Contents

1. Blurb

2. Title

3. Rights

4. Title.

5. Chapter One

6. Chapter Two

7. Chapter Three

8. Chapter Four

9. Chapter Five

10. Chapter Six

11. Chapter Seven

12. Chapter Eight

13. Chapter Nine

14. Chapter Ten

15. Chapter Eleven

16. Chapter Twelve

17. Chapter Thirteen

18. Chapter Fourteen

19. Chapter Fifteen

20. Chapter Sixteen

21. Chapter Seventeen

22. Chapter Eighteen

23. Chapter Nineteen

24. Chapter Twenty

25. Chapter Twenty-One

26. Chapter Twenty-Two

27. Chapter Twenty-Three

28. Chapter Twenty-Four

29. Chapter Twenty-Five

30. Chapter Twenty-Six

31. Acknowledgements

32. Also by Jessica Gadziala

33. About the Author

34. Stalk Her

Blurb

In the heart of the city, alliances are forged in the shadows and sealed with vows.

Renzo Lombardi, the notoriously ruthless leader of an organized crime family, sees the chance to end the feud with his rivals, the Costa family, demanding a ceasefire in the form of a marriage contract.

Lore Costa, the shy, sweet princess of the Costa family, goes against her family’s wishes, and finds herself thrust into a new world when she agrees to marry Renzo, her secret infatuation.

It isn’t long before Lore discovers that the fairytale romance she’d dreamed of is anything but, as Renzo becomes consumed with the demands of his legacy, becoming a ghost haunting the shadows of Lore’s life, and leaving her adrift in a sea of loneliness.

By the time Renzo realizes his mistakes and tries to win back the heart of the woman he never knew he needed, whispers of greed and betrayal threaten to tear apart everything they have begun to hold dear, testing their fragile bonds amidst the treacherous currents of power and deception…

L O V E

H I M

L I K E

W A T E R

—

Jessica Gadziala

Copyright © 2024 Jessica Gadziala

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.

"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental."

Cover image credit: Pexels /Nadin SH

“None of this book was written using AI tools. Each word was crafted with human hands.”

L O V E

H I M

L I K E

W A T E R

CHAPTER ONE

Lore

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in hues of crimson and gold, I stood alone in the bridal suite, looking at my reflection in the ornate mirror, fingers trembling as I fastened the diamond headband and veil atop my dark hair.

I smoothed the fabric of my dress, my breath caught in my throat as my fingers traced over the delicate embroidery of my wedding gown.

With every moment that passed, the weight of my decision pressed upon me.

Marrying this man forsook the wishes of my family.

Not doing so would forsake myself.

The woman in the mirror betrayed none of the turmoil within. With each delicate brushstroke of makeup, I not only concealed my nerves, and the evidence of my lack of sleep, but the forbidden reasons I had made this decision.

To sign my life and future away to the notorious mob boss Renzo Lombardi.

An enemy of my family—the Costas—until the moment the two of us said I do.

A glance toward the wooden clock on the wall—the pendulum swinging a steady rhythm that somehow further set my nerves on edge—told me that those words would be said in less than fifteen minutes.

I fell into a sort of trance as I stood there, listening to the clock tick the minutes away, watching the pendulum swing side-to-side, much the way my heart felt pulled in two opposing directions.

The knock at the door caught me by surprise, tearing a gasp from me, and making my heart trip faster.

“It’s time,” the unfamiliar voice called.

When I was a girl, I pictured this moment a million times.

The door would open.

And there my father would be, teary-eyed, and ready to offer me his hand, to walk me down the aisle, to give me away to a man he deemed worthy.

Taking a deep breath, I walked toward the door, awkward in the long gown, and reached to pull it open.

My father was not there.

A small part of me hoped he might be, that he would change his mind, that he would take back the things he said about not playing a part in this ‘tragedy.’

All I found was an empty wall of cold gray stones.

And one of Renzo Lombardi’s men standing there, ready to walk me toward his boss.

He said nothing.

The way his gaze didn’t even travel over me, let alone linger, had a familiar insecurity rising through my system so quickly that I had to force my spine to straighten as we neared the chapel.

I hesitated at the last moment, some part of me whispering to run. Turn around, head for the doors, make my way out onto the streets, and run all the way back to my childhood home, back to the comfort of my old life.

“This is you,” the guard said, waving toward the entryway into the church.

I nodded, realizing at the last second that I’d left my bouquet in the bridal suite.

I hadn’t planned this wedding. Hadn’t picked out the flowers. When they’d shown up at the door—lush white chrysanthemums nestled in a circle of dark greenery—I’d immediately started sneezing, having to tuck them into the bathroom with a closed door to keep my allergies at bay.

My groom had planned this wedding.

He’d picked that bouquet.

Perhaps a soon-to-be husband should know which flowers his wife-to-be might be allergic to.

But of course Renzo didn’t know.

Because Renzo Lombardi didn’t know me at all.

As the organ trilled the beginning of The Bridal March, though, it was too late to turn back to grab them.

Instead, I clasped my hands together in front of me.

And took a step into the archway.

In the dimly lit grandeur of the gilded cathedral, where shadows danced like whispered secrets, silent objections hung heavy in the air, making a slight tremble start in my hands, then begin to work upward.

A sea of black suits and dresses flanked each side of the aisle, looking more like a funeral than a wedding.

No one stood to marvel at the bride.

No one dabbed their eyes or offered me smiles.

My heart beat louder than the organ that echoed the hallowed halls as I forced my wobbly legs to press forward, to make progress toward the altar.

Where my groom was waiting for me.

Unlike the men on my side of the aisle who seemed to wear their suits like second skins, Renzo Lombardi looked stiff and uncomfortable.

He looked like a dream, though, and some part of me was sure that when he finally turned to look at me, he would see his mistake, call off the wedding, and find someone who matched his stunning good looks.

Renzo was tall and fit with dark hair and eyes so deep they were almost black, framed with thick lashes, in a face full of sharp, classically handsome angles.

He had a face that may have looked too perfect, if not for the violent slash of scars that cut through his lip and brow, giving him an intimidating, dangerous look.

Not that he needed that.

He was an intimidating and dangerous man.

And here I was, about to belong to him.

I thought he might never turn to face me as I passed row after row of my family, their faces grim, their postures tight.

But then, suddenly, his focus shifted.

And his dark gaze landed on me.

My step faltered as my belly flipped, and I had to force my next step forward, then the other after that, as his focus stayed on me.

I wished I could read him, that I could know what he was thinking when he finally set his eyes on his bride. A woman whose voice he wasn’t familiar with, whose personality he knew nothing about.

Did he find me adequate or wanting?

His features were blank, his inner thoughts impenetrable as I ascended the two steps to the altar.

The tremble that had started in my hands had worked itself through my entire body, leaving me vibrating as the two of us turned instinctively to face the priest when he began his speech about the sanctity of marriage.

He didn’t wax poetic about love and joy.

Perhaps he knew this was not a marriage of souls.

But a union of families.

A ceasefire in the form of a marriage contract.

I watched as the rings were passed to the priest to bless, then as he nodded toward Renzo, who turned to face me.

I didn’t seem to remember to offer him my hand, so he reached downward toward it, having to pry it away from my other one, the touch an electric current I felt all the way up my arm, though he seemed entirely unaffected.

“I, Renzo Christopher Lombardi, take you, Lore Ann Costa, to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he said, and the silence in the cathedral made me wonder if the congregation could hear the frantic hammering of my heart at those words. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, ‘till death parts us.”

Suddenly, I felt a shock of cool as the wedding band slid on my finger, caging in the engagement ring that had shown up at my father’s door the day after news got around that I agreed to marry Renzo.

The priest cleared his throat, making me jolt, realizing I was supposed to be taking the other ring from the priest.

I lifted my shaky hand, worrying that it might drop with all my trembling as the priest started to say the vows I was meant to speak.

I wasn’t even sure anyone other than the three of us could hear me, my voice so small and tinny as I repeated them back.

“I, Lore Ann Costa, take you, Renzo Christopher Lombardi, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

In the pews, my family shifted uncomfortably, their jaws set tight, and I realized the priest had skipped over the part of the ceremony about anyone having objections. As if he knew half of the people in attendance would feel the need to stand and make their concerns known.

“To have and to hold from this day forward for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, ‘till death parts us.”

At the last second, I remembered to slide the ring up Renzo’s large finger, barely even paying attention to the priest, I was so focused on the task.

“You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord in His goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings. What God has joined, men must not divide. Amen.”

He did not demand the groom kiss the bride.

And a moment I’d been waiting for and thinking of for longer than I would ever dare admit never happened.

Renzo’s hand merely grabbed mine, nearly crushing it in his strength, and pulled me back up the aisle I’d just walked down moments before, through the cathedral, and toward the intimidating wooden doors, then out into the crisp autumn air.

He said nothing.

And I was too busy choking on the heart lodged in my throat to do so either as he pulled me down the stone steps, then led me toward a waiting black SUV where a man stood near the open door.

Not sure what other choice I had, I climbed awkwardly inside, gathering my train just in time for the door to slam, closing me in, leaving me alone yet again as my groom climbed in the front with the driver.

There was no divider between the seats, but the men might as well have been a world away, not seeming to notice my presence at all as I watched out the darkened window to see my family emerge from the church, heads pivoting from side to side, trying to find me.

But we were already pulling away from the curb.

Tears stung my eyes, and I had no choice but to squeeze them closed to prevent them from spilling down my cheeks as the car swerved into traffic, making my jangled nerves scatter even more.

What had I been expecting?

That he might see me there in my wedding gown and suddenly fall in love with me?

This was a business arrangement to Renzo.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

He didn’t know…

He couldn’t, I reminded myself, cutting off those thoughts, knowing they would only make my efforts at stemming the flow of tears fail.

I had no idea what Renzo Lombardi expected from a wife.

But crying in the backseat on her wedding day was likely not it.

I sucked in a breath, trying not to sniffle too hard, aware of the almost painful silence in the car, only broken by the muffled city noises outside as we drove… somewhere.

Adding to the list of many things I did not know about my husband, the location or type of home he had was one of them.

My father and brothers had used this as one of the many reasons I should not marry Renzo.

Being that Renzo’s territory was Brooklyn, far from my family’s domain of Manhattan, and that he protected his area with an iron fist, none of us knew where Renzo’s home was, what it was like, where I would be spending the rest of my life.

The car took a turn that had my belly bottoming out, making my eyes fly open, immediately noting how much speed we’d picked up since I’d closed my eyes to fend off the tears that threatened.

Both of my hands went out, one pressing on the leather seat at my side, the other grabbing the handle of the door as the car took another hairpin turn onto a narrow street.

Then another quick turn.

I glanced up toward my husband, but noticed no tension in his body. As if this was an everyday occurrence.

I tried to force myself to relax as well, but the whole day was too nerve-racking to calm myself down.

Until, finally, what felt like a long time later, the SUV slid into a suspiciously empty parking spot directly out front of a red brick apartment building situated on a corner. It was a six-story structure that I figured might house around sixteen to eighteen apartments, given what I knew about general apartment sizes in the city.

From what I understood about the Lombardi crime family, they were every bit as wealthy as my own. It seemed strange that Renzo would rent a normal apartment instead of a penthouse in a skyscraper or have an entire brownstone to himself. Like the ones I spotted several blocks up.

The engine cut, though, and the driver and Renzo climbed out, the doors slamming making me jolt.

I stayed put, having not been told to follow as the two men stopped on the sidewalk, talking for a moment before the driver nodded and walked off down the street.

Renzo glanced at the car for a long moment. I was watching him closely enough to see him suck in a deep breath, then exhale it, before making his way to my door, reaching for the handle, and pulling it open.

“Come on, mouse,” he said, then waited for me to follow his instructions.

I did, my heart doing a little flip-flop at the pet name.

As soon as my skirts were clear, the door slammed behind me, and Renzo started to walk toward the building, leaving me to follow behind.

With no other choice, I did, a small crack forming in my heart at realizing that this wasn’t going to be what I’d been fantasizing about for so long.

A fairy tale wrapped up in a mafia contract.

Renzo said nothing to me as we moved into an elevator, then climbed the floors as I counted.

All the way to the top.

The doors slid open, not revealing the long hallway of apartments I’d been anticipating, but a small closed-off area featuring two chairs and tables, both manned by Renzo’s men flanking a big, metal door.

Renzo gave them each a nod, then used the keypad to unlock the door, and moved into what was now our home without me.

I hadn’t imagined he’d carry me over the threshold, of course. But I thought that maybe he’d hold open the door for me.

“Mrs. Lombardi,” one of the guards said, making my pulse skip at my new name, reaching for the door himself, and holding it open for me. “Welcome home.”

Taking a deep breath, I moved through the door.

Because, whether this was anything like I’d hoped or not, this was my home now.

With a husband who clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

CHAPTER TWO

Renzo

You could cut the tension in the church with a fucking knife.

Neither side of the aisle was happy about this arrangement.

The Costas felt like they’d been forced into something, that they had to offer up one of their girls like a sacrificial lamb.

And my family, well, they weren’t exactly thrilled about a Costa in our midst. They’d been enemies of our organization for many years, and no one trusted having one of them in the inner circle.

In the end, though, I was the boss.

This was my decision.

And they had to fall in line.

Only half of my crew was seated, shifting uncomfortably in their suits unlike the Costas who were practically strapped into suits while they were still in diapers.

The rest of my people were standing in the wings, scattered around the cathedral, armed and ready to act if this shit went sideways.

My gaze was on one of my men at the side of the building who was watching something in the crowd that had me on edge as the sounds of The Bridal March drifted up to the high ceilings of the church.

No one stood.

Like we all knew any sudden movement could cause chaos to break out with how tense everyone was about this gathering.

When my man in the wings relaxed, I turned toward the aisle, finally getting a look at my bride as she walked to me.

All the Costa women were gorgeous, so I hadn’t even bothered to look into which one they’d decided to have me marry.

And she was that.

Gorgeous.

She was short and slight, so small it seemed crazy that the family put the weight of this alliance on her petite shoulders, with long, dark hair, and a sweet, round face dominated by dark blue eyes.

I’d hoped for pretty. And I got it.

What I didn’t expect, though, was how fucking young she was. She couldn’t be older than twenty, twenty-one. A fucking baby, really, to be handed off to a man her family didn’t know from Adam.

The fuck were they thinking?

I’d half-expected to turn to find some eighty-year-old widow walking toward me. And, technically, they’d be within the terms of our agreement to do so.

But no.

Here was my bride.

A kid, really, climbing up the steps to stand beside me, making me all the more aware of how small she was with how I towered over her.

To her family, I had to look like a predator about to devour its prey.

I didn’t hear a fucking thing the priest droned on and on about concerning the sanctity of marriage. There was nothing holy about this union.

I found myself turning toward Lore at the right time, though, looking down and noticing for the first time that her hands were clasped tightly together, not wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

I’d ordered one, I was sure. There weren’t a lot of details I’d needed to iron out, so I knew what I’d done.

Sent the engagement ring to her house along with cash she’d need to buy a dress.

Reserved the church.

Made sure the bridal suite had anything she might need in it.

Bought the wedding bands.

And ordered a bouquet from a local florist.

But here she was, without it.

It seemed for the best, though, since she had no one to hand it off to when I had to reach for her hand to say my vows.

Only to find her shaking like a goddamn leaf.

Costas.

Fucking animals subjecting this kid to some unknown fate.

But here we were.

It was too late to go back now.

So I slid the ring on her tiny finger as I said my vows, then felt her cold fingers on my hand as she said hers, her voice trembling, barely loud enough for me and the priest to hear, then slid the ring on my finger.

I’d made sure ahead of the time to talk to the priest about not making room for objections, and not including words like ‘love’ in our vows, and also not to declare it was time to kiss the bride.

I was pretty sure Lore’s father and brothers would say Fuck the alliance, charge up to the altar, and skin me alive if they had to sit through that.

As soon it was done, it was time to go.

Before the Costas decided that they didn’t want this alliance after all.

We had to get the hell out of Dodge before shit went down.

In the car, I yanked at my tie and unbuttoned several buttons, unaccustomed to wearing suits, save for funerals.

Sure, the idea of the mob these days was all designer suits, silk ties, and ten-thousand-dollar watches.

But my organization had always been a little more rough around the edges. We hadn’t been raised in cushy brownstones in Manhattan. Most of us crawled out of the cracks of the most dangerous neighborhood in Brooklyn.

The backseat was quiet as we drove from the church to the apartment building, and I didn’t know what the fuck to say, so I said nothing.

“So, are you just not going to talk to your wife?” Rico, my driver, and one of my oldest friends, asked as we stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building.

“The fuck am I supposed to say?” I asked, shaking my head. “She looks like she’d drop dead if I accidentally talk too fucking loud.”

“I know I’ve said it about fifty times already,” Rico said. “But this was a really bad fucking idea.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I heard you the last fifty times. You want a war with the Costas?” I asked. “Do I need to remind you that a war with them means one with the Morellis, D’Onofrios, and even the fucking Espositos?”

There were five New York crime families.

All of them had marriage-based alliances now.

Against us.

The only way to ensure equal footing against them was this marriage.

Whether any of us wanted to accept that or not.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “You want me to go get some food? Been a long-ass day.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, then watching him walk off before turning back to the SUV to notice Lore hadn’t even climbed out of the car yet.

With a sigh, I walked toward the car, pulling open the door.

“Come on, mouse,” I said, waiting for her to climb out before leading her into the building.

The silence on the way up was painful.

I had no fucking idea what to say to this woman who would now be in my apartment all the time.

Women tended to fall into two categories for me.

Ones I wanted to fuck, so I charmed them.

And the ones I worked with—being the only crime family I knew of in the entire United States that allowed female capos—in which case, I talked to them about work shit.

Lore fell into an in-between that I didn’t know how to navigate.

A woman who would be an intimate part of my life, but one I didn’t need to flirt with. We were already married.

And she sure as shit was nothing like the female capos in my organization. Women with ice in their veins and venom on their lips. I damn sure couldn’t talk to Lore the way I’d speak to them.

So I said nothing as we moved into the apartment, making a beeline for the bar, in desperate need of a drink. Or ten.

It had been a stressful fucking day.

I heard the quiet click of Lore’s heels, stopping just a few feet inside of the door. Likely having no goddamn idea what to do, where to go.

A fish out of water.

I was saved, though, by the door opening behind her, making her gasp, before Elian called out in his usual, rough voice, “I’m here, boss.”

I nodded at that as I lifted my glass, and threw back the liquid fire.

Refilled.

And threw that back as well.

By the time I filled the third glass, I could hear Elian speaking to Lore.

Ever my right-hand man.

I knew he had this shit covered.

So I walked through the apartment, and closed myself in my office, needing a moment of peace and quiet to get my thoughts together.

By the time I emerged, Lore was gone.

And the apartment was full of my men, food, booze, and music.

A wedding party, it seemed.

Minus the bride.

Who never reemerged.

I tried to tell myself that was probably for the best.

But I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her as the party raged on, getting louder as everyone got drunker.

Those big blue eyes on me as she came down the aisle.

Her delicate hand in mine.

My ring on her finger.

And all the implications that came with that.

The party showed no signs of dying down as the day finally got the better of me, making me sneak away unnoticed, and head upstairs toward my bedroom.

I moved inside, closing the door, and muffling the sounds below.

Somehow, despite marrying the woman, despite moving her into my apartment, I didn’t expect to see her right there in my room.

But there she was.

Changed out of the wedding dress.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in a buttery pink silk robe, the shoulder slipped down to reveal a slash of skin and the strap of what seemed like another silky pink piece of clothing.

Lingerie?

I hadn’t been expecting that.

Hell, I hadn’t anticipated consummating my marriage at all, to be honest, since I’d been half-expecting an eighty-year-old.

But, I don’t know, maybe my mind could be changed on that…

CHAPTER THREE

Lore

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting of Renzo Lombardi’s home. I guess I’d imagined something very cold and modern. Sharp lines, dark colors, lots of chrome and glass.

I hadn’t been prepared for how warm his apartment actually was.

I realized as I stepped inside that Renzo had the entire top floor of the building to himself, creating a sprawling, open space.

The red brick on the outside of the building was a dominant feature inside, giving the large space a cozy vibe.

The nearly floor to ceiling windows were curved at the tops with black casings, and lining one entire wall of the space.

The concept was open, so the kitchen was closest to the door with more exposed brick, black cabinetry, an oversized island, butcher block countertops, and cement floors.

The apartment flowed from there into a dining space with a long table, and then the living room area that featured several seating areas. One had a conversational, intimate vibe with a small loveseat and three black leather chairs all facing each other.

Beside that was a larger seating area with off-white tufted couches facing a large framed TV on the wall.

Then, finally, on the far end of that was a game area dominated by a sleek wooden pool table with black felt. One side of the pool table was lined by hightop tables and chairs. The other side had a large, fully stocked bar and a stereo system.

There were rooms off of that space.

But they were slightly cut off from view thanks to a large staircase leading up to the loft area that surrounded the whole apartment.

It seemed as though each end of the house featured bedrooms with one long hallway that overlooked the lower level between them.

“Mrs. Lombardi,” a newly familiar voice said to me, making me turn to see the man who’d come to the bridal suite at the cathedral, who’d led me toward the aisle.

I’d been too distracted to pay him much mind before. But with nothing else that I wanted to think about right then, I took a second to take him in.

Like Renzo, he was tall and fit in his suit with a square jaw and a brooding brow over golden-brown eyes.

“Yes?” I asked, still trying to come to grips with how that sounded.

Lore Lombardi.

It had a nice ring to it, I guess.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, waving toward the bar where Renzo was downing his second drink.

I tried not to worry that he was drinking because of me. Because he was disappointed in this arrangement, in me as a wife.

I’d only ever really had sips of wine in my life. You could say that being the only girl in a family with five brothers, and a widowed father, I had been incredibly sheltered in my life.

Someone was always keeping an eye on me, making sure I never got into any trouble, never did, well, anything at all.

So having a drink to calm my nerves or after a long, hard day had never been an option for me.

I didn’t think tonight was the night to give that a try.

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head.

“I’m Elian,” he introduced himself. “You can ask me for anything you need or want. I’m always around.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice a small sound. “You can call me Lore, by the way,” I said.

“No, I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re Mrs. Lombardi.”

“Oh,” I said, confused that someone who seemed close to Renzo would be forced to keep up those kinds of formalities. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to show you to your room?” he asked. “Your luggage arrived earlier,” he added.

Right.

Yeah.

I’d forgotten all about that.

Along with my ring and the money for my dress had been a number I could text for and a man who would show up to fetch my things.

Which he’d done yesterday, I’d been up the whole night before, fretting about how much of my old life I could bring into my new one.

I glanced over to see Renzo striding across the apartment, then closing himself in one of the rooms on the other side of the game room.

Well then.

“That would be great, thanks,” I said, getting a nod from him as he moved ahead of me, leading me through the apartment and toward the stairs, waiting for me as I gathered my skirts, then taking up the steps two at a time as I struggled to do each one in my heels.

I wasn’t a woman who dressed up often. Or ever, really. And I never wore heels.

But a girl had to make sacrifices for her wedding day, right? Not that this felt anything like an actual wedding day, though.

No kiss at the altar.

No reception.

Hardly even a glance from my husband.

Outside of the door, my luggage was lined up neatly against the wall, and as soon as Elian pushed open the bedroom door to let me in, he started to grab each of them, moving them inside the door instead.

“Anything else, Mrs. Lombardi?” he asked.

“I… no. Thank you, Elian,” I said, giving him a small, forced smile as he nodded, moved out, and closed the door.

So.

This was Renzo Lombardi’s bedroom.

It smelled like him, was my first thought.

That smoky leather scent with a hint of tonka bean.

It had been pleasant up close at the altar.

But it was almost dizzying in this space.

There was another wall of windows with black casings and exposed brick. But the other walls, which I figured must have been erected sometime after the original brick, were smooth cement.

The floor was a rich hardwood with a distressed gray rug under the bed, so you stepped onto something warm the first thing in the morning.

The bed itself was massive. Bigger, I was sure, than any king-sized one I’d ever seen. Were there bigger types than that? There must be. Because Renzo had one.

It was set a little lower to the ground with a dark gray leather headboard and a bunch of lush gray bedding.

It was a far cry from my bedroom back at home. With the same white four poster bed I’d had since I was a little girl, and shades of beige and pink all around.

That was the point, though, wasn’t it?

A new life.

New things.

I would get used to the changes eventually.

Unsure what else to do with myself, I found the massive walk-in closet, and tucked all my things along one wall, figuring I would unpack slowly over the next few days.

Uncomfortable in my wedding gown, though, I went for a specific bag I’d packed. Inside, still gently wrapped in the tissue paper, was my new robe and matching nightie that the designer boutique had referred to as a ‘babydoll.’

I took that package as well as a small toiletry bag with me across the primary suite toward the open door of the bathroom.

Back at home, I had my own bathroom. A luxury, for sure. But my father had insisted as we were growing up that being the only girl in a house full of boys, that I deserved my own bathroom space.

But it was a little shoebox room with a pedestal vanity with no storage for my things, and shower niche barely big enough to turn around in.

No bathtub.

And I can’t say how many times I’d fantasized about having my very own deep soaking tub to submerge in.

Apparently, my dreams came true with Renzo’s en suite bathroom. Which, honestly, might have been as big as my bedroom at home.

There were more exposed brick walls and wood tile floors, a double sink vanity, and a massive walk-in glass shower big enough for ten people to stand comfortably.

And, right near the tinted windows, there it was.

The soaking tub of my dreams.

Better, even.

Because I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen one this oversized before

I considered drawing a bath, of sinking in and letting the stress of the last few months wash away.

I didn’t know if I had time, though.

This was my wedding night.

There would be… activities.

And I didn’t know when Renzo would come to bed.

I didn’t want to keep him waiting.

Sliding the bathroom door closed, I removed the headband that had been stabbing me in the skull since I’d put it on, then set it and my veil aside as I stretched to unzip my gown.

Beneath, I had on a strapless bra that I immediately reached to remove, remembering the sales clerk reminding me how it would leave creases in my skin, and I wanted to give it time to level out to create the best ‘presentation.’

I stood there for a moment in my barely-there creamy pink panties, trying to see myself through eyes not as fault-finding as my own.

A futile task, it seemed, as I averted my eyes and set to slathering on lotion to every inch of my skin before, finally, unwrapping my babydoll in the same color as my panties, and sliding the soft, cool silk material over my head.

It cut scandalously low in the front, and the thin material did nothing to hide the peaks of my breasts, thanks to the cool air in Renzo’s apartment. The hem barely came a few inches down past my panties, and I was glad to reach for the matching robe to offer me a bit more modesty.

Modesty, I scoffed to myself.

I was about to get naked in front of a man for the first time. And I was worried about a little too much thigh showing.

The thought had a strange wobble moving through my belly, a mix of anticipation and nerves.

Because, while I would never tell a soul this, I’d been fantasizing about this night for a long time. When Renzo would peel my clothes off of me, would run his fingers over my skin, would kiss and tease, and make me his own.

That said, there was no shaking the anxiety of the first time, so I tried to keep my mind on other things. Like cleaning up the mess I made. Like brushing my hair and teeth. Like carefully unmaking the bed in such a way that it would be easy to slip into it.

I was just finishing that task when, suddenly, noise from below started to drift in from under the door.

Confused by the cacophony of voices, of laughter, and what seemed like music, I made my way to the door, inching it open, and looking down below.

To find the apartment flooded with people.

Drinking, eating, laughing, playing pool.

Had I gotten this wrong?

Was there actually a reception planned that I hadn’t been aware of?

But… no.

Because I didn’t recognize a single face from down below. Save for Elian and the driver from earlier.

And, of course, Renzo, who had a hand around a glass of amber liquid, and his head thrown back as he laughed at something someone said.

I’d never seen him so relaxed.

There was a tug inside me, familiar and no longer forbidden, making me wish I could be the one making a smile stretch across his handsome, but often too severe, face.

He hadn’t changed, though it seemed like everyone else was dressed casually.

Not really a reception then.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling as I stood there spying on their gathering, that I wasn’t invited.

I slunk back into the room, my nerves now mixing with a sick, sour feeling of being excluded.

Tears threatened again, and I took myself into the bathroom to wipe away my eye makeup before I could smudge it with the silly, but seemingly uncontrollable emotion.

I was overwrought. Overtired.

I needed to get myself together.

Luckily for me, though, the party seemed to rage endlessly, no one seeming concerned with my absence, least of all my husband. So I had plenty of time to pull myself together.

I got into the bed.

Then out.

Paced the room.

Sat on the chair shoved in the corner, not knowing what to do with myself.

Until, finally, I plopped myself down on the edge of the bed.

And waited.

And waited.

I’d all but lost hope as the party noise continued to swell.

Until, suddenly, the door was opening.

And there he was.

CHAPTER FOUR

Renzo

Rico came back with the first round of food just a minute or two before everyone started to shuffle into the apartment, making a beeline for the bar, then the food. In that order.

Parties were a somewhat regular thing around here.

I liked keeping my crew close.

I wasn’t the kind of boss who enjoyed the power trip of calling formal meetings to discuss shit all the time.

I’d rather hear about it in a casual conversation over a couple of drinks, some pizza, and peppered between other stories.

The place had a pretty open-door policy after a certain time of night, and as soon as everyone got word that someone was at my apartment, they all flocked to it. For food, for drinks, for company, and a little bit for work.

It took no time at all for someone to head over to the stereo, putting on some music, and for the sound of pool balls cracking together to fill the air, mingling with the sounds of conversation and laughter.

Nothing like the stuffy-ass gathering at the church.

Everyone had shed their sour moods along with their formal clothes before they’d come through the door.

“Got you another,” Rico said, handing me a fresh glass of whiskey.

I was already feeling the several drinks I’d had before everyone had shown up. It was an ease in my shoulders and a quietness in my mind that I hadn’t felt in weeks. Months, even.

“No signs of the Costas out there?” I asked, nodding toward the front of the building.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “As far as our guys can tell… everyone went home.”

“Good,” I said, tipping back my drink, hoping it would chase away any lingering concerns of someone going back on the deal.

“I wouldn’t count out those brothers of hers, though,” he said.

“Which ones are hers again?” I asked. The Costas seemed to breed like fucking rabbits, everyone having five-plus kids each, making it hard to keep their damn family tree even halfway straight.

“Fuck, even I can’t remember them all. But I know one of ‘em is Cesare,” he said, and the name had a more familiar ring than most.

Because that fucker had once slept with the wife of one of my capos, leading to my allowing the man to put a hit out on Cesare, who was quickly hightailed it out of the state to avoid that fate.

One of the many rifts between our families.

“But it’s not him I’d be worried about. It’s the older brother. Nico? Heard through our channels that he was the one who was ready to come here and take us all out by himself when he heard you were going to marry his baby sister.”

“Put someone on him then,” I said. “Until we are sure he’s going to abide by the alliance,” I added. “Alright, enough of this,” I told him, moving over toward a small crowd who was listening as one of my capos, Dav, seemed like he was in the middle of another of his stories.

“And this fucker is looking at me like I’d grown another fucking head,” he was saying as I joined the group. “Like, buddy, the Fish Market is in the fucking Bronx, not Brooklyn. Then he’s all ‘I just want some tail, man.’ And I’m all: ‘Tail? The fuck you wanna eat the tail for?’ I mean, I’m starting to think he’s out of his fucking mind. One of those people screaming at the skies and shit. What I get, right, for offering to actually fucking help one of these goddamn tourists who can’t figure out how fucking Google works.

“Anyway, he fucking growls at me, then stabs a finger toward a woman across the street. And I finally get that the motherfucker isn’t talking about fish at all. He wants to know where to find a fucking brothel for the night,” he concludes, getting a laugh out of the men gathered around. “Fish market,” Dav said, shaking his head. “Dunno what kind of women he’s fucking, but I think pussy is sweet as candy, right, Cinna?” he asked as one of my female capos walked nearby.

Cinna turned, taking in Dav’s golden boy good looks, a little too light-haired and blue-eyed to be fully Italian like she was with her long, dark hair, and dark eyes that could cut a man down with one glance.

“I don’t remember,” she said. “I haven’t had my face in a box since I was eighteen,” she admitted, getting a chuckle out of some of the other men as Dav pressed a hand to his heart.

“Cinna, you minx,” he said, turning his attention fully to her. “I feel I need to know every detail about this story. For example, what were you wearing? Or not wearing?”

“Keep dreaming, Dav,” she said, shaking her head, but not completely immune to his charm, no matter how much she pretended. “I’m not giving you material for your spank-bank. Boss,” she said, nodding at me. “I hear congratulations are in order,” she added, but not actually congratulating me, I noticed. “I would have been at the ceremony, but that much Costa stink would make me sick.”

“Always nice to have your support, Cinna,” I said.

Cinna was a neighborhood kid who’d been moved out of the city when she was little, only to return in her teens. Angry and ruthless. She was barely in school for a week before she got expelled for nearly ripping a guy’s balls off for coming up behind her in the hall and grinding against her.

I knew right then that she was a woman destined for great things. And, at nineteen, she’d become the first official female capo in New York mafia history. Almost ten years later, she was still kicking ass and confirming my suspicions about her potential.

“You always got my support, Renz,” Cinna said. “Even when I think you’re out of your motherfucking mind.”

“Were there any toys involved?” Dav asked, still hung up on Cinna’s comment before.

“Because girls can only get off if something phallic is involved?” Cinna asked, brow lifted.

To that, Dav’s eyes went darker as he leaned in close. “Cinna, baby, I wouldn’t need anything but my mouth to get you off.”

“Keep dreaming, Dav,” she said, pressing a hand into his chest, and pushing him back a foot, so she could walk toward the bar to get herself a drink.

“She’s coming around,” Dav said, nodding.

“Sure, man, sure,” I agreed, shaking my head at him as I walked around to the next group.

It was a couple hours after that when the events of the day finally caught up to me, making my legs feel heavy and my mind unable to focus on the snippets of conversation going on around me.

I finished off the rest of my drink, set it on the bar, and made my way through the apartment, barely able to push between people, the crowd was so thick in some areas.

I needed some fucking sleep.

It wasn’t until I was halfway up the stairs that I remembered that, for the first time in my entire goddamn life, I wasn’t going to be sleeping alone.

Unless Elian had set Lore up in one of the guest rooms. Which would have been the smart thing to do.

Somehow, though, as I got to the door, I knew she would be behind it.

Too quiet and timid to take her shit and walk it down the hall and into her own room.

I didn’t know what to do with small, shy, shrinking women.

I’d surrounded myself with a lot of loud, confident, brash, demanding, and unintimidated women.

Having one around who looked like she might faint if I looked at her wrong was going to take some fucking getting used to.

But with her sitting there off the end of the bed, all soft and sweet in her ultra fucking feminine get-up, I wondered if maybe I could get used to all that sweet and shy and soft.

“Been waiting for me, mouse?” I asked, stepping out of my shoes as I locked the door behind me.

I walked across the room, stopping in front of her to slide the strap of her nightie back up her shoulder, feeling a little shiver move through her at the touch.

Yeah, I decided, feeling my cock start to harden.

Maybe I wouldn’t mind having a wife around at all.

CHAPTER FIVE

Lore

I felt like he sucked all the air out of the room as he moved into it.

Or maybe I was just holding my breath?

I didn’t know.

My mind was in a million places at once as my body warmed at the look in his eyes as he stepped closer, as his hand lifted, then his fingertip teased over my bare skin, moving my strap back into place.

He didn’t touch me again, but I swear my skin felt singed as I watched him move over toward the closet, going halfway inside, and flicking on the light.

Then I watched, too transfixed to feel shy, as he reached for his belt, working it loose with deft fingers, then whipping it out of the loops with a whooshing sound that had no right to make a little shiver move through me, but did regardless.

I knew I needed to look away, that it was wrong to watch him when he was doing something as mundane and private as undressing for bed.

But I couldn’t look away from his strong, scarred fingers as they moved up his stomach and chest, popping the buttons through the holes, and exposing a little sliver of tanned flesh as he went.

My belly tightened as, in one swift motion, he shucked off the shirt, bunched it up in his hands, then tossed it toward the hamper.

My pulse quickened as I shifted uncomfortably, the tingle of desire growing in my core as I watched.

Seeing the motion, or maybe just aware of my inspection, Renzo turned to fully face me, his handsome face unreadable, but his eyes seemed even darker than usual as his hands lifted.

My eyes were helpless but to follow the movement as they went to his waistband, then worked the button, then the zipper free.

My chest seemed to be rising and falling too quickly as his hands pushed the slacks down his legs, leaving him suddenly standing there in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. They were doing nothing to hide the proof of his own growing desire.

A jolt of unease filled me, mingling with the desire, creating a confusing concoction, as I imagined the full length of him trying to fit inside me.

This was the moment, right? Where I should say something to him. That this was new, that it was my first time?

But the words died on my tongue as he moved toward me, his abdominal muscles tensing with each step, and I had to curl my hand into a fist to keep from reaching out, from touching him.

“Like what you see, mouse?” he asked, his voice a rumbling sound that moved through my chest, then traveled lower, until it seemed as though I could feel it between my thighs. “Let me see more,” he said, and then before I could understand his intention, his hand moved out, working the knot of my robe free, then pushing the material off of my shoulders.

A shiver coursed through me, but it was impossible to tell if it was the chill in the room, or the heat of my desire as his dark gaze moved over me, taking me all in.

Insecurity started to plant, take root, and grow, but then Renzo was suddenly moving, his hands planting on the mattress at either side of my thighs, caging me in.

My gaze lifted, seeing him already watching me, but finding him still unreadable.

Shifting, his knee pressed between mine until it forced them apart, and I felt a thrill of anticipation skitter across my nerves as the heat of him met my chilly skin.

His body moved forward, and sensing he was trying to come on the bed, I scooted myself back.

He followed, his knees getting up on the mattress, moving up the bed with me until I was near the headboard.

Reaching out, his strong hands suddenly gripped me around my knees, yanking hard enough to force my body flat, actually bouncing a bit on the mattress with the impact.

Surprise had a giggle starting to bubble up, but it died before I made a sound as he suddenly came over me, his long, hard body pressing mine into the bed, his weight pinning me as his mouth suddenly found the sensitive spot right under my ear, making me suck in a breath at the secret little intimacy.

I felt every inch of him.

His wide chest crushing my breasts, nothing but the barely-there material of my nightie between us. The long, firm length of his stomach on mine. His one arm braced on my other side, forearm wedged against the side of my breast. His hips between my thighs, his hard length of desire firmly wedged against my own need, making my belly flutter.

My hands rose tentatively, unsure if I was supposed to wrap them around him or not, so I decided to settle them gently on his shoulders as his lips continued to move down my neck.

The touch sent little sizzles of desire skittering across my skin as a strange weight settled on my lower stomach, and the need became an ache between my thighs.

