. And when I'd turned to him, trying to give him my best set down, he'd smirked.
He'd fucking smirked.
"Fucking asshole," I mutter, taking another swig of the vodka.
It hadn't been enough that I'd still felt his dirty touch imprinted on my skin when I'd woken up from that ordeal, I'd also received the news that threatened to destroy everything.
The moment I woke up at home, my father had to inform me that my engagement was over, since Enzo had married someone else.
My hand tightens over the bottle, and I bring it to my mouth, taking another big gulp.
If Enzo is no longer a viable option then...
The future is bleak indeed, since I have no doubt that my father is already hard at work to find himself another wealthy groom. After all, I know the dire state of our finances. He's gotten himself into quite some trouble by going to the Russians for money. I shouldn't know this. I shouldn't know anything. But the situation has become so bad that my father's been arguing with his advisors day and night about our lack of funds.
He'd banked everything on this engagement and on merging his businesses with the Agosti family. Now? Unless he acts fast, we're going to lose everything.
Another husband.
The liquor threatens to come back up at the thought.
The only reason I'd been fine with Enzo had been the fact that he seemed to be disinterested in me.
When my father had announced that I had to marry—and marry well for that matter, I'd begged him for a chance to choose my own husband. After all, he'd been allowed the same privilege, and to my detriment too, when he'd chosen Cosima. I'd played the victim card and for a while I'd managed to soften him enough that he'd allowed me to meet with different prospective husbands.
All of them had been either lecherous old men or perverted fiends, one even going as far as cornering me in the hallway to tell me all the depraved things he'd do to me once he got his hands on me.
Enzo had been the only one who hadn't seemed interested. Hell, he'd barely even glanced at me.
And just to be sure, I'd tried to be a little more suggestive, to try to bring his true nature to the surface. After all, the men of our world are all the same, and they all want one thing—to possess the body and break the spirit.
When I'd been a little too forward, instead of looking excited, he'd looked disgusted with me. Even when I'd tried to place my hand on his shoulder, he'd drawn back as if burned. His reaction had been wholly unexpected and exactly what I needed.
I'd immediately told my father that Enzo was my choice, and he'd been ecstatic, since the Agosti fortune would finally pull us back to the surface.
Now?
"What the fuck am I going to do?"
My knees buckle and I fall to the ground, uncontrollable sobs racking my body as it dawns on me what future awaits me.
I'd met the other men whom my father had considered good matches, one worse than the other. And there was him...
A shiver goes down my back as I realize he might very well give me to him.
"No, no, no..." I shake my head, my fists clenched.
I can't let that happen. Anything is better than him.
But what can I do? No doubt, even now, father is courting different powerful men trying to pave the way for another match. I probably have a few months left at best.
I bring the bottle to my lips, taking another sip. The alcohol is finally starting to kick in, and I feel a little light-headed.
Taking a deep breath, I let everything fall away, reveling in the moment.
Opening the small window of the closet, I do a quick scan of the outside. When I don't see anyone, I take out the pack of cigarettes I always carry with me, my fingers shaky as I try to light one up.
The first drag is heavenly. The second only complements the alcohol as it makes me even more light-headed. The third is already helping me relax.
"Miss?" A far away voice registers amid dulled senses.
Startled, I whip my head towards the noise, my eyes going wide as I realize I need to hide the bottle and get rid of the cigarette in my hand. Putting it out on the windowsill, I throw it out the window before I quickly open a drawer, shoving the bottle inside. With slight difficulty, I manage to get to my feet just in time to see our housekeeper come in.
"Miss Gianna," she frowns when she sees my tear streaked face.
Shit, I must be all red.
I bring my hands up, quickly dabbing at my eyes.
"What is it, Mia?" I strain a smile.
"Your father is asking for you downstairs. He has a guest with him," she says, pursing her lips as she takes me in. "You should make yourself presentable," she nods at me before turning on her heel and leaving the room.
What could he want now?
A little tipsy—ok, maybe a bit more than tipsy—I take a seat to my vanity and I quickly apply some foundation to mask the red splotches on my face. I put on some make up as well before dousing myself in perfume so I don't smell like cheap alcohol.
Making sure my clothes will meet his approval, I finally head down.
"You wanted to see me papa?" I ask when I enter the living room, my voice dying when I see who the guest is.
Rooted to the spot, I can only stare at him wide eyed.
Him...
I feel a flush envelop my entire body, from the alcohol or his presence, I don't know.
He's just as big as I remember. Bigger still, with wide shoulders and bulky arms that could tear me apart.
He's dressed casually. More so than last time when he'd worn an expensive suit. Even then, I could tell that wasn't his go to. He's much more in his element in a black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. And the open neck shirt does nothing to hide just how big he is—everywhere.
Instinctively, I take a step back, my body recognizing danger before my mind can register it.
It's in the way his body is slightly angled towards me, his chest rising and falling in a calculated rhythm.
My gaze moves over his form, from his solid, muscular thighs to his defined pecs to the protruding veins on his neck to...
I blink rapidly as I see his face clearly for the first time. Wide, angular jaw peppered with morning growth, he doesn't seem like the preppy type who'd shave every day. No, he seems like the type of man parents use to scare their children into obedience with. The boogeyman that feeds off fear and chaos. And as I survey the rest of his face, I can't help the sliver of fear that courses through me too.
A jagged line starts from his right cheek and slashes diagonally across his face, ending in his hairline. It looks like someone deliberately cut through him.
Like a nightmare brought back to life, he embodies everything I fear when I step out into the unknown. The monsters who feed on my despair, the ones who delight in causing it.
And as I note the slight curl of his lip, the one that emphasizes the monstrosity of his scar even more, I'm reminded of what had happened at the store.
Now, just like then, his gaze follows the contours of m
y body in a predatory way that makes me want to run to my room and hide. Lock the door and throw the key away. There's nothing covert about the way he peruses my body, his eyes lingering a little too long over the swell of my breasts.
Unnerved by this blatant inspection, I have the urge to cross my arms over my chest and cover myself.
And as I meet his eyes with mine, I feel a strong jolt that almost makes me stagger back.
Gray. His eyes are gray.
I hadn't realized that before. Mostly because I'd been more worried about getting as far away from him and escaping the hostage situation with my life intact.
Then, his big frame, and hulking hands had only inspired fear as they'd settled on my body. Now...
I frown, tilting my head to the side.
His steely gaze follows, and he doesn't even blink as he holds my stare, a wolfish grin appearing on his face.
Monster. He's a monster. A monster that makes me...
"Gianna!" My father's voice startles me and I turn my head to look at him, a little disoriented.
"What's wrong with you, girl?" He makes a tsk sound as he commands me to take a seat.
I refrain from retorting, but I still huff out loud as I sit down, putting as much distance between me and the hulking beast currently occupying my living room.
"What is he doing here, father?" I ask, masking my voice and putting on my haughty persona.
I don't know why this man is here, in my own house, but I know he is dangerous. There's something deep within me that tells me to keep my distance from him.
"Didn't you say mutts have no place in our home?" I raise an eyebrow. "Why, you threw poor Johnny out before I could even feed him," I smile sweetly.
"Gianna!" my father exclaims, scandalized.
The mutt, however, only regards me amused, as if he'd expected my insult.
"He's our guest. Behave," he gives me a grave look.
Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE Page 5