His hair brushed my chest as he moved up toward the other side of my neck, the touch making my thighs clamp upward on the sides of his legs, my hips writhing instinctively against him, his hardness rocking against my sensitive cleft.

The movement had a low chuckle moving through Renzo, reverberating through me, making panic rise in my system, worrying I was being too brazen, too bold.

But then Renzo’s face was moving down between my breasts, and any sort of logical thought flew from my mind.

His head shifted, and suddenly his lips were closing around my nipple through the material, sucking hard, the sensation making me see white as my back arched up off of the bed, pressing into the feeling, silently begging for more.

Renzo was happy to oblige, reaching out to pull the material out of his way, and tracing my hardened nipple with his tongue.

I was a powder keg of need then, just begging for a spark to start the explosion.

His tongue circled, lips sucked, teeth grazed.

Then he was moving across my chest to continue the sweetest kind of torment I’d ever known.

His head shifted between my breasts again, taking a deep breath, breathing me in, then sliding his face down the silky material of my nightie.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t even move, when his lips pressed into my inner thigh, so close to the clawing need between.

His hand moved out, grabbing the swatch of my panties, and dragging it downward.

He had to shift back to free them from my feet, and the separation had the uncertainty surging through me again, making me tense, making my stomach twist and my heartbeat skitter.

In one swift motion, though, Renzo was on his stomach on the bed, his arms wrapped around my thighs, holding them wide open.

And his mouth was on me.

My hips jerked, the sensation so foreign, the intimacy almost embarrassing.

But as his tongue traced up my cleft, finding the swollen, sensitive bud of my clit, and worked it in circles, any objections dissolved into the sticky-sweet pleasure he was building inside of me.

My hands went down, slipping into his dark, silky hair, holding him against me as he worked me.

My hips rocked restlessly, aching for the thrill of release as he drove me relentlessly toward it, his tongue never slowing, never changing, keeping the exact right pattern and pressure until I felt a coiling sensation twist tighter and tighter until, suddenly, the orgasm was screaming through my system, stealing my breath, making a choked sound escape me as my thighs shook, my back arched, and my body wove the waves of pleasure.

Over and over.

Leaving me dizzy from it.

Tingling and dreamlike.

Not a single thought formed in my mind as Renzo suddenly sat back, his dark gaze on me.

His fingers drifted up and down my thighs, little sizzles of pleasure through a body already drunk on it.

My chest was rising and falling quickly, but I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, or slow the fevered pounding of my heart.

Renzo’s body shifted, but I was so busy watching his beautiful face that I didn’t know what he was doing.

Not until I felt the naked length of his cock rock against my cleft, making my body jolt.

“So sensitive,” he murmured.

Was I?

Sensitive?

Or was it nerves?

Anticipation?

My mind was too foggy, too thick and sluggish to understand my reaction as he rocked against me, the feel of him something foreign, terrifying, needed.

I couldn’t understand that last one, but the ache was back inside me, this strange awareness of the hollowness within me, the need to feel it filled.

His cock was pressing harder, the thick tip of him slipping down from my clit, lower, pushing.

Thoughts crashed together, creating a chaos of fear, or want, or uncertainty.

No objections escaped me, though, save for a slight tensing at the sensation of him, at the way he was pushing against me.

Then, suddenly, he was surging inside, one deep thrust, taking me to the hilt.

The pain screamed through me, making my whole body jolt, my eyes flying open, my mouth parting in a loud cry.

Renzo’s face, so masked with desire a second before, tightened.

His dark eyes cleared, scanning my face as the tears teased, then poured down my cheeks, finding it impossible to think to brush them away when all I could focus on was the burning pain between my thighs as my body objected to the long, thick length of him deep inside.

Confusion twisted his features for a second before his gaze slid down, not stopping until he was looking where our bodies were joined.

“Fuck,” he hissed to himself, his body going ramrod straight.

The look of horror on his face had panic gripping my system.

Then his dark gaze cut to mine, his head shaking.

His voice was a rough scrape against already frayed nerves.

“Lore…”

I sniffled hard, trying to pull it together, trying not to ruin this, despite the pain, despite the desire for it to be over already.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice low. “Fuck. Fuck,” he said, this time more to himself, his gaze going between our legs again.

The pain intensified then as I felt him moving inside of me.

“Easy. Easy,” he said, voice softer, his hands grabbing my thighs, preventing them from closing as I tried to squeeze them shut.

There was more movement, more pain, until, suddenly, the full sensation was lost as he slid out of me.

The burning feeling became a raw ache that had me pressing my thighs tightly together as I fought another wave of tears.

The bed depressed, and I was aware of Renzo’s back as he walked.

Away from me.

Into the bathroom.

The door clicked closed.

And I pressed my hands to my face to muffle the sounds as I cried.

This wasn’t right.

It was supposed to be different.

Not so painful.

I’d dreamed about this for so long.

And it was just all… wrong.

CHAPTER SIX

Renzo

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

What the fuck?

Not only was she too young, too soft, too shy, but she was innocent too?

What was her fucking family thinking?

This wasn’t the goddamn seventeen-hundreds.

I wasn’t after her fucking virginity.

Why hadn’t they said something?

Why hadn’t she?

She’d been a little reserved, sure, but she’d sparked under my touch until she was a goddamn wildfire. I couldn’t have known. Not with the way her hips were riding my face as I tasted her sweet pussy.

Maybe if I’d taken more time with her, slipped my fingers inside of her.

Maybe if…

Fuck.

There were no more maybes or ifs.

I’d teased my cock down her pussy, then I’d slammed balls-fucking-deep inside of her in one thrust.

Her cry had been a bucket of ice water on my own desire that had been so consumed with the way her perfect pussy closed around my cock, my mind clearing instantly, looking up to see her face contorted in pain.

And confusion.

My pulse froze in my veins as my gaze slipped down between her thighs, seeing blood. On her. On me.

Yeah, no fucking wonder her pussy felt like it was made just for me.

She’d never had anyone inside of her before.

Despite the fucked up situation, a strange sort of pleasure built inside of me. This feeling of, I don’t know, possession. Ownership. Like she was mine in a way no one else had ever been.

What the fuck was that about?

I wasn’t the kind of man who gave a shit about virginity or body counts. Fucking was fucking. Fun. Mutually satisfying. A good way to pass an hour or two after a long, stressful day.

I didn’t want to be anyone’s first, anyone’s only.

But now I was, wasn’t I?

Her first.

And she was my wife now.

So her only.

“Christ,” I said, glancing at myself in the mirror, seeing the confusion, anger, and, yeah, I wasn’t proud of it, but desire, on my face.

I was her first.

And I’d royally fucked it the hell up.

Tears had been flooding down her cheeks by the time I realized what was going on, each one telling me what a motherfucker I was.

My stomach tensed, remembering how she whimpered and tried to get away from the sensation as I tried to carefully slide out of her without hurting her. And, clearly, failing at that too.

This entire night was a fucking disaster.

Why had I put my hands on her?

Why hadn’t I just gone to the goddamn guest room and crashed there?

No amount of wishing shit was different was going to change this now, though.

I went to the closet, grabbing washcloths, cleaned myself off, then waited for the tap to run hot to wet another one, taking it with me out of the bathroom.

Lore was still in the same spot I left her, her face buried in her hands, her thighs pressed tightly together.

She didn’t seem to hear me come out, but the second my fingers touched her knees, it was like I’d fucking scalded her, the way she jolted away from me.

“Easy,” I said, trying to keep my voice soft even as the tension built in my system.

I wasn’t good at this shit.

I wasn’t a gentle kind of man.

I didn’t do soft and sweet.

But I had to fucking try just this once.

She’d dealt with enough roughness from me for one day.

“Just let me clean you up,” I said, watching the way she shrank into herself, her shoulders coming up by her ears, her chin tucking to her chest.

I couldn’t see her face.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

But when I reached for her knees again, she didn’t fight me as I pulled them apart, spreading her wide for me. Then as gently as I could, running the washcloth over her skin, wiping away traces of my desire, of hers, and the proof of her innocence until she was all clean again.

“Okay,” I said, pressing her thighs back together.

This time, she curled them at an angle at her side, and her whole body followed, curling tightly into herself, making herself smaller.

Making me feel smaller.

I went back into the bathroom, tossing the washcloth into a hamper, taking a minute to try to get my fucking head on straight.

But each thought was playing fucking bumper cars, knocking into one another, sending them all off course.

I could still smell her all over me, a honeyed vanilla scent that had no right to be as fucking intoxicating as it was.

I could taste her in my mouth too, the sweet traces of her desire on my tongue and lips, making my stupid fucking cock start to harden again.

“Christ,” I growled, grabbing the countertop hard enough that I was shocked it didn’t crack under the pressure.

I deep-breathed until my cock calmed back down again before brushing my teeth, yanking yesterday’s pair of pajama pants up my legs, and forcing myself to make my way out of the bathroom.

I turned off the bedroom light, still hearing the sounds of the party a floor below, and made my way toward the bed.

Lore was silent on her side, curled up facing away from me, but with the stiffness of her body, I knew she was still awake.

I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t know what the fuck I could say.

Sorry?

I wasn’t sure she would want to hear that shit from me.

So I climbed in my side of the bed, pulling the covers up from the bottom of the bed in one quick motion, so they flew up over both of us.

I lowered down on the pillows, staring up at the darkened ceiling, wishing I was the kind of man who had the words, who knew what to say, or do.

But that wasn’t me.

That wasn’t the kind of man I was.

So, I just fucking lay there, listening to Lore’s soft breathing, wondering how many ways she was cursing the day she agreed to marry a motherfucker like me.

I was sure she’d fallen asleep.

Until, suddenly, her voice broke the silence in the room.

Small and soft, full of a delicate kind of emotion that I didn’t know well enough to name.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Fuck if those words weren’t a blow straight through my goddamn chest.

“No, mouse,” I said, trying to make my voice softer than usual. It was the least I could do for her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s been a long day. Go to sleep.”

I was nobody’s poet.

I didn’t have any other words to give her.

So I had to lay there and listen to her soft sniffles as she fucking cried herself to sleep, each sound making me feel like the biggest goddamn dick in the world.

At some point, what had to be hours later, the sounds of the party quieted until there was nothing but our breathing.

Eventually, I must have passed out.

But my internal clock had me waking up maybe only two or three hours later, the sun starting to streak across the sky, making all the glass reflect blinding rays on the walls as I sat up in bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping Lore.

I made my way to the closet, choosing clothes at random in the dark before heading into the bathroom, climbing in the shower, and hoping the cold spray of water would lower my fucking raging hard-on.

I had no goddamn idea if it was just a coincidence, or from Lore’s scent all over me, so I tried to scrub her off of me.

To no avail.

Reaching down, I fisted my cock, working it in fast strokes as my eyes slid closed.

And what image was right there behind my lids?

Lore’s body beneath mine, her legs wrapped around me, her hips meeting me thrust for thrust, mewling and moaning as I buried my cock in her over and over again until her pussy was pulsing around me, taking me with her as she came.

Just imagining it had me coming so hard I saw white, a groan escaping me alone in the shower as my fucking legs felt weak.

Jesus.

I actually had to lean back against the tile, taking deep breaths to bring myself back down from it before cleaning up and climbing out of the shower.

By the time I got myself dressed, I wondered if Lore would be awake. As I walked into the bedroom, though, she was still passed out on her side like she’d been before, so I made my way out of the bedroom and downstairs, making a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Thought I heard you moving around,” Rico said, letting himself into the apartment, collecting a few glasses as he passed on his way to the kitchen, setting them in the sink. “You crashed early last night.”

It wasn’t like I could tell him the truth.

That I’d roughly taken the virginity of my wife while everyone partied below.

So, I shrugged instead. “It had been a long day.”

“How’s she settling in?” he asked, jerking his head toward the balcony.

“She’s sleeping,” I said, shrugging it off. “You coming with me today to shake some money loose from those fucking Gray brothers?” I asked, pouring us each a cup of coffee.

“You’re not… hanging around here today?” he asked.

“For what?” I asked, looking around.

I was never at home.

Save for the parties at night.

There was always work to be done. I could be pulling twenty-hour shifts most of the time if I let myself.

As it was, I left in the morning and didn’t come home until well after dark.

“Right,” Rico said, something on his face that I couldn’t read. But, honestly, I was in too shitty of a mood to give a damn what it was. “Elian is on his way to relieve me.”

“Good. We’ll bounce as soon as he gets here.”

Half an hour later, that’s exactly what we did.

I threw myself back into work, finding more of it to go around than I’d expected since I’d clearly been focusing a little too much on the alliance with the Costas.

Those possible twenty-hour days became my reality for the next couple. Only making it home well after midnight, finding Lore already asleep in bed, and climbing into my side to catch a few hours, only to wake up before her and be off again.

No amount of physical distance, though, seemed to calm my fucking desire down, finding my cock rock hard each morning and night, even going semi several times a day if an image of Lore’s tits or pussy popped into my mind.

No amount of jerking off seemed to ease the ache to be inside of her, though.

And by the third day, I was starting to think that maybe, if I took it slow, if I gave her the time she needed to get used to sex, I could actually get the relief I was craving.

So on that fourth night, I found myself calling it quits early.

And finally heading home to my wife before she passed out for the night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lore

I woke up alone in an unfamiliar room with a slight ache between my thighs to remind me of the events of the night before.

The sun was already streaming through the windows, little golden rays of sun streaking across the walls, making me wince with my swollen eyes.

My heartbeat started to hammer as I moved myself to sit, wondering what time it was, where Renzo was. What he was thinking about me now.

He told me that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but clearly I had. I guess by not telling him about my virginity, I’d somehow… disappointed him. Because he clearly hadn’t enjoyed that.

I pulled the sides of my robe closed, feeling unmoored, adrift in this strange sea, with nothing solid to swim toward.

I climbed out of the bed, tiptoeing across the bedroom to peek out of the door, finding no one in the apartment below. Just the faint scent of strong coffee in the air.

Alone, I grabbed a change of clothes, and took myself into the bathroom, locking the door, running the water in the bath as hot as I could, then stripping out of my robe and nightie.

I slid under the water, feeling the heat of it prick at my skin, an uncomfortable sensation I found a sort of release in as a red flush crept across my legs, arms, and chest. The hot water seemed to squeeze my lungs, making each breath a pained gasp.

This wasn’t the bath I’d dreamed about for years, full of scented soaps, little fizzing bath bombs, a comforting soak meant to ease aches.

It was more of a punishment of sorts.

And each time the water chilled to the point of comfort, I pushed the drain, and filled it up again.

And again.

And again.

Until, finally, there was no more hot water to draw from the tap, making me finally rush to wash my body, then climb out.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look like me with her splotchy cheeks and swollen eyes from crying. With her skin red as a sunburn.

Perhaps it was right to feel different, considering.

Objectively, I understood that virginity was a social construct, that it was simply a little tear in tissue, no different than a paper cut, that it didn’t have to mean anything to lose it.

Emotionally, though, I felt different.

I felt changed.

I couldn’t decide, though, if it was a change for better or for worse.

If I would have been better off left wondering instead of knowing.

Regardless of that, it was done.

I walked through my new bedroom in my new apartment, digging out my hairbrush, toothbrush, creams, and shampoo, all my essentials, taking them into the bathroom with me, hiding what I could in an empty drawer, and placing the rest in the shower, tucked behind Renzo’s own items.

The scent of him clung to them, and then me after touching them, bringing a sense of longing through my system that I couldn’t explain. It was an ache behind my ribcage, a knot in my belly that refused to untangle as I went through my morning routine, dressing in clothes that suddenly felt too wrong for this new life I was living.

I’d never been interested in fashion. In skirts and dresses and showing off my body. If anything, I’d done everything in my power to hide it, to deflect attention, to be able to fade into the background of any given situation.

My bags were packed with yoga pants and massively oversized tops, hanging down nearly to my knees, making it impossible to make out the curves of my body underneath.

I stepped back from the mirror, seeing my flared leg black yoga pants and my old, gray shirt with the red embroidered New York emblazoned across the chest, worn soft from endless washings, with little holes in the sleeves for my thumbs to slip through, so they wouldn’t hang down and hide my hands at all times.

I looked like some girl on her way to early morning college classes. Not a mafia boss’s wife.

With a sigh, knowing there was nothing I could do about it at that moment, I made my way out of the bathroom, making the bed, then finally forcing myself to move downstairs.

I crept around, feeling more like a forgotten guest than someone who belonged.

The main living space smelled of cigar smoke and liquor, and I found myself gathering glasses as I made my way through the space, the evidence of a party I hadn’t been invited to, hadn’t been missed from, making another little crack start in my heart.

I was making my third trip toward the kitchen with glasses when the door suddenly opened, making me jolt, letting out a little yelp that had the man entering stiffening.

Elian.

The man who’d seen me to my room.

Who seemed to remember me more than my own husband.

His gaze slid from my face to my hands, his brows pinching. “That’s not your job, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said, moving toward me, and removing the glasses from my hold before taking them to the sink himself.

“What is?” I heard myself ask, without really meaning to.

“What was that?” he asked, turning.

I cleared my throat, shaking my head. “What is my job?” I asked.

Elian stared at me a moment, those golden eyes as confused as I felt. “You… you don’t have a job,” he finally declared.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“What did you do before?”

I’d worked part-time at one of the family businesses, earning money that I used almost entirely to pay for fancy takeaway coffees and books. So, so many books. All of which I’d left in my childhood bedroom, stacked three deep in the built-in shelving units that lined an entire wall.

“I… worked,” I said.

“Renzo won’t want you working,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“Because the boss’s wife doesn’t need to work,” he informed me.

I guess that was true across all of the families. Most of the Costa women worked when they were young. But then they married. They became homemakers and then mothers.

“What can I do then?” I asked, finding Elian unexpectedly easy to talk to. Maybe it was the hint of softness I saw in his golden eyes, like he understood how I might be feeling, tossed into this new life with no direction.

“Whatever you want to do, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said with a shrug.

“Can I leave?” I asked.

To that, his brows scrunched.

“You’re not a prisoner here.”

Okay.

Well, it was something that needed to be asked, though, right?

I remember when my cousin Isabella had agreed to a forced marriage with the Esposito mob boss, he had rules about her not being able to go places.

But maybe that was more about safety having to do with his work, or the neighborhood he lived in.

I wasn’t unfamiliar with Brooklyn, despite it being so far from home. I understood the areas that I shouldn’t roam, and the ones that were the safest.

I mean, of course I did.

Sneaking off to visit my favorite bookstore was how I first laid eyes on Renzo Lombardi. How I started to give my silly, girlish heart away to him, little by little each time I visited.

I shook off the memories, realizing how fanciful they’d been, how I’d created a fairytale out of my own wishes.

And now I was living a reality that was nothing like I’d dreamed.

“Do I have to clear my schedule with anyone?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Elian said, but there was a strange edge to his voice, like it bothered him that he couldn’t give me a straight answer.

Because his boss had never talked about me.

About what was to be done about me.

Because Renzo Lombardi never thought of me at all.

My hand went to my stomach where a pang threatened to take my breath away.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I lied, letting my hand fall away. “Just… hungry,” I said, even though the last thing on my mind was food, despite not having eaten in almost a full day at this point. All I’d managed the day of my wedding were a few dry crackers to ease the sloshing sensation in my stomach.

I started toward the fridge, only to have Elian clear his throat.

“There’s nothing in there,” he said even as I pulled open the door to see he was right. Save for an impressive collection of condiments and an array of different drinks, there was nothing in there of note. “Renzo orders in when he’s home,” Elian explained.

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Okay.”

“Can I pick something up for you?” he asked.

“I… no. I’m alright.”

“You said you were hungry,” he reminded me. And, damn him for being one of those guys who wouldn’t just let things drop.

“I think I’ll just have some coffee,” I said, going toward the pot, though not sure how I was going to choke it down without any syrup, or even cream, since there was none in the fridge.

Elian’s brows scrunched, watching me with eyes I worried might see too much.

In the end, though, I was his boss’s wife. And I guess he felt he had to respect whatever I said, even if he didn’t believe me, or didn’t agree with me.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “When you want something, you can ask me. Or the guards out front. We know all the good places around here.”

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile I didn’t feel, trying to keep my gaze down as I did so, though, because Elian saw too much. And a man who paid that close of attention wouldn’t miss the stains on my cheeks, the swelling of my eyelids.

I took my plain black coffee with me back upstairs as Elian started to load the dishwasher with all the glasses, feeling strange being in the common area doing nothing while he worked.

In the bedroom, I tried to choke down the coffee, hoping it would ease the clawing sensation of hunger in my belly as I flipped through the only book I’d brought with me, a romantasy retelling of Swan Lake that I’d been reading.

I didn’t go back downstairs again until I heard silence suggesting Elian had left. Or at least moved downstairs.

I took two of the drinks from the fridge—an electrolyte drink and a mixed coffee drink I found shoved at the back—and made my way back to the other side of the door.

I didn’t ask for lunch.

Even as my belly growled and clawed, I didn’t ask for dinner either.

Sometime around eight that night, though, there was noise down below. Despite myself, little butterflies skittered across my chest as I anticipated Renzo home for dinner.

Within a few minutes, there was silence again, making me unfold from the nest I’d made in the bed, and go to the door.

There was no one in the apartment, but as I made my way down, I found a brown bag sitting on the counter.

Inside, there was a hot sub wrapped in foil.

Dinner.

That I hadn’t asked for.

That hopeful part of me wanted to believe it was Renzo, that he’d thought of me, and had dropped off dinner between jobs.

The newly more pessimistic part of me, though, knew it was likely Elian, worried about a house without any food, and the fact that I hadn’t asked for any either.

It was the kind of thing my older brother, Nico, would have done. I wondered if Elian had sisters. If that was why he seemed to see me more, read me better, remember I even existed while my own husband clearly didn’t.

My lower lip trembled at that last thought, and I had to work to keep the tears at bay as I unwrapped the sub and started to eat.

I cleaned up afterward then went back upstairs.

Hating myself for it, but waiting for my husband.

Some part of me hoping he would come home, that he might show me another hint of the gentleness I’d seen the night before.

But as the hours stretched on, he never came.

Until, eventually, I fell asleep.

Then woke up alone yet again. Though his side of the bed was mussed like he’d appeared at some point, catching some sleep, then taking off again.

The next day was much the same, a punishing bath followed by a few hours of hemming and hawing about unpacking my belongings. Eventually, I decided to stuff my empty nightstand, but left my clothes in my bags in the closet, feeling weird about my worn, oversized, and wrinkled clothes hanging across from Renzo’s meticulously neat wardrobe.

He wasn’t a man who dressed up. Most of his pants were jeans or slacks, his shirts t-shirts, henleys, or casual button-ups. Everything was in shades of black or gray. And, sure, it might not have been fancy clothing, but the labels said they were all expensive items.

The only suit he seemed to own was the one he’d worn to our wedding.

Wedding.

My belly flip-flopped at just the thought of it.

Married.

I was married.

To a man I’d been thinking about and dreaming about for years. A secret not a soul in the world knew but me.

How different it was from those fantasies.

But the end result was the same.

I was married to Renzo.

It just wasn’t the outcome I’d been expecting.

Sure, through these more jaded eyes, I could see how fanciful I’d been, how I’d been expecting Renzo to live up to the man I’d created in my mind, rather than seeing him as the man he actually was.

I’d wanted him to fall for me like I’d fallen for him so long ago. I’d wanted him to be soft and sweet with me, to spend long hours in bed exploring me, to give me a scene out of those books I’d been devouring for years.

The problem was, of course, that Renzo Lombardi wasn’t a soft man.

It was a point that my family had been desperately trying to hammer home for the months, weeks, and days leading up to my impending wedding.

I’d rarely dug my feet in about things in my life. When you were surrounded by so many demanding, overbearing men who believed they knew what was best for you, life was easier if you simply… gave in.

They hadn’t been prepared for just how stubborn I’d been about this ever since I learned that Renzo wanted an alliance through marriage with my family.

Their valid arguments had fallen on unhearing ears. I was too busy imagining my dress, the moment Renzo would kiss me at the altar, how he’d make love to me in his bed later.

Grumbling, I shook off those thoughts that now felt so silly.

I went back to my book, finishing it and feeling restless at not having something to focus on.

That day, two meals showed up, unbidden, in the kitchen.

The same the next day, and I figured those two meals must have ended up during Elian’s shift.

Still, though, no sightings of my husband. Just a mussed bed, a damp towel, and a coffee cup in the sink.

Disappointment mingled with a longing I didn’t have a name for, an ache for a man who clearly never spared me a second thought.

By the fourth day, a dark cloud formed over me, the weight of it making it hard to do anything but take my scalding baths and roll restlessly around in the bed.

Like on my wedding day, I felt tugged in two directions. One part of me wanted to go home to my family, to tell them they were right, bury myself back into my girlhood bed, and pretend none of this ever happened.

The other, clearly the stronger, part of me, though, wanted to stay, wanted this to work.

Regardless of all the proof that there was no hope of that.

I’d fallen into a sad sleep, plagued with vague dreams about drowning, the cold water surrounding me, the pressure building in my lungs as bubbles of oxygen escaped me while I kicked and writhed helplessly.

I woke with a gasp, shooting up in bed, panting for breath, my hand going to my throat, the sensation of drowning so strong, so real, despite never having swum a day in my life, having no idea what it actually felt like to be trapped under the water, struggling for air.

It was a long second before I realized I suddenly wasn’t alone, that there was noise coming from the bathroom.

The second my gaze shot in that direction, the door swung open.

And there he was.

With nothing on but a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

There was no way to prepare for the way desire crashed into me, a sensation as strong as a punch to the gut, stealing my breath, making my skin immediately warm.

Renzo was half a stride out of the bathroom when he noticed me sitting up against the headboard, my hand still around my throat, shamelessly watching him.

His head cocked to the side, his eyes sliding over me, and my skin pricked like his gaze was a physical touch, a caress.

Suddenly, I felt laid bare, like he was seeing me naked instead of in the pair of sleep shorts and roomy sweatshirt that I’d put on for bed.

He moved toward the bed, his gaze never leaving me.

And despite the embarrassed flush that started over my cheeks at my boldness, I couldn’t seem to look away from him either.

Standing at the side of the bed, he reached for the tuck of his towel, flicking it loose.

The material slipped to the ground, leaving him completely naked, standing there without a hint of shame or insecurity.

And why would he be insecure?

If I were chiseled out of marble, I wouldn’t feel insecure either.

Renzo said nothing as he got into the bed.

The heat of his body and the scent of him overwhelmed me, making it impossible to think of anything but the nearness of him.

Renzo turned toward me, his hand moving out, landing on my neck, fingers massaging the back of it, teasing into my hair, fingers lightly rubbing circles on my scalp.

I leaned toward the touch, aching for more of that sweetness, the touch I’d been craving for longer than I could admit.

“It shouldn’t have been like that,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.

I didn’t know what he meant.

And some part of me was terrified to say anything, to ask for clarification, and break the spell of this moment as his fingers drifted further across my scalp, making little currents of desire move across my scalp, then down my spine, pooling in my core… and lower.

“It can be good,” he added, fingers sinking into the back of my neck, pulling me closer, then ducking his head, his lips meeting my neck, making a little shiver course through me. “I’ll make it good,” he added, and this time, the shiver was in my core as his fingers sank into my hip, the touch firm and possessive.

His lips traced down my neck until the collar of my shirt prevented him from going lower.

“Do you want that, mouse?” he murmured against my skin.

I swallowed hard.

And I thought I might have nodded.

But I couldn’t be sure.

All my nerve endings were firing off at the same time.

I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“You need to tell me,” he said as his hand slipped under the hem of my sweatshirt, fingers teasing over my belly. “You have to tell me yes, or I have to stop,” he added as his hand flattened, moving upward, but stopping before he could touch my breast.

“Yes,” I whispered.

I didn’t care that the last time had hurt, that he hadn’t been satisfied with me, that it had been nothing like I’d dreamed.

All I cared about was more.

I needed more of this.

More of him.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured as his hand moved up, cupping my breast, dragging a whimpering sound from me that had his hand tightening on me before his fingers went to my nipple, circling, then rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Heat flooded my system, making me curl toward him, my leg shifting over his legs.

A rumbling sound moved through Renzo, and I lost his hand as it slid back down to my hip, then lower to sink into my ass, pulling me until my leg met the mattress on the other side of his body, moving me to straddle him.

His other hand went to my ass as well, grabbing, and pulling me more firmly onto his lap, his hardness pressing against me.

My thighs tightened on his thighs, and my hips rocked against him, the ache inside growing.

“You’ll get my cock again, mouse,” he murmured, his lips meeting the other side of my neck. “But not until you’re ready this time.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I didn’t care.

All that mattered was his hands and lips were on me, that he was so close, that I had his full attention.

Renzo’s hands moved from my ass, snagging the hem of my sweatshirt, and drawing it upward inch by inch, until he couldn’t anymore.

“Arms up for me,” Renzo demanded, and some part of me objected to moving back from him.

But the idea of feeling his bare skin against me had me shifting back, and lifting my arms up over my head for him.

Renzo pulled me free from the shirt, tossing it toward the ground on the side of the bed, then leaning back against the headboard, his heavy-lidded gaze moving from my face and downward.

This time, the sound that escaped him was more of a growl than anything, and my sex clenched hard in response to it.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmured as his fingers moved up my sides to cup my breasts.

The praise moved through me like a warm liquid, chasing away four long days of debilitating insecurity.

Renzo’s hands slid behind me, pulling me up until I lost the press of his need against me, dragging a little grumble from me that had Renzo’s lips curving into a small smile before he ducked his head, and sucked my nipple into his mouth.

Desire surged through me, my back arching, pressing myself more fully into his mouth as his tongue traced and his lips sucked.

Just when I was sure I couldn’t take it a moment longer, Renzo’s head shifted, his soft, wet hair teasing across my overheated skin, and sucked my other nipple into his mouth.

I was a live wire of need, each inch of skin sizzling, threatening to catch fire, to consume me completely.

Soft whimpers escaped me as I tried to press my thighs together to ease the ache between. The movement was impossible, though, with both of Renzo’s legs between mine, keeping them spread.

Seeming to sense my desperation, Renzo’s head lifted, and his hands went to my ass again, yanking me down on his lap, his hardness pressing against where I needed him most.

A loud, throaty moan escaped me that had Renzo sitting back, watching me as his hands grabbed me, grinding me down against him again.

A whimper moved through me as my hands shot out, grabbing his shoulders, digging in, as the pleasure built.

“You like that, mouse?” he asked, voice rough as he rocked his hips, grinding against me again. And again. And again.

Until I was rocking with him, the pleasure too intoxicating to deny myself, no matter how strange and new this all felt.

I leaned forward, burying my face in his neck, breathing in his scent as my body drove up, my whimpers and moans muffling against his skin.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, making my sex clench hard.

Close.

So close.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asked, rocking more quickly against me as my breathing got fast and shallow, as I rushed right to that edge, teetered for just a moment, then fell over, crashing down into an orgasm that had me gasping, my body spasming, my cries filling the room.

“Mmm,” Renzo groaned when I started to come back down, clinging to him, my body trembling. “I need to taste you,” he said, his fingers drifted up and down my spine. “Do you want that?”

I wanted everything.

“Yes,” I whispered against his neck.

Then he was moving, rolling me onto my back, coming over me.

There was no time to feel any kind of uncertainty build as his lips were between my breasts, then moving downward.

Over my belly.

Tracing the waistband of my shorts.

He sat back on his heels, settling my feet on his bare thighs, then reaching past to grab the waistbands of my shorts and panties, waiting for me to press up, so he could slide them over my ass.

He pushed my knees to my chest to continue drawing them down, then off, tossing them to the side before grabbing my knees, and spreading me wide on the mattress.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his finger teasing up my cleft, then circling my clit.

The intimate little touch may as well have been an electrical current with how my body jolted, how my breath seized.

“So sensitive,” he murmured, watching his finger as he teased around my clit for a long moment before lowering himself down, and continuing the sweet torment with his tongue instead.

My hands fisted his hair, holding him against me as he drove me upward yet again.

I melted into him, into the pleasure as it built, then crested, making my thighs clamp around the sides of his head, my back arch, and my moans fill the room.

Renzo worked me through it, waiting until my thighs finally released him, then turning, and playfully biting the inside of my thigh.

“You taste so fucking good,” he said as his lips moved up my thigh, across my belly, then between my breasts. “So sweet,” he added, his lips suddenly sucking the skin of my neck, making another jolt of need course through me.

“We could stop,” he said, lips moving over the shell of my ear. “Or I could show you more.”

“More,” I whispered, wanting anything and everything he could show me if it could feel this good.

“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly shifting up, moving to sit against the headboard, then reaching for me, pulling me between his legs, settling my back against his chest, his arm moving to anchor across my belly as his other hand drifted up and down my thigh, waiting, it seemed, for my legs to part for him.

As soon as they did, his hand was between, his fingers working me, teasing my clit, then sliding down my cleft.

“This won’t hurt,” he murmured as his fingers teased the entrance to my body, making me stiffen. “Trust me, mouse,” he murmured, his breath warm and his voice sweet in my ear.

I sucked in a breath, battling back the uncertainty, the memories of the pain, and relaxing back against him.

“There you go,” he said. His finger slowly slid inside of me. As he promised, there was no pain. Just a new layer of pleasure as my walls tightened around his finger as it started to gently thrust. “See how good it can feel?” he asked, his words making my heartbeat skitter and my belly flip-flop. “You want more?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whimpered, the ache growing again, an intolerable sort of need that felt like it might never get satisfied.

Renzo’s finger slid out of me, and when it slid in again, another finger joined it.

I started to tense, but felt nothing but a sort of rightness, a friction my body was begging for.

“You almost feel ready for me,” Renzo murmured, but I was too consumed with the sensations of his fingers curving inside of me to understand his words.

I just needed more.

Faster.

Because I felt as if I was about to burst.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he said. Then, as if my body felt compelled to agree with him, the orgasm screamed through me, making me rock against his fingers and cry out again.

Before the orgasm even finished cresting, I felt a slight pinch as Renzo slid another finger inside of me.

“Don’t tense,” he demanded. “You can take it,” he encouraged me, and I forced myself to exhale hard, relaxing against him. And realizing he was right. I could take it. The slight discomfort gave way to more of that familiar ache.

“Do you want to try again?” he asked, fingers still thrusting. “Do you want to feel me here,” he asked, thrusting a little harder, his finger separating, spreading me, preparing me for more.

I won’t lie and say there weren’t reservations, weren’t fears of the pain again. But I felt myself nodding, hoping he was right, that this time it could be different.

Renzo’s fingers left me, and then I felt myself being rolled under him again, his weight a surprisingly comforting pressure as I felt his hard length rock against my cleft.

“Stay with me,” he demanded, pushing up to look down at me as he shifted, and the head of his cock pressed against me. “I’ll go slow,” he added, increasing the pressure against me. “It will be different,” he assured me, pressing, pressing in.

I took a deep breath, trying not to tense, to prepare for the worst.

There was a slight burn as his thickness started to penetrate me. But it wasn’t like the last time, a slight ache, not like a stabbing, as he inched inside of me, stopping if I tensed, waiting for me to relax into the new sensation again.

“Feel how good you’re taking me?” he asked, his words making my walls quiver around him, making that little rumbling sound move through him in response. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned as he finally stopped surging inside me when he was settled deep.

He paused then, taking a slow, deep breath, seeming to try to find some control.

“Am I hurting you, mouse?” he asked, the smile tugging at his lips saying he already knew the answer as my hips rocked tentatively against him.

“No,” I said, my hand sliding up his sides.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” I said, my hips doing another rock against him.

Renzo withdrew slightly, then slid back in, a velvety soft sensation, a fullness that felt so right.

My legs rose, crossing around his lower back, urging him on.

He was so slow at first.

So gentle.

Wanting to prove his earlier words right.

It could be good.

He could make it good.

My hips rose to meet his thrusts, my nails digging into his skin, my moans growing as the orgasm built.

“Can you take it a little harder for me?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yes,” I moaned, rocking into him as he surged harder, deeper.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groaned. “That’s a good girl,” he said, driving faster, harder, sending me right to the edge, then shoving me over, the orgasm tearing violently through my system, intensified by the fullness of him within me.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he groaned as my walls pulsed around him over and over. “Fuck, that feels good,” he said, thrusting through it, then suddenly pulling out, his release hot on my thigh as he cursed in pleasure.

I watched him after, looking like a god, sitting back on his heels, his head thrown back, his body tense and glistening.

I couldn’t seem to stop from reaching out, my fingers teasing over his thigh.

The barely-there touch had his eyes opening, much clearer now with the need abated.

“Made a mess of you,” he said, then slid off of the bed, coming back again with a warm washcloth, wiping between my legs, then his release off of my thigh, before disappearing into the bathroom again.

Alone, all I felt was a deep-rooted sort of joy as all those fantasies I’d had came true.

Renzo came back out a few moments later, climbing into the bed, and pulling up the covers.

He didn’t reach for me, and I tried not to allow the disappointment that started to build to grow.

He’d shown me softness and generosity and sweet words.

I had to learn to be excited by what I got, not constantly wanting more.

So I snuggled into the covers, turned toward him this time, and let myself drift off to sleep, contentment warm in my chest.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lore

When I woke, he was gone yet again, and I tried not to focus on that, choosing to relive the memories of the night before, wrapping them around me like a warm blanket, reminding myself that this was what I always wanted.

The goodness and softness of a hard man.

Something he saved just for me.

“You’re leaving?” Elian asked, jolting upright as I moved out of the door of the apartment that afternoon, determined not to sit around and get lost in my thoughts, knowing I would only start to mope as the hours passed, and Renzo didn’t come rushing home to me.

“Yes,” I said, nodding, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

“Good for you,” he said, offering me a small smile.

I half expected him to follow me.

But he seemed to be fixed on his post.

And I guess that made sense.

I knew that the bosses of these families were paranoid about their homes, never wanting outsiders to be able to get in.

My father had even been paranoid when my brothers started to date in their teens, bringing their girls home. As if the government might be recruiting and using teen girls as spies or something.

We never had cleaning ladies or even handymen in the house who weren’t in the family or close friends.

So I guess having a guard outside of Renzo’s door was one surefire way to make sure no one who wasn’t supposed to be there entered.

It felt strange walking out of that building. Almost like a teen sneaking out of the house for the first time.

I didn’t know this area well, but after I’d agreed to marry Renzo, I’d taken to studying maps of Brooklyn, wanting not to seem ignorant of my new home. So as I got a look at the signs on the cross streets, I felt I got my bearings well enough to continue in a direction.

I had emptied my bank account before the wedding, and everything I had to my name was in one of the bags in the closet.

I’d taken a small stack of it with me, not knowing what I might need as I walked around the neighborhood that Renzo called home.

It suited him, I felt.

Everywhere you walked around the Costa family’s headquarters was full of well-dressed people. Men in suits. Women with designer bags and heels.

This area was much more casual. Just normal people going about their lives.

I felt like I somehow fit in a bit more here as well as I dipped into a chain coffee place, getting my first fancy coffee—full of caramel and whipped cream and sugar—and nearly moaning at the taste as I stood there and sipped it.

With my latte to keep me warm, I moved back outside, and headed in the direction of my favorite book shop, a little independent place that specialized in fantasy and science fiction. But, given the popularity of the genre, it had a giant selection of romantasy books.

I’d been too busy with packing up my life and preparing for my new one for a solid month before my wedding to hit up any stores, and I was excited to spend an hour or so browsing the new releases.

As I sipped my coffee and perused the new release section, it struck me that this was the first time I actually felt like myself since before I agreed to marry Renzo.

I knew my money would run out quickly if I overindulged, but I felt like I needed the creature comforts of books around me to fill the never-ending days consisting of nothing but confusion and longing and that ever-present, dull disappointment.

So I bought a new reusable bag. And I filled it all the way to the top before making my way out of the store, and heading back home.

I hated to admit this even to myself, but my gaze scanned the streets as I walked, hoping to lay eyes on Renzo.

Much like I had the first time I’d come to Brooklyn, some babysitting money heavy in my pocket, and intent on checking out the bookstore that my brothers kept promising they would bring me to, but kept being ‘too busy’ to actually do so.

So, with a knot in my belly the size of a baseball, a heartbeat hammering in my ears at doing something I knew was forbidden when I was always, always someone who played by the rules, I hopped on the subway, navigated a small panic attack during a transfer in an unfamiliar area, then hopped on the subway that would leave me just a few blocks from my destination.

I arrived frazzled, excited, and proud of myself.

At sixteen, I’d gotten my very first taste of independence.

I’d been on cloud nine as I exited the bookstore, my reusable bag from home heavy with my goodies I told myself I would lie to my father about, claiming I’d bought them at the local bookstore, even though I had a new reusable bag tucked in with my books for my new favorite store in the world.

I had my mind on a coffee to bring with me, since it was a long way back to Manhattan. And it was in sight, so I started in that direction.

Only, apparently, to gain the attention of a crew of men who’d been hanging out on the sidewalk.

I felt my spine stiffening as they moved in behind me, calling to me, making comments on my young body.

I knew I had to just keep walking, to make it inside of the coffee place, which would offer a small amount of protection.

The guys would go away eventually.

Then I could rush toward the subway, and head back home.

The flaw in my plan had been expecting the guys to disperse, and not to look harder before I exited the coffee place, my latte hot in my hand.

“There she is,” a voice called, making my stomach tighten when I was a few too many steps away from the door to turn back in again.

“Where you going in such a rush, baby?” another asked, his breath warm on my ear, making bile rise up my throat.

“Come on, don’t you want to talk to us?” another asked, and I felt his fingers teasing across the edges of my hair.

“We’ll make it worth your while,” one of the others said as I forced my feet to keep moving forward.

But then panicked at seeing a small alleyway ahead.

They were behind and around me, making it impossible to turn around, but moving forward would make that alley loom closer. And these guys could easily push me into the alley and do… whatever they wanted to me.

“She’ll make it worth our while,” another voice said.

“Yo!” a voice suddenly called, making me stiffen, terrified it was another man to follow and torment me. “The fuck you think you’re doing?” he added, making my gaze turn to find, well, a god of a man jogging across the street toward us.

He was tall and fit under his black tee and jeans, an expensive-looking cross on his chest, and a watch on his wrist that looked even more pricey.

With a family like mine, I knew a thing or two about designer men’s jewelry.

But it was his gorgeous face that had my heartbeat going from a panicked hammering to an interested thrumming.

Those sharp angles, those nearly black eyes, that tanned skin.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he called, closing in on the sidewalk.

The men finally fell back, giving me enough space to actually suck in a breath.

“You can’t see she’s just a fucking kid?” he growled at the men who suddenly backed away from him, hands raised. Even though they outnumbered him.

“Whoa whoa…” one of the men said, backing up another step.

“Renzo, man, we didn’t mean no disrespect,” another said.

Renzo.

It wasn’t exactly a common name.

And this was Lombardi territory.

It had to be him.

Renzo Lombardi.

Enemy of my family.

Protecting me.

I had no reason to think he knew who I was. Sure, in Manhattan, everyone who needed to know, knew who the Costa women and girls were, and knew to stay away from them.

But we were far from Manhattan.

And I was a little old nobody to this crime family.

He had no idea I was a Costa princess.

He just knew I was a girl being harassed.

And he wanted to put an end to it.

“You think I’m gonna put up with this shit?” Renzo raged at the men as, suddenly, several other men appeared out of nowhere.

I knew enough about the mob to know guards when I saw them closing in, ready to take action.

“In my goddamn neighborhood?” Renzo asked, shoving his hands into one of the guys’ chests.

I took an instinctive step back, knowing where this was going even before the beat down started.

It was mere moments before the men who’d been harassing me were bloodied heaps on the ground thanks to Renzo and his men.

I seemed frozen on the spot, transfixed by the uncontrolled, righteous brutality of this gorgeous, strange man.

Then, suddenly, he turned, those dark eyes landing on me.

His gaze had impact.

A punch to the chest, leaving me breathless.

“You okay?” he asked, head tipped to the side.

“I… yes,” I said, voice sounding choked. “Thank you,” I added.

“For keeping you from getting harassed, kid? Nah, don’t need thanks for that,” he said, shaking his head. “Go on. You’ll be safe now,” he told me, nodding his chin toward one of his men.

With that, he turned and left.

Taking a chunk of my heart with him.

After that, I made my way back to the subway, aware of one of Renzo’s men following me the whole way.

I made the trip back to Brooklyn regularly after that. Every few months or so, when my book pile dwindled, and I felt like I had an ‘excuse’ to visit.

Even though, in my heart, I knew what I was actually doing.

Hoping to catch a sight of him.

Sometimes I was lucky, seeing him walking around, talking to people. Other times, I left feeling defeated and depressed, annoyed with myself for being so desperate.

It was a pattern I kept up until, finally, at eighteen, I forced myself to stop. To quit being so needy and pathetic and, well, creepy.

Then I tried my hardest to put my girlish crush on Renzo Lombardi behind me.

Mostly unsuccessfully, I might add. Because those dark eyes were always there in my mind, his deep voice a soothing balm on frantic days. And, well, in my sweaty, restless dreams.

But by the time I was twenty, I didn’t think about him all of the time anymore.

Until, suddenly, I walked in on a conversation in Lorenzo Costa’s—the Capo dei Capi—house one day, hearing that Renzo Lombardi wanted a marriage alliance with our family.

That one of us Costa women would need to marry him.

It all came rushing back then, those thoughts, feelings, memories.

There’d been no reasoning with me then.

It felt too much like fate.

I was going to marry the man who’d saved me once upon a time.

And here I was.

Married to him.

It was nothing like I’d dreamed of.

But I still couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him as I made my way back to the apartment where Elian was waiting, looking at my coffee and bag of books, then offering me a small smile before opening the door for me.

I fell into one of my books after that, cuddled in bed, pretending I wasn’t waiting for Renzo to come home, to reach for me again, to give me a taste of his attention.

The only kind he seemed inclined to give me.

But when I finally heard sounds from the floor below, it wasn’t just Renzo, coming home to see me.

It was him and all of his friends again, the sounds of their partying filling the apartment, making me very much feel left out and unwanted.

Once again.

I hated myself every second of it, but I sat there in complete silence, barely even letting myself breathe, in case I might miss the sound of Renzo calling for me, inviting me down, introducing me to his people, including me in their merriment.

But the call never came.

And as the stupid tears stung my eyes, I flung off the covers, taking myself into the bathroom, stripping, and climbing into the shower, scrubbing at myself as if I could wash away my own pathetic longing for a man who clearly never thought of me, save for when I was lying beside him.

Until, suddenly, the bathroom door was swinging open.

And there he was.

Despite the sounds of the party still playing out below us.

CHAPTER NINE

Renzo

“We coming over tonight?” Rico asked as we walked back toward the apartment after what felt like a never-ending day full of excuses for why local businesses couldn’t pay up this month.

I didn’t always work as the bagman. That was shit left to lower men in the organization. But we’d been having a lot of problems with the neighborhood lately, and everyone figured maybe people needed to see my shadow darkening their doors.

It wasn’t like they paid for nothing.

Sure, shit was a lot different in my old boss’s day. Back when he charged these people fucking impossible fees for “protection” that never really came.

It was all just an intimidation game.

I wanted to do shit differently when it was my time to run shit.

Which meant that I knew the faces of every shop owner, their wives, their kids. And I made sure all my men did as well. So if anyone seemed to be bothering them, we stepped in, we did something, we made sure these businesses got what they were paying for. More than they were paying for, actually, since all I initially promised was that they wouldn’t be robbed. And if they were, that I would handle that shit for them.

So, yeah, getting told all the work we were putting in wasn’t worth the couple grand they owed us? Not fucking acceptable.

Honestly, until Rico spoke, all I wanted to do was go home and go balls deep into Lore’s perfect fucking cunt.

The problem was, I almost never closed off my apartment if people wanted to gather. Doing so right after I got married to someone a big chunk of my crew didn’t approve of, that shit was only going to fuck with the morale of the whole organization.

“Sure,” I said, glancing across the street toward where a man was looming over a woman, watching until, suddenly, she threw her head back to laugh, then took his hand and pulled him inside.

I couldn’t prevent every case of street harassment in Brooklyn, but I tried to be aware of that shit when it might be happening around me.

“What kinda food do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, shrugging. Anything that we provided, the people ate up.

“Anything in particular your wife would want?” he asked, the words landing like a punch, actually stopping me in my tracks for a second.

My wife.

I couldn’t get used to that word, that concept, despite how hard I fought for it to happen.

The ring still felt strange on my finger, but it had started to become a part of me.

But hearing the girl in my bed with her sweet mewling sounds and her loud moans as I touched and teased and fucked her referred to with her title, yeah, that shit was still foreign as fuck.

What struck me even more, as Rico’s brows rose as he waited for an answer, though, was that I had no fucking idea what Lore ate.

I’m assuming she did. Eat. I mean, she wasn’t wasting away or shit like that. But I didn’t know what she liked to eat. What she drank. How she took her coffee.

I didn’t know shit about her.

“Anything is fine,” I repeated, trying to shake off the slimy sensation that started to move over me.

“Alright,” he agreed, heading off to get the food ordered, and likely start calling around, letting everyone know to head over.

By the time I talked to Elian about how the shakedown went, several people had already ridden the elevator up, ready to drink and eat and hang out.

“What?” I asked, seeing a strange look in Elian’s face.

“Nothing, boss,” he said.

I knew he was lying through his fucking teeth. But I couldn’t question him in front of everyone else.

So I opened the door, letting everyone spill inside.

Lore was nowhere to be seen, but I never actually did find her in the common areas of the apartment. She was always in the bed.

But, yeah, I really only came home late, so I guess that made sense. Surely, she moved around the apartment during the day.

Another thing I didn’t know about her.

I shook that thought off as soon as it formed, not wanting it to take root.

“Boss,” Cinna called, making me turn to find her standing there, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing an all black outfit of skinny jeans, a tee, and a nice-looking leather bomber jacket. “Got what you asked for,” she said, reaching into her pocket, and sliding a box across the island toward me.

I snatched it up, shoving it in my pocket.

“What?” I asked, feeling her look at me, something unreadable in her gaze.

If there was one person in my organization that I didn’t want to play cards with because they had a fucking wicked poker face, it was Cinna.

I guess when you were a woman in any male-dominated field—let alone one as violent and unpredictable as organized crime—you had to lock your thoughts and feelings down tight.

“Is this some Costa hatred shit still?” I asked, already getting tired of that narrative.

It was done.

We were allies.

They had to fucking accept it.

“No,” Cinna finally said, the word clipped and hard. “No, it’s not about the Costas. Not all of them,” she added, giving me a hard fucking look that I couldn’t suss out before turning and walking away.

The fuck was that about?

“What’d you say to sweet Cinna?” Dav asked, coming up to the island, passing me a drink I fucking sorely needed after this frustrating-ass day.

“Sweet Cinna?” I balked, snorting at him. “There’s nothing sweet about Cinna. I’m pretty sure she’d rip your balls off for suggesting that.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure there’s at least one thing really sweet about Cinna,” Dav said with a wicked smirk.

I didn’t see Cinna that way.

She was a capo, like any of my other capos.

Not the subject of some sexual fantasy.

Clearly, though, that wasn’t something felt across all the capos and soldiers in the organization. Dav wasn’t the only one who would happily take the woman to bed if she offered.

But she never did.

I didn’t know who Cinna fucked, but it wasn’t any of my men.

I guess that made sense.

As much as I liked to think my crew wasn’t sexist and backward like other organizations, I could understand that Cinna would think that men in the crew would lose respect for her if she fucked them.

“That woman is immune to your charm, Dav,” I said, sipping my drink.

“Oh, I’m wearing her down,” he said, his easy confidence an aura he wore around him all the time.

“Sure. Sure you are,” I agreed, shaking my head at him.

“Food!” Rico called, coming in with his arms piled high with boxes of pizza, and one box on top that likely had subs or meals inside.

“That yours?” I asked as he pulled one of the foil-wrapped hot subs out of the top box, and placed it on the top of the microwave.

“No,” Rico said, rummaging for paper plates. “Elian caught up with me and told me to order an eggplant parm,” he said. “For your wife,” he added in a way that suggested he thought that I’d given the order for Elian to talk to Rico about what she wanted.

But I hadn’t.

Elian, it seemed, knew my wife better than I did.

Something bubbled up inside me, a sick, swirling sensation it took a long moment to recognize as fucking jealousy.

The fuck was that about?

Elian was as loyal as they came.

There was no way he was being inappropriate with Lore.

But, still, he knew shit about her that I didn’t.

And, apparently, I didn’t like that.

“Right. Yeah, thanks for grabbing that,” I said, my gaze slipping toward the bedroom door, wondering if she was going to show her face.

She didn’t seem like the partying type.

She was so fucking shy and quiet.

I didn’t see her happily joining a party full of strangers.

“When am I going to get to use my charms on that wife of yours?” Dav asked.

“Never,” I declared, getting a smile out of him.

“Hey, you picking up reading?” another of my men asked, waving a thick fucking hardcover book around.

A book.

Lord knew I didn’t enjoy reading.

But, clearly, Lore did.

I was surprised by the joy I felt at seeing something of hers sitting around in the common area, evidence of her existence outside of the bedroom.

“Don’t touch her shit,” I said, voice casual, but he brought the book over to me, setting it on the island.

“It’ll get spilled on over there,” he said, shrugging, and walking off.

I reached for the book, a fucking solid tome with the book page edges painted to make a scene featuring some sort of castle.

I didn’t know shit about book genres, but the art on the cover gave me fantasy vibes as I moved it out of the kitchen, setting it on the table just inside the door.

Had she brought the book with her, I wondered as I joined the party, but found myself too distracted to focus. Or had she gone out shopping?

The thought felt strange.

As if Lore existed only in my bed, and not as a person who moved around freely.

Not that I wanted her to be a fucking prisoner in the apartment. I guess I just… hadn’t given any thought to her walking around my neighborhood.

I lowered myself onto a bar stool near the pool table, pretending to pay attention to a story one of my men was telling, but I felt far away.

It was sitting there, when there was a gap between the music and a lull in conversation, that I heard it.

This apartment had been renovated, sure, but the building was old. It had its quirks.

Like the shower plumbing making a strange, high-pitched, whirring sound when the water was turned on.

Which meant that, one floor above me, Lore was in the shower.

Naked.

Alone.

“Fuck it,” I murmured to myself as my cock started to thicken at just the idea of her. I threw back my drink, set the glass on the bar, then made my way upstairs.

Hearing the water slapping against the tile floor, I toed out of my shoes and socks, then reached for my shirt as I went to the bathroom door, turning the knob, and making my way inside.

Lore was turned away from me, letting me take in the fine slope of her back, the soft flare of her hips, and her sweet round ass without her even knowing I was there.

It was the sound of me kicking the door closed behind me that had her suddenly whipping around, eyes huge.

Even seeing me, she rushed to cover herself, wrapping an arm around her chest, hiding her tits, and pressing her thighs together.

Won’t lie.

That was cute as fuck, considering how well I already knew her body.

I reached down, unfastening my button and zipper, then pushed my pants down my legs.

I got to watch as realization dawned on her as I stepped out of the feet, then grabbed the waistband of my boxer briefs, yanking them down as I got closer to the shower niche.

She might be shy as fuck, but she couldn’t seem to stop her gaze from sliding down my body. And just the trail of her eyes over me felt like a fucking caress.

But then her gaze landed on my straining cock, and her lips parted as she sucked in a deep, greedy breath.

Greedy.

For my cock.

For me.

Fuck, if that wasn’t a good thought.

I moved into the niche, closing in on her as she leaned back against the cool tile, still covering herself.

“Don’t you think we’re past this, mouse?” I asked, reaching for her wrist, and drawing her arm down from her breasts. “Already seen all of you,” I reminded her as my hand slid up her arm, then across her chest, feeling the little shiver that coursed through her as my fingers teased over her breasts, her nipples hardening as goosebumps pricked her skin.

“I’ve already touched every inch of you,” I added as my fingers teased down her belly. “I’ve even tasted you,” I reminded her as my fingers slipped between her thighs, finding her already fucking drenched for me. “Did you forget?” I asked, finding her clit, and teasing it with a pressure too light to be anything but fucking torturous.

“No,” she whispered as her gaze held mine, feeling bolder than usual with her growing desire.

“Couldn’t fucking think straight,” I told her as my thumb stayed at her clit, and my fingers drifted down her sex. “Knowing you were up here… all wet for me,” I told her as my fingers slid inside her perfect pussy.

My other hand moved out, reaching for her hand, pulling it forward, and wrapping it around my aching cock.

Her tentative touch sent a jolt of need through my balls as her delicate fingers closed around my length, then tentatively stroked.

“Just like that,” I murmured, leaning in to press my lips to the spot on her throat she liked. “There you go,” I groaned as she gained confidence, working me faster, her pace matching how my fingers were fucking her.

Up this close, her little kitten noises were fucking hypnotic as her hips rocked against my palm, begging for more.

Begging for me.

“Your pussy is greedy for my cock, isn’t it?” I asked, straightening to watch her gaze as I said those dirty words, loving the way her cheeks went all pink, but her eyes went fucking molten. “Mouse?” I prompted when she didn’t answer me.

“Y…yes,” she whimpered as my fingers turned inside of her, teasing across her G-spot.

A sound rumbled from deep in my chest as my fingers slipped out of her, my gaze holding hers as I lifted them and slipped them in my mouth, tasting her.

“So sweet,” I murmured before reaching down, lifting her leg, and pinning it to the wall as I moved inward, pressing my throbbing cock against her pussy, letting her wetness coat me as I rubbed against her clit until she was whimpering and writhing, her hands lifting to grab my arms, her nails digging little crescents into my flesh.

Gaze on hers, I slid down, paused for just a second, then slammed deep inside. I swear I could feel her choked moan in my balls as I took every inch of her.

I paused, taking a deep breath, trying to find some fucking control.

But I couldn’t seem to find any, withdrawing, and slamming deep again.

There was no reservation in Lore, though, her hips rocking even as I was buried deep, like she couldn’t fucking get enough of me.

Which was fitting.

Because I couldn’t get enough of her either.

“You feel so fucking good,” I groaned as I fucked her, feeling her tight walls hold me close, begging for more. My gaze held hers, seeing the sweet pleasure teasing across her pretty face. “No one else will ever know how good this feels.”

Her whimper at those words destroyed what was left of my restraint, reaching down to grab her other leg, then wrapping them both around me as I slammed her back against the wall, fucking her hard and fast and deep, her moans filling the bathroom, filling my ears, doing something to me that I didn’t understand, and was too fucking close to coming to care.

“That’s it,” I groaned as her walls got painfully tight, making it almost impossible to keep thrusting. “Come around my cock.”

Like she was waiting for that permission, she did, coming hard, her whole body spasming with the intensity of it as she clung to me, arms and legs wrapping me up, her face buried in my neck, crying out her release over and over.

And, fuck, if that wasn’t the best thing I’d ever heard in my entire godforsaken life.

“Fuck,” I groaned, pulling against her hold until her feet fell to support her, letting me pull out just in time, coming hard and hot on her belly as her pretty eyes watched me, lips parted.

My arm slammed into the wall when I didn’t completely trust my own damn legs to hold me up, like she’d taken all the fucking strength out of me for a moment.

The water cascaded down my body as I stood there.

It was a loud chorus of laughter downstairs that seemed to break the spell, making me step back, looking at Lore standing there pressed against the wall, just out of the water’s reach, my hot cum dripping down her perfect body.

Mine.

That was the thought that crossed my mind as I looked at her.

And it was that same thought that had me turning and walking out of the shower, grabbing my towel, and wrapping it around me, dripping water all over the bathroom as I left, snagging my clothes along the way.

Mine?

What the fuck?

I wasn’t a possessive man.

I never wanted fucking ownership over someone else.

I roughly dried off, then slipped back into my clothes, feeling the bulge in my pocket, and remembering the box Cinna had slipped to me earlier.

I stepped back into my shoes, then walked over to the other side of the bed to place the box on Lore’s nightstand.

Finally, I went back down to the party, trying like fuck to drown out that voice in my head that just wanted to keep repeating it.

Mine.

CHAPTER TEN

Lore

I just stood there, leaning against the shower wall for what felt like forever, not stepping back under the spray.

Some strange, unknowable, primal part of me was sickly turned on by the idea of his release still on my skin.

I barely resisted the urge to reach down and touch it with my fingers.

It was the sound of the bedroom door slamming closed that finally had me waking up from the orgasm haze, realizing that he’d just… left me again.

I stepped forward into the spray, letting the water wash him away, then scrubbing again with the soap, wanting to rub away the slimy feeling my thoughts seemed to coat me in.

About feeling, I don’t know, used.

The only time he came to me, spoke to me, even looked at me, was when he wanted to touch me, wanted to be inside of me.

And I, so freaking desperate for his interest, for maybe even just a tiny chunk of his heart, let him do it.

Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them back as I climbed out of the shower, drying myself, and trying not to let my thoughts go dark again.

Even as I knew he was down there with his friends.

Any, anyone but me.

I walked in my towel back into the bedroom, seeing something sitting on my nightstand that I hadn’t left there. A little box.

I felt a small thrill, wondering if he maybe had bought me something, that I’d been on his mind while he was out and about in his life.

But as I walked over and picked it up, what I found only compounded those dark feelings.

He hadn’t gotten me a gift.

He’d gotten me a box of birth control pills.

“Damnit,” I snapped at myself as I felt a hot tear spill down my cheek.

Reaching up, I swiped it away as I tossed the box back down.

I would take them, I knew I would. Because, despite the disappointment, and the way little cracks kept spider webbing across my heart each time he only remembered me when he wanted to be intimate with me, it was all I could get from him.

And I was going to take it.

Because the need for him only seemed to be growing with each passing hour.

Moving into the closet, I found some pajamas to slip on, then found myself rummaging around in one of my bags, finding something I hadn’t bothered to look at since the morning of my wedding when I’d turned it to silent and ignored the tsunami of texts begging me not to go through with it.

My phone.

I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to deal with my family’s upset when I was feeling so fragile. But I reached for it like a lifeline now, knowing that it was filled with people who didn’t want to use me, who just wanted to love me.

I took it and my charger back to my nightstand, plugging it in and charging as I ripped open the damn box, then pulled a pill out of the blister pack, pressed it against my tongue, and swallowed.

My objection wasn’t to the Pill itself.

While, yes, I wanted babies one day, I definitely didn’t want them yet.

It was just the feeling attached to the Pill that had me tossing it back into my nightstand drawer afterward, not wanting to look at it until I had to take it again the next night.

I curled up in the bed, reaching for my phone when the light indicated it was charged enough to use again, then sucked in a deep breath, and swiped the screen to my messages.

I tapped through the ones from my aunts and female cousins, all of them asking if I was okay, saying they were worried for me, wanting to make sure I was being treated alright.

I had to answer them all eventually.

But it was the texts from my big brother that had my attention.

I had a bunch of big brothers. But my “biggest” brother, Nico, the oldest of all of us, had always been my most ardent protector, my friend when I needed one the most, the one who dropped by to take me out for ice cream weekly even after he moved out. The one I’d dragged me to every bookstore in the tristate area I wanted to explore.

The one whose heart I’d ripped out of his chest by putting my foot down and saying I was going to marry Renzo Lombardi.

He hadn’t just sent me one text.

Oh, no.

He’d sent over twenty.

Each and every one dripping with his heartbreak, with his concern, with his confusion. Some even with his rage.

I swear on my fucking life, Lore, if he is keeping you from me, I will burn down that entire goddamn borough to get you away from him.

He would do it.

Of all of my brothers, Nico’s love was the strongest. To the point of suffocation at times. But warm and comforting to someone so prone to insecurity and uncertainty. His love was a hug to wrap around myself in times of panic or sadness.

He would bring an entire underground war into this city if he knew I’d shed a single tear because of Renzo Lombardi.

I’m sorry if my concerns made you doubt my ability to keep loving you even if I disagree with your decision.

Please answer me.

Don’t shut me out.

Your silence is fucking gutting me, Lore.

I was blinking back different tears as I tapped to respond, my fingers feeling clunky, each attempt at a response feeling wholly inadequate.

I love you, Nico.

It was the simplest, but most honest thing I could say.

Too tender to deal with any more back-and-forth, I set my phone to silent, then buried it in the drawer along with my birth control pills, turned off the lights, curled into myself, and did something that had become an alarming ritual since I started this new life of mine.

I cried myself to sleep.

—

I woke up alone, as usual.

There were no days off for Renzo, it seemed.

When I made my way downstairs, though, I realized I wasn’t exactly alone.

Elian was already hard at work, cleaning up the mess from the party the night before.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked, shaking my head at him as he broke down the last of the pile of pizza boxes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said, giving me a ghost of a smile. “I cut out early last night to catch some sleep,” he said as he turned away. He turned back a second later, something wrapped in foil in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sensing something off in his expression.

“You didn’t want this?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“Your dinner,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, the clawing feeling in my stomach making me well aware that I hadn’t eaten. “I, ah, I didn’t come down,” I admitted.

“Why not?”

“I… I didn’t feel… invited,” I admitted, the confession making me feel exposed.

But Elian’s head just tipped to the side, watching me with scrunched brows. “This is your home,” he said. “You don’t need to be invited.”

I couldn’t say what I was feeling.

That this didn’t feel like my house.

Because, well, Elian was right.

This was my home now.

Maybe what I needed to do was act like that.

“Do you think everyone will be coming over again tonight?” I asked.

“Judging by the order for booze I had to place today, yeah.”

To that, I nodded, my mind reeling, trying to talk myself into it, to imagine it.

Walking down the steps.

Making an entrance.

Acting like I belonged.

Maybe if I faked it hard enough, it would start to feel true.

I made my way to the coffee pot, preparing another awful black cup I would need to choke down, making a mental note to pick up some cream and sugar when I went out.

And I did have to go out.

Because if I was going to act the part of a mafia boss’s wife, I had to look the part. No more leggings and roomy sweatshirts. I had to wear something more mature to this party.

“Thank you for ordering that for me,” I said to Elian, watching him turn.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked.

“Because my husband wouldn’t have thought to,” I told him honestly.

To that, Elian winced, but he didn’t contradict me.

“You gotta remember to eat,” he said.

There were a lot of things I needed to start doing if I wanted this to work. And it had to. Because there was no changing my fate now.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You don’t need to order me breakfast today, though. I’ll pick something up when I go out.”

With that, I took my awful coffee upstairs with me while I got myself dressed. By the time I walked out of the apartment building, I felt like I was walking a little taller as I grabbed a good coffee and a muffin, then went in search of something that would be appropriate for the party.

From what I’d seen when I’d peeked out, the parties were casual. Even the women gathered around were usually in jeans. But their looks had a harder edge to them. Tight, black pants, tees, and leather jackets. Everything in black.

Dipping into a store that seemed to have items to fit that edgy style, I picked out a pair of tight black jeans.

“What are you trying to project?” the saleswoman asked, sensing my rising panic as I blanked at what to buy after picking out the pants.

“I want to look put together. But not like I’m trying to,” I told her. Then was quick to add, “And that I’m not scared.”

If she thought there was anything weird about that, she didn’t show it as she helped me pick out a warm black sweater that was cropped and would reveal a little sliver of belly skin when I put it on.

“It’s a power move to show a little skin,” she insisted. “Without making it look like you’re showing skin,” she added, taking the shirt with us to the counter to check out.

Armed with my new outfit, I made my way back home, finding Elian gone. The guard at the door was one I’d never seen before, and he barely gave me a glance before standing to plug the code into the door.

This time, I paid attention, realizing that was something I might want to know.

The guard didn’t greet me, and I swore I could feel annoyance oozing off of him as I moved past.

I shook that off, though, as I walked into the clean apartment. Someone had even been in to strip and re-make the bed.

I wondered if it had all been Elian. Or if there was some sort of designated mafia cleaning person as I set up my new outfit, then laid out my makeup on the sink counter before taking a long ‘everything’ shower, wanting to wash away any feelings of uncertainty and insecurity.

I’d just finished drying my hair when I heard Renzo come home, talking to someone else. Maybe that hostile guard.

I forced my focus back to myself, slathering on some concealer to hide the smudges under my eyes, applying some mascara and light liner, and finally putting on a bolder lip than I would normally dare to.

The sounds below me grew louder as I finally climbed into my uniform for the night.

That was what it was, too.

A uniform.

For a part I was playing.

Disconnecting myself seemed to help chase away the flutters of insecurity.

As I stepped back to look at myself, I really didn’t even see myself anymore. I looked a little older, more confident. I looked like someone who belonged at Renzo’s side.

I slipped my feet into a pair of ballet flats, took a few deep breaths, then opened the bedroom door, walking out onto the balcony.

No one seemed to notice me for a long moment.

And it was, of course, Elian, who placed me first, shooting me a nod and a small smile as I got to the top landing.

As soon as I started to descend, though, people seemed to notice.

Heads turned, making my steps falter as that little voice in my head told me to turn around, to run back to the safety of my room.

But I forced my legs to keep moving, to take me further down the steps, despite most of the gazes in the room glancing at me.

Eventually, sensing something was up, Renzo finally turned.

His gaze had impact, knocking the breath out of my lungs, but I lifted my chin slightly, then moved onto the lower level.

I hadn’t really given this much thought past the entrance, so I made my way toward the bar, where a man with lighter hair and blue eyes was standing behind it, talking to a gorgeous woman.

One of Renzo’s notorious female capos, I was sure of it the second I laid eyes on her. Power oozed off of her just standing still having a casual conversation.

“Well, there she is!” the blue-eyed guy greeted me, shooting me a charming smile that felt genuine. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Lombardi. I’m Dav. Short for Davide,” he said.

“Lore,” I said.

“Short for?”

“Nothing. Just Lore.”

“Well, Just Lore, this resplendent creature right here is Cinna,” Dav said, gesturing toward the woman.

“Don’t mind Dav,” Cinna said. “He thinks he’s a lot more charming than he actually is.”

“Oh, sweet girl, I’m every bit as charming as I think I am,” Dav countered. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, pretending to ignore the snarling sound Cinna made at, I imagined, the pet name he’d used.

A drink.

No, I wasn’t a drinker.

But, God, if this wasn’t a situation where I felt like I needed one.

“Sure,” I said. Then, “Surprise me,” I added before he could ask what I wanted, forcing me to admit that I didn’t know.

“Are you old enough to drink?” Cinna asked.

“Cin,” Dav scolded.

“It’s a valid question.”

“I’m twenty-one,” I said, seeing the movements as Dav mixed me something with two different kinds of juices.

“Christ,” Cinna said, shaking her head as she raised a glass of amber liquid to her lips.

“Be nice,” Dav hissed at her as he passed me my drink. “A Bay Breeze,” he said.

“That’s the girliest drink possible,” Cinna griped.

“Ignore her. She’s so naturally sweet that she doesn’t need a mixed drink,” he teased, getting an eye roll out of the woman as I reached for the glass, taking a tentative sip.

“That’s good,” I declared, shocked to find I meant it. It was like cranberry and pineapple grew up and got a little bit more of a bite to them.

“Anytime you need a refill, you just flag me down,” he said, holding up a finger to someone across the room who was calling him.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a smile before he wandered off.

Leaving me alone with the intimidating Cinna.

“How long have you been Renzo’s capo?” I asked, figuring this was the kind of woman who appreciated bluntness, even if it wasn’t normally in my nature. Better, I felt, to stay and talk to Cinna than to wander around and hope someone else would engage me in conversation, so I didn’t feel like a complete outsider.

“Since I was nineteen,” she said.

“But you have a problem with my age?” I asked, genuinely curious.

To that, Cinna sighed.

“I have a problem with girls being traded like fucking chattel. I have a problem with someone your age blindly marrying a man like Renzo. And I definitely have a problem knowing you were traded like chattel in what was supposed to be a sham of a marriage to a man like Renzo who made me go and get you birth control pills,” she said, making my belly wobble.

“I… I chose this,” I said, feeling my fake confidence starting to fall away.

Cinna’s gaze watched me for an agonizingly slow moment. Sighing, she nodded. “Maybe you did,” she agreed. “But I think we both know that you didn’t know what you were getting into. And I get it. Renzo is successful. And he’s got a face and body like a fucking marble statue. I’m sure he fucks like a porn star.” She paused then, giving me a surprisingly gentle look. “But he’s hard,” she said. “And when hard things crash into soft ones, the soft ones get crushed.”

With that, Cinna finished her drink, then turned and walked away.

Alone, I lifted my drink, taking a long sip as her words swirled around in my head.

The thing was, she wasn’t wrong.

I genuinely didn’t know what I was getting into. If I had, I wouldn’t have been crying so much, feeling so despondent and unsure of myself.

And while Renzo had shown me sweetness, even softness, there was no denying he was a hard man.

One who clearly didn’t want a life partner. Just his alliance. And a body to move with when the mood struck.

He didn’t want me.

That thought had stupid tears pricking my eyes again, making me finish my drink, then make my way toward the kitchen where Elian was standing, holding something in a takeaway tin.

“What’s this?” I asked as he handed it to me.

“Chicken fingers and fries,” he said.

“How’d you know I practically live on this?” I asked, taking off the lid, and popping a fry into my mouth.

“Because my sister does too,” he said, nodding. “Finally got that invitation, huh?” he asked.

“I did,” I agreed, nodding with a certainty I didn’t feel.

Sure, I was here.

But I didn’t feel like I belonged.

And I was pretty sure I might never.

But then Dav showed up with another drink.

And by the time I finished it, I kind of didn’t care anymore if I belonged or not.

I drifted around the room on a cloud, greeting people who engaged me, talking to a man named Michael for a while, then trying to play pool, and failing spectacularly, and drinking the refills Dav kept bringing me.

I didn’t even know how much time passed as I was trapped in a Bay Breeze haze, but the party seemed to thin out a bit by the time I was walking through the seating space where Renzo was seated.

He hadn’t said a word to me all night.

And I’d been trying to pretend that didn’t hurt.

It got easier with each drink, I found.

But walking?

Walking got harder and harder with each one.

“Whoa!” one of the men yelled as the walking thing and the coordination thing failed me at the same moment, making me trip and start to pitch forward.

Only to feel myself snatched around the waist by strong hands, then pulled backward until I was set in someone’s lap.

Someone who smelled deliciously of leather and smoke and tonka bean.

“How you feeling there, mouse?” his voice and breath met my ear, making a little shiver course through me.

“Like I could fly,” I declared, shooting him a smile.

“Let’s keep your ass away from the balcony then, huh?” he asked, his arm tight around me, preventing me from getting up.

But I didn’t have any intentions of doing that anyway.

He felt good and solid.

And the world was kind of starting to spin.

It felt good to be anchored.

Even if everyone seemed to ignore my presence as they continued their conversation like I wasn’t there, not even bothering to try to engage me in it.

But I didn’t want to be included anyway.

Not with Renzo’s body plastered to mine, his arm possessively around me, claiming me in front of his friends.

This had been what I’d been waiting for, hoping for.

I was just going to savor it.

“Still flying?” Renzo asked sometime later.

“No,” I said, realizing that everyone had seemed to filter out without me even realizing.

“Gonna have to tell Dav to pour a little lighter next time.”

So he’d seen Dav bringing me drinks. He hadn’t been oblivious to my presence.

A warm little tendril of hope started to form in my heart at that information.

“They were good,” I insisted.

“Bet they were,” he agreed.

“Everyone left.”

“It’s late,” he said. “Almost early,” he added. “I should get you to bed.”

“Yes, please,” I said, getting a strange sound from somewhere deep in Renzo’s throat.

“Not what I meant.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“A little,” I agreed.

“A lot,” he countered, a little smile pulling at his lips. “Can’t fuck if you’re drunk,” he added.

That word sent a thrill of desire through my system as I leaned in a bit, sniffing his neck, then tentatively pressing a kiss to the skin, making a rumble move through him.

“That’s for girls in bars,” I decided, feeling like I had a fairly good argument. “Not your wife,” I added, my fingers getting bold, teasing across his chest, exploring him in a way I knew I never would feel comfortable doing if I wasn’t still buzzing from the alcohol.

“You’re making this hard,” he said.

Oh, it was getting hard alright.

And that was the point.

“Lore,” he grumbled as I wiggled a bit on his lap.

Feeling bolder than I’d ever been before, I found myself reaching for his hand, taking it with mine, then sliding it down the front of my pants, pressing his fingers against where I was aching for his touch.

“Fuck,” he growled, finding me already wet and aching for him.

His finger slid up, teasing around my clit, as his other hand worked my button and zipper free, giving him more room to explore as he teased my clit, as his fingers slipped down and inside of me.

A throaty moan escaped me as my hips started rocking against his palm, my body crying out for more.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured against my ear, making my walls tighten around his fingers as they thrust.

“Please,” I begged, my body burning with need.

“I’m working on it, mouse,” he said, sounding amused as he pressed my clit a little harder.

“No,” I whimpered, too far gone to think about what I was saying. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he said.

“No,” I whined again, rocking harder against his touch, but it wasn’t giving me what I needed. “I need…”

“I know what you need,” he said, teeth nipping my ear. “Just relax.”

Ugh.

Why couldn’t he understand?

“No, I need you… here,” I said, pressing my hand against his, pushing his fingers in deeper.

That seemed to get his attention.

That rumbling sound I was beginning to love so much moved through him again.

“I told you we—“

“Please,” I cut him off, my voice rough with need. “Please,” I said again, smaller, sweeter.

Whatever was left of his control snapped.

His hand slid out of my pants as he pushed me to stand in front of him, then reached for the waistbands of my pants and panties, and yanked them down, waiting for me to step out of my shoes, then them, before sinking his fingers into my hips, and pulling me back down on his lap, this time straddling him.

“You need my cock that bad?” he asked, his hand going to his waistband, undoing his button and zipper, then reaching inside to free his cock.

Hard.

Straining.

So thick it almost looked painful.

“Yes,” I whispered, that ache inside intensifying just thinking of his hardness inside of me.

“Then come here and take it,” he demanded, holding his cock at the base, then urging me closer.

There was a moment of uncertainty. But then he was rubbing the head of his cock between my lips, tapping my clit, then moving back down, pressing against me, just waiting for me to take him in.

“Come on,” he urged, fingers tightening on my hip. “Let me watch you take me in,” he demanded.

My body moved on instinct then, lowering down onto him, feeling him slide in, deliciously thick, pressing so deep it almost ached, this position changing the sensation entirely.

Renzo rumbled, his head falling back on the chair. “You look so fucking good taking it all,” he said, rocking his hips up into me until the need to move was so overpowering that I overcame any uncertainty, and listened to my body until I found the motion that felt best.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured as I rode him, reaching for the hem of my shirt, and pulling it up and off. My bra went next. And then his hands were on me, teasing, twisting, rolling, as my movements got faster, more desperate. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, burying his face between my breasts, taking a deep breath. “You feel so fucking good riding me.”

His lips were on me next. Sucking. Licking. Teeth grazing.

“That’s it,” he said, teasing my other nipple, then lifting his head as my moans got louder and louder, as my fingers dug into his arms. “Make yourself come around my cock,” he demanded, starting to thrust up into me a little harder.

The orgasm started to crest, making me cry out his name as the waves crashed through me over and over.

“Fuck,” Renzo groaned. “Fuck, that feels good,” he said, thrusting through it, then suddenly yanking me back and off of him, the loss of him a pang I didn’t quite understand as he came, the heat of his release spilling across my stomach and thigh.

I leaned forward, burying my face in his neck, not wanting this moment to end so quickly as it always seemed to. Just wanting to stay close with him for as long as he would allow me.

I was surprised how, after a short hesitation, his hands started to move over me. Drifting gently up and down my spine, over my hips, back up, massaging the back of my neck, then sifting into my hair. Before, finally, starting to rub little circles across my scalp.

“Keep making noises like that,” he said, making me aware of the little mewling sounds escaping me, “and I’m gonna have to fuck you again,” he said.

Like a warning.

But I kind of wanted it as a promise.

Because I was pretty sure I could never get enough of Renzo Lombardi fucking me.

The stupid alcohol still coursing through my bloodstream, though, had other ideas. And it wasn’t long before I started to drift in and out of consciousness, lulled by his soft touch, the warm strength of him below me, and his heartbeat against me.

“Let’s get you to bed, mouse,” he murmured, seeming to talk to himself, though, as his arms went around me, then he got to his feet.

My legs went around him, wrapping his lower back as he turned and walked through the apartment, then up the stairs.

“Gotta stop making such a mess of you,” he murmured what felt like forever later, teasing me out of a light sleep, to find him leaning over me, then wiping a warm washcloth over my belly and thigh.

“I don’t mind the mess,” I heard myself saying, words slow and thick with the vodka and sleep.

That little growling sound answered my words, though, and I had a feeling he liked what I had to say before he moved and disappeared into the bathroom.

I was out cold before the door even closed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Renzo

I could barely fucking pay attention to the report one of my men was giving me as we stood on the street corner, the city lights bright around us, getting closer to morning than night now.

Another night I’d get home long after Lore had already gone to sleep.

What was it now? Three nights in a row?

Going home with a throbbing cock and aching balls, just wanting to sink inside of her, but not being able to make myself wake her up either.

No, I need you… here. The words were on an endless loop in my mind since the party where she’d finally decided to stop hiding away in her little nest and make herself known to my people. Please, please, she’d begged for my cock.

She’d been drunk off her fucking ass half the night, thanks to Dav’s heavy-handed pours and bottomless refills. They might not have been a problem with anyone else at the party, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Lore had never even been tipsy before, let alone drunk, as she started to stumble around on clumsy legs like a newborn foal.

She’d been cute as fuck, I had to admit.

Despite my desire not to be so fucking obvious, I found myself tracking her everywhere she went from the moment she’d come down the steps.

Meeting Dav, who had a knack for making all the women, even ones as shy as Lore, feel comfortable and easy. Then having some sort of tense conversation with Cinna, the content of which I wanted to know, but hadn’t asked.

Then off to the kitchen, taking food from Elian, eating it with a smile as she talked to him with a familiarity that had that strange, sloshing mix of jealousy and possessiveness moving through me.

When the fuck did she get so chummy-chummy with Elian?

But the answer came to me pretty fucking quickly.

Literally all day long.

She was there in that apartment all day with Elian in and out of it. Of course she felt more comfortable with him than anyone else.

Even me, I had to admit with a knot growing in my stomach as she talked to any and everyone around her. Except me.

Until, of course, everyone was gone, and she remembered just how much she likes my cock.

And, hey, I couldn’t begrudge her that.

Not with how much I was obsessed with her fucking pussy.

So much so that even just the memory of being inside of her while she rode me was giving me a fucking semi.

But from the sounds of this conversation, it seemed like I had at least another hour of dealing with this bullshit before I could go home.

I’d be dead on my feet and useless to her even if I did want to wake her up for a quickie.

It would just have to wait another day.

But another day turned into two.

Then three.

The neighborhood had been dealing with some changes lately. Old crews who knew how shit worked around here moving out, new crews moving in. All bravado and not a fucking lick of sense.

I’d needed to rough up more idiots this past week than I had in the past six months, my knuckles breaking open, healing, only to break open again.

Normally, I’d just let other men handle shit.

But when tensions were as high as they’d been feeling lately, it was important for the neighborhood to see me out there, to know I was handling business, that I wasn’t going to fucking tolerate their bullshit.

Most nights, I got home almost at dawn, going into the shower to wash the blood away, then crashing for three or four hours before getting up and starting all over again.

It never really occurred to me to think there was any reason for me to be around at home. Any matters that would need my attention there.

Until, of course, the day the call came in…

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lore

Fuck him.

I mean, I wasn’t someone who thought things like that, but, well, fuck him.

It had been six days since I’d even seen him.

Six.

The first day, I’d kind of still been riding the high of successfully implanting myself in his life with his friends and, well, the sex on the chair, too. Even if my cheeks went hot each time I thought of how bold I’d been, how I’d shamelessly begged for him to be inside of me.

The second day, I felt a familiar ache starting that I tried to bury under hot baths and binge reading.

By the third and fourth and fifth, though, that ache had become a gaping hole. A desperation that disgusted me, but one I couldn’t seem to shake either.

But when I woke up on the sixth morning of not seeing his face, hearing his voice, even knowing he was alive save for the drying towel in the bathroom and a still warm pot of coffee downstairs, well, the sadness started to morph into anger.

Which, honestly, was better than all the trying and often failing not to cry I’d been doing.

But he’s hard, Cinna’s words came back to me on an unwanted loop. And when hard things crash into soft ones, the soft ones get crushed.

The anger made me feel a lot less soft, less crushable.

Even if I knew from a very young age that anger was just a mask that other, more tender, feelings hid beneath.

All the hard hides hurt, I remembered Nico saying of our cousin, Brio, a man whose name was spoken in whispers because he was so well known for his demonic sort of violence.

The anger got me out of the bed I’d been moping in.

It got me showered and dressed.

It got me in my shoes and jacket and out of the front door.

I walked down the street where everything reminded me of Renzo as I tried like hell to forget about him.

So I got my coffee.

I browsed the bookstore. But I couldn’t seem to decide on anything. All these books about these princes and vampires and fae and alphas and their undying love for their heroines.

It just wasn’t as appealing as it used to be.

And I was pissed at him all the more for ruining my books for me too.

Maybe I would pick up thrillers. Or horror. Full of bad people with bad intentions and often bad endings.

That sure felt a lot more realistic these days than sweet declarations and everlasting love.

I walked out of my favorite bookstore in the world with empty hands and that familiar spiderweb of cracks in my heart starting to spread.

Not wanting to go home, but also having no idea what else to do with myself, I just walked, pretending to window shop, but mostly just getting lost in my hurricane thoughts, whipping and twisting and blanketing everything in cold and wet misery.

It wasn’t long before the anger was, once again, the grief it had always been.

I blamed that for what happened.

Blamed the way my eyes were all glistening with tears once again for the reason I couldn’t see it until it was too late.

See him until it was too late.

Until I was walking down a side street significantly less crowded than the one I’d turned off of at some point.

Until a hand was grabbing my wrist, yanking it hard enough for pain to pop in my shoulder, making a small cry escape me as I furiously tried to blink past the tears to see what was going on.

“Give me your purse,” he demanded, my body suddenly flying backward, cracking against an unforgiving wall.

“I… I…” I tried to say, but found it impossible to speak past the fist of panic in my throat.

I didn’t have a purse.

That was what I wanted to say to him.

My brothers had always tried to beg me not to walk around the city with one, saying it was like a target on my back, and how there was no reason to carry one if I just tucked my cash or a small card wallet into my front pocket, where no one would be able to snatch it.

And I wasn’t in the habit of carrying a lot of stuff with me most of the time. So I’d always just done what they’d told me to.

What was left of the cash I’d brought with me to Renzo’s house was in the front pocket of the jeans I was wearing.

“Give me your fucking purse,” the man growled as slivery chains of anxiety tightened around my belly, chest, and throat at the wild, savage look in his eyes.

His hand released my arm, and my feet moved instinctively, trying to get away, go back toward people, toward the safety they provided.

“Bitch,” he snarled, and I thought, hoped, he might have been discouraged, would just walk on.

Until I felt hands slamming into my back, shoving me forward.

My belly plummeted as I threw out my hands, feeling the sidewalk burn across my palms as my weight came down on them.

This couldn’t be happening.

In broad daylight.

Just a few blocks from home.

Uselessly, another thought formed.

This wouldn’t happen in my old neighborhood.

Not because crime didn’t happen there. It did. More often than anyone wanted to admit.

But because there was a certain level of protection my family provided. Because people knew of them and my connection to them.

Not here.

Where I’d never been seen with Renzo, save for at our private wedding and at a party in our own apartment with only his close friends in attendance.

My jacket tightened around my chest, making the whole breathing thing even more of a wish and prayer than actuality as I was whipped over onto my back.

“No no no no no,” I cried as his hand grabbed for the zipper of my jacket, yanking it down.

Looking, likely, for a purse hidden under it. Out of reach.

“No!” I yelled, finding a louder voice, trying to project it, to bring attention to what was happening.

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up!” he growled as I opened my mouth to scream.

I didn’t get a chance to.

Not as he cocked back and swung.

The punch landed to the side of my lips, the pain ricocheting up until it overtook the entire side of my face as I tasted blood.

“Where’s your fucking money?” he growled as I whimpered, reaching up to cover my face. “Shut up!” he snarled again, his hand pressing down over my mouth as his other one roamed over me, fingers brushing over my chest, down my side, lower.

I was fighting then, scratching and kicking, trying to wiggle away, fear of something much worse than a robbery bubbling up in my system.

It was then his hand ran over the bulge in my front pocket.

His fingers fished in, grabbing the wad of cash, the last bit I had in the world, grabbing it in his greedy fingers, releasing me, and turning to run.

Alone, I sat back up, my face screaming, still tasting blood as I got up on shaky feet.

A tremble had started over my whole body as I looked around, hoping for someone to ask for help.

Before, suddenly, I was cupping my throbbing face, turning, and running back where I’d come from, passing curious faces.

But this was the city.

People minded their own business.

It wasn’t until I was emerging from the elevator, tears streaming down my face, blood trickling from the split in my lip, that someone gave a single damn about what might have happened to me.

“What the fuck—“ Elian snapped, jumping to his feet.

But I didn’t want to talk.

Not even to him, the only person in this life of mine who seemed to care about me at all.

I wanted to get inside.

“Open it,” I cried, hating the pathetic sound of my voice.

“Okay. Alright. Okay,” Elian said, voice echoing the helplessness I knew he must be feeling as he punched in the code.

I didn’t wait for him to push it open, grabbing the handle with my road rash palm, and throwing it open before running into the apartment, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.

Where I could break down in private.

My shaky legs took me into the bathroom, where I caught sight of myself in the mirror, the tear-stained cheeks, the split lip still trickling down my chin and off onto my shirt, a bruise forming up my cheek.

I needed to clean my face. My hands.

But all I could seem to do was walk back into the bedroom and collapse onto the edge of the bed, cradling my face, rocking. Too numb even to cry as the adrenaline started to drain, leaving me feeling racy and unfocused.

I don’t know how long I sat like that, lost in the nothingness of disassociation.

But I heard the door below me swing open.

And some part of me wanted to yell down to Elian to just leave me alone. That his kindness and care only reminded me just how much I wanted that from Renzo. And how I was never going to get it.

I didn’t quite register that there was no way that Elian would swing the door open so hard that it cracked against the wall.

Or that he would be running through the apartment. Footsteps heavy and quick.

It wasn’t until I heard my name, a raised, almost panicked plea for a response in the voice I liked so much that I realized it wasn’t Elian at all.

“Lore!” Renzo’s voice filled the apartment, making that stupid, traitorous heart of mine flutter. “Lore!” he called again, voice getting closer as I heard the thunder of his footfalls on the stairs.

Then, suddenly, the bedroom door was flying open.

And there he was.

The very man who was to blame for all my despondency since I’d moved into this new neighborhood, this new home.

And, yet, somehow, the only person I wanted to see.

I watched as his gaze fell on me, taking in the blood on my shirt, on my chin, my mouth, and the bruise sneaking up my cheek, likely getting darker with each passing minute.

It was fury first. A bright, blazing anger that burned in his eyes, that tightened his handsome features, that had a muscle ticking hard in his jaw. Even his hands weren’t immune from it, curling into tightened fists, wanting to crash into something, someone.

But, slowly, I watched as he worked to tamp down the rage, fight it back because it was useless in this situation.

Then, my heart aching at the sight, I saw the concern etch his handsome features, softening his eyes, making his head cock to the side, his hands unfurling.

“Oh, mouse,” he said, his voice a soft caress as he moved closer, dropping down to his knees in front of me.

I hated myself for it, for being so weak, for having such shaky walls when it came to him, but all was suddenly forgiven in that moment as his hand reached upward, touching my cheek with a gentleness that a man who was all hard wouldn’t be able to pull off.

Cinna was wrong.

He wasn’t just hard.

It was that he saved whatever soft he had for me.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Renzo

“Fucking what?” I barked as Rico stepped into the room.

I had someone by the front of his shirt, lifting him up off of the ground like a fucking rag doll.

He’d dropped himself down there the second I entered, his face twisting up, his eyes watering, as he begged for forgiveness for trying to fuck me over on a deal that had just been finished the day before.

I’d been afraid the pathetic sack was about to kiss my fucking shoes, wrenching him up the ground to face me.

But that was when the door flew open, and Rico rushed in, his phone to his ear.

“Boss?”

If I wasn’t so pissed about a missing ten grand that this asshole with the tears streaming down his face thought he could hide from me, I might have heard the clipped note in Rico’s voice and immediately listened.

“Renzo!” he barked.

And this time, I noted something close to panic in his voice.

Panic?

In Rico?

A man who once casually walked into a building with no fewer than six loaded guns pointed at him with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a swagger in his step?

Who’d walked out of that same building a few minutes later, blood covering his shirt and shoes from the bodies he’d just sent to their maker.

That Rico was panicked?

I dropped the fucker’s shirt so hard that he crashed to the ground, letting out a sniveling whimper as I turned to face Rico.

“What is it?” I asked, voice more serious.

“Lore.”

“What do you mean it’s Lore?” I asked, stepping toward him.

Then he said three words that had my fucking heart seizing in my chest.

“Lore was attacked.”

“What?” I hissed, walking through the room with him.

“Elian said she ran out of the elevator, bloody and crying. That’s all he knows.”

I wasn’t walking then.

Neither was Rico.

We both ran toward the SUV, him in the driver’s seat. Which was good. Because as the panic and rage mingled in my system, there was no way I could be trusted behind the wheel.

“How bad?” I asked as Rico peeled off into traffic to a chorus of car horns and screeching tires.

“He said there was a decent amount of blood.”

“Where?”

“Her face.”

Her face?

A growl moved through me, my mind flashing with images of sweet, small, defenseless Lore out on the street and some fuck putting his hands on her.

In my fucking neighborhood.

Someone put a hand on what was mine in my neighborhood.

Rico weaved in and out of traffic before it hit a complete standstill.

“Fuck it,” I hissed, throwing open my door, flying out, and running down the street instead.

I’d never really known panic before.

I’d been born and raised in this life.

I’d been fighting and walking into dangerous fucking situations since I was in grade school.

But that was me.

This was Lore.

A woman who’d been forced into marrying me. Who hadn’t fucking asked for this. Who probably never had a hand laid on her before in her life.

Crying and bleeding.

Because I’d dragged her into my world.

It felt like a lifetime before my apartment building came into view, and I was nearly coming out of my skin waiting for the fucking elevator car to reach the top level.

Elian was already standing there, concern etched on his face.

“Why aren’t you with her?” I snarled as I pounded my fingers into the keypad on the door, fucking it up in my haste, and having to wait for it to stop blinking before I tried again.

“She doesn’t want me,” he said, maybe a bit pointedly, but I didn’t have time to dissect that shit as I threw open the door and rushed inside, eyes scanning the common space, calling out her name.

When no response came, my heart was fucking twisting in my chest as I tore up the stairs, then threw open the bedroom door.

And there she was.

Perched on the edge of the bed, still in her jacket, though it was pulled open, the zipper snagged in the material.

Like it had been yanked down.

My hands curled into fists, thinking of someone pulling at her clothes, filling her with fear and dread of something no woman should have to endure.

But then my eyes were clocking the blood on her shirt.

On her chin.

Dripping from a nasty fucking gash on her lower lip.

Beyond that, her flawless fucking skin was starting to darken with the shadow of a bruise.

Because someone took their meaty fucking fist and plowed it into her pretty face.

Rage was gasoline in my veins, just waiting for a spark to catch fire.

Until I saw the haunted look in her eyes, the way her lip trembled the second she looked at me.

And just like that, the rage pulled backward, leaving just the concern in its place as I moved in front of her, dropping down to my knees.

“Oh, mouse,” I said, hand lifting gently touching her bruised cheek, knowing it was only going to darken over the next few hours until it was a deep purple and blue. “What happened?” I asked, voice softer than I’d ever heard it before.

She brought that out of me, it seemed.

That lip of hers trembled harder as her eyes went from glistening to overflowing.

“It’s alright,” I said, reaching behind her neck, massaging it.

But then she was slipping closer, resting her forehead on my shoulder as a choked sob escaped her.

I wasn’t good with tears.

Fuck, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been around crying women before. Not up close and personal like this.

I didn’t know what the fuck to do.

But my other arm snaked around her, holding her closer as she cried on my shoulder for a long moment before she was sniffling, trying to pull it together.

“He… he grabbed me,” she said. Then, voice a little stronger, like she knew—likely from experience with the Costas—that I needed details when they were fresh. “He grabbed my arm and whipped me around,” she said, pulling back to try to use her hands to wipe her cheeks before she caught sight of them, dropping them.

Looking down, I saw the little violent red scrapes, the way her skin was pulled back. Likely from skidding across the ground when she tried to break her fall.

“Then he, he slammed me back against a wall and demanded my purse,” she said. “I… I didn’t have a purse,” she said. “I was trying to tell him that, but I couldn’t… I just couldn’t,” she admitted. “But he just kept yelling at me. I tried to walk away, but then… then he shoved me. And I fell and… and he flipped me over. And unzipped my jacket.”

The growl that escaped me had her pausing, her gaze flicking up to mine.

“And I, I tried to scream then,” she said. “And he… hit me,” she said, gesturing toward her face. “Then kept trying to feel around for my money. He… got it. And then… left,” she said, shaking her head as she finished the story.

“What did he look like?” I asked.

“He was tall, not like you,” she said. “But… tall. Light brown hair with, um, the sides were short,” she said, touching the side of her own head with her fingertips. “Skinny. He was really skinny. Wearing a red sweatshirt with some sort of sports logo on it,” she said. “Oh, and he had an eyebrow ring. On this side,” she said, touching her left eyebrow. “And a lip one,” she said, going to touch the side of her mouth before remembering the split, and dropping it. “A hoop,” she said.

“Okay. Alright,” I said. “I need to clean you up, okay?” I asked, trying to keep myself calm. Because all I wanted to do was turn, stride out of the apartment, hit the streets, and find this motherfucker.

But I had to take care of her first.

“Okay,” she said, nodding, but making no move to stand as I did.

Deciding to leave her where she was, I went into the bathroom, finding the plastic container I had jam-packed with medical supply shit because my lifestyle required a lot of that sort of thing, then filled the small container in it with warm water, grabbed a washcloth, and headed back out to her.

She hadn’t moved, like she was frozen, like she was maybe in a bit of shock.

Who the fuck could blame her?

Getting attacked on the fucking street.

I dipped the washcloth in the water, wincing a bit as I looked at her lip. “This isn’t going to feel great,” I warned her, getting a little nod before I started to carefully dab at her lip, then wiping the blood off of her face and neck, before working on her hands.

Finding an individual plastic tube of saline, I used that to clean her lip, then her hands, before drying her with some gauze, and wiping some ointment onto her hands.

I hemmed and hawed at her lip, not wanting her to ingest any of the ointment.

“I’m gonna leave your lip alone for now,” I said. “It’s not bleeding, so if you’re careful, it shouldn’t open back up. No big smiles or straws,” I said, though I doubted she would be smiling for a while after this.

That motherfucker…

No.

I had to focus.

“Okay,” she said, voice small.

“Are your teeth alright?” I asked, looking at the bruise.

“Yeah. My head hurts,” she said, shrugging.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I got something for that,” I said, reaching into the box for a bottle of prescription pain pills.

I wanted her to sleep.

For unselfish reasons. To heal. To not lie awake feeling scared.

But for selfish ones too.

Because I needed to know she was out cold and not needing me.

So I could find this bastard.

She took the pill numbly, swallowing it with a sip of water from the glass on her nightstand.

“He took all I had,” she murmured, seeming to be talking to herself as I cleaned up my mess.

“What was that?” I asked, sure I misheard her as I put the lid back on the plastic container. “Lore?” I pressed when she didn’t answer.

“He took all I had left,” she said. Then, sensing my lack of comprehension, “All my money,” she added.

“All your money?” I repeated, confused for a second.

Before it occurred to me just how much I’d been fucking all this shit up.

All the money she had.

Meaning she had some, likely small, stash of cash she’d brought with her. And she’d been using that to, I dunno, buy her books or whatever she was doing all day long when I wasn’t around.

All the money she had, I repeated to myself, pissed at my own fucking incompetence as I went toward the dresser, opening a drawer, reaching in, pulling out a stack of cash, and putting it down on the top.

Another drawer and stack.

Then another.

And another.

Ten grand? Twenty? I didn’t know.

“This is your money,” I told her, watching as her brows furrowed as she looked at the cash, then at me. “You use it, I replace it. No questions asked. No one will ever take all of your money,” I said. “Ever,” I added. “We’re not getting upset over money,” I said, watching as her lips twitched ever so slightly. Relief? No. It seemed like something sweeter than that, but I couldn’t place it. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“I mean it,” I said, not quite believing her yet. “Spend what you want. As much as you want.”

To that, her lips curved just a little bit more. I had a feeling, if she wasn’t being mindful of her cut, she would be giving me a real smile. Something it seemed like she fucking never shot at me.

“I can spend all that on books?” she asked, a playful edge in her voice.

“You could buy an entire fucking bookstore for all I care. It’s your money,” I added. “All of this,” I said, waving at the apartment in general, “is yours. Got that?”

To that, she nodded.

Though I had a feeling she would still be fretting over each dollar she spent.

“Yeah,” she agreed, a soft look in her eyes.

I moved away from the dresser, reaching toward her jacket, trying to un-snag the fabric, before having to give up and just pull the thing up over her head.

I went for her shoes next, undoing her laces, and pulling her feet free.

“No, mouse,” I said, shaking my head at the heated look growing in her eyes. “You’re hurt,” I added, thinking of her hands and the way she grabbed me when I was inside of her. “What do you want?” I asked. “Instead of that,” I clarified.

Her gaze dropped to her lap. So fucking shy. And I both loved and hated that in equal measure.

“Will you… just sit with me?” she asked, voice such a whisper that I barely made the words out.

“Sit with you?” I asked, confused. “Yeah,” I agreed, not knowing what the fuck she wanted from me, but willing to give it to her.

She scooted up the bed, and I kicked out of my shoes before following her toward the headboard.

Feeling awkward as fuck, like a teenager sitting side-by-side with a chick I had a thing for for the first time, I slid an arm around the back of her shoulders.

I didn’t need to know what to do after that.

Because she curled toward me, curled into me, her head in my neck, her arm resting over my chest.

Fuck, but she was small.

Who the fuck saw someone as tiny as her and decided to hurt them?

Someone who’d be eating through a fucking straw and pissing blood for the next few weeks, that’s who.

“This is never gonna happen again, mouse,” I vowed as my hands slid up and down her spine, then sifted up into her hair, knowing how she made those soft, sweet kitten noises when I lightly ran my fingers over her scalp. “I mean it,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, already starting to sound drowsy from the pain meds.

“No one puts their hands on what’s mine,” I added, hearing a little whimper move through her.

Half an hour later, she was out fucking cold, so I carefully slid out from under her, tucking her into my side of the bed, then making my way out of the bedroom.

Rico and Elian were already inside the apartment, waiting for me, for an update on Lore, for a plan of action.

“Is she alright?” Elian asked, face tight. Clearly, the guy had affection for my wife. Something like a big brother/little sister connection.

“I gave her some pain meds,” I said. “She’s okay. Split lip. Bruise. Some cuts on her hands.”

“What the fuck happened?” Rico asked, voice aghast. Because this shit didn’t happen. No one put their hands on a Lombardi. Not if they didn’t want to forsake their lives.

“Someone wanted her cash,” I said. “Slammed her into a wall, knocked her down. When she tried to call for help, he hit her.”

“Fucker,” Rico snarled. “Who the fuck would be dumb enough to put their hands on your wife?”

A snorting sound escaped Elian, making both of us turn to him.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said but the look on his face told another story.

“What is it?” I snapped.

To that, he shrugged.

“How the fuck was anyone supposed to know she’s your wife, boss?” he asked. “She stays locked up in here like a dirty little secret—“

“She goes out.”

“She’s gone out exactly three times since she moved in,” he corrected me. “The bookstore,” he said, counting it off on his fingers. “To buy an outfit for the party,” he went on. “And then today. That’s it.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. I mean, I figured she was still, you know, living a life. Not staying cooped up in the apartment all the time.

“She sure as fuck hasn’t stepped out of this apartment at your side,” Elian went on. Clearly, he had feelings about this Lore situation, and he knew I rarely ever tried to muzzle my crew on their opinions. Even when they criticized me.

“Okay,” I said, nodding, getting his point.

“How is anyone supposed to know she’s yours if you don’t make any attempt to claim her publicly?” he went on.

“I get it,” I said.

I didn’t tell her about the money.

I didn’t make sure the neighborhood knew she was mine.

I was husband of the fucking year.

I mean, the thing was, I never really thought past the vows. Past the alliance that would remove years of concerns about the other families rising up against us.

I never sat and thought about what it would be like to have a woman in my home. How I would need to claim her. How I would need to give her access to money. Make space for her things.

Come to think of it, save for the luggage at the bottom of the free side of the closet, some shampoo and body wash, and the books that were occasionally left around, there were no signs of Lore in the apartment.

She didn’t even have her clothes hung in the closet.

The fuck was that about?

Did she feel like it wasn’t hers?

Did she need permission to hang them?

Before the thoughts finished forming, though, I knew the answer.

Yes.

Yes, she felt like the apartment wasn’t hers.

Yes, she needed permission to settle in.

Not only had she been uprooted into a new life and apartment, but she was meek and nervous about everything.

She needed invitations and reassurances.

“Did you get a description of him?” Rico asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I said, rattling it off.

“Just a fuckhead who likes hurting women, or a desperate addict looking to score?”

Clearly, both.

But it made a difference for where we looked first.

I was still telling them where I wanted them each to look when there was a loud knock on the door, making us stiffen.

Elian walked over, looking out the peephole, then reached to open the door.

And there was Cinna.

“What the fuck do you mean your wife was attacked?” she said, zeroing in on me.

Rico or Elian must have sent out a text to the capos.

Which was good.

The more eyes on the street for this bastard, the better.

Cinna must have been nearby when she got it.

I was surprised by her anger.

I would never say it was right, but I’d seen this woman pull herself up off the ground, bloody and bruised, spitting out a tooth, favoring bruised ribs from a fight with a man, then snarled at me to stay back so she could finish it herself.

She was as hard as they came.

But, maybe, life had forced that upon her.

Then she saw someone like Lore, who had been protected, whose life had allowed her to stay soft and sweet, and didn’t want her to have to become hard.

Big sister energy type shit.

“She’s okay,” I said, feeling the waves of rage and concern flowing off of Cinna from several feet away. “She was hit in the face. Split lip, bruise. Scraped hands from catching her fall. I cleaned her up. She’s sleeping now.”

“Sleeping,” Cinna said, brows drawing together, dubious. “Did you drug her?”

“I gave her a pain pill. She had a headache.”

“Do you know who it is?” she asked, arms crossing, still pissed about something, but I didn’t have time to suss that shit out.

“We have a description. Not someone in any of the crews around here from what I can tell.”

“The fuck are you still doing here then?” she asked.

Good question.

“Can you stay here?” I asked. “Watch the door. Maybe check on Lore. I don’t want her to be alone.”

At that, Cinna’s arms uncrossed, her tension easing a bit.

“Sure,” she agreed, nodding. “Go get that motherfucker.”

With that, we took off, crisscrossing Brooklyn, scanning the streets, talking to people hanging around, connecting with other capos, soldiers, and associates.

It was closing in on dawn and I was losing hope at finding this fuck before needing to crash for a few hours.

Then, the call came through.

Elian.

“I got him,” he said in my ear, then rattled off an address.

I showed up to one of the backrooms we kept for just this sort of situation, finding Elian standing there, body ramrod straight, a bit of blood on his shirt.

From, it seemed, the nose of this asshole who was sitting on the floor, face defiant.

Until his gaze landed on me.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he said, immediately throwing up his hands. “What’d I do, man? Don’t want no smoke with your crew.”

“No?” I asked, jaw going to stone. “Then you shouldn’t have put your fucking hands on my wife,” I growled, watching as confusion turned to realization and then, finally, fear.

And that shit was intoxicating.

Elian moved to stand in front of the door, tapping on his phone, likely calling off the other capos, telling them they could go find their beds and get some rest.

While I started sinking my fists into this fuck’s face, thinking of the blood on Lore, the bruise that was going to be ten times worse by the time I got home to her. Imagining her on the ground, terrified, crying for help, for mercy.

Mercy she didn’t get.

Mercy I didn’t show this bastard who’d made her hurt, who’d made her cry.

My vision was still tinged red when, suddenly, Elian’s hands were grabbing me, pulling me back.

“Get the fuck off,” I growled, trying to yank away.

“If you want him to be a walking warning sign, you gotta stop now, or he isn’t going to make it.”

My vision cleared and I came back to the moment, feeling the sweat trickling down my back, the wetness of blood on my knuckles, could smell it filling the room, see it smattering the floor and the walls.

Elian was right.

This fuck, whoever he was, was unconscious on the floor, so bloody and swollen you couldn’t even make out his features anymore.

Next to his face on the floor in a small pool of blood was his lip ring which, at some point, I must have ripped out.

“Right,” I said, sucking in a deep breath, feeling my heartbeat hammering in my chest from the effort of the beating. “Right. Thanks,” I said, cracking my neck, then turning toward the door.

Elian could move the fucker onto the street.

He would clean up the mess.

I had to go home to my wife.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lore

I woke up confused and hurting, my mind fuzzy for a long moment until the memories started rushing back.

The anger at Renzo.

Going out.

Feeling crummy.

Hands grabbing me, pushing me, hitting me, searching me.

Then running home.

Renzo’s anger, then his softness, his gentleness.

My gaze slid to the side, seeing the stacks of cash still sitting on the dresser where Renzo had left them.

It was silly, but that kind of made me feel a little bit more than just an object in his bed. That he wanted to share his money with me. Like a real married couple.

Then after that, he’d climbed into bed with me and held me, fingers drifting over me. So sweet and gentle.

My heart thrummed at the memory as gossamer tendrils of hope spread across my chest. Fragile, but unmistakable.

I sat up in bed, letting out a little whimper as I used my hands, forgetting momentarily about the scratched palms.

Not a moment later, I heard footsteps on the stairs.

Longing had me imagining Renzo opening the door, and I was too lost in my own wants to realize the footsteps were too light to be him.

Until the door cracked open.

And there was, of all people, Cinna.

“Thought I heard you moving around,” she said, pushing the door open further, but not stepping in.

Reaching over, I flicked on the light, which made Cinna’s gorgeous face twist.

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“That bad, huh?” I asked, touching my fingertips to my throbbing cheek.

“That fucker,” she said, jaw tight as she shook her head. “Why were you alone?”

“What?” I asked, brows scrunching.

“Why wasn’t there a guard with you?”

“Should there have been?” I asked, confused. “Elian said I didn’t have to stay in the apartment.”

“Elian,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Not Renzo.”

It wasn’t a question.

But I answered anyway.

“Yeah.”

“You asked Elian, not Renzo.”

“Should I have asked Renzo?” I asked, worried that Elian might get in trouble for letting me leave if I wasn’t supposed to.

“Do you talk to Renzo?” she asked, moving in, but just to lean against the doorjamb.

“I… a little,” I said, not wanting to admit how little. And how pretty much the only time we spoke was when we were naked.

“God, these fucking men,” she hissed, bringing up her hands to rub at her eyes. “Don’t panic,” she said, looking at me again. “Elian and Rico are as close to Renzo as anyone can get. If Elian said it was how it was supposed to be, he’s right.”

“But you don’t think I should be out alone?” I asked, feeling like Cinna was someone who was going to give me the cold, hard truth. Even if I didn’t like what she had to say.

“I think that you’re not from around here,” she said. “You don’t know shit about this area. And you’re really young, really small, and really pretty.”

Maybe it shouldn’t have had so much impact, but her praise helped build up the rubble of my confidence. Because, well, if someone as gorgeous as she was thought I was pretty, then who was I to think otherwise?

“And no one around here, aside from us, knows who you are. So there was no guarantee that you’d be safe out there.”

“This isn’t Renzo’s fault.”

“Oh, Christ,” Cinna said snorting. “Don’t defend him.”

“You don’t seem to… like him much.”

“I love Renzo. Renzo gave me opportunities and more respect than any other men I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean the man doesn’t have flaws. He’s… he’s fucked all of this up,” she said, shaking her head at me.

“You didn’t want him to marry me.”

Cinna’s gaze landed on me, shrugging. “I’m not going to lie to you. I objected. Loudly and often. Couldn’t even drag my ass to that fucking church to see this shit go down.”

“Because I’m a Costa?” I asked, knowing I had to understand that prejudice. Lord knew my own family felt the same about the Lombardis.

“I mean, originally, yeah.”

“But not now?”

“Now, I’m more pissed at your family, to be honest. I mean, what the fuck were they thinking, letting you marry Renzo? Didn’t they want something better for you?”

“I… I agreed,” I said. “My family objected right up until we said our vows.”

“Why didn’t they lock you in a safe house somewhere then?”

“Because… because I wanted to.”

“You wanted to?” she asked, brows raising. “You wanted this life?”

“I… honestly, I have to admit that I expected it to be different.”

“Why?”

I don’t know why the confession spilled out of me then. When I’d kept it secret for so long.

“He saved me once,” I told her. “I’d come to check out the bookstore around here. And this group of guys were harassing me. Renzo saved me.”

“Oh, sweet Christ. You married Renzo because of some girlhood crush?” she asked, angling her head back, staring at the ceiling.

“I… I realize now how silly it was,” I admitted.

“Silly. Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Don’t get me wrong, Renzo is that guy. The one who saves girls on the street. It’s part of his rules since he took over. We protect the girls around here as best we can. But it was wrong to mistake a moral code with a kind or lovable man.” She looked at me then, and I felt like she saw far too much. “But you do love him, don’t you?”

I wanted to say no.

But it felt good to have someone, anyone, to confess to.

And although I had nothing to actually back this up, I felt like I could trust Cinna not to share it with anyone else.

“Yeah.”

“What a choice,” she said, shaking her head.

“He’s not… cruel to me.”

“No,” she agreed. “But he’s never around, is he? And he doesn’t… he doesn’t know how to be a good husband, kid. He had a shitty-ass old man. Never dated anyone seriously in his life. He has no fucking idea how to be a partner to someone. Let alone someone who loves him.”

I didn’t know first-hand about Renzo Lombardi. But I’d heard through the grapevine that his father had been a monster. That didn’t surprise me. A lot of the Costa fathers had been awful too. My brothers and I had been the lucky ones, with a loving father who took amazing care of us even after our mom died.

“I’m just worried about you,” Cinna said. “Sitting here, no husband, no friends, no family, no… nothing.”

She got it.

She saw it all.

And, God, it felt so good to be seen.

“I don’t know. I think I might have a friend,” I said, giving her a slight smile as the split tugged at my lip, preventing me from letting it spread, or I might rip it open again.

“Who? Me?” Cinna said, letting out a short cough of a laugh. “You don’t want me as a friend.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can be a real asshole.”

“But you’re honest,” I said, shrugging. “I think maybe that might be a good thing for me to have while I… figure things out.”

“I am honest. To a fault a lot of the time,” she agreed.

“I think maybe you could use a friend too,” I said, sensing that someone with walls like hers would never feel comfortable enough really letting people in the organization in. Not even Dav. Though, that didn’t seem to be from lack of trying.

“I’m not a ‘go get a pedicure and brunch’ kind of woman.”

“Me either,” I agreed. “My feet are ticklish,” I added, getting a little laugh out of the severe woman.

“Fine,” Cinna said, nodding. “We can be friends.”

“Can I have your number then?” I asked, proud of how forward I was being. There was just something about Cinna that kind of reminded me, well, of the men in my family. Who were closed off and emotionally inarticulate as well. “In case I have any questions about, you know, the family or the neighborhood.”

“Sure,” she said, reaching for her own phone to take my number as I found mine. “I should probably, as his capo, suggest you ask your husband,” Cinna said. “But, well…” she went on, waving out.

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling good at having the number for someone in this organization in my phone. Even as my heart sank, realizing I didn’t have Renzo’s number.

“You want me to get you anything?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just going to take some acetaminophen and try to go back to sleep.”

“Alright. I’m downstairs if you need me,” she said, then was gone.

I didn’t, in fact, go back to sleep.

I just turned off the light, then tossed and turned, wondering where Renzo was.

Until, near the morning, I heard voices in the living room below. Cinna’s and a deeper rumble.

A few minutes later, I heard heavy footsteps making their way up the stairs.

He walked in then, heading right toward the bathroom, leaving the door open, so the light spilled into the bedroom.

I sat up as I heard the water click on.

I don’t know why, but I found myself climbing out of bed, and making my way to the doorway.

And there he was.

Renzo.

His shirt splattered with blood.

Gaze sliding upward, I saw more blood on his neck, his face, down his arms, and pouring off his fingertips under the tap.

I didn’t have to wonder whose blood it was.

Maybe I should have been horrified.

A normal woman likely would have.

But this was the life I was raised in.

It was often violent and brutal.

Without being able to rely on the law, justice had to be meted out by these men.

I knew what was going to happen the moment I gave Renzo a description of my attacker.

So it wasn’t horror or disgust moving through my system as I looked at the evidence of Renzo’s revenge. It was something a lot softer, sweeter.

I must have moved, because Renzo suddenly stiffened, looking over at me.

“Go back to bed, mouse,” he said, his gaze lingering on my bruise. “You don’t need to see this,” he added, whipping off his bloodied shirt, then turning his gaze away, trying to hide the blood on his face from me.

I didn’t go back into the room.

Instead, I turned to the linen cabinet, grabbing a washcloth, then moving next to him to wet it in the other sink before turning to him, and reaching out to force him to face me.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, shaking his head at me.

“Shh,” I demanded, lifting my hands, careful to pinch the washcloth with my fingers, so my palms didn’t hurt, then reaching to start wiping the blood off of Renzo’s face.

He was uncomfortable at first, his whole body almost vibrating with tension. But as I gently wiped at his skin, he started to relax, even soften, as he looked at me.

I wiped off his face, then his neck, and his arms, before leaving the washcloth in the sink under the running water to clean most of the blood off.

“Thank you,” I said, watching as confusion moved across his stupidly handsome features.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, voice small, but rough. “You should be blaming me,” he added.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because everyone in this neighborhood should know you’re off-limits.”

“This kind of thing happens,” I said, shrugging. “Even if most people know who I am, there would be others who wouldn’t.”

“It will never happen again,” Renzo said, his words a vow.

“I believe you,” I said, voice soft.

“This is worse,” he told me, his hand raising, the knuckles raw, and gently teasing his fingers over my cheek.

“It will probably be even worse in the morning,” I said.

I’d seen my brothers after many fights in the past. It always looked worse the day after, or even several days after.

To that, Renzo’s lips curved up.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you could lie to me about it,” he suggested as his fingers drifted down to my neck, resting for a moment, before sliding backward, teasing over my scalp the way he knew I liked.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” I said, voice soft as his touch started to stoke the flare of desire.

“Good,” he said, his gaze going heated as my breathing got more shallow and uneven. “Keep making noises like that, mouse, and I’m gonna forget that you’re hurt,” he said, his rough voice making a shiver course through me.

“I’m not that hurt,” I said, swaying toward him.

That rumbling sound I loved so much moved through Renzo as his arm wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him, his head ducking, his lips on my neck.

Desire soared through my system, making me sensitive and aching as Renzo’s hands moved over me. Sliding down my back, over my ass, up my sides as his lips moved across my throat, then up the other side of my neck.

He reached for my pants, unfastening my jeans, then dragging them and my panties down, waiting for me to step out of them.

Then he was suddenly pressing me back against the sink cabinet, and dropping to his knees in front of me.

Spreading my thighs, his tongue started to move up my cleft, teasing my clit with soft precision, making my hips rock against him as he worked me.

My soft moans filled the bathroom as he drove me closer and closer to that edge.

But before the pleasure could wash over me, he was moving away, reaching for me, and turning me to face the mirror.

“Have you been taking your pills, mouse?” he asked, voice a velvety caress as he unfastened his pants, freed his cock, then slid it between my thighs, rocking against me.

“Y… yes,” I whimpered.

“Good girl,” he murmured, turning my belly liquid as his cock slid back, then surged inside of me. “Fuck,” he groaned when he was buried deep. “Look how much you like my cock,” he murmured, looking at my face in the mirror.

My head was tipped back, my lips parted, and my eyes heavy-lidded.

His hand gripped my hips then, holding on as he started to fuck me.

Hard and fast as his free hand slipped between my thighs, working my clit as he thrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, thrusting harder, getting close. “Are you going to come for me?” he asked, lips pressing into my neck from behind. My moan was the only answer I could offer him.

“That’s it, baby,” he hissed. “Squeeze my cock,” he said as the orgasm started, a tensing, then a flutter as the pleasure coursed through me. “Fuck,” he groaned, fucking me harder. “I’m going to come inside your sweet fucking pussy,” he told me, the words making my walls flutter once again, undoing him, making his face press into my hair as he thrust into me, then planted deep, coming with a soft curse.

He stayed deep inside of me for a long time after, his face still pressed into my hair, breathing me in as we both waited for our bodies to come back down.

His head lifted, his gaze finding mine in the mirror.

There was something deep and unreadable in his eyes that had my heart squeezing.

But before I could try to understand it, his head ducked, then watched what he was doing as he slowly slid out of me, letting out a rumble at… something.

“You’re going to need to get cleaned up, mouse,” he said as he turned to walk to the shower stall, reaching to turn it on.

I didn’t understand his meaning.

Until I felt a hot trickle from between my thighs.

“Come on,” he said, voice soft, but tired, and I turned to find him already naked, climbing in the shower niche himself.

I moved across the room, reaching to remove my shirt, then bra, trying not to cover myself as his gaze slid over me, then climbing inside.

Then I got to stand there as Renzo pushed me under the water… and started to wash me.

Then let me rinse as he washed himself.

Wordlessly, he shut off the water, handed me a towel, then got his own.

And we made our way to bed.

All the while, I thought things had finally, finally changed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lore

Three days later, though, nothing had changed.

And now I had a shiny new fear of leaving the apartment to contend with, so I was just staying inside, feeling sad and anxious and disappointed that Renzo was still working his intolerably long hours.

There was a knock at the door—Elian’s little warning that he was coming in before he did—and then the door inched open.

“You have… a visitor,” he said, looking as surprised as I felt.

A visitor?

One of my brothers, maybe?

Nico?

“My brother?” I asked, hearing a hopeful squeak in my own voice.

“Right. Like one of them is going to swallow their pride, trek down here, and admit they… whoa,” the newly familiar female voice started as she pushed past Elian, only to freeze a foot inside the door as she got a look at me.

Honestly, in the long list of family members I thought might show up to see me, she was almost at the bottom.

Avery was the wife of my cousin, Emilio. Who was the Capo dei Capi’s right hand man.

She was a pretty blonde with a somewhat round face and light blue-gray eyes.

When I gave it a second of thought, though, it made sense that it was Avery.

Because Avery was a Lombardi.

Well, sort of.

Avery had been the stepdaughter of a Lombardi capo.

She’d actually met my cousin Emilio when Renzo had used her to spy on the Costa family.

So if anyone was going to feel comfortable traipsing into Lombardi territory, it was someone who’d lived in it most of her life, who knew all the people.

She shot Elian a pointed look that had him clearing his throat and walking out.

Then Avery was rushing across the room to me.

“Tell me he didn’t do this,” she said, eyes pinned to my face.

I could see the thoughts swirling around her head as she likely wrestled with the idea of having to go back to the Costas and give them this update.

“He didn’t do it,” I said, shaking my head. Then, a little firmer, “He didn’t do this. I was mugged.”

“Mugged,” she repeated. “You, a mafia boss’s wife, were mugged?”

“Yes. But… um… let’s just say that he learned his lesson,” I said.

“He better the fuck have,” she said. “I mean who in their right freaking mind busts the face of Renzo Lombardi’s wife? I mean, unless they were looking forward to a wired jaw. Oh, is that coffee?” she asked, but made her way into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

I liked Avery.

In a family of a lot of women who just seemed to have it all together, Avery was a breath of fresh air. Because she could be a mess sometimes. Always babbling, cursing constantly even when she means not to, tripping and spilling stuff, crying randomly, laughing so hard she snorted. She helped me feel a little less awkward.

She was opening and closing cupboards, looking for a mug as I moved closer, seeing some long white and gray hairs on her dark pants from her cats.

“Where’s the sugar?” she asked, opening more cabinets.

“There is none.”

“What do you mean there is none?” she asked, whirling on me, eyes horrified, making my lips curve up, the scab on my lip pulling. I’d been trying so hard not to pick at it.

I’d been to Avery’s house on several occasions and on coffee dates with her a few times too.

She liked her sugar.

Her coffee concoctions were often more complicated than mine.

And she knew I liked things sweet too.

“What? Like, you ran out?” she asked, giving me the benefit of the doubt.

“I haven’t bought any.”

At that, Avery’s brows drew together as she suddenly turned to whip open the fridge. Then the freezer. Before turning back at me.

“What’s going on here, Lore?” she asked, head tipping to the side. “You can be honest with me. They’re both, for all intentions, my families. I know the good and bad of all of them. Like, that one out there,” she said, waving toward the door.

“Elian?”

“Yeah. He is quiet and sees everything. And that guy Dav? All that charm? Covers up a dark side. My brother? A complete fuck-up, but has a good heart.”

“And Renzo?” I asked.

To that, she took a deep breath.

“So, Renzo forced me into a job he knew put me in danger,” she said. “And he wasn’t easy on me, either, when I was not getting results. He’s harsh and demanding and often unfeeling. But when I fell for Emilio and failed the job, he came to my apartment when I’d been falling apart. And he’d… given a shit. I mean, he’s not a touchy-feely, warm and tingly kind of guy by any stretch of the imagination, but he… he cared in his own gruff kinda way.

“He kind of told me I had to get my shit together because he wasn’t going to visit me if I went on a slipper sock vacation. Then, when I couldn’t stop crying, he gave me a pill and knocked me out,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I half-expected not to wake up, to be honest.”

“I didn’t know that,” I told her.

To that, she shrugged. “It wasn’t my finest hour,” she admitted. “But love can make us act really fucking crazy. Crazy enough… to marry the enemy of your family without knowing a damn thing about him.”

“What?” I asked, heartbeat tripping into overdrive, a frantic pounding against my ribcage.

“Oh, come on. Listen, I love you Lore. But you really weren’t the self-sacrificing for the good of the family sort, right?” she asked. “I mean, you never dig your heels in about anything. So when you decided this, I had a feeling you might have a crush on Renzo or something.”

“I guess,” I admitted.

“It’s not just a crush anymore, though, is it?” she asked.

“No.”

“But he’s still… Renzo,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed, feeling so seen right then that I wanted to cry.

“To understand Renzo, I think you need to know how fucked up this empire he inherited was. Like, you know how the old Costa boss was a tyrant?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. The stories of his cruelty were endless.

“Well, it was worse around here. Like, a lot worse around here. The former bosses and capos were callous and cruel. Sometimes just for shits and giggles. They got off on their power. The problem was, they didn’t have the stranglehold on the area that the Costas did on their turf. There’s a lot of crews in this area. Who got sick of the tyranny of their reign. And so what Renzo inherited was a massive turf war and lack of respect for his name.

“He had to work his ass off to get respect around here again. I mean, I don’t think I ever saw him not working.”

“It’s that way now,” I admitted.

To that, she nodded.

“And you want him here with you,” she guessed. “And he, being a guy, is too fucking thick-headed to understand that you might want him around.”

“I just want you to know,” another female voice said, coming into the apartment, “how embarrassing it was to order this fucking drink. What—oh,” Cinna broke off, gaze landing on Avery.

“Cinna,” Avery said, offering her a small smile.

“Avery dropped in to check on me,” I explained, taking the extra large latte from her, and pouring half of it into the mug Avery had pulled from the cabinet. “Thank you for this,” I said, smiling at Cinna, who’d sent me a text that she was grabbing a coffee around the corner if I wanted anything.

We didn’t text a lot, but she’d been available to me when I reached out. And I had a feeling that, over time, it really could become the friendship I said I was seeking. And one she seemed to need as well.

“I’m kind of surprised half a dozen Costa men haven’t broken down that door yet,” Cinna admitted, nodding her head toward it.

“Oh, they want to,” Avery said. “I said I would come to try to ease their anxiety.”

“What are you going to go back and tell them? That their girl is in love with a stupid fuck who doesn’t deserve her?” Cinna asked.

“He’s been good to me,” I insisted, getting a dubious look from Avery and a raised brow from Cinna.

“Keeping you in an orgasm haze doesn’t mean he’s been good to you,” Cinna objected.

“Not that we’re knocking the orgasms,” Avery said. “Because, you know, good for you,” she added with a smile.

“He found the guy who attacked me.”

“I’m not saying this to be cruel,” Cinna started. “But he would have done that to anyone who put their hands on any of the Lombardi women. It’s about the disrespect to the family, to him.”

What hurt the most about her words were the fact that I knew they were true, that she was right, that tracking him down had to do with the family, not necessarily me.

Part of me wanted to tell them about the way he was sweet with me, was soft with me.

But… they weren’t wrong about that side of him being reserved for, well, sex. For the intimacy directly during and after.

I mean, I was pretty sure the only time I’d actually talked to Renzo outside of the primary suite was during the party. And then, only for a minute or two.

“Say sorry,” Avery whisper-yelled at Cinna.

“I’m not apologizing for telling the truth,” Cinna whispered back.

“No, it’s okay,” I said swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I know you’re right,” I said, nodding.

He didn’t know me enough to attack someone out of genuine affection for me.

But maybe not all of that blame was on his shoulders.

Maybe I hadn’t been putting any work into getting to know him, or letting him get to know me.

“Are you going to tell the Costas about her face?” Cinna asked Avery.

To that, Avery snorted. “I don’t know if I want to be the person to spread that information around. Or be responsible for the repercussions.”

“Don’t tell them,” I said. “Things are… okay here,” I told her. “I don’t want them all rushing over, puffing their chests, and accusing Renzo of not protecting me or something like that. I think tensions are still high enough without everyone knowing about the mugging.”

The two women shared a look.

“I’m not saying we never tell them. Just… not until some time has passed. There’s no way for them to figure it out,” I added. “I’m not going out until my face is better.”

“Alright,” Avery agreed, sipping her half of my latte. “So, now, circling back to the orgasms…”

“Oh, god,” I said, feeling the flush rush up to my cheeks.

“That good, huh?” Avery asked, beaming at me.

“This seems wildly inappropriate,” I decided.

“Why? He’s not actually my blood,” Avery said. “Or Cinna’s for that matter. We’re all just girls here. Does he dirty talk? I bet he dirty talks.”

“He… does,” I admitted, not sure I could get any redder. “But, like, not just… not just… narration.”

Cinna and Avery shared a confused look.

“He… he has nice things to say,” I said, wishing I’d never opened my mouth.

“Renzo gives praise in bed?” Avery asked, mouth falling open. “You lucky duck, you.”

I did feel lucky about that, actually.

Even just remembering those words he said to me when he was touching me or buried in me made my insides flutter and swoop like birds taking flight.

And sometimes, if I thought about them long enough, I found myself wet and aching for him.

Insatiable, that was how I felt about him.

“Did you, like, seduce him?” Avery asked. “I mean, I think most of us figured this was, you know, an arrangement. Like you know how Isabella wasn’t expected to bang Primo Esposito when he made her marry him. I mean, at least that’s my understanding.”

“I, uh, I don’t think I’m capable of… seduction,” I admitted.

“Oh, come on. You’re a fucking bombshell,” Avery gushed.

“It’s not… it’s that… I hadn’t…”

“Oh,” Avery said. “Oh,” she added, voice more airy as she and Cinna shared a look of, I don’t know, confusion and concern intermingled. “Oh, Lore…”

“You don’t need to—“ I started, but trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“Did he know?” Cinna asked.

The way my gaze skittered away must have told them all they needed to know.

There was a long moment where no one spoke. But it was Avery who broke the silence. “I mean… I guess it’s good to have your first time with someone as experienced as Renzo, though.”

“Right?” Cinna asked with a snort. “I got popped in an alley between buildings at sixteen by a guy who snuck me a beer and told me I had great tits. It lasted all of two minutes and the only memorable thing about it was how he tripped over his own pants afterward.”

That got a laugh out of Avery.

“Hey, I mean, you do have great tits,” she said.

“And now only worthy men get to rest in the hills,” Cinna said, patting the center of her chest.

“How come Dav isn’t worthy?” I asked, enjoying this very adult-feeling conversation. I’d never really had girlfriends to talk to. And never about sex, for obvious reasons.

“Not to be crass,” Avery started.

“Since when?” Cinna shot back.

“But I was once at a party where Dav had two girls in the bathroom with him. They both were… having a really, really good time. I’m pretty sure that guy would eat like a starving man.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Cinna said, shrugging it off.

Avery and I shared a look that said we both now were invested in it actually happening. But Cinna missed it as she reached for her phone as it buzzed.

“Okay. I have to run.”

“Of course. Asses to kick. Glass ceilings to break…” Avery said, getting something dangerously close to an actual smile out of Cinna.

“Something like that.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said. “Even if it hurt your pride to order it,” I added.

The conversation after Cinna left was much more casual, just filling me in on the goings-on with my family before, eventually, she had to get going too.

“Please keep in touch, though, okay? Especially with Nico,” she implored at the door. “He’s not handling this well.”

“I will,” I said, accepting the hug she offered. “Thanks for checking in on me.”

Alone, I thought about what they had to say.

About how they clearly both knew Renzo better than I, his wife, did.

An idea formulated.

“Elian,” I called as I opened the door, finding him seated there.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Lombardi?”

As much as I secretly loved being referred to as Renzo’s wife, the affection I was starting to feel toward Elian made me kind of wish he would use less formality with me.

“Do you know how late Renzo is working tonight?” I asked.

“I can ask.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Also, I have all this cash, but I don’t have a card to use to place an order with. Could I, like, pay you the cash, and have you order some things for me?”

“Anything you want,” he said. “I’ll go grab it. Someone else will be here soon to take over.”

“I don’t want you to have to do it. I was going to order.”

“It’s not any trouble,” he insisted with that raised chin that all of these mafia guys used to assert that they were going to be stubborn about something.

Feeling bad about it, I handed over my long list to him.

And an hour after he was off his shift, there was a knock, and a ton of groceries waiting for me.

“Thank you so much,” I said, giving him a big smile.

“Don’t mention it. And I may have… suggested to your husband that he might want to be home before morning tonight,” he added, handing me the bags, then turning to leave.

So then, I set my plan in motion.

To make my husband dinner.

Where I hoped we could actually sit and have a conversation, get to know each other. With our clothes on.

I didn’t cook often, much to the chagrin of my family, who claimed I was the best at it. Cooking kind of reminded me a lot of my mom, of those long afternoons and evenings in the kitchen, learning at her apron strings how to make all the recipes that went back generations in her family.

After her death, cooking usually filled me with a sense of grief and longing so thick you could slice it. And I didn’t like serving up my grief on a platter.

So I just… chose not to do it.

Tonight was different, though.

Tonight, I wanted to show off in front of my husband.

I wanted to watch him dig into a meal I’d painstakingly cooked.

I wanted to watch him enjoy it.

And maybe be pleased with it enough to actually… you know… come home for dinner sometimes.

With the food cooking, I set the table, pulling out the candleholders and pillars I’d asked Elian to pick up as well, before dressing myself in the nicest thing I’d brought with me from home—the simple black dress I bought to use for any ‘formal’ family gathering.

I never liked dressing up, always feeling that “nice” women’s clothing showed off too much—too much leg, back, or chest. Or it clung to every inch of the body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

And I just… never wanted to draw attention to myself, to be looked at that way. So I avoided it at all costs.

Now, though, for Renzo? A man who seemed to worship every inch of me, I was suddenly okay with it.

I slipped on the dress, then went back downstairs to finish cooking.

Then waited.

And waited.

And, you guessed it, waited.

Sometime much later, I heard voices in the hallway.

Several.

Too many to just be Renzo talking to the guard.

He was having people over.

Again.

Just… completely disregarding the suggestion from Elian.

Angry tears pricking my eyes, I jumped up, taking everything I’d cooked, and tossing it in the garbage, then turned, and ran up the stairs, taking myself across the catwalk and to one of the guest rooms just as the crowd moved into the apartment.

I wasn’t going to share a bed with him.

I wasn’t going to let him come in during the wee hours of the morning and reach for me.

Because I knew my traitorous body would give in.

I would let him touch me.

I would allow those gooey sex hormones to twist and warp my vision of my marriage yet again.

Maybe it was time to finally accept that this was never going to be the relationship my heart was aching for. That Renzo was never going to be the partner I wanted him to be.

And once I accepted that, I had to figure out how to hell to navigate a future where I wouldn’t have my own happily ever after like I read in all my books. Like I’d been dreaming about for years.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Renzo

“Should I be making some Bay Breezes for that lovely wife of yours?” Dav asked as I went to the bar to grab a drink.

“Ask her when you see her,” I said, surprised she hadn’t made an appearance yet. Everyone had been around for almost two hours already.

Maybe she was trying to work her nerve up or some shit.

“Whose face did you smash in?” I asked, walking up to another of my men, Cage.

Cage… had been a thorn in my fucking ass since I’d taken over for this family. The spoiled, bratty, entitled-ass son of a former capo. The second his old man went to prison, Cage had spiraled out of control. Drinking, drugging, making his older sister, Avery’s, life a living fucking hell.

Then he went and became my problem when he went around flaunting the Lombardi crime family connection while starting shit with the Irish mafia that was already giving me a goddamn headache.

Cage was single-handedly to blame for shit with the Costas almost going into a full-on war.

After I cleaned up his mess, I’d set my sights into cleaning him up.

So I dried him out.

Made him hit the gym.

I put him to work.

A chance to get his fucking shit together and grow the fuck up.

Since then, he’d been proving he was worth all the work by keeping the Irish mob in their place.

“Aidan,” he said, flexing his busted knuckles.

“Sure that fuck had it coming,” I said, thinking of the skinny redhead with an attitude problem.

“He did,” he agreed. “I hear my sister was here today.”

“What?” I asked, stiffening.

“Yeah, Avery wanted to drop by to check on Lore. Seems like she hasn’t really been keeping in touch with her family, so Avery offered to see how she was doing.”

Awful fucking timing on that.

I’d gotten a look at Lore’s sleeping face early that morning, the bruise taking on some yellow and green around the edges, making it look worse even as it started to get better. The lip, at least, looked mostly healed.

“Lore didn’t say anything?” Cage asked, head tipped to the side.

“Haven’t talked to her yet,” I admitted, watching as Cage’s brows drew together.

Confused.

It didn’t strike me until then how little I knew about Lore’s days. What she did. Who she talked to.

Apparently, not her family.

And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I mean, I imagined shit had gotten strained about the wedding alliance. The wedding had been a powder keg of tension. So if she’d had some disagreements with her family leading up to the event, maybe they were struggling to get past that.

Still.

That was her family.

And despite having almost a whole lifetime of hard feelings toward the Costas, I didn’t like the idea of her having no contact with them.

Avery was probably the best person to have shown up, though, since she knew us better than the Costas did. She also hadn’t been with the Costa family long, so wouldn’t be so overprotective of Lore.

“Huh,” Cage said. “Figured maybe she would text you about it.”

Text me about it.

Maybe she would have.

If she had my number.

Which I’d never given her.

I didn’t have her number either.

If I wanted to get in touch with her, I’d have to do it through whichever guard was at the door.

That was… kind of fucked up.

“How’s Avery doing?” I asked, wanting to change the subject, not wanting my crew to think something was wrong with this marriage I’d insisted upon, despite a lot of fucking objections.

“Good. Good. Seems happy,” he said, then started to talk to someone who moved in at his side as, suddenly, Elian walked into the apartment, searching the crowd, finding me, and… glowering.

He fucking glowered at me.

The fuck?

I tossed back my drink and made my way in his direction as he looked in the oven, then the fridge.

What the hell was he looking for? Did he leave some food around and thought I ate it or some shit?

I moved around the island as he yanked open the cabinet with the garbage can, then pulled it out.

“You fuck,” he hissed, shaking his head.

“You talking to me?” I asked, brows raised.

Sure, we called each other names all the time. It was part of growing up together, despite the power imbalance that came into play when I took control of the family.

But there was something different in his tone as he said it.

Like he was pissed at me.

“Yeah, I’m fucking talking to you,” Elian said, gaze lifting, shooting fucking daggers at me.

“The fuck got into you?”

“What is everyone doing here?” he asked.

I glanced around, confused. “Hanging out.”

“I texted you earlier,” he said.

Yeah.

He had.

About coming home earlier.

Which, in fact, I did.

“I’m aware. And here I am.”

“And you invited the whole family.”

“Elian, the fuck, man? You got a problem, say it.”

“Yeah, I got a problem,” he said, suddenly yanking the garbage can out of the sliding track, and dropping it down at my feet.

“What’s that?” I asked, looking down at what looked like an entire garbage bag full of food.

“The dinner your wife made for you,” he snapped.

“What?” I asked, glancing back down at the food. Pasta, sauce, cheese, salad ingredients. “She cooked for me?” I asked, a strange, tugging sort of sensation in my chest at the idea.

“Yeah. And you couldn’t even fucking come home and eat it with her? The fuck is the matter with you?” he snarled, surprising me with his candor.

Clearly, the guy had bonded with my wife.

And he was furious at what he saw as my mistreatment of her.

“You take that girl, rip her away from everything and everyone she knows, lock her up in this apartment alone all day and most of the night. And you can’t even be here the one time she asks anything of you.”

That was… fair.

I couldn’t even fault him for what he said.

Lore asked me for absolutely nothing.

And I… gave her almost nothing too.

I think, in my mind, I figured she had it pretty good. A big apartment all to herself. No husband breathing down her neck, questioning what she was doing all the time. As much money as she wanted. Toe-curling orgasms.

But what if that wasn’t enough?

What if she wanted more?

And I was too fucking distracted to notice?

Clearly, Elian had seen this shit.

“Would it fucking kill you to treat her like you give a shit that she’s even alive?” Elian asked.

“I give a shit about her,” I snapped back, our voices starting to get louder.

“Yeah?” he snorted. “Give a shit about how you can use her then ignore her, seems like.”

“The fuck, man? You wanna marry her?” I asked, anger growing.

“I want you to take care of the woman you stood in front of a priest with and promised before God to take care of. I want to stop seeing her eyes all swollen and red every goddamn morning when I bring her breakfast. I want to stop seeing her blooded cuticles every afternoon from fussing with them because she’s lonely and anxious and has no one to tell that to.”

“Wh—“

“I know you got nobody, man. I get that you don’t have a little sister that you can see in her shoes. I do. And I wouldn’t blame them if Nico and his brothers all showed up here to drag your ass down to the docks and take you out for what you’ve done to their sister.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dav said, coming into the kitchen, his arms raised in a peacemaking gesture. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about over here, but it’s starting to get a little loud. And you look like you’re about to come to blows,” he said, looking between the two of us. “You need a referee?”

“No,” Elian said, glaring at me for another second, then turning away. “I’m leaving.”

And with that, he was gone.

I found myself staring down in the garbage can, thinking of Lore in the apartment, moving around the kitchen, stirring sauce, straining pasta, putting hours of work into something that she ended up throwing in the trash when I never showed up to eat it with her.

I didn’t feel guilt often.

In my life, you had to make a lot of tough decisions, often doing it without any time to think it over. You just had to trust your gut. Had to believe that you were doing the best you could in any situation. So there was nothing to get down on yourself about.

But that strange churning feeling in my stomach? That felt a lot like guilt.

“What are we looking at?” Dav asked, glancing down into the can.

But I quickly grabbed it, tossing it back into the holder, then kicked the track until the can disappeared under the sink again.

“Get everyone out of here,” I said, glancing over to see something I’d somehow missed before.

The dining table.

Set for two.

New candlestick holders set on it.

The churning intensified as I realized everything Elian said, as much as he might have been pushing a line to do it with his chest like that, was probably right.

By the time I made it across the apartment, I could hear Dav telling everyone it was time to clear out.

I stormed upstairs, the churning feeling in my stomach working its way up my throat.

Was she really crying every day? Elian wouldn’t need to make that shit up, right?

I didn’t have to work hard to imagine that she picked herself raw with anxiety.

I’d known since the minute I saw her at the church that she was meek and unsure of herself. I mean she’d been vibrating with nerves when I’d taken her hand.

She’d even been too anxious to tell me that she was a virgin before I surged inside of her, even though it wouldn’t have been as awful for her as it had been if she’d said something.

Of course she wasn’t going to be comfortable voicing her desires and objections to her new life to anyone.

Let alone me.

The one who forced her into this situation.

Hell, I wasn’t even around often enough for her to do so if she found the courage.

“The fuck?” I said, pushing open the bedroom door, finding the bed empty. “Lore?” I called, stepping into the bathroom, but finding that empty as well.

By the time I walked back out of the room, the apartment was abandoned below, drinks and food still scattered all around from Dav rushing everyone out of the door.

Sucking in a deep breath, I moved across the catwalk to the other balcony, pausing at the closed door I was met with.

Reaching for the knob, I pushed it open.

And there she was.

Curled up on the bed.

In a little black dress.

She’d even dressed up for me too.

‘Cause I needed something else to feel like shit about.

I moved inward, sitting down at her feet.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said, face buried in the pillow like she was talking to it, not to me, but I had to admire her for finding her balls enough to tell me off.

“Tough shit,” I said, then winced.

That was what I’d say to one of my capos.

Not how I was supposed to speak to my wife.

“Go away, Renzo,” she said, voice sounding small and raw.

“Can’t do that.”

But I also had no fucking idea how to make this right either.

She mumbled something then to herself. I wasn’t meant to make it out, but I could have sworn she said something about how I was good at going away.

“You cooked for me,” I said, seeing her stiffen at that. “I didn’t know, mouse,” I said. “Not until Elian just chewed my ass out about it.” She said nothing to that, just curled tighter into her ball, as though if she tried hard enough, she could fold into herself and disappear. “No one’s ever cooked for me before,” I said. “Looked good.”

I was getting nowhere.

And I was no good at this shit.

Sighing, I moved to stand, going toward the side of her body, then reaching out, sliding my hands under her, then starting to lift her.

“No,” she objected, jerking hard.

“Shh,” I murmured, pulling her tighter, knowing she liked being held, that it was the only tool I had in my arsenal here. That she liked being touched by me. Enough that, even though she was pissed and hurt, as soon as she was against my chest, she stopped struggling, and settled against me.

I kept her close as I moved down the catwalk, then the stairs, and across the apartment to place her down at her chair at the set table.

The second I released her and turned to go toward the island to get some food, though, I saw her stiffly stand.

“Lore,” I called, watching her stiffen at her name. “Work with me here,” I said. “I’m trying,” I added, watching as she turned to study my face for a second before sliding back onto the chair.

I moved around the kitchen, transferring some chicken piccata over noodles onto a plate, and reheating it in the microwave as I went to get us each a drink, having to look up the ingredients to that fruity drink Dav made Lore to make her one and bring it back.

I could feel her gaze on me the whole time, watching each move I made, and I found myself wanting to know what was on her mind as I brought back her drink, then the food, splitting it between our plates, and finally lighting the candles.

“Sure it’s not as good as what you made, but it’s…something,” I said.

I wanted to tell her that I was trying to, I don’t know, make shit better. That I was sorry for not seeing that she needed more from me.

But, well, I wasn’t good at that shit.

My life had never allowed for sitting around and talking about feelings. I wasn’t even sure if I even knew how I felt about any given situation. It never occurred to me to think about how I felt about shit.

In my world, feelings didn’t fucking matter.

What mattered were results and respect.

That was it.

“It smells good,” she said, clearly trying as well, even if her eyes still looked far away and sad.

We both reached for our forks and knives in silence, the only sound being the scratch across the plates as we cut, and the far away shriek of a police siren.

Christ.

What the fuck was I supposed to do here? Say?

Lore sure as fuck wasn’t going to start the conversation.

“I heard Avery came to visit,” I said, watching her head whip up, eyes wide. Like she was worried, maybe? “You can have anyone you want over, mouse,” I said, shaking my head. “Her brother was here tonight and mentioned it.”

“I, uh, I had coffee with her and Cinna.”

Cinna.

That was interesting.

“Didn’t think Cinna would be someone you’d like much,” I said. The women couldn’t be more opposite.

“I like that she speaks her mind,” she said.

Maybe that made sense.

In this new world, having someone who would talk straight with her was probably an asset she decided she needed.

“That she does,” I agreed, nodding. “Everything alright with your family?”

“It sounds like it,” she said, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

She missed them.

Of course she did.

The Costas were a tight crew and an even tighter family. Lore was probably used to seeing dozens of the members most days of the week. And she was now weeks into not seeing any of them.

“She’s not going to tell them about this,” Lore said, making my gaze flick up to see her motioning to her face.

“You don’t have to keep secrets from your family.” I couldn’t imagine how torn between both worlds she felt. The family she was raised in, had blood with, and the family she chose for her future.

“I think it might be better to tell them after the bruise is gone,” Lore said. “Nico is…” she trailed off shaking her head as she reached for her drink.

“Yeah,” I agreed, thinking of her eldest brother. Who, from what I could gather from my intel, was a solid, sturdy, mature kind of guy. Not the type to get worked up over things. But this was his baby sister. If he saw a bruise on her cheek that he saw as evidence to back up his feelings about my family’s unworthiness to take care of her, I had no doubt that he would lose his fucking shit.

I wouldn’t even blame him.

I was still fucking furious about it.

Mostly at myself.

Because if I’d been doing my job—as a boss, but more importantly, a husband—she would never have needed to go through that.

We fell silent then as we ate, neither of us good at this shit.

“Elian seems to be fond of you,” I said, watching as Lore’s brows pinched, like she was trying to read some sort of insinuation under the words.

“I see and talk to him more than anyone else,” she admitted, leaving me to wonder if there was chastisement in her words. “He seems like a really nice guy.”

“He sees his little sister in you.”

“That makes sense,” she agreed. “He kind of gives off big brother vibes.”

I didn’t realize there’d been tension in my shoulders since the argument with Elian in the kitchen until her words relaxed them. Some part of me had, undoubtedly, been concerned that she might harbor more-than-friendly feelings toward one of my men.

Lore finished her food, setting her fork and knife on the plate, then reaching to sip her drink.

“Time for dessert,” I said, pushing my own plate away as Lore’s gaze slid to the kitchen, looking for this ‘dessert’ I spoke of.

My chair groaned across the floor as I pushed it back, then started to lower down, catching the confused look on Lore’s face before I made my way under the table, crawling toward her side.

I was at her feet, my hands reaching for her knees, and spreading them, hearing her gasp as she realized my intentions.

“Still starving, mouse,” I said, spreading her thighs as her eyes went heated.

With her spread out for me, my hands slid up her thighs, pushing up her skirt, watching the little goosebumps prick across her skin as a shiver coursed through her.

Now this, this was something I was good at.

I might not be able to give my wife great conversation, or know what she wanted without her telling me, but I sure as fuck could make her feel good.

I yanked her panties to the side, then slid in, reveling in the taste of her as her hands went into my hair, sifting, then tugging, as I started to work her clit.

She was so fucking sensitive, those little mewling noises that set my cock rock-hard turning into loud moans in just a few minutes.

Her thighs were crushing the sides of my head as she got closer and closer.

As she came, her strangled cry was of my name.

And, fuck, I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard anything better before.

I was still kissing her thighs after when her hands started to tug at my hair once again.

“Please,” she said, making my head angle up.

“Please, what, mouse?” I asked, loving how flushed she was, how her dark blue eyes were pools of desire. “Please bend you over the table and fuck you?” I asked, watching her chest expand at my words.

“Yes,” she whispered, moving to stand, reaching for me as she did so.

“You sure you don’t want to go back to the spare room instead?” I asked as I pulled down the front of her dress, exposing her perfect tits, then reaching out to tease her until she was whimpering again.

“I’m sure,” she said.

“Okay then,” I said, reaching for her as I shoved her plate and glass out of the way, then bent her over the table, pressing her flat against the surface as I moved behind her, hiking up her skirt.

I lowered her panties, then freed myself, loving the way she wiggled around, desperate to feel my cock deep inside of her again.

I slid my cock up her pussy, letting her wetness coat me, then pressed back and surged inside.

Lore’s moan was almost pained as I slammed in to the base, feeling her pussy tighten greedily around me, begging for more.

“You feel so fucking good,” I groaned as I started to fuck her. Hard and fast and deep. “Oh, fuck, baby,” I hissed as she tried to rock backward into my thrusts, her loud moans filling the apartment. “You’re going to make me lose control.”

Then, as her pussy spasmed hard around my cock, I did just that, slamming into her until I came with a groan, my vision going white with the intensity of it.

I stayed planted deep as we both started to come back down, and I couldn’t help but love the idea of being inside of her raw, of coming inside of her, something I never had happen before.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up for me, mouse?” I asked as I pulled her panties back into place, then helped her stand up on what seemed like wobbly legs. “I’ll deal with this mess.”

With that, I watched her go, feeling like we’d made progress tonight.

Or so I hoped.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lore

Renzo solved our problems with sex.

There was no way to deny that as another week passed.

And nothing changed.

He kept crawling into bed, lavishing over my body, teasing and pleasing my growing hopelessness out of me, and replacing it with pleasure and those sticky, tricky sex hormones.

The nights were all the same.

Falling into a deep, contented sleep with Renzo’s body close and comforting.

But the mornings were all the same too.

Waking up alone, that same deep, aching loneliness and emptiness clawing in my stomach, growing until it felt like that was all there was in the world.

I tried to chase those feelings away by keeping my days busy. I took to cleaning the apartment, shooing Elian away when he tried to gather the glasses and plates and garbage from the still frequent parties, insisting that I needed something to do to make my days productive.

The look on Elian’s face said he saw beneath the mask I was putting on, but he didn’t press. And I didn’t know if I was grateful for that, or if it only hurt more, only made me feel more alone.

I had Cinna on occasion. But mostly only when she was popping over with coffee for me because she was in the area. It seemed like Renzo wasn’t the only member of his family who worked themselves to the bone, day in and out. And, I imagined, Cinna felt the need to work even harder than most of the other members of the family, feeling the need to prove herself because she was a woman in a male-dominated world.

But that was… it.

That was all I had.

Long, restless days where I cleaned endlessly, then tried to focus on my books. Mostly failing. Before eating something Elian dropped off, and crawling into bed.

Where I sat awake, hating myself for it, but aching for a look, a touch, a few kind words from my husband who only seemed to remember I existed when I was right in front of him.

The party was still raging a floor below me as I curled up in bed, my cramps making me rock and whimper to myself. All the while an ache no less intense started in my chest, knowing that this would be the night when I wouldn’t get my little fix of Renzo’s attention, when I would have to go through an entire week with nothing to light the growing darkness within.

I heard the footsteps on the stairs, but this time the little thrill inside was buried under the ache for a glimpse of Renzo’s sweetness.

The door opened, bringing the laughter, conversation, and music for a moment, before silencing it again.

“What’s wrong?” Renzo asked, and I could practically feel his dark gaze on me.

“Nothing,” I insisted since, technically, nothing was. Just a monthly annoyance.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

“No.”

Renzo made a noise in his throat before moving away from the door and going into the bathroom. But he came back less than a minute later.

“Mouse,” he said, voice softer, and I swear it was like a caress, soothing down all my frazzled edges. “You want a painkiller?” he asked, coming around the bed when I didn’t turn to look at him.

I remembered then that I hadn’t tucked the tampon box back into the drawer after I pulled one out earlier.

“I’m okay,” I said, unable to look at his face.

What can I say? I was a girl raised around boys. I never really had anyone close to me to talk to about girly things like this. So I wasn’t surprised by the heat that rose up my neck to tint my cheeks.

“Why suffer, though?” he asked, finger teasing over my flaming cheek, seeking my chin, and forcing it up until I had no choice but to look at him. “I’m a grown-ass man, Lore. This shit doesn’t bother me. No reason to feel weird about it. Gonna happen every month for the next, what, thirty years. Should be able to talk about it.”

“I took ibuprofen,” I told him. “It just hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“Okay. What else helps?” he asked.

“I’m okay.”

“Let’s try this again. What else helps when you’re bleeding and feeling like crap?”

“A heating pad,” I admitted, cursing myself for not having thought of packing it.

Still squatting next to the bed, he reached for his phone, tapping away for a minute.

“You like chocolate?” he asked.

“Are there people in the world who actually don’t like chocolate?” I asked, getting a small twitch from his lips.

“Any other requests?” he asked.

“You don’t have to order me anything,” I insisted, even as my heart fluttered a bit at this rarity. His softness and attention. When sex was off the table.

Renzo shook his head at me as he stood, and made his way to the bathroom.

I thought maybe he’d changed his mind on ordering me anything when I heard him in the shower. But not twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the bedroom door that had Renzo coming out of the bathroom in a pair of low-slung sleep pants, to accept a bag from whoever was on the other side.

Then he was coming toward me as he opened the box of the heating pad, plugging it in, turning it on, and leaving it on the floor to heat up as he piled a massive amount of chocolate onto my nightstand, then started to open another box, pulling out some kind of long strip that reminded me of a massive band-aid.

“Roll on your back for me, mouse,” he demanded, and I was too curious to do anything but what he demanded.

He pulled down the covers, then pushed up my shirt, before starting to draw down my pants.

I tensed, making his gaze slide up to mine.

“Relax,” he demanded softly as he finished exposing my belly. Then unpeeled the back of the patch, and pressed it over my stomach.

“What is… oh,” I said at the warming sensation.

“Saw those. Figure might help when you can’t be connected to a plug,” he said as he pulled my pants back up and my shirt down, then pressed the warm heating pad to my stomach before drawing up the blanket.

“Thank you,” I said, getting those flutters and swoops in my chest that reminded me just how far gone I was for this man, despite knowing it mostly led to heartache.

Renzo said nothing as he moved around the bed, sliding into his side, then patting his chest.

“Come here, mouse,” he demanded.

I’m almost embarrassed at how quickly I curled into him, resting my head on his chest, hearing the heartbeat under my ear as his warmth enveloped me.

Renzo reached down, pulling the heating pad back into place, then wrapping one arm around my lower back as the other one slipped upward to start to gently massage my scalp like he knew I loved so much.

Before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep wrapped in the arms of the man I loved way more than was good for me.

__

It was the next day, as I was making myself tea on the stove in a saucepan because we didn’t have a kettle, when the door suddenly flew open with enough force to make it knock against the wall.

I jumped, my hand shooting out for, I don’t know, something to defend myself with, I guess, before I saw Renzo storming into the apartment.

His spine was ramrod straight, his shoulders tense, and I saw the muscle ticking in his jaw as he turned away from me, charging toward the bar.

The glass slammed onto the bar top with enough force that I was surprised it didn’t splinter apart.

Reaching over, I turned off the water as I watched my husband pour a glass of whiskey, throw it back, then refill it.

It did nothing to soften the sharp edges of his frustration.

I had no clue what could manifest such a strong reaction in a man who seemed so in control of himself all of the time. But I had to imagine it was something serious if it had Renzo home before the sun even went down.

Renzo threw back his second drink, refilled it, then took his glass over toward a chair in the living room. The same one he’d pulled me down on when I’d been drunk and dizzy.

I stood there for a moment as he stared down at the ground, trying to figure out what I could say or do. Especially after he’d been so sweet with me the night before.

His phone rang in his pocket, and he dug it out, staring at it, then tossing it.

My heart jumped as it skittered across the table, then dropped to the floor.

Still unsure what to do, but knowing he needed some sort of comfort, I made my way into the living room, fetching his phone, and placing it on the table, then standing in front of him.

Feeling painfully awkward, I reached out, placing my hand over his on the arm of the chair, watching as his gaze flicked up to mine, seeing the fire simmering behind his eyes.

“What can I do?” I asked, voice soft as he watched my face.

“Nothing,” he said after a minute, shaking his head as if he needed to knock a pesky thought loose.

“Renzo…” I said, voice soft.

Renzo sucked in a deep breath.

Then, voice a rough, sexy shiver, he said, “Do you want to learn to suck my cock, mouse?” he asked.

Before I could even wrap my head around the words, though, my body reacted, my sex clenching hard in anticipation.

Sure, Renzo had been incredibly giving in the oral sex department, but I’d never been able to get up the nerve to try, too insecure about doing it wrong. And Renzo had never pressed or asked or seemed upset about not getting it.

So I never really understood why he seemed so turned on by the idea of going down on me. Until the ache was throbbing through my own body as I stood there in front of him.

Objectively, I knew that, were I not on my cycle, that he would likely already have me on his lap or bent over, and be surging inside of me.

But that wasn’t an option.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yeah?” he asked, his head tilting to the side. “You don’t have to,” he added.

“I want to,” I insisted.

Then, to emphasize my point, I lowered myself down in front of him, watching as the heat in his eyes went from anger to hunger by the time my knees were on the floor.

A low rumble moved through him as my hands went tentatively up toward his waist, undoing his button and zipper.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, bolstering my confidence as I reached into his pants and freed his cock, finding him so hard that his cock bobbed out and then pressed near his belly.

Renzo’s hand moved out from under mine, grabbing my wrist, and pulling it down to close around his cock, then helping me stroke him down to the base, his breath exhaling through his nose.

“Feel what you do to me?” he asked, making my desire build. “Keep your hand here,” he instructed. “And come over here and taste me,” he added, and I was glad for his directions as uncertainty filled me, wanting to do this right, to please him, but unsure how to make that happen.

Sucking in a deep breath, I slid between his thighs, leaning down, and teasing my tongue around the head of his cock.

The barely-there touch had a low curse escaping Renzo. His reaction urging me on, I moved my tongue across the head, tasting his desire as I did so, another thrill moving through me.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Put your mouth around me. I need to be inside.”

I was happy to oblige, closing my mouth around his cock, loving the way he moaned and bucked up into my mouth.

“Take me in, mouse. Take me as deep as you can,” he instructed, and I kept sliding down his thick length. “That’s it,” he groaned, his hand moving down to gather my hair, holding it at the base of my neck, so he could see. “Just up and down, baby,” he said, and I carefully tucked my lips around my teeth, then did as he instructed.

Up and down. Slowly at first. But going faster at the way Renzo’s breath started to get quicker and more uneven, at the way his hand curled on my hair, at the low groans started to escape him.

“That feels so fucking good, baby,” he praised, his hips bucking up into my mouth, making me take him a little deeper.

His hand moved down, taking my hand off of his shaft, and moving it down slightly. “Just touch,” he told me as my fingers teased over his balls. “Yeah, like that,” he hissed, getting close.

“You’re doing so fucking good, baby,” he told me, making my sex clench and dragging a low moan out of me, vibrating around his cock. “You like sucking me off, huh, mouse?” he asked. “Open your eyes,” he demanded. “Look what you’re fucking doing to me,” he told me, making my lashes flutter open, finding him looking down at me, his eyes molten, his lips parted. “You look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”

I took him even deeper, getting a rough, low groan out of him.

“Oh, fuck, mouse. I’m gonna come,” he warned, hips rocking faster into my mouth. “Do you want to stop, or are you going to let me come down your sweet throat?”

Legs pressed together to ease the ache between, I just kept working him, wanting to know what it was like to taste his release.

“Fuck, baby, I’m coming,” he said as I took him deeper, feeling his release fill my mouth and trickle down my throat.

I worked him through it until his hand loosened on my hair, then slowly moved backward, letting him slide out of my mouth.

“Oh, mouse,” he whispered as I rested my head on his thigh, not wanting to move away. “Come up here,” he demanded, voice all soft again.

I didn’t waste a second, climbing right up into his lap, eager for the chance to be close to him.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, reaching for his glass, and taking a sip, then holding it up to my lips.

I shook my head, getting another of those rumbles out of him that I loved so much.

“Rather have the taste of me in your mouth, mouse?” he asked, sounding pleased at that as I again pressed my thighs together to ease the ache at his dirty words. “Rather have the taste of you in my mouth too,” he said, finishing his drink. “Soon,” he added, getting a little whimper out of me.

He put the cup down on the table, and then his hand was sliding up my leg, my knee, thigh. Higher.

“Shh,” he murmured as I tensed when his hand pressed between my thighs. “I can make you come just like this,” he told me, then pressed his fingers into my clit, the pressure firmer, the friction of my pants and panties against me making desire immediately spark and catch, spreading through my whole body.

“You sound so good when I’m touching you,” Renzo said as he started to drive me upward. “That’s it,” he said as my whimpers became ragged moans. “Let me hear you come for me.”

Not much longer, I did, crying out my release against his neck.

“Always so soft after you come,” he said as I snuggled in, his hands drifting over me. “How’re the cramps?” he asked, his hand moving over my belly where I had one of those pain patches from him stuck to my skin.

“Better now,” I admitted. They were always awful the second day, hence the pain patch even though it didn’t last long.

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding intrigued. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and I could imagine orgasms from him each month to ease the pains.

On the table, his phone was letting out a steady stream of dings and vibrations.

He ignored them for a few minutes.

But when I heard his sigh, I knew the moment was over, that I was about to lose him again. Even before he was patting me to get up, then tucking himself away, and standing, before fetching his phone.

I tried not to feel disappointed as I lost all of his attention to his phone, to whoever was on the other side of it.

Then he was grumbling to himself.

“Gotta go,” he said, already forgetting all about me as he turned and made his way to the door.

Within ten minutes of us both coming, he was gone.

I walked on numb legs to the kitchen, turning the water back on, and trying to talk myself out of wallowing in my feelings of disappointment.

What had I expected?

That he would curl up with me for hours, telling me about all his hopes and dreams, asking me about mine?

That was certainly what I wanted.

But I knew it wasn’t something I could have.

I wore his brief moments of kindness like beads on a bracelet, as if I could maybe use it as a rosary, praying for the day he might love me like I loved him.

I took my tea back to my bed that would remain empty the entire night, wondering if maybe the idea of happily-ever-afters was just the stuff of the stories my mom used to read to me, or the books I devoured for years.

That maybe this was as good as it got.

But as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that this, whatever this was, was never going to be enough.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Renzo

Someone was fucking with me.

No, let me rephrase that.

Someone inside my organization was fucking with me.

It took a while to understand what was going on, why these fucking businesses that had been loyal with their payments for so long weren’t paying, why I was getting push-back from smaller crews instead of just giving me a kick-up, why I’d been feeling so much tension inside my own family for the past few weeks.

Someone was being disloyal.

Someone might even be making a move to take me out.

“What’d he look like?” I asked the convenience store owner who, when I’d shown up to collect my bag, had said I don’t have any more.

Something about the wording rubbed me wrong, making me ask what he meant by any more since I hadn’t been around since the last week.

Who’d promptly informed me that he’d paid my man a few days ago.

And, suddenly, it all fucking fell into place.

The owner waved an arm out, his face scrunched.

“Like you. Like him,” he said, waving at Rico. “Tall, dark hair, young, olive skin…”

To be fair, there were a lot of us.

And we did all have similar characteristics.

Biting back a growl, I looked toward the camera on the wall behind him. “What about the camera feed?” I asked.

“Sorry, man, it deletes footage every three days.”

Of course it did.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Okay. Listen to me,” I said, reaching across the counter for a notepad he had there. “You pay me. If anyone shows up here looking for a bag, you say it’s in the back, then you go back there and call me, you understand?” I asked, jotting my number down on the pad.

“Yeah, I got it. You’ve been good to my family,” he said, shrugging. “Don’t want to start any shit.”

“Good. Plug that into your phone,” I said, waving toward the paper. “I’m not gonna make you pay twice. But I’m who you pay now. And only me. Until further notice.”

With that, I turned and walked out of the store, waiting until I was around the corner and out of sight of the store owner before turning on Rico.

“Who the fuck?” I hissed.

Rico, on the same page as me, shook his head. “I don’t know. But we gotta find out. If someone is making a move against you…”

“I need to talk to everyone I trust,” I said.

“Elian?” Rico asked.

“Dunno why that is a question.”

“That fight was… unlike him.”

“That’s a different thing.”

“You don’t think it’s possible that he wants you gone to take Lore himself?”

“No,” I said, voice final.

“Yeah, I agree. Just gotta play devil’s advocate here. Who else?”

“Dav.”

If that man wanted my position in this family, he’d had more than one occasion where he could have taken me out.

“Cinna,” I said.

“Yeah? Even though she’s been one of the biggest voices against this alliance?”

“Even though,” I said. “Besides, he said it was a guy.”

“True,” Rico agreed. “Anyone else?”

“Best move’ll be to keep this small. This is going to be a fucking nightmare,” I added, exhaling hard.

And so it was.

I had wall-to-wall meetings with my most trusted capos, telling them what was going on, and giving them instructions for what I expected from each of them moving forward.

Rico, Cinna, and Dav would catch up with the other capos, try to get a feel if anyone felt off.

Elian was to keep a close eye on Lore. Maybe even crashing in my study or a guest room for the time being, so she was never alone with another guard.

“Are you going to tell her?” Elian asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. Getting a grumble from Elian. “Listen, I don’t want her to know for her own good. You know her. She’s anxious enough already. She doesn’t need to be freaked out when people are in the apartment or shit like that.”

“You’re gonna still have the parties?” Rico asked, brows raised.

“If that changes, someone is gonna know something is up,” I said, even if the idea of having a traitor in my home made my stomach churn. “But I’m taking steps to keep an eye on shit.”

Which led me to the store to get a shitton of hidden cameras. I had cameras outside of my front door, of course, but the inside of my apartment should have been safe. That was why I kept guards at the door. No one could get in to fuck with shit there.

Except, of course, if the person I had to be wary of was someone I’d happily invite into that space.

So I had to install cameras all around the common areas. As well as my study. The guest rooms.

The only places that were safe were the bathrooms and my primary suite. As much as I wouldn’t mind footage of fucking Lore, I knew she wouldn’t be down with that.

Just the thought of her as I crept around the apartment long after she’d gone to bed had my cock aching.

How long had it been since I’d been inside her at this point?

Almost two weeks?

One lost because of her period.

One because I’d been so fucking busy I didn’t even have the energy to get undressed before I fell into bed, let alone be any good at fucking.

So I just caught a few stolen hours of sleep, then was gone again before she even woke up.

My gaze slid toward the chair where I’d held her last. Where I’d touched her. After she’d gone down on me and sucked me like a goddamn champ, easing the tension that had me ready to start throwing shit.

When this was done, I reminded myself, I could get my fill of her again. Until then, I was doing this shit to keep her safe.

“You got ‘em all?” I asked, moving into the study where Rico had the feed for the cameras up, clicking them on one by one until they filled the screen.

“Yep. All working.”

“And they go into the cloud? I don’t want shit to be able to be deleted at the source.”

“Only thing left is for you to plug in a password,” he said, waving toward the screen, then moving away from the desk, allowing me to pick one out without him knowing.

I racked my brain for something with the right letters and numbers.

And, for some reason, it came to me.

Her name. Full name. The one with my last one attached. And our wedding date.

Dunno where the fuck that came from, but it was what I went with, plugging it in twice, knowing it was something I wouldn’t forget.

“All set then,” he said, nodding.

“Go catch a few hours. We got another long day ahead of us,” I said, glancing at my phone to see we were only maybe two hours from sunrise already.

“Gonna be nonstop until we find him,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, exhaling hard. “Tell Cage on your way out that Elian should be here by seven.”

“Will do,” he said, heading out.

Putting the screen to sleep so it required a code to open up to the camera feeds, I made my way upstairs, peeling out of my clothes, my gaze on Lore the whole time.

I needed to leave her the fuck alone.

I needed to get some fucking sleep.

But as I climbed into the bed, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from curling toward her, from wrapping an arm around her.

She made those sweet little kitten noises in her sleep, wiggling back against me.

And, yeah, my cock stirred to life.

But it was something other than that.

A feeling that moved through my gut and up across my chest.

It was a sensation that didn’t have me running my hands over her, waking her up, and burying inside of her.

Instead, it had me holding her close, drifting off to sleep with the feel and scent of her all over me.

And I had no fucking idea what that meant.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lore

“Hey, Mrs. Lombardi,” Elian greeted me, giving me his usual smile, but there was a tightness around his eyes.

“Hey, Elian. You look like you didn’t sleep well last night,” I said, going toward the coffee pot, but finding it cold already.

More proof that Renzo had been gone for hours.

I wouldn’t have even known that he’d been home at all if not for the clothes on the floor.

I’d dreamt of him endlessly the night before.

Not the sweaty, frustrating, fantasy dreams I’d been plagued with thanks to not having had any relief for so long now. Something that had my mind running wild with ideas of Renzo being sick of me. Of Renzo going and finding someone else to have sex with. Thoughts that had been making me too queasy to even eat since they came to mind almost a week ago now.

No, these were softer, sweeter dreams.

Ones of him holding me tight.

No sex.

Just intimacy.

Just… closeness.

But, of course, I woke up alone yet again. With no hope of seeing him. Yet again. Let alone have him hold me.

“I didn’t,” he admitted as I started to reach for the coffee, but then thought better of it.

“Hey, you want to go get some good coffee with me?” I asked.

“Good coffee?” he asked.

“You know. The kind with lots of cream and sugar and whipped cream. More calories than a whole meal. That good kind.”

His lips curved up at that, his smile a little softer. But then went sad.

“I can’t leave the door,” he told me, his face falling all the more as I felt my own mood plummet.

Right.

The door.

The only reason Elian was even here.

Not for me.

Not to be my friend.

I didn’t have friends here.

I didn’t have family.

I didn’t really even have a husband.

The weight of that crashed down on me, leaving me feeling a hundred pounds heavier, making my chest go concave.

“Right,” I said, forcing a smile, figuring Elian was likely sick of seeing me sad. Almost as sick as I was of being sad. “How about I bring you back one?” I asked, putting some extra pep in my words, even if I knew he could see right through it.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he said, giving me that sympathetic smile of his that only ever felt like knives to my already tender heart.

Because he, practically a stranger to me, saw how unhappy I was. While my own husband was oblivious.

“What’s your favorite flavor? I think I’m leaning toward mocha today. I could use some chocolate.”

“I could go for that.”

“Whipped cream? Fair warning, I will judge you if you opt out of whipped cream. It’s the best part.”

“Whipped cream sounds good.”

“Hot or cold? I know it’s like twenty degrees out, but I am feeling a frappe today.”

“Get me what you’re getting yourself,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“You better not be reaching for money,” I said, small eyeing him. “My treat. Well, Renzo’s treat,” I said, just his name causing a pang.

“Alright,” he said, not wanting to push it, likely seeing my achy heart in my eyes.

“Okay. I will be… twenty minutes,” I told him.

I hadn’t been going out a lot.

A coffee run here and there.

But it no longer felt weird leaving the apartment.

I slipped into my shoes.

Then grabbed my heaviest hoodie.

“That’s not warm enough,” Elian said, frowning at it.

“Oh, ah, my coat zipper was ruined when, well, you know,” I said. “I haven’t gotten around to getting another. Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s a couple of minutes. I’ll be fine.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, then walking through the apartment and into Renzo’s study.

I’d been in there a few times. Once out of curiosity. Then the other times to clean. It was a simple space with a desk and a big monitor, a couch, and, well, not much else.

Lately, I’d been avoiding the space, not liking the way it smelled like him, and how some sad, pathetic part of me wanted to curl up on the couch and breathe him in.

“Here,” Elian said, coming back out with a lined leather jacket, the leather worn, cracked, and soft from age, and holding it out to me. “Put this on.”

And smell Renzo on me the entire trip out? I’d rather be cold.

But Elian wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I slipped my arms in, surprised by the weight of it as it settled on my shoulders.

“It’s huge,” I said, seeing my hands disappear in the sleeves. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“Kind of,” Elian admitted, making us both laugh. “But you’ll be warm,” he added.

“Thanks,” I said, following him out the door. “Twenty minutes. And then you’re going to have the happiest tastebuds ever,” I promised him.

“Looking forward to it,” he agreed as I walked to the elevator.

It was every bit as cold outside as I thought, despite the sun casting off of the windows. The hot dog cart on the corner kept puffing steam into the air and the woman who passed by me, chatting with someone on a video call was trailing her breath behind her.

Fall had taken a sharp right turn toward winter, and I felt an ache in my core, knowing the holidays would be right around the corner.

Thanksgiving not sitting at one of my aunts’ tables.

Christmas without my brothers’ big forms swallowing up all the space on the couches, making me sit crosslegged on the floor like a little girl in front of the tree as our father passed out gifts.

Would there even be a Thanksgiving with the Lombardi family?

Aside from Cinna, I had yet to meet a Lombardi woman. And she certainly wasn’t the type to stand in the kitchen from dawn until dinnertime where she would fill the table with food and sit with her loved ones to say grace and share a meal.

But maybe there were other Lombardi women who were more like the Costa women.

Or, maybe, that was now my place, I thought as I walked down the street.

I mean, I was—as crazy as it felt, given my age—now the Lombardi matriarch. And wasn’t it my place to plan a dinner, to shop for it, to invite people, to make the meal, and serve it to the family?

By the time I closed in on the coffee shop, I already had a menu in my mind.

A turkey, of course.

Creamy mashed potatoes. Green bean casserole. Sweet potatoes, with or without the marshmallows. Broccoli. Salad. Rolls. Maybe a couple trays of baked ziti. We were Italian, after all.

Pumpkin and apple pies for dessert went without saying.

I had it all planned out by the time I finally got through the long line and made it to the counter, ordering two large mocha frappes with whipped cream and extra drizzle.

I wondered if I could ask Elian about Thanksgiving, or if this was something I should talk to Renzo about first.

If I ever saw him.

No.

No, damnit.

I wasn’t going to let those thoughts win. Not when I finally found something to be excited about, something to focus my restless energy on.

And after Thanksgiving, I could decorate for Christmas. Buy gifts for my old family. And my new one. And maybe plan another meal for everyone to attend. Or, at least, a little Christmas party with hors d'oeuvre and drinks. That seemed right up this family’s alley.

My shoulders were looser and my soul lighter as I stepped out of the coffee shop with the frozen coffees in my hand.

I was already imagining going home to hop online and start looking up Thanksgiving table scapes.

It was right then, like fate shining down on me, telling me I was on the right path, when I saw a familiar frame just a few doors down.

There were a few of his men in front of him, disappearing into a building, bodies tense.

But I barely even noticed them.

I was laser focused on Renzo, on the way this felt so serendipitous.

“Renzo!” I called, rushing down the street before I could lose him. “Renzo!” I called again, watching him turn toward the sound of my voice.

I was too wrapped up in my own excitement right then, shooting him a big smile, to pay attention to his reaction to me.

“Hey!” I said, getting closer. “This is so funny. I was just thinking that I needed to talk to you about something,” I said as I finally stood in front of him.

A loud crash came from inside the building Renzo was standing in the doorway of, making Renzo tense.

“Not now,” he said, his voice firm.

But I was too wrapped up in my excitement for the future to pay attention.

“It will just take a min—“ I started as another clamor came from inside.

“I said not now,” Renzo barked, voice harder than I’d ever heard it. “Go home,” he snapped, then turned and disappeared into the building.

Leaving me standing on the sidewalk.

Scolded like a child.

He’d never used a tone of voice like that with me.

It was like a slap in the face.

No.

No, it was worse than that.

It was like he’d blown out the light inside of me.

The one that I’d been struggling to keep flickering for weeks.

And all that was left was a bottomless darkness.

Swallowing me up.

I stood there longer than my pride would let me admit.

Before I found myself turning, walking on stiff legs to the corner, each step feeling weighted and clumsy.

I could see the apartment a few blocks over, familiar, even starting to feel like home.

Inside, I would find Elian sitting there waiting for his coffee. I would have to put on a brave face and walk inside and try to act like things were okay.

When they weren’t.

God, they weren’t.

Nothing was okay.

I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t go back there.

I couldn’t look in the face of the man I loved and think about the way he’d yelled at me on the street like I was an annoying child. Not his wife. Not the woman he swore before God to have and hold.

I just couldn’t do this anymore.

Not for another goddamn second.

I tossed the drinks into the trash on the corner, then turned in the opposite direction of the apartment building, already feeling the tears threatening, pleading with them to hold out as I made my way down the subway steps, then waited on the platform with a bunch of strangers I didn’t want to see me cry.

I deep breathed through the sorrow as I rode one subway, then transferred to another.

I even kept it together as I hopped in a cab and gave them an address. To the only place I could think of to go.

But as I walked up to the familiar building, as I rode the elevator to his floor, as I walked up to his door, as I knocked, I felt my defenses crumbling, felt every hurt feeling and disappointment well up and spill over.

As my tears started to do the same, I heard the doorknob turning.

Saw the door opening.

And there he was.

Nico.

“Lore.” He exhaled out my name like a breath he’d been holding for weeks. “What—“ he started as a sob escaped me. “Oh, honey,” he said, reaching for me, and drawing me close to his wide, reassuring chest.

He pulled me inside, kicking the door closed, then just stood there in the entryway, holding me, his arms a hug I’d been aching for without realizing it.

“Lore, honey,” he said, sounding as hopeless as the situation I found myself in. “If he hurt you—“ he said, trailing off, the threat hanging in the air between us.

He had.

Hurt me.

More than I knew was possible so quickly.

But that wasn’t what Nico thought, what he was worried about. The tension was growing in his body with each passing second, imagining me on the ground after my husband struck me.

I sniffled hard, trying to get it together.

When the words escaped me, though, they were pulled apart at the edges.

“I just want him to love me back. Why can’t he just love me back?”

“Oh, Lore,” Nico said, arms squeezing me tighter, crushing my breath in my chest, but I clung to him harder still, sure if I let go, I would shatter to pieces.

Nico pulled me blindly across the apartment, my face buried in his chest, then lowered us down onto the couch, holding me with my legs over his lap like he did that time on the anniversary of our mothers’ passing, when the grief shook my fault line bones, leaving me sobbing on the floor. Where he’d scooped me up, brought me to the couch, and just let the pain leech from me as he sat there with me.

He didn’t try to feed me reassurances, try to tell me it was going to be okay.

I wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

And maybe he sensed that.

He just sat there, being the rock he’d always been for me. Steady and stalwart. Unbreakable, even as I broke apart.

I couldn’t tell you how long we sat there like that. As the sobs rose from somewhere deep inside of me, the intensity of them rocking my body as the tears burned down my cheeks, soaked through Nico’s shirt.

“No one,” Nico finally said as my sobs became sniffles, as enough of the pain escaped to make it possible to think past it, “And I mean no fucking one,” he went on, “is ever fucking worth crying like that over.”

“You don’t—“

“I know I don’t understand,” he cut me off, voice a little softer, a bit sadder. The words were hanging there in the air. Because you wouldn’t talk to me. “But I don’t need to understand to know that pain like that isn’t right. That anyone who causes that isn’t someone deserving of how much you clearly care.”

“I’ve tried so hard,” I said, blinking back more tears.

“Tried what?”

To stick it out? To keep enduring? To convince myself that it was going to get better even when there were no signs of that.

“Tried to wait,” I said finally.

“Wait for what?”

“For… for him to care about me,” I choked out.

A growl moved through Nico’s chest, and I wanted to smile at his older brother protectiveness. But I wasn’t sure I was capable of smiling then. Or ever again.

“He’s a fucking idiot if he doesn’t care about you, Lore. If he doesn’t love you,” he added. “You’re the easiest person in the world to love. No,” he said at the pained whimper that escaped me.

Because if I was so easy to love, why didn’t he love me?

“No,” he repeated, taking a deep breath. “What I mean is… if he doesn’t love someone as lovable as you, maybe the issue is he isn’t capable of it.”

I said nothing. Because that didn’t make me feel any better. It didn’t undo the damage to my heart. Even if Renzo wasn’t capable of love, it didn’t change that I loved him.

“Is this why you were so adamant?” he asked after a moment. “About marrying him,” he clarified. “Did you have feelings for him already?”

“Yes,” I admitted. What use was lying about it anymore? Things couldn’t get worse.

“How?”

“I’d snuck out of Manhattan when I was sixteen,” I admitted. “I wanted to go to the bookstore in Brooklyn—“

“The one I should have fucking taken you to when you asked me,” he grumbled, angry at his younger self.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And I went and it was everything I ever thought it would be. But after…”

“After?” he prompted.

“After… some guys were harassing me. This is why I didn’t tell you,” I said, feeling him tense.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “What happened?”

“Renzo saved me,” I told him. “And it sounds really silly looking back, but I think I fell for him right then. And I kept going back to ‘shop for books,’ but I was really just trying to see him again.”

“Wait… did he know this?”

“No. I don’t think he even remembers the incident. Apparently, it’s, like, a rule in his family. If they see women or girls getting harassed on the street, they step in. I was probably one of hundreds,” I admitted.

But he’d been my one.

That silly, fanciful girl with hearts in her eyes.

No idea what it was actually like to love a man like him.

“Tell me he hasn’t been hurting you,” Nico demanded as I finally pulled my legs off of his lap, drawing them up to my chest instead, wrapping my arms around them, and squeezing. Like maybe that would make me feel less broken.

“No,” I said, voice low, eyes squeezed shut because I felt the telltale stinging in them again, and I’d embarrassed myself enough for one day.

“Lore, you can’t cry like that to me and not tell me what happened. My mind is going to think the worst.”

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t care about me,” I decided, his face and voice flashing back into my mind, yelling at me, sending me away.

Someone who cared didn’t talk to you like that.

Someone who cared didn’t use your body then ignore you.

But I couldn’t tell Nico that.

He would charge over to Brooklyn and murder Renzo on the spot if he knew.

“What makes you say that?” Nico asked, trying really hard to be a neutral party, even though I knew he wanted to pummel Renzo since the day I agreed to marry him.

“He just… he’s never around. He never… talks to me. He just… he doesn’t care.”

My memory flashed back then, thinking of him coming into the room with a heating pad, with chocolate, with pain patches. Of him holding me gently.

Of him coming into the guest room I’d shut myself up in, gathering me in his arms, and bringing me downstairs to serve me dinner.

There were times when it felt like he…

No.

No.

I wasn’t going to keep making excuses for him. I wasn’t going to pretend that the breadcrumbs he tossed to me were enough to sustain me.

The edge between grief and hope was razor thin.

I was tired of getting sliced open teetering on it.

“Okay,” Nico said, reaching out to pat my wrist. “You can stay here,” he said.

“No, I can’t,” I said, suddenly realizing that there was no escape. I was married. There was an alliance.

He may have been a man made of bombs.

And I may have been sick of being his rubble.

But there was no escaping this.

“Yes, you can. If there’s an issue, we will handle it. You don’t have to think about anything but yourself right now,” he said.

I wanted to believe him.

I wanted… a lot of things.

But I was just so damn tired.

“Can I take a nap in your guest room?” I asked.

“Of course you can,” he said, wanting to say more, to ask more, to press, but sensing I was too fragile for anything else right then. “Come on, let’s get you settled,” he invited, waiting for me to stand up and move with him through his apartment, then down the hall into the first room. “Do you want me to get you anything?” he asked, pulling the covers back as I toed out of my shoes.

“No,” I said, climbing in, curling up.

Nico drew the covers over me, tucking them up to my chin.

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere, though,” he said. “So if you need anything, just come and find me.”

“Thanks, Nico,” I said, voice small.

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said, going toward the door and turning the light off.

“Nico?” I asked as he started to close the door.

“Yeah?”

“Can you not… can this just be between us?” I asked, hearing the plea in my voice. “For now?” I added, knowing he couldn’t agree to keep my secret forever. Not when the alliance involved the entire family. Not when this could start an all-out war if it went on for too long.

“Yeah, honey. I won’t tell anyone,” he assured me, and I knew that I could trust him.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, “Lore?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. You are very fucking loved.”

With that, he pulled the door mostly closed, so he’d hear me if I called, and I heard his footsteps move away.

There was quiet for a second.

Before I heard him start to pace.

I knew he wanted to go track down Renzo, lash into him for making me cry, for hurting me. But that he couldn’t do it.

That unspent energy likely had him frazzled and frustrated.

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, feeling another rush of useless tears escape my eyes, slipping down my temples and catching in my hair.

You are very fucking loved.

I needed to hear that.

The problem was, I was still aching to hear those words from someone else entirely.

Alone, hand pressed to my mouth to stay quiet, I let more grief pour out of me until, finally, what felt like hours later, I felt… dried out.

My heart was a pressed flower as I rolled over in bed, curling into a ball, and finally letting the relief of sleep tug at me.

But even as I started to drift off, all I thought of was him.

How long would it be until he realized I was gone?

Hours?

Days?

How long after that would it take him to give a damn? To try to find where I went? Would he even try to coax me back if he figured it out?

Even if he did, a bitter part of my brain thought, he would likely only want me back to save face in front of his family.

It wasn’t about me.

It was never about me.

I was just a willing participant in his scheme.

A woman eager to say I do.

A body in his bed that happily responded to his touch when he needed a release.

Even a mouth willing to relieve his stress.

Not an actual wife.

Not, really, even a person.

And no amount of hopeless devotion on my part was going to change the reality of the situation.

No amount of loving him could make him love me back.

As much as I wanted to deny it, though, I still did.

Love him.

I loved him like water, like air, like something necessary for survival. A part of myself that couldn’t be extracted.

Pressing my hands to my aching, swollen eyes, I willed myself to stop thinking of it, of him, of the pain that seemed sharper with each passing moment.

To just… drift away.

Into the nothingness of sleep.

Away from this reality I wanted so badly to escape.

Only to wake up to his voice.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Renzo

We finally had a fucking lead.

Dav had just so happened to be in one of our local stores, picking up a drink, when someone came in saying they were there to pick up for the Lombardis.

Thankfully, I’d already spoken to him about how I was going to be the only bagman for a while, so it would be easier for us to find out who was trying to fuck me, and all of us, over.

He’d dragged the guy into the bathroom, then called me.

I grabbed Rico, then we were off, ready to finally get some goddamn answers.

Despite running this area, dragging an unwilling man out of a building, into a car, and then out onto the street again wasn’t exactly easy.

This area was full of tourists or non-locals who might not know who I was, who didn’t know enough to mind their own goddamn business.

It was risky as fuck to pull the zip-tied and duct taped man out of the backseat right there in the broad daylight.

And this particular fuck had a lot of fight in him, wrenching back and forth between Dav and Rico as I followed behind, all of us heading into the same room I’d used to beat the shit out off the guy who’d put his hands on Lore.

As if thinking her name manifested her, there she was.

As Dav and Rico wrestled the fuckhead in through the door of the building.

Had she seen them?

I couldn’t explain the sudden desire for her not to see this shit, this ugly part of my work, of my life.

Sure, objectively, being a mafia princess, she knew all about how ugly shit could get. Bloodshed and headshots.

There was nothing clean or pretty about organized crime.

But having her know that, and having her see me engage in this shit, were two different things.

I wanted, in a way I couldn’t wrap my head around, to protect her from this.

“Hey!” she said, getting closer, making me realize she was wearing my old leather jacket. A warm sensation moved through my chest at seeing that. “This is so funny,” she said, all smiles. “I was just thinking that I needed to talk to you about something.”

Fuck.

I hadn’t heard her voice in so long.

I almost forgot how honey-sweet it was.

The crash from inside the building had me shaking out of the steadily-growing fantasy of grabbing her, dragging her home, and getting lost in her for a few hours.

“Not now,” I said, hoping she didn’t know what was going on inside the building.

“It will just take a min—“ she started when there was more scuffling inside the building, this time followed by curses from Dav and Rico.

Shit was not going well in there.

I had to get in there to get control over the situation.

“I said not now,” I said, not realizing my tone was as sharp as it was until she flinched. She fucking flinched. And that megawatt smile that had been on her stupidly pretty face just fell away.

“Renzo!” Rico called, voice a pained hiss.

“Go home,” I said, turning and rushing into the building, locking the door behind me, in case she had any ideas of following.

Rico was bent over, holding his ribs, as Dav shuffled around the room, his arms holding onto the man who was fighting for his life.

“You’re just pissing me the fuck off,” Dav growled, yanking back viciously, the man arching at an unnatural angle. All the usual charm of his was gone, leaving the darker side of himself that he kept so well hidden on full display.

“You okay?” I asked, looking to Rico.

“Kicked me,” Rico said, shaking his head. “I’m fine. Just bruised, I think,” he told me, yanking up his shirt to press into his ribs.

“Alright. E-fucking-nough of this shit,” I said, stalking over toward Dav and the guy, reaching down to grab his legs.

Dav and I carried him, wiggling like a fucking worm, over to the metal chair in the corner, each of us taking turns holding him still as he was secured with chains instead of the easily-broken zip ties.

“Rico, why don’t you go rest in the car. Maybe with some loud music playing,” I said, getting a nod from him as I stared down at the guy with the duct tape over his mouth. Tape I would have to remove to try to get answers out of him. Risking him pitching a fit and being heard. Hence the music.

I waited until the steady thrum of the bass melted through the brick walls before exhaling hard.

“You’ll save yourself a lot of pain if you just tell me who you’re working for now,” I said, reaching out, and ripping the tape off his mouth.

He was younger than I’d realized. Just a kid, really. Eighteen, nineteen. All defiant eyes and a smattering of hormonal acne on his chin.

It made sense that, whoever was behind this, was recruiting kids still in, or fresh out of, of high school.

They were a fuckuva lot easier to talk into shit. Full of ambition and a bone-deep belief that they were invincible. And likely not truly understanding how organized crime worked. How at risk he was by trying to make a move against me.

“Go on then,” the kid said, angling his chin up like an invitation. “Believe me, I’ve had worse.”

“Who are you working for?”

To that, his lips curved up, his dark green eyes taking on a devilish light. “Myself.”

Cocky fucker.

“Let’s try this again. Who told you to be a Lombardi bagman?”

“You know… seem to have some amnesia, man,” he said.

This asshole.

I almost wanted to respect him.

If he didn’t possess the information about the rat in my organization, I would.

“Alright then,” I said, sucking in a deep breath as I curled my fist, and struck.

His head whipped to the side as the crack of the punch filled the room.

“That all you got?” he asked, turning back to face me, a smirk tugging at his lips.

My gaze flicked up to Dav standing behind him, knowing him well enough to communicate shit without saying a word.

This guy wasn’t going to crack easily.

An hour later, I had blood on my hands, smattering my shoes. There was a tooth on the floor, and blood steadily trickling down the kids face. From a gash near his eye. From his lip and mouth. Bruises were already starting to form.

He didn’t scream.

Didn’t try to call for help.

Didn’t beg for mercy.

No.

This fucker kept taunting me.

Then Dav when I tagged him in.

Even bloodied and bruised, he kept angling his head back, inviting more abuse, his green eyes indifferent.

“Who—“ I started, then got distracted by my phone ringing.

I reached for it, seeing Elian’s name, then turning it to silent, before tucking it away again.

It vibrated once, then Dav had tagged me back in, his knuckles broken open already because that man never pulled a punch in his life. When he let himself uncage that other part of himself, he was ruthless as fuck.

It wasn’t until the door flew open, and Rico was standing there, that I realized something was wrong.

“What is it?” I asked, tensing.

“It’s Elian,” Rico said, his phone to his ear.

Elian.

Who’d called me first. Several times.

Elian didn’t call for no reason.

Not when he knew I was busy.

I moved across the floor, grabbing the phone from Rico, and putting it to my ear.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Lore isn’t home,” he said, making my stomach tense.

“I know,” I said, memory flashing back to her on the street with that big smile. Like she was fucking happy to see me. All excited to tell me something. Then fading when I’d used my work voice on her. “I saw her a while ago.”

“She was getting coffee for us. Said she’d be gone twenty minutes.” There was a barely controlled tension in his voice.

Lore had been holding coffees—two frozen ones with whipped cream and chocolate—when I’d seen her.

“How long ago was that?” I asked, having no sense of time while interrogating the stubborn-ass kid.

I moved outside, not wanting him to overhear this conversation, walking down the street toward the corner, glancing around.

“Almost two hours,” Elian said, making my heart stutter.

Not just because of the time lost, but because there was no way she would have just carelessly taken a walk or something with two steadily melting frozen coffees in her hands.

“I called her. Over and over,” he said, and it suddenly occurred to me that he had my wife’s phone number… and I still didn’t. “She’s not answering.”

My gaze scanned the streets again, trying not to panic.

But when I looked down, I saw the two frozen coffees, completely full, in the trash can.

“Fuck,” I hissed.

“What is it?” Rico asked.

“Lore is missing. These are the coffees she had when she came down the street to talk to me.”

“She was here?” Rico asked, glancing back toward the building where the kid and Dav were still situated.

“Yeah. She was probably just passing by and saw me. Wanted to talk to me about something, but you guys were struggling with that kid,” I said. “Did you see her when you came to the car?”

“No,” he said. “And I scanned the street.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“You don’t think that…” Rico started.

“Think what?” I asked when he trailed off.

“Think that whoever is after your crown saw her and took her. Maybe to lure you out.”

I hadn’t been thinking that, no.

But, fuck, now I was.

And the way my gut twisted was nothing to the way my fucking heart did.

The idea of sweet, innocent, tiny Lore in the hands of the man who wanted to tear down my organization, who wanted to hurt me? No. Fuck. That was unbearable.

“What do you want to do here, boss?” Rico asked, bruised ribs forgotten, ready to spring into action.

“Elian, call in Cage to watch the apartment. I want you on the streets.”

“Got it,” he said, hanging up.

“Call Cinna,” I demanded, handing Rico his phone as I rushed back toward the building.

One look at me had Dav stiffening.

“Put him on ice,” I said, nodding toward the small back room. Made of concrete with a fucking industrial door that was impossible to open from the inside. We knew. We’d used it many times over the years. “Call in your most trusted soldier,” I told Dav after he dragged the chair into the room and locked the kid in. “I need you on the streets. Lore is missing.”

With that, we all sprang into action, trying to wipe most of the gore off of us before going to the local businesses, asking them if they’d seen Lore.

But aside from the coffee shop, it didn’t seem like she’d stopped anywhere else.

Panic, a tightening sensation in my gut and around my throat, grew with each passing moment as I pictured Lore being hit, punched, kicked… worse. And crying out for me.

“Fuck,” I growled, turning and slamming my fist into the wall, making Dav’s brows raise.

“That’s constructive,” he remarked as I just barely managed to keep myself from hitting it again, the pain helping me think past the increasingly dark, horrific visions in my head.

“Boss!” Cinna’s voice called, making me turn to find her striding across the street toward me. “I got him to let me look at his cameras,” she said, waving toward a sleazy-ass looking guy, leaning against his storefront, rubbing his stomach as he wiggled a toothpick between his lips.

“Yeah? How’d you do that?” Dav asked, smirking despite the seriousness of the situation.

“Luckily, all you men are the same,” Cinna said. “Come on,” she said to me. “He has a camera right on the corner.”

With that, unstable hope rising in my chest at a possible lead, I ran across the street with her.

We moved through the crowded aisles of pawn shop shit covered in a fucking inch of dust, heading toward the back room, a claustrophobic space not even big enough for two people, let alone the owner who tried to stay inside even after bringing up the feed on the cameras for me.

“Give us a minute, handsome?” Cinna asked, voice purring.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Cinna adopt a flirtatious attitude to get her way. But it never failed to shock me how well she pulled it off when I knew she was mentally imagining castrating someone.

“Sure, honey, sure. Be right out front when you’re ready for me,” he said, rubbing his stomach some more, his tongue flicking out to press against the toothpick, then moving out into the front of the building.

Cinna slammed the door closed. “Gross,” she grumbled, coming back behind the desk with me, both of us standing shoulder-to-shoulder. “What time was this?” she asked, reaching for the mouse.

“Two hours. No, closer to three or three and a half now,” I said.

Cinna jumped back the footage, and we watched everyone moving around, living their lives, both of us scanning the faces for Lore.

“She was wearing my leather jacket,” I reminded Cinna. “Holding two frozen coffees.”

Cinna made a noise in the back of her throat, but said nothing as she kept jumping the footage back, trying to catch sight of her.

“There,” she said, stabbing her finger on the pause key as we saw Lore walking up toward the corner.

Her gait was stiff, like each step was an effort.

This had to be directly after I’d talked to her. And she’d been walking fine then.

Strange.

The pawnshop might have been a hellhole, but the owner had clearly invested in some good cameras, because Cinna was actually able to zoom in without losing clarity.

And there she was, staring out at the street for a second, before her gaze moved toward the pawn shop, looking at something in the distance.

The apartment building, maybe.

Her gaze flicked up, and I saw it when it broke across her face.

Just… devastation.

“I’m gonna talk to you like an old friend, not your capo right now,” Cinna said, voice tight. “What the fuck did you say to that girl?”

“I… I told her I couldn’t talk to her right then and to go home,” I said. But the memory was sharper now. How she went from beaming at me, all sizzling excitement at seeing me, at whatever she was going to say to me, to looking like I’d struck her.

“You told her? Or you barked at her?” Cinna asked, knowing me too well.

“Probably the latter,” I admitted. “Rico was hurt. Dav was struggling to hold onto the guy. I… I needed to get in there.”

We both watched as Lore’s haunted eyes stared off for another moment before looking down at the coffees in her hands. Before tossing them.

And rushing off in the direction away from the cameras. Her pace just short of an actual run.

“Where is she going?” I said, thinking aloud.

“To the subway,” Cinna said, looking over at me. “Congratulations,” she went on, making my gaze lift to find fire flicking in her eyes. “You finally did it. You finally broke her. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this fucking long,” she said, suddenly wrenching away from me, like being too close to me sickened her.

“Hey,” I growled, rushing through the store, following her, both of us ignoring the owner asking about his ‘payment.’ “Hold the fuck up,” I snapped, grabbing Cinna’s arm, yanking her back.

Only to have her whip around, arm raised, slapping me so hard across the face that I jerked back.

“The fuck?”

“That was for Lore,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“How are you this fucking blind?” she raged, not caring that she was drawing attention from people passing by.

“Blind to what?”

“To, I don’t know, everything involving your goddamn wife,” she seethed. “How is it that Elian can see it? And I can see it? But you are so fucking clueless?”

“Cinna, for fuck’s sake, say something that makes sense.”

“That girl is, and I can’t understand for the life of me why,” she said. “But she is in love with you. And you treat her like she doesn’t even matter. Like she’s nothing. Just, what, fuck her when you feel like it, and forget about her all the other time?”

No.

No, that wasn’t right.

I thought about her fucking constantly. It was frustrating, actually, how I could never seem to fully concentrate on anything anymore without thoughts of her invading my mind.

But more than that… no.

Lore wasn’t in love with me.

“Did you ever even ask her why she married you?” Cinna asked.

“She had to,” I said, dread starting to unfurl in my gut, having a feeling I was wrong. That I was wrong about… everything.

“You really think that overprotective family of hers would sacrifice their youngest, sweetest girl to the devil himself?” she asked, rolling her eyes at me. “She agreed to marry you. She wanted to marry you. Against her family’s wishes.”

“What?” I asked, feeling like she’d knocked the air out of me. “Why? Why would she do that?”

She was so young.

So… not the kind of girl meant for this life.

Not the kind of woman meant to be with a man like me.

“Because, once upon a time, you saved a sweet little teenaged girl who just wanted to go book shopping on her own, from three grown-ass men who were harassing her,” Cinna said. “And she, apparently, had a crush on you ever since.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. Not because I thought she was lying. But because I didn’t want to believe that.

“Yes, actually. Yes. And then she married you, all stars in her eyes because she was seeing her little girlhood fantasy come to life. Then you, what, took her virginity? Showed her orgasms and maybe some sweetness, hooking, and reeling her even more…”

That… that was true.

I couldn’t deny any of that.

I’d seen parts of myself with Lore that I didn’t even know existed. A more patient, kinder side. One who wanted to hold her, who wanted to stay in bed with her just to be close.

“And with this marriage, her world got smaller until all there was for her was you. Making her fall all the more. Even as you ignored her to the point of abusing her. Can you fucking blame her for finally having enough of you? Of the hope and the disappointment that immediately followed? I’m glad she finally took a stand and left your ass.”

With that, she stormed off, disappearing down a side street.

“Whoa. What was that?” Rico asked, moving toward me, his steps slow, letting me know his ribs were worse than he was letting on. But there was no time for that shit right now.

“She’s pissed at me,” I said.

“Saw that. Over what?”

“Lore.”

“Did you find her?” he asked, hope spilling into his voice.

“She wasn’t taken, as far as I can tell. She… left.”

Fuck, even just repeating that was a knife to the chest.

“She left? Left… you?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Shit,” Rico said, letting out a small laugh, then wincing and pressing a hand to his ribs. “Knew you must be difficult to live with, but damn. Ran off your wife in what? A month? Six weeks? Can’t even keep it straight. Can’t be much longer than that, though. That’s gotta be a record.”

“Thanks for your support, man,” I said, exhaling hard as I reached for my phone, shooting off a text to Elian and Dav, so they didn’t keep running themselves ragged.

“What are you gonna do?” Rico asked after several long silent moments.

“He’s gonna go after her,” Elian said, coming out of his car, making me realize I’d been too distracted by my thoughts to even notice him pull up and climb out.

“Right. Right. Can’t have the family knowing your alliance isn’t working out,” Rico said, nodding. “Not with all this shit going on.”

“It’s not about what anyone thinks,” I snapped. “I’d eat a bowl of water with a fucking fork before I gave a single fuck what they think of me and my marriage.”

Rico’s brows shot up.

“Then what’s it about?”

“It’s his wife, moron,” Elian said, rolling his eyes.

“On paper, right? Right?” he asked, brows scrunching like he’d missed out on something that Elian and Cinna were clearly in on. “Oh, shit,” Rico said to my silence. “You went and caught feelings for your wife?” he asked, shaking his head at me. “Fuck, man. Good luck with that,” he said, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “I’m gonna go ice my ribs.”

With that, he was gone, leaving me standing there with Elian’s sour mood coming off of him in waves.

“You don’t gotta say it. Cinna already chewed me out.”

To that, he nodded.

“What are you gonna do then?” he asked.

“Get her back.”

To that, he nodded.

“Do you know where she went?”

A memory popped up, Lore talking about not telling her family about her getting mugged, especially her older brother. There’d been a softness in her eyes, and a sadness in her voice.

Nico.

She would go to Nico.

“Drive me to Manhattan.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Renzo

“You want me to come up?” Elian asked as we stood there looking up at Nico’s apartment building. All gleaming glass and steel.

Elian’s head was on a swivel, likely feeling as uncomfortable as I was being on the Costa’s turf uninvited. Especially after one of their own ran from me upset.

“No.” I had to do this alone.

“Sure? Lore likes me,” he said, a little smile tugging at his lips at the small taunt.

“Fucked this up by myself. Gotta fix it myself too.”

I’d had a long-ass drive to think, thanks to a shitton of traffic on an already long trip.

I ran through what Cinna said, and circled back, and remembering each time I’d been with my wife. Which, admittedly, was not very often. And mostly consisted of sex.

I mean, when I’d pulled her out of the guest bed and brought her downstairs, I’d told her that I was going to try.

And did I do that?

No.

No, I fucking didn’t.

And while a part of me wanted to make excuses, say I’d been stressed, been trying to figure out what was wrong with my family. The other part of me knew that I didn’t have to work as hard as I did. That I could have delegated more to my capos, to the soldiers, even to the associates.

I’d just… always been the hardest working motherfucker in any room. That was how I got, and kept, my power. How I built this family back up after the last boss tore it down.

It never occurred to me that being married meant I would need to cut back.

I guess I figured that Lore would be happier at home without me, not that she was sitting around waiting for me.

Because she’d had a thing for me since she was a kid.

I wouldn’t lie and say I remembered that exact interaction. I’d chased off street harassers more times than I could count. And I definitely wouldn’t have been checking out a fucking child, so she was just a face in a sea of others.

But, clearly, I’d had an impact on her.

And all I’d done was turn that dream of hers into a nightmare.

I should have done better.

Spent time with her.

Taken her out to show her off like I told her I would.

Made her not feel so used and neglected.

I just… I didn’t fucking know better.

Now I did.

And I was going to do better.

The problem was, though, getting her to believe me, to give me another chance.

And before that, even, was getting her overprotective, likely livid, older brother to let me in to see her.

“Well, if you’re carried out in a body bag,” Elian said, smirking at me.

“Then I probably had it coming?” I asked.

“Something like that,” he agreed. “I’ll keep an eye out here.”

I gave him a nod, then made my way up the steps just as an older woman was coming out, holding the door open for me.

Nico lived on the top level, and as I rode the elevator up, I was trying to think of what the fuck I was going to say.

To him.

To her.

Before I could come up with a single fucking thing, though, the doors were opening, and I was walking up to Nico’s door, and raising my hand to knock.

The door opened faster than I’d been anticipating.

And there was Nico Costa.

Tall, fit, and fuming.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he snapped, trying to shut the door, but I kicked out my leg to stick my foot in the way.

“That’s my wife,” I reminded him.

“Yeah? Maybe you should have thought about that before you crushed her.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” I admitted. “I have no excuses to give you. I’m taking full responsibility for this.”

“For her sobbing on my shoulder?” he asked. “Crying harder than she did at our Ma’s funeral. Asking me why you can’t just love her back? You’re taking responsibility for that?”

Another knife in the chest.

“I’m not trying to get you to believe that I’ve been a good husband to her, Nico,” I admitted. “I didn’t know she chose this. I thought she was forced into it. Honestly, I thought she’d want fucking nothing to do with me because of it. So I left her alone. I didn’t know…”

“She didn’t tell you she dug her heels in about this?” Nico asked.

“No. I had no fucking idea. Kinda hard to imagine her digging her heels in about anything, actually.”

“She doesn’t usually,” Nico agreed. “I couldn’t wrap my head around this. Until she told me today,” he admitted.

“Know you got no fucking reason to believe me on this, but I never wanted to hurt that girl, Nico. I just… I didn’t know what she needed from me.”

“And if you did know?” he asked, suspicious.

“I’d have tried to give it to her. Can’t claim I’d be great at it, but I’d fucking try. She deserves that, at least.”

Nico sucked in a deep breath.

The muscle ticking in his jaw said he wanted to beat the shit out of me. But the look in his eyes suggested he was trying to see my side.

You had to respect that about men like Nico. Who were able to try to see all sides. Who were mature and experienced enough to set their feelings aside to see the situation for what it really was.

“If I let you in,” he said after a long moment, “understand that this is up to her. I don’t give a single fuck if our families go to war for the next three generations, I will not stand by and let you try to force her to leave with you.”

“I wouldn’t do that. She’s been through enough,” I added. “I just want to apologize. I won’t try to talk her into shit. She wants to stay here with you, so be it.”

“Even though it won’t look good to your family?”

“Even though,” I agreed.

Nico took a step back, pulling the door open. “She’s taking a nap,” he said, waving toward the hallway where a door was cracked ever so slightly. “I’m right out here,” he added, tone holding a hint of a threat.

“Got it,” I said, nodding. “Thanks for giving me a chance,” I added before moving to the bedroom door, and pushing it open.

I didn’t fully close it, knowing Nico would be hovering, and not wanting him to think I was doing or saying anything that I wasn’t willing for him to hear.

“Hey, mouse,” I said as I moved in, flicking on the light as I toed out of my shoes, then made my way to the bed where she instinctively curled herself into a tighter ball.

Didn’t think I could feel more like a shithead.

That just proved me wrong.

“Know you probably don’t want to hear it,” I said, making my way toward the side of the bed she was curled toward. “But I gotta apologize to you,” I told her, climbing up on the bed. “I didn’t know, Lore. I had no fucking idea.”

“That you yelled at me?” she snapped back, voice muffled by the pillow her face was stuffed in.

Despite everything, I was proud of her for speaking up.

“I don’t think I realized I was yelling,” I admitted. “There was… something serious going on in that building. And I needed you not to be there. I used a work voice on you. I didn’t mean to be that harsh. Didn’t realize how off my tone was until I watched the security camera video. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m sorry about that. I don’t yell at women.”

“I just wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, voice small.

“I realize that now,” I agreed, tentatively reaching out, touching her hair. She stiffened for a second, but relaxed as my fingers started to gently rub her scalp. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Doesn’t matter now,” she said, voice cracking.

“Matters to me.”

“Yeah right,” she grumbled.

“I’m here,” I said.

“What?”

“I’m here with you,” I said. “Which means I had a good enough argument to give that guard dog of a big brother you got to have him let me in. Think maybe if he thought it was good enough, you can too?” I asked.

She said nothing to that, but I was going to go ahead and take her silence as agreement.

“I didn’t think you’d want me around, mouse. Until Cinna told me, I didn’t know you chose to marry me. I thought you were forced. And I figured, because of that, you wouldn’t want shit to do with me. I thought I was giving you freedom to do whatever you wanted without me breathing down your neck. Never thought that you’d actually want me around.”

“I did,” she said, that voice sounding so small and sad again. “But all you ever wanted was to sleep with me,” she added, and I winced, hoping that part wasn’t loud enough for her brother to overhear.

I slid down the bed, turning onto my side to face her, so our faces were close, even though she still had hers stuffed in the pillow.

I pitched my voice lower, definitely not wanting Nico to hear this part. “I’m not going to try to say you’re wrong about that. I did want to sleep with you. I still want to sleep with you. But it was wrong of me to make you feel like that’s all you were good for. That’s… that’s not fucking true.”

To that, I got a snort.

“I see now how you were trying, mouse,” I said. “And I just kept fucking missing it. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I’m not good at this shit.”

“What shit?” she asked, and I couldn’t help but let my lips curve up at the sound of her cursing. Guess I was rubbing off on her in some ways, it seemed.

“Relationships.”

“You have plenty of relationships,” she shot back. And, hey, that was a good argument. She’d been around the apartment during many parties. She’d seen me interacting with a ton of fucking people.

Of course she wanted to know why I couldn’t do the same with her.

“We had some good moments, right?” I asked. “There were times when we were getting along. Figure maybe that’s the only reason you stayed as long as you did.”

“I stayed because I…” she trailed off, catching herself. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be even more vulnerable with me.

“Wish you’d told me,” I said, my fingers moving from her scalp, down her jaw.

The barely-there touch had her face moving out from the pillow, wanting more.

I was good at that, at least.

My fingers moved over her jaw, across her lips, down her nose.

It wasn’t until I stopped touching her that her eyes fluttered open.

“Fuck, mouse,” I said, wincing at the evidence of all that crying Nico had told me about. “I don’t deserve tears like that,” I said, running a finger over her swollen eyelid, then down her splotchy cheek. “Never wanted you to cry over me.”

“I’ve cried over you a lot,” she admitted, her lower lip trembling like she might just do so again.

“I didn’t know,” I told her.

“You were never there to,” she shot back.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “There’s a lot going on with work right now. But that’s not an excuse not to come home to you and give you what you need. I just… I had no fucking idea what you needed. Figured I had… two things to offer you.”

“Two things?” she asked.

“Money,” I admitted, shrugging that off. “And making you come for me.”

“Stop,” she said, blinking suddenly glistening eyes.

“Stop what?” I asked, heartbeat tripping faster, not sure what I’d done wrong already.

“Stop trying to use sex to fix our problems.”

“I didn’t think that was what I was doing. It’s just… it’s something we have. That we both enjoy. Or am I wrong about that?” I asked. “Do you not like when I’m inside of you? When I have my face between your thighs? When you have my cock in your mouth?”

Her eyes blazed for a second, but she managed to bank it back down.

“It’s not enough.”

“No,” I agreed. “No, it’s not. I should have been taking you out. Should have been coming home to have dinner with you. Taking you to that bookstore or coffee place you seem to like so much. There’s a lot of shit I should have been doing. But I can’t go back and change how I acted. All I can do is try to get you to believe that I will do better moving forward.”

She said nothing to that, and I couldn’t blame her for not trusting me. What the fuck had I done to warrant that at this point?

“I never meant to hurt you,” I told her, meaning it down to my fucking marrow.

“I want to believe you,” she said, voice small.

“But?” I prompted, getting nothing but silence in response. “Mouse, if we want to fix this, we gotta be able to talk about shit. Least, that’s what I think I heard on a therapy commercial or some shit,” I added, getting a little smile out of her. “How about this,” I started, changing course. “You tell me what you want from me moving forward. I’ll rearrange shit to make it happen. Anything,” I added when she didn’t immediately start listing shit.

Her gaze lowered, but she took a deep breath. “I want you home for dinner sometimes.”

“Done.”

To that, she made a snorting sound.

“What?”

“If it’s that easy, why haven’t you been before?”

“Because I’m a selfish fuck, I guess,” I admitted. “I’m used to my life how it is. Long work days. Having my crew over to hang out. That’s been my life for years. And I had my head too far up my own ass to see that maybe it should be different with you around.”

“I wanted to have them over,” she said, making my brows draw down.

“Who over?”

“Your family,” she said, looking up at me, pain still piercing her pretty blue eyes. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to have them over for Thanksgiving. I was going to decorate. And cook.”

That’s what she’d been so excited to ask me?

Fuck, I felt like even more of a dick now.

“I’d like it if you did,” I said. “A lot of us… we don’t have families of our own. Don’t think Cinna, Dav, Rico, and a few other of my guys and I have had Thanksgiving dinner in years. If ever.”

“Ever?” she asked, lower lip poking out at the thought.

“My family… hasn’t been like yours, mouse.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said. And it was hanging there in the air between us. Because you didn’t tell me.

“Realize now I got a lot of shit I should have been explaining all along. Got no excuse other than being a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Lost someone like you, Lore. Pretty sure that’s the fucking textbook definition of an idiot.”

When she didn’t immediately say that I hadn’t lost her, I felt a desperate twist in my gut.

“What else do you want from me? Dinners, I’ll do that. What else?”

“I want to go out with you.”

“Been meaning to do that anyway.”

“And not just so the neighborhood knows I’m your wife,” she clarified.

“Not just,” I agreed.

“I want to know more about your family. And you. What your childhood was like, that kind of thing.”

“I can do that.” It would be like picking off barely-healed scabs. Letting that shit bleed out all over again. But I could do it for her. “What else?”

There was a long pause, like she was struggling to make herself say the next part, letting me know just how important it must have been.

“I want you to kiss me.”

“What?” I asked, jerking back, sure I misunderstood.

“You never have,” she said, looking me square in the eye. “Not at the altar… and not since. No matter… anything else that has happened. You’ve never kissed me.”

“Oh, mouse,” I said, my hand resting on the side of her neck as I leaned in, my nose brushing the side of hers.

What a simple fucking thing to want.

But she was right.

I’d never done it.

I rarely ever did with anyone in the past, honestly.

Dunno, I guess it always seemed somehow more intimate than anything else.

But if there was anyone I could let myself be intimate with, it was my own fucking wife, right?

Lore’s pulse was a frantic beat against my hand, her breathing quick and shallow as I leaned downward slightly, and sealed my lips to hers.

She gasped at the barely-there contact.

Then, fuck, she completely melted.

Into it.

Into me.

Shifting closer, sliding her leg over my hip, her arm moving under mine and up to rest on my back between my shoulder blades.

Why the fuck again had I been avoiding this?

Her lips were soft under mine as that little kitten noise she made that I loved so much escaped her.

My teeth gently nipped her lower lip until it parted, allowing my tongue to move inside and claim hers.

A shiver moved through her, making me want to press deeper, to roll her under me.

But I was far too aware of where we were. Of her brother, if not outright listening at the door, then at least aware enough to know if I started to fuck his baby sister in his own damn guest room.

Besides, this wasn’t supposed to be about sex.

Just… intimacy.

Something I, admittedly, wasn’t good at. But I was willing to learn. For her. To make her happy.

So I kept myself under control as my lips slanted over hers again and again, reveling in the feel of her, the taste of her, the sweet little noises she made and how she clung to me like a lifeboat in a restless sea.

I couldn’t tell you how long we stayed like that, just close, just kissing, but when I finally pulled back, my lips felt swollen and fuzzy.

When Lore’s eyes fluttered open, the look in them stole my fucking breath.

I didn’t know shit about it.

But I could swear it was love I was looking at.

I felt that tugging sensation again in my chest, and found myself wondering if that was what that was too.

“Like that?” I asked, voice low, not wanting to disrupt the dreamy look she had on her face.

She shot me a little smile and nodded.

“I can get behind doing that,” I said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “As often as you want,” I added. “Anything else?” I asked.

“I just…” she started, then squeezed her eyes closed, her forehead pressing to mine before she could continue. “I just want you to care about me,” she said, voice small and raw.

“Hey,” I said, voice a little firmer as I pulled back, snagging her chin in my fingers, and forcing her face back up. “Look at me,” I demanded when she kept her gaze lowered. “I do care about you. I might not have been any good at showing it, but I always have. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“I’ll get better at showing it. What?” I asked when she looked unconvinced.

“You can’t… change people,” she said.

“You can’t change me,” I agreed. “But I can change me. Think this is one of those when you know better, you do better type of situations, right? Now I know. And I’ll do better. I fucking promise, Lore. If you come back with me, I’ll do better.”

She watched me for a long moment before her eyes went all watery, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“What’s this?” I asked, reaching out to wipe it away with my thumb.

“I just really hope you mean that,” she said, blinking the other tears back.

“I do mean it,” I assured her. “Come home with me, mouse,” I said, finger tracing across her jaw.

“Okay,” she said, sucking in a deep breath.

“Okay?” I asked, scared of being too fucking hopeful.

“Yeah,” she said, giving me a small smile as she suddenly turned away from me and climbed off of the bed.

I did the same, meeting her near the door, and reaching to grab the lapels of the jacket she had on.

“I like how this looks on you,” I told her, using it to pull her closer until her body was against mine, and leaning down to claim her lips again. A little harder, hungrier. But I pulled away before either of us could get any ideas.

We moved out into the common area to find an anxious looking Nico stopping mid-pace to look at us.

“I’ll let you talk to your brother for a minute, mouse,” I said, giving her wrist a squeeze before moving across the room to take myself out into the hall.

Alone, I leaned against the wall, letting out a deep breath.

I got her back.

And, fuck, I would do everything in my power to make her never feel like leaving again.

The door opened a few minutes later, a resigned-looking Nico with his arm around his little sister.

“Oh, I forgot my shoes,” Lore said, rolling her eyes at herself, then turning to rush back to the bedroom.

Nico’s gaze was hard as he looked at me.

“I’ll do everything in my power to do right by her this time,” I told him.

He must have picked up on the sincerity in my voice, because he nodded.

But his hand raised, touching his lower lip.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said, glancing over at his sister as she came back.

“That’s already been handled,” I told him, watching as understanding sank in. “You got questions about it, we can talk,” I said.

“Maybe we can have Nico over for dinner,” Lore said, sensing a tension between us, and forcing a little more cheer into her voice.

“Of course we can,” I agreed.

“You’re cooking?” Nico asked, brows raised, like that was surprising.

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll definitely be there,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Just tell me a date and time.”

“I will. And I’ll text you when I get home,” she said, the words easing the tension in her brother’s shoulders.

“Good. I’ll wait on that,” he said. “Love you, Lore.”

“Love you more,” she said, smiling at him.

“Not fucking possible,” he said, shaking his head. “And you…” he said, gaze shifting to me. “You take care of her.”

“I will,” I vowed, nodding, then turning with Lore toward the elevator.

“He’s a little… overprotective,” Lore said as we made our way into the elevator car.

“He should be over you,” I said, reaching out to drop my arm on her shoulders, feeling the way she immediately curled into me, like this was what she’d been aching for all along. “Thanks for giving me another chance, mouse.”

“You owe me and Elian frozen mocha coffees,” she said, snuggling in even closer.

“I’ll buy you the fucking coffee shop if you want it.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said, but a playful smile was tugging at her lips. “A bookstore, though…”

“What’s in those books you’re always reading?” I asked.

“Fantasy, court intrigue, princes, knights, fae, romance, and…” she trailed off, cheeks going pink.

Looking down, a smile spread across my face.

“And fucking?” I asked, watching her go even redder. “Oh, mouse, I think you might need to start reading these books to me.”

She shook her head at me, thinking I was playing. But I suddenly decided I needed to hear her read out a sex scene to me. While I tasted her sweet pussy. While I was buried deep inside of her.

“Hey,” she said, though, breaking the fantasy, as she spotted Elian waiting for us.

“Hey, Mrs. Lombardi, good to see you again,” he said, getting a big smile from her.

“Renzo is going to replace our coffees on the way home,” she told him.

“He’d better,” Elian agreed, giving her a big smile as he opened the door for her.

Just as she wanted, we stopped for her to grab the coffees, and then she snuggled up against me the whole way home.

And nothing had ever fucking felt more right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lore

I was surprised how willing Nico was to let me leave with Renzo after that epic weepathon I’d had all over him.

But as Renzo moved into the hall, Nico had sighed hard and turned to me.

“I wouldn’t let you leave with him if he didn’t look fucking wrecked when he showed up at the door,” he said. “But if that man makes you cry like that again, I’m putting a bullet in his head.”

“I don’t think he will,” I said.

“He better not. You deserve someone who knows what he’s got.”

The thing was, I felt like Renzo did.

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have gone back with him, wouldn’t have welcomed heartbreak like that again.

I genuinely was starting to believe that Renzo just didn’t know how to show his feelings, not that he didn’t have them.

We’d driven home mostly in silence after Renzo stole sips off of my frozen coffee as he trailed those delicious little circles across my scalp.

It wasn’t until we were inside the apartment again, and we were sitting in the living room together waiting for delivery since we’d both missed meals with all the craziness, that he pulled my legs over his lap and admitted, “I gotta warn you ahead of time that you’re gonna wake up alone tomorrow,” he said, voice tense, like he was expecting me to explode, thinking he was already walking back all of his promises.

“Because of whatever that serious thing is going down inside of that building?” I asked.

“Yeah, exactly that,” he agreed, fingers sifting through my hair, then moving down to rub my neck. I wanted to unfurl like a cat under his touch. But I was trying to focus.

“I’m not expecting you to be home all of the time,” I said. “I grew up in a mafia family. I understand how things come up sometimes.”

“Hopefully, when this shit is cleared up, I won’t be as busy.”

“Famous last words of a boss,” I said, giving him a knowing smile.

“That’s the fucking truth,” he agreed, digging into a knot in my shoulder that had me tensing, then relaxing, as it eased. “But I’m gonna be around more.”

“I know,” I agreed, not needing him to keep insisting over and over. Time would prove his promises true.

“Why did Nico sound so surprised that you would be cooking when he comes over?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t… I don’t really cook much,” I admitted. “But my brothers are always grumbly about it because they say I’m the best cook in the family.”

“In a family that big, that’s gotta be high praise. Why don’t you cook?”

“It usually makes me sad,” I admitted. “I used to cook with my mom all the time. So, it always brings back memories.”

“Don’t want you cooking for me if it makes you sad, mouse.”

“No,” I insisted. “No, I want to. The last time… when I cooked… that was the first time in a long time when I wasn’t sad, just… excited.”

“And I couldn’t even fucking come home to eat it.”

“You know better now,” I said, thinking of his words back at Nico’s place.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his hands starting to drift lower, making a low whimper escape me.

“Fucking missed that sound,” Renzo said, looking at me with fiery eyes.

And, no, we couldn’t fix our problems with sex.

But he was right, too, it was something that we had, something we shared, something we both loved.

So I leaned closer, tentatively sealing my lips to his, feeling those little cracks in my heart fuse back together as his lips responded, as he reached for me, pulling me to straddle him, as his hands started to drift over me like he couldn’t get enough.

“Renzo,” I said as I pulled back, feeling his hardness pressing against me, promising an end to the growing ache inside.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice thick with his own desire.

“I’m allergic to chrysanthemums,” I said, watching as his gorgeous face etched with confusion, then slow understanding, thinking of our wedding, of my lack of a bouquet.

“Noted,” he said, giving me a sweet smile.

“How’d you get this?” I asked, touching the scar that bisected his eyebrow, one of the two scars that took his face from male model handsome to intimidating mob boss.

“Running my mouth when I probably shouldn’t have,” he said, fingers sinking into my ass.

“And this one?” I asked, teasing the one on his lip, wondering if I would have a matching one forever as well.

“You want to talk?” he asked, using my ass to drag me against his hardness, making a low whimper escape me. “Or… not talk?” he asked, eyes blazing.

“Both,” I said, getting a dark chuckle out of him.

“That was my old man,” he told me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, heart aching for a younger version of him. My own father had never put his hands on me. I couldn’t even imagine that kind of cruelty from a person who was meant to love and take care of you.

To that, he shrugged.

“My kids will never know what that’s like,” he said, his words a solemn vow.

“So, you do want kids,” I said, heart leaping.

“Yeah. Like ‘em to have your eyes,” he said. “You want ‘em, right?”

“Yes.” With him? God, yes.

“But think we should just… practice for the time being,” he said as he dragged me against him again.

“Definitely,” I agreed, letting him lift my shirt off of me, leaning back to feel his lips and tongue on my breasts, taking the desire from a simmering want to a burning need.

He inched me out of my pants and panties, then pulled me over him again.

My hands were frantic on his buttons, reaching inside to free him, my mind and body all too aware of how long it had been since I’d felt him inside of me.

“Easy, mouse,” Renzo said as I stroked his thick length. “We don’t have to rush.”

I ignored him, sliding him against me, then down, holding him steady as I started to slide down his length.

“Oh, fuck,” Renzo groaned. “Forget what I said,” he added, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as I gave into the need within, and started to ride him.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his fingers sinking hard into my ass. “Show me how much you missed my cock,” he said, making my belly flip-flop at his words, as it always did. “I fucking missed your sweet, tight pussy,” he went on, making my walls tighten around him as I got closer. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured as my moans got higher, more frantic as I was pushed right toward that edge. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”

Then I did, crying out my release against his shoulder.

But he didn’t come with me.

“Not done yet,” he said when I pulled back, looking at him with scrunched brows.

Then he was hooking an arm around me, and rolling me under him on his giant couch, the weight of him familiar and so missed as my legs wrapped around his hips, and my arms slid up and down his strong back.

He watched me, unmoving, for a long moment, soaking me in. Then he lowered down, claiming my lips as he started to move inside of me.

Differently, though.

Slow.

Almost painfully so.

As his lips kept pressing into mine, his tongue teasing and retreating, the pressure increasing.

He drove me up more slowly than I knew was possible, but I was so lost in the intensity of it, in the intimacy, that my mind wasn’t even on the end, all of me just craving more.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he swore, his lips a whisper from mine. “You’re mine, Lore,” he added, pressing a little deeper, pushing me toward oblivion. “Mine,” he added as his hand reached for mine, pulling it up, and pressing it against the cushions, his fingers laced with mine as he pressed up to look down at me. “Say it, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” I said without hesitation. Because nothing had ever been more true.

I was his.

I was just waiting for him to realize.

The intensity of emotion in his gaze as I said it told me he finally understood.

“Yeah, you are. Now come for me, mouse,” he said, keeping the achingly slow pace as his lips claimed mine again.

I did come then, the pleasure a deep, slow wave that started where we were joined and spread outward, overtaking me completely.

He came with me, groaning out my name as he settled deep.

And I’d never, ever, been happier than I was right then.

Eventually, though, the knock at the door had Renzo sighing and pressing up.

“Food,” he said, lifting off of me. “Put this on,” he said, tossing his tee at me, and I was happy to slip into it, to smell his scent all over me. “I’ll be back,” he said, fastening his pants and walking shirtless to the door.

Maybe I should have felt embarrassed as I climbed off of the couch and rushed to the bathroom, knowing that his guard was out there, that he would know what we’d been up to.

I felt none of that, though.

If anything, I suddenly wanted the whole world to know.

That he’d claimed me.

That he was mine.

And I was his.

And that, this time, nothing could come between us.

“That’s a good fucking look,” Renzo rumbled at me, freezing mid-stride as I came back out of the bathroom. “Think you should just wear my clothes from now on,” he said, taking the bag to the island, and pulling out the contents. “All the options in the world,” he said, shaking his head at my container, “and you want chicken fingers and fries.”

“You forget that almost everything I eat on a normal basis is Italian,” I told him, bringing my container to the table, and popping the honey mustard container lid off. “Takeaway is for different stuff.”

He nodded at that as he opened his chicken parmesan.

“What’re you gonna cook for me?” he asked, making my belly flip-flop.

“What’s your favorite thing?”

“Anything you make with me in mind,” he said, and there was a raw kind of vulnerability in his voice that made my heart ache, knowing that this man, who showed so much potential for goodness and kindness, had likely known none of that in his own life.

Well, those days were done.

He would know all of that and more with me.

We talked then as we ate, a little clumsily at first—neither of us seemingly accustomed to this whole ‘getting to know you’ thing—but finding a rhythm eventually as we talked about my childhood. What it was like to have so many overprotective older brothers, how I lost my mom so young, how my father had gathered his grief and managed to be both parents to us afterward.

“Where did your name come from?” Renzo asked, watching me dip my fries with a shake of his head.

Ketchup is for fries, he’d insisted.

Ketchup is for grilled cheese, I’d countered.

“It’s not a traditional Italian name,” he added.

“No. My brothers all got the traditional names. But my mom insisted on naming me. Lore. Like… traditions or information held by a certain group of people. She told me that girls are the ‘family keepers,’ or the keepers of the family’s ‘lore.’”

“Like with the cooking,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And a bunch of other little things I remind my brothers of or little traditions we had when she was alive that she learned from her family.”

“Shit you’ll teach our kids?” he asked.

“Yeah, definitely. This place is going to look great with Christmas lights,” I said, glancing around at all the potential. The balconies, especially, could be draped in greenery and lights. The whole place would sparkle.

“Don’t remember the last time I even had a Christmas tree,” he admitted.

“Well, you won’t have too long of a wait. But first, we have to plan Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, we do,” he agreed, seeming to like that word as much as I did.

After dinner, we stripped out of our clothes, fell into bed, and into each other again, making up for lost time.

Before he pulled me onto his chest, holding me like he knew I liked.

It was the longest span of time I’d spent with Renzo since we’d married.

And it was even better than all the fantasies I’d dreamed up.

As I drifted to sleep in his arms, I was sure that nothing could ever ruin what was growing between us.

I would, of course, be proven painfully wrong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Renzo

I never had a reason before to want to rush home.

But as we questioned the kid for a third day, I could barely keep my mind on the task.

All I could think about was going home, walking through the door, and finding Lore there waiting for me. A new understanding between us.

Shit had changed so quickly.

Just one full night with her, watching how she came out of her shell little by little as we talked, making her more animated and expressive, her words often tripping over each other to rush out.

She especially liked talking about her family, the love there so plain for anyone to see.

“You didn’t hate me because of him?” I’d asked when she’d told me a story about one of her brothers, Cesare, the tattooed, womanizing brother who had a penchant for getting into trouble.

“Hate you? For what?”

“Because I was the reason he had to go into exile for so long.” I’d approved the hit on Cesare after he’d made the epic fucking mistake of sleeping with one of my capo’s wives.

“I’m pretty sure Cesare was to blame for that.”

She was surprisingly good at that. Being neutral, even when she was talking about her loved ones.

I think we have all had undue prejudices against each other just because history told us we should, she’d said, speaking of the war between our families.

All the while she was talking, she was sitting there eating her fucking chicken fingers and fries like it was a goddamn Michelin star meal.

She was just… fucking perfect.

And all I wanted to do was get my ass home to her again.

“Fuck,” Dav hissed, pulling his hand back, cradling it to his chest. We’d all heard the crunch. The hardheaded kid’s face had broken one of his fingers.

“Take a break,” I said, nodding toward the door, knowing the pain would piss him off, and make him go too hard. Which wasn’t going to help anyone.

I waited until he was gone, then stood there looking down at the kid, his face a mess of cuts and bruises, his dark hair sweaty from the pain, his body slouched to the side, trying to favor his ribs that both Dav and I had worked over.

His words came back to me as he glanced up, eyes icy, daring me to hit him again, telling me it wouldn’t fucking work.

Believe me, I’ve had worse.

That was what he’d said.

And, fuck, I could feel those words down to my soul.

No fight I’d ever been in from being a punk-ass kid or a boss ever compared to what I dealt with from my old man.

With a sigh, I moved across the room, grabbing the other metal chair, and dragging it over, turning it to sit on it backward in front of him.

“When I was ten, I knocked into and busted the TV,” I told him, the memory fresh even after all these years. The kid was watching me, face blank. But I went on anyway. “Old man stood up, whipped off his belt, and beat the ever-loving shit out of me. Bad enough that he cut through the material of my pants and shirt. Had welts busted open and bleeding,” I recounted, remembering the way my poor excuse of a mother urged him on. Teach him a lesson. Fucking ungrateful little shit. “I accidentally turned once,” I went on, touching my lip. “Caught the metal of the buckle. Bled like a fucking river.”

“What? We friends now?” he asked. “Should I be sharing a sob story too?”

I didn’t fight the smile that tugged at my lips then.

Because, fuck, I had to respect this kid’s balls.

“Just making a point. You said you’d been through worse. I have too. Which is why I know if it was my ass in that chair, no amount of pain would make me talk either.”

“Yeah? Then the fuck you keep hitting me for then?”

Good question.

“How old are you? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” he said, straightening a bit. As if insulted I’d assume he was younger. Like there was any difference at all between those ages.

“How long you been on your own?”

“Since sixteen.”

“You got a name?”

“Coal.”

“You’re not from here.” It wasn’t really a question. Fact of the matter was, if there was a kid this tough in the area, there was no way I wouldn’t have known about him, wouldn’t have tried to recruit him myself.

“No. Camden,” he admitted.

That made sense. That was a rough area too. Like me and mine, he’d likely been on those streets young, likely working as a scout for drug dealers or other organized crime syndicates.

“How long you been here?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Right. Okay. And you’re freelancing,” I guessed.

“Don’t need no fucking boss.”

“Everyone has a boss,” I said, shrugging. “Except me,” I added. “Think you came here not knowing shit about how things work around here.”

“You might be a boss,” he said. “But that don’t mean you don’t got people who want to change that.”

“Clearly,” I said, shaking my head. “What I’m saying here is… they’re not gonna fucking win. Maybe this would have been a different story a few months ago. Before I created an alliance with all the other of the five families,” I told him, watching his mind work behind his green eyes. “Now, a move against me, is a move against all of us. Whoever you are working for, they’re bringing down the wrath of the entire fucking mob on them. Even if they kill me, they don’t win. That’s not how this plays out.”

He sat there for a minute, digesting this.

No, he wasn’t from the city.

But anyone raised by the streets understood the hierarchy of organized crime.

It wasn’t just the boss involved here. It was the capos, the soldiers, the associates. Of every goddamn family. Hundreds of fucking men. Ready to exact revenge.

Coal watched me, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he moved his mouth side to side.

“What if I told you that this alliance you’re boasting about is the reason I am here?”

“I’d say I’m not surprised. Lot of people haven’t been thrilled about it.”

“And if I told you this guy will do anything to get to you.”

“Seems like he’s working toward that.”

“No,” Coal said, shaking his head. “Anything. Hurt… anyone.”

“He’s gonna make a move on my people?” I asked, mind racing with how many soldiers and capos could be out there on the streets right now, unaware, unprotected.

Coal sucked in a deep breath, then winced as it expanded his lungs enough to make his ribs scream.

“If I say anything else, I want something in return.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“My life,” he said.

“Don’t worry, kid, I was going to give you that, but also take that from you no matter what.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna live. But your life is gonna belong to me,” I told him. “You work your way up like anyone else. Associate to soldier to capo. You’re a fucking piece of work,” I went on. “Lot like I was at your age.”

“You’d hire me? After what I did?”

Again, the words came back to me.

“When you know better, you do better. And I’d much rather have you working for, rather than against, me. So that’s the deal. Give me my answers. And you walk out of here, recover for a few days, then show up to work for me.”

He was going to be a lot of work.

But I had a long history of taking wild street kids and turning them into productive members of this family.

“Okay,” Coal said, nodding.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Who hired you?”

“Michael,” he said, not a hint of deception in his eyes.

Michael?

Michael?

One of my actual fucking blood relatives? A cousin I used to ride bikes with, sneak drinks with, chase girls with? The closest thing to an actual brother I had.

But, it made sense, didn’t it?

Technically, in the order of things, he was the one who should have taken over as the boss.

The thing was, in this world, you didn’t just get fucking gifted the position of boss. You had to work for it. Earn it. Get the support for it. Then reach out and fucking… take it.

I wasn’t surprised that he wanted it, that he was even bitter about not having it.

But to make moves against me?

His own fucking blood?

On a growl, I got up from the chair, making my way to the door.

“Yo,” Coal called, making me pause, hand on the knob.

“What?”

“You didn’t ask me who he’s after.”

Turning, I looked at him, a twisting sort of dread starting in my gut.

“Who’s he after?”

“Who’ll hurt you the most,” Coal said.

“That could be—“ I started to object. The sentence trailed off, though, before Coal even interrupted me.

“Your wife.”

I never ran so fast in my entire motherfucking life.

Dav, picking up on the seriousness, abandoned Coal strapped to his chair, running off after me as I made my way toward the apartment building.

Where Lore would be sitting, unaware.

I should have said something.

Told her shit was dangerous.

I couldn’t wait for the elevator, tearing up the steps two at a time instead, my heart a bass beat in my chest as the cold hand of fear tightened around my throat.

“Lore!” I called, rushing onto the floor.

And there, like a nightmare, was Elian.

Slumped on the ground.

A pool of blood forming around him.

Conscious, but just barely.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

“Mi… Michael,” Elian coughed out, close to blacking out.

“Oh, fuck,” Dav said, rushing over toward Elian, pressing his broken hand into Elian’s wound as he reached for his phone with the other hand.

I plugged the number into the keypad, doing something I wasn’t sure I’d ever fucking done before.

Praying.

She had to be okay.

Inside.

Scared.

Even hiding.

But okay.

Safe.

“Lore!” I yelled the second the door flew open.

I rushed inside, hoping to see her rushing out, to feel her throw her arms around me.

Until my gaze slid to the kitchen.

Finding a bunch of food on the island, some partially prepared meal set there.

But, much more damning than that, was an open can of crushed tomatoes dropped on the ground, the contents splashed across the floor.

I knew right then that she was gone.

He’d taken her from me.

And I had to fucking get her back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lore

I’d been planning the meal since I woke up. For once, not upset at being alone. Renzo had warned me he’d be gone early. After holding me all night.

“Elian, can we do another order on your phone?” I asked. “And I’ll give you the cash,” I added, making a mental note to ask Renzo how I could go about buying things online or via apps when he got home.

“You cooking again?”

“Yeah.”

“On one condition then,” he said.

“Sure,” I agreed, having a feeling I knew where this was going.

“I get a plate.”

“Well, obviously,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

After that, I offered him my list, then went about finding the right pots and pans, setting the table ahead of time, before getting myself showered and dressed before helping Elian bring in the groceries, and finally rolling up my sleeves and getting to it.

And, this time, there were memories of my mom, of course. Of her reminding me to always measure spices by the heart, to always remember to salt the pasta water, to take my time and enjoy the process.

But instead of sorrow, what I felt was gratitude. That I’d gotten the chance to learn these things at her side. And, because of that, I could one day do the same for my children.

I couldn’t tell you what time it was when I’d heard a popping noise in the hallway, or the strange thud. I’d been too lost in the idea of sitting across a table from Renzo again, from having more conversations like the one we’d had the night before. And, then maybe… not talking for a while afterward.

I’d tensed at the odd interruption, but when I’d heard the beep of the code being punched into the keypad, I felt my shoulders relax, imagining it was either Elian or Renzo trying to bring something inside.

I didn’t even think anything was amiss when it was neither of those men who moved into the apartment.

I knew this man too.

I’d met him at the one party I’d gone down to.

He’d been lurking around the pool table while I talked to one of the younger, more extroverted, men.

He had a more normal name, that much I remembered, even though that night was pretty vodka-soaked and wavy.

Christopher?

Matthew?

No, Michael.

This was Michael.

Renzo’s cousin.

Unlike my family, and most of the organized crime syndicates I knew of, Renzo’s crew wasn’t entirely built up of blood relatives at the top. He had capos with no blood relation to him. Like Cinna and Rico and, I was pretty sure, Dav.

As you got further down to the soldiers and associates, of course, there was even less blood relation. But that was true of my family as well.

Michael, though, Michael was an actual family member.

And I suddenly felt like maybe I should know more about him than I did.

Renzo had given me details about his childhood. His awful parents, his almost equally terrible uncles. But he’d never specifically mentioned his cousin, even though he’d likely told me about said cousin’s father.

“Hey, Michael,” I said as I fished the lid out of the can of tomatoes I’d just opened, setting it down on the counter, then gathering up the can to drop it into my pot.

It was his silence that had me looking over, wondering why he hadn’t said hello back.

And it was right then that I saw it.

The gun in his hand.

The popping sound.

That’s what I’d heard.

The gun with a silencer.

Elian.

My heart squeezed in my chest even as the adrenaline sizzled across my nerve endings making everything suddenly feel too bright, too abstract, like the room itself had become impressionist splashes across my vision instead.

Because, surely, if I was seeing correctly, I would have picked up one of the full cans. To throw. To bash.

Or gone for the lid I’d just pulled out of a can, surrounded by little teeth from the opener. Enough to do some damage if he got close enough.

Instead, though, I seemed to freeze, to stand there completely uselessly as he drew closer.

I saw that look in his eyes.

I’d seen it once before, in the eyes of a man named Brio in my family. A man who got a sick sort of satisfaction out of his job. Which often seemed to involve a lot of bloodshed and pain.

It was an animalistic sort of coldness.

Like all the humanity had been leeched from him.

When he lunged, I would like to say I scratched, clawed, bit, fought.

All I seemed to manage, though, was throw the can of tomatoes, some of it splattering across Michael’s pants, my own bare feet, and the floor.

I braced, expecting to feel the burning pain of a bullet slicing through my skin, my vision flashing back to the handful of times I’d seen a member of my own family with a bullet wound, how they’d curse and throw back whiskey as someone performed battlefield medicine on them. Once, in my own childhood kitchen.

Instead, though, Michael flipped the gun in his hand, holding it by the muzzle, lifting his arm, and striking out.

There was a split second of an explosive pain in my head.

Then complete and utter blackness.

I woke up being jostled, but too groggy to remember that I should be fighting as my brain screamed, little icepicks being drilled into my skull over and over.

By the time I remembered it all—the pop, the slam, Michael, the gun, being struck—I felt myself slammed down across a backseat, a man’s body coming down on top of me, crushing me.

“Drive!” he snarled, making my head whip over, seeing the darkened SUV windows, the back of a man’s head in the driver’s seat.

It was Michael on top of me, his chest pressing hard enough to make my lungs hurt when I took a breath, prepared to scream.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Michael snarled, shifting his weight to slap his hand over my mouth, his weight pressing down, making my teeth ache with the pressure.

His finger was pressing up against the underside of my nose, making it harder to pull in a proper breath, causing this uncomfortable tight sensation to spread across my chest.

Panic, familiar and unwanted because it made my brain mushy, spread, little tendrils of adrenaline snaking around my mind, my chest, my throat.

I needed to calm down.

To focus.

It was already too late to make sure I wasn’t taken to a second location. We were already in one, and on the way to a third one.

Nothing good could happen there.

The best case would be that my kidnapping was just a ploy to draw out Renzo.

Even if that was the result of this, it would likely mean Renzo being hurt or killed.

This, it seemed, was some sort of coup in progress.

But other possibilities formed.

Of hands dragging me to a new place. Hitting, kicking, smacking, pulling off my clothes… and… worse things.

All the while Elian was possibly bleeding out in the apartment building, with no one to know something was going on, that he needed help. That I did as well.

Sure, Renzo said he would be home for dinner, but that was hours away still. The chances of him coming home earlier seemed really thin.

My phone was sitting on the charger on top of the microwave in the kitchen. I had no way of trying to warn him.

There was no one coming for me.

No.

No.

I wasn’t going to get hopeless.

I’d never make it through this if I let that happen.

Someone would come. Eventually.

At some point, someone would find Elian. Then realize I was missing. And Renzo told me there were cameras all over the hallway and in some parts of the apartment as well.

He hadn’t told me why, save for saying it was regarding whatever ‘serious shit’ was going on with the family right now.

I hadn’t thought to press.

I’d been raised to know better than to do that. When or if the men were able to share details, they would. Otherwise, they didn’t tell us in an effort to protect us. Mostly from the police, if things came to that.

So I knew it wasn’t really my place to press.

Those cameras, though, if he took two minutes to review the footage, he would see Michael hitting me, taking me.

Then he would come.

I just had to buy myself some time.

I had to be calm and smart.

Stall, if possible.

Then wait for Renzo to come.

Even if this was a coup, there were clearly those still loyal to Renzo. Elian, for example, who’d taken a bullet for me. Cinna, I would bet my life on her being loyal. Rico and Dav also.

He wouldn’t be walking into a trap alone.

He’d have backup.

And he would save me.

Reminding myself of that allowed me to stop trying to take panicky quick breaths, focusing instead on long, deep ones that slowly allowed the fog of anxiety to clear.

The car veered in and out of traffic to a chorus of horns as Michael’s body slid around on top of mine, making my stomach churn, but I fought to stay as still as possible, pressing my legs into the door, hooking my bare toes into the cutout under the door handle, wondering if the child locks were on, if I could use my feet to open the door and… I don’t know… roll out from under him, scramble out, throw myself out onto the street. Dangerous? Sure. But likely a better fate than whatever Michael had in mind for me.

As the car kept driving, I teased my toes up. Then, as the men were distracted by the traffic jam ahead of us, a cabbie and someone in a regular car outside of their vehicles, screaming at each other, I pulled with everything I had.

To no avail.

The door was locked.

There was no getting out.

Hopelessness bubbled up, making me need to blink away tears even as the driver got impatient and charged forward, swerving around the mild road rage incident.

I fought to tamp it back down, reminding myself that it had been worth a shot, that I needed to keep staying that sharp, trying anything that came to mind.

But, unfortunately, it was just one more turn after that before the car ducked into some sort of—very coveted—garage, the driver cutting the engine, then hopping out to yank the door closed, shutting out the rest of the world, so no one knew what was going on as the driver pulled open the door at my feet, and Michael slid out and off of me.

I took my first real breath since before I’d been taken, and quickly scrambled up, curling into myself near the other door, out of reach.

“Just making it harder on yourself,” Michael said, slamming the door, and coming around the SUV.

I didn’t stop to think.

I threw myself into the front seat, stabbing my finger into the lock button on the driver’s side.

Out of the windshield, I saw the driver reach for his key fob with an eye roll.

But I kept my finger stabbed into the button, preventing him from unlocking it, making Michael shout at him as he paced around the car.

It was a temporary diversion, I knew.

Eventually, they would get me out of this car.

And they were just going to be all the more pissed at me about stalling the inevitable.

But I needed a second.

I had to think.

To look around.

Try to find another way out.

There was the garage door, but I doubted my ability to get to it, get it raised, and rush out under it before one of these men caught me and dragged me away.

There was an interior door, leading, well, in somewhere.

That was likely where they were planning to take me, which, undoubtedly meant that there would be no easy means of escape from there.

I watched as the driver came closer, holding up the fob, trying to get in.

I didn’t know anything about cars.

I’d never driven in my life.

But I was pretty sure that a car would start so long as that thing was close.

If he was close enough, could I maybe turn the engine on? Put it in reverse? Back into the garage door?

If nothing else, might that get attention from someone outside? Enough that they might even call the police? Fearing someone had a seizure or fell asleep or had some sort of medical emergency while behind the wheel?

I glanced down, looking at the gear shift, seeing the R that had to stand for reverse.

Taking a deep breath, I stabbed my finger into the ignition button. But… nothing.

I tried again, tapping one of the pedals.

Then, finally, as my foot hit the other pedal, the engine purred to life.

I didn’t waste a second, knowing that it wouldn’t last long if the guy so much as moved away from the car.

I yanked the gear into reverse, and shoved my foot against the accelerator, feeling my belly bottom out as the car flew backward immediately, crashing hard into the door.

I hadn’t anticipated it holding up against the crash.

Or remembered the airbag.

Until it was exploding outward, smashing into my face, scraping across my skin, the impact like a blow to the side of my face, which took most of the abuse.

My neck snapped back, another pain making my eyes water.

I remembered almost before it was too late to press my finger into the lock again as the driver tossed the fob, making the engine cut.

Figuring there was no more chance of escape this way, my free hand reached to slide the gear back into park as the airbag deflated, leaving just the pain behind as I stared at an increasingly angry Michael as he screamed something at the driver.

The driver’s cold eyes slid to me, his jaw tight, not a drop of sympathy in his eyes as he turned suddenly, walking away from me.

Then coming back less than a moment later, a crowbar in his hand.

I thought he would go for the passenger door. Or the backseat.

But he came right up beside me, arm raised, slamming the bar into the window.

Once.

Twice.

The glass spiderwebbed.

Three times.

Then it broke inward toward me, pieces of glass getting caught under my hands on the seat as I tried to push myself away, cutting into my palms.

He reached inside, slicing his arm in the process, not even wincing as the blood dripped down his arm and over the car, unlocking the door, then yanking it open.

“Get your ass out here,” he snarled at me, shocking me as instead of reaching to grab me by the arm or around the waist, he gathered a handful of my hair, and yanked savagely, leaving me no choice but to fall out of the car, my back cracking against the bottom of it before I dropped to the cement floor.

I didn’t know which pain was worse then.

The slamming in my skull from the pistol whipping before. The way each strand of hair screamed as he pulled. My face and neck from the crash. Or the aching pain in my lower back from crashing into the car.

It all seemed to mingle together, this awful symphony of pain that overtook me completely as I continued to be dragged across the floor.

I reached up, trying to grab my hair above his hold to ease the sting.

But I stopped even trying as I was yanked up a step, my back colliding with the edge of that as well, making stupid, useless tears sting my eyes.

I pressed my lips together, trying not to cry out, to give him the satisfaction he was likely looking for.

The pain on my scalp eased, at least, as the door slammed behind us, and Michael said to the driver, “Just drop her there.”

I was released, and I let myself lower to the floor, curling up on my side, knees to chest, trying to protect as much of myself as possible.

Because, lord knew, this was not going to be the worst of it.

I blinked back the tears, trying to focus on my surroundings.

It wasn’t some dark, windowless space with no chance for escape. In fact, the entire back wall was lined with old, warehouse-style windows.

The floors—cement—and the walls—brick—weren’t an option.

But there was a door all the way in the back corner.

Maybe it only led to a bathroom or an office.

It was a door, though. To a different room.

One that maybe had a lock.

Or furniture that could be used as a barricade.

Nothing would last forever, of course. I didn’t need forever, though. Just until Renzo could come to find me.

“What now?” the driver asked.

“You gotten in touch with Coal yet?” Michael asked.

“Can’t get him,” the driver said.

“He’s got to have him then,” Michael said.

And suddenly, I was thinking of rushing down the street toward Renzo, who was about to follow several of his men into the building. The building where there’d been crashing noises.

Was that what Renzo had been protecting me from?

Had he picked up one of Michael’s men?

Could he already be onto him?

Maybe even on his way?

Hope was a small, delicate flicker in my chest, but I cupped my hands around it, protected it from blowing out.

Even as Michael barked an order at the driver who reached for me again, this time by the ankles, dragging me across the room. And, yes, closer to that door.

“Pretty thing, ain’t ya?” the driver asked, a dark look in his eyes making a shiver course down my spine. Every woman knew that look. That evil, animal glance. A predator hoping to sink their teeth into their prey.

Michael moved past us, paying no attention as he disappeared into that small room, flicking on a light, and letting me see the corner of what seemed like a desk sitting there.

An office then.

Lots of things could be used as weapons in an office. Pens, scissors, a paper weight.

And with a room that small, I figured if I could turn the desk, it might actually wedge against the door, making it impossible to open.

“Been wondering what Renzo got a taste of to make him lock this down,” the driver said.

Then he was reaching for me, grabbing at me, fingers sliding across skin, yanking at my pants, dragging them down.

I reeled back, kicking out, striking, then sucking in a big breath to scream.

“Hey,” Michael snapped, making the driver release me, his hand still holding my pants, leaving me on the cold floor in my bare feet and panties. But it wasn’t the cold that had a chill moving through me. “Knock that off,” Michael said, and that little flicker of hope inside of me grew a bit as I scooted back until I hit the wall, pulling my knees in, and wrapping my arms around myself. “You can have all the fun you want when Renzo is here to watch,” he added, making my belly bottom out.

“Bet she’s got a great little cunt,” the driver said, leering at me, and I glared back, refusing to give into the desperation inside of me and cry.

“Must if she’s got Renzo being fucking monogamous,” Michael said, turning to look at me. “Maybe we’ll both take a turn. Renzo will fucking love that.”

I wanted to run, to scream.

But, honestly, the idea of one of them coming closer to me, touching me, made my belly twist, had bile rising up my throat.

Better to stay as far away from them as possible.

Maybe Renzo would come with force.

Maybe none of those things would happen.

That’s too many maybes, a voice in my head whispered. And I swear it was the voice of all the heroines in the books I read. Many of them just girls. Like me. Put in impossible situations. Like me. Forced to find their own inner strength.

And that was what I needed to do.

I waited until the men were distracted, Michael texting on his phone, the driver, bunching up my pants in his hands over and over, lost in thoughts I didn’t care to know about.

Then I slowly, one inch at a time with long moments between, started to scoot toward the office door.

If they noticed, they showed no signs.

And while it was impossible to actually tell time, I was pretty sure a solid fifteen or twenty minutes passed before I was closing in on the door, having moved completely across the open, empty space.

My gaze kept slipping to the men, both of them now on their phones, and my stomach twisted again, thinking of them calling in other reinforcements. Other men to abuse me. To kill Renzo.

I started unfolding one of my legs, ready to slip it under my body, press my weight onto it, and run for my freaking life into that room, slamming the door, then shoving the heavy desk in front of it. Up close, I was almost certain that it would work as a great barricade if I turned it and wedged it between the door and the wall across from it.

Then, well, I didn’t really know after that. It seemed to have a window, but I had no way to tell if it had a fire escape, or if it even opened at all.

All I knew was that a door between me and these monsters was far better than being out here in the open and fully at their complete lack of mercy.

But just as my knee pressed against the cold concrete, there was some sort of loud, shrieking noise that had the men stiffening. Michael, in his surprise, dropped his phone, and it skittered across the floor. Halfway toward me.

I could make a grab for it before running into the office.

I didn’t have Renzo’s number memorized. Or any of his family, for that matter. But I knew mine. Sure, they were way too far away to be of any real help in this life-or-death sort of situation. But they could get in touch with Avery, who would likely know peoples’ numbers, and could tell them what I knew.

I needed that phone.

My focus was so complete, that I missed whatever it was that had Michael and the driver reaching for their weapons.

I was in a lunge position when, suddenly, the door freaking flew inward.

And there was Cage, a dang battering ram like the ones cops had in his hands.

I was kneeling as, suddenly, Cinna and Dav flew inside, armed with military-style automatic weapons that had both Michael and the driver thinking better of trying to engage in a shootout.

“Kick them over,” Cinna snarled, her gaze laser-focused on the men, as was Dav’s.

It was only one set of eyes that landed on me instead.

Renzo strolled casually into the space, looking calm and collected.

Until his gaze landed on me, taking in the damage to my face that was, in all fairness, my own doing from the airbag.

It wasn’t until his gaze traveled downward, though, and took in my bare legs that I watched a vicious kind of darkness overtake him.

This was not Renzo, my husband.

This man was Renzo Lombardi, the mob boss.

The one that, whether they would admit it or not, had scared the crap out of my family for years because of his notorious ruthlessness.

His gaze slid from me and cut toward his cousin and the driver.

“Who put their fucking hands on my wife?” he snapped, his voice cutting enough for the men to stiffen.

But it was then that Renzo saw them.

My pants.

Draped casually over the shoulder of the driver.

He moved so fast that I swore he blurred.

And I, well, I finally took myself into the office, feeling like I didn’t want to have to see what was going to happen next.

I threw myself into the corner, my hands pressed to my ears, and started to hum.

And prayed for it all to be over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Renzo

If there was one thing I could say about my cousin, it was that he was a fucking idiot.

Which worked in my favor.

It was why, even if he’d been cunning enough to take me out before I could figure out his plans, he would never be able to keep the title of boss. Someone else would see how short-sighted he was, how ill-equipped he was to engage in multi-step thinking.

Then they’d take his ass out.

One of Michael’s rackets was boosting and stripping cars.

It took all of five seconds of thought to know that was where he would have to take Lore.

To his garage.

His apartment wasn’t possible, given all the neighbors. And his only other business had nowhere to bring an unwilling woman. Let alone to lure and try to kill me.

Rico had taken Elian to the hospital as the rest of us rallied, making Cage rush over with a fully-loaded SUV.

Weapons, penetrating tools, the whole fucking shebang.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, gasoline waiting for a match.

And as Cage knocked the door in, then Dav and Cinna secured the scene, and I walked in to find Lore there, I almost thought the fire would never start.

She was there.

She was alive.

Her face was scratched and bruised.

But minor, minor fucking damage.

Unacceptable, sure, and they’d pay, but not enough to set me off.

Until, of course, my gaze slipped downward, looking for any other injuries.

And I saw her kneeling there on the filthy fucking floor… in her panties.

Match.

Strike.

Flame.

I was a motherfucking inferno as I charged at the fuckhead who had my woman’s pants on his shoulder. Like he had a right to have them there. After ripping them off her body while panic flooded her system.

Had he touched her?

Hurt her?

While she cried out for me?

And I came too fucking late?

I was aware of Cinna moving in, dragging Michael out of the way as Dav kept his gun poised on the man.

I imagined Cage would have the cuffs out, locking Michael down, holding onto him for me.

Because it was going to be a while as I grabbed one of the hands raised up at me, trying to fend me off, acting all fucking innocent.

Grab.

Twist.

The crackling sound of multiple bones breaking had the blood whooshing through my ears, almost drowning out the sweet fucking sound of the asshole’s screams.

“You thought you could put your hands on my woman?” I growled as my fist slammed into his jaw with enough force to send him flying, trying to scramble up on his knees and one good arm.

Only to fall back over again as my foot collided with his center.

Once, knocking his wind out.

Twice, hearing the crack of ribs breaking.

The third time, well, let’s just say that the man would never be using his dick on another woman again. Neither consensually or otherwise.

Not that I was going to let him breathe anyway.

But he had that pain coming.

I dropped down on top of him, my fists swinging, colliding, the impact ricocheting up my arms, making my shoulders, and jaw hurt.

But that only seemed to feed more fuel to the fire as I grabbed both sides of his head, slamming down on the floor once, twice, watching his eyes go unfocused.

No.

Nope.

Not that easy.

I wanted him to fucking suffer.

Like he planned to do to Lore.

Reaching back, I grabbed her pants that had fallen off his shoulder, wrapping them around his throat, and squeezing, watching his eyes widen with panic, bulge as he lost his breath, as his lungs burned, as he realized he was dying.

It was a brutal fucking way to go.

A good two and a half to three minutes of consciousness, your lungs screaming, your head going fuzzy, panic flooding your entire body.

Then another minute of unconsciousness before you finally fucking died.

I must have been sitting there for longer, though, as I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“He’s dead, man,” Dav said, voice patient, understanding. He had his own demons. He knew what it was like when they took over.

I yanked the pants off of him as I moved to stand, realizing I was panting for breath, my heartbeat hammering with the adrenaline still flooding my system.

“Go on. Beat the shit out of me,” Michael said, glaring at me from his kneeled position, standing between Cage and Cinna. “Kill me, even. But there’s more just like me.”

“Yeah?” I asked, reaching into my waistband for my gun. “I’ll track down and put a bullet in all their heads too,” I said, pressing the muzzle to his forehead. “Say hi to my old man in hell,” I said, squeezing the trigger, and watching the blood and brain matter scatter as he weaved for a moment before falling, dead before he hit the ground.

Only then did I seem to be able to think clearly again.

Lore.

I whipped around, finding the space she’d been occupying empty.

“She ran into the office,” Cinna explained, nodding her chin toward it.

Smart girl.

Taking herself somewhere safe.

Knowing I’d come for her after.

“Might wanna get that crazy look off your face first,” Cinna suggested, giving me a pointed look.

Right.

Right.

She didn’t need my tension.

She needed soft.

Who knew what the fuck she’d been through?

I stood there for a second, taking a few slow, deep breaths, trying to find calm. Then I checked myself for blood before taking her pants with me toward the office, knocking on the door.

Hearing nothing, my heart seized.

“Lore?” I called.

No response.

I rushed inside.

And it was then I heard it.

A frantic sort of humming coming from under the desk.

I moved toward it, kneeling down to find her squished under it, curled into herself, hands pressed to her ears, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Mouse,” I said, reaching out to touch her knee, covered in a grayish dirt from the filthy floor.

You’d have thought I’d burned her, the way she jerked away so hard she rammed her head on the underside of the desk, her leg flying out, nearly catching me in the crotch. But I was quick enough to grab it.

“Easy, baby, easy,” I said, voice low, soothing. “It’s me,” I added, watching as the panic cleared from her eyes.

The tears replaced it almost instantly as she scrambled onto all fours, then launched herself at me, arms squeezing so tight they shook.

“It’s okay. It’s over,” I murmured, running my hands up and down her back for a bit, then wrapping her up, and squeezing tight. “You’re okay,” I told her, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. “I’m here.”

She calmed down more quickly than I’d expected, clinging to me for an extra moment before pulling back.

“I knew you would come,” she said as I wiped the tears off of her cheeks.

“Of course I did.”

“Elian…”

“At the hospital,” I told her, hoping that Rico had a good update for me once we got out of here.

“He tried to save me.”

“Of course he did. Are you hurt?” I asked, framing her face, looking at the damage up close.

“I did most of this to myself, I guess,” she said, touching the bruise forming on her face. “This, though,” she said, reaching up toward the side of her head, making my hand follow. There, under her hair, was an egg. He’d struck her on the head. “It’s okay,” she murmured, making me realize I’d snarled at finding proof of that fucker putting his hands on her.

“Mouse, I gotta ask,” I said, taking a deep breath, watching her blue eyes for the truth. “Your pants are off…”

“No,” she said, quickly. Too quickly? “No,” she said again, voice stronger. “He tried to. Michael stopped him.” Well, at least that bastard had a modicum of decency. “He said they would take turns when you showed up,” she added, voice wobbling.

Suddenly, I wished I had made Michael hurt before I’d ended him.

“Renzo, I think there are more of them,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“The driver asked about a guy named Coal…”

“I have Coal. That’s how I knew who it was.”

“But Michael was texting almost nonstop while I was here. I was about to get his phone,” she added. “When there was the bang outside, he dropped it. I was going to grab it and go in here to call Nico.”

“Nico?” I asked, the name like a punch to the gut. Her brother. Not me.

“I don’t have your number memorized yet,” she said, easing the impact of her other statement.

“Got a lifetime to memorize it,” I said, pressing her back until her ass was on the ground, then bunching up the leg of her pants, and sliding it up, then doing the same with the other. “Come on, mouse. Let’s go home,” I said, standing, and reaching down to help her up, then yanking her pants up over her ass. “I’m gonna need one thing from you, though,” I said, looking out of the office door.

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna need you to keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them,” I said, lacing my fingers through hers.

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” she said with a nod, knowing why I was asking. And not looking the least bit horrified by it.

There was steel under all that soft and sweet.

With that, she squeezed her eyes shut, and let me lead her through the room.

“Make sure you grab the phones,” I told Cinna, getting a nod from her. “You, with me,” I said to Cage, who fell into step behind Lore as we moved into the garage. “Okay, you can open,” I said, but felt her pull to a stop. “What is it?” I asked, finding her gaze on the car crashed into the garage door.

“I did that,” she admitted. “I locked myself in. Which pissed them off,” she said with a ghost of a smile on her lips. Proud of herself. As she should be. “And the driver was close enough that I thought the fob might let me turn it back on. So I did… and did that.”

“That’s what happened to your face?” I asked. “The airbag?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Think I might have a little whiplash from it,” she admitted, reaching up to rub the back of her neck.

“We’re gonna take care of you,” I assured her, pulling her close to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Fucking proud of you, mouse,” I said, watching the pleasure spread across her face. “Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Cage drove us home in silence, lucking out on a parking spot near the apartment, and followed us up to take Elian’s space outside of the door. But this time, I had men stationed outside of the building as well. No one was getting in here again.

There was a lot of fucking work to do.

Bodies to dispose of.

Leads to track down.

Other men to take out for their disloyalty.

But right now, none of that was as important as taking Lore upstairs, turning on the shower, stripping us both, then climbing in, and cleaning off the grime that was all over her from being on the ground in that building.

She clung to me for a long time, just needing to borrow some strength.

“Renzo?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to tell my family about this?” she asked, angling her head back, giving me a brow raise.

“The truth,” I said, shrugging.

First, because it was her family. They deserved to know what happened.

Second, they were allies now, and depending on how big this coup went, I might want some backup.

“But not tonight,” I said as I pulled her out of the shower, drying her off.

“Not tonight,” she agreed, following me to bed, and curling up on my chest.

I waited for her to sink into me before asking her about her head, about any dizziness or nausea or anything that might suggest I had to get her to see someone.

But aside from a headache, she said she was fine.

Fucking miracle, given the situation.

If I’d been any later… if I hadn’t shown up with Dav and Cinna strapped to the hilt…

It could have been so much worse.

This was twice I’d failed to protect my woman in the short time we’d been together.

And it was going to be the motherfucking last.

I held her while she drifted off to sleep.

Then slid out from under her, heading downstairs, and getting to work on making sure it never fucking happened again.

“Lore? Is everything alright?” Nico’s voice met my ear as I used her phone to find his number and call.

“It’s Renzo,” I said, hearing the tension like static on the line. “Get your brothers and come to my place,” I said, rattling off my address. “I need someone to protect Lore while I make sure she never needs it again,” I said.

“Again?” he asked, voice tight, and I could already hear the movement as he left wherever he was, the city sounds coming up in the background.

“Someone wasn’t happy about our alliance. Tried to stage a coup. One of my men is shot. Lore was hit over the head and taken. I got her back,” I rushed to say. “And believe me, the fuck who tried to do worse to her was praying for death by the time it came.”

Nico made a growling noise in his throat. “Is she okay?”

“She’s got an egg. And some scratches and bruises, maybe some whiplash, from an airbag hitting her in the face. Other than that, she’s okay. Sleeping. She’ll be happy to see you guys here when she wakes up.”

It might distract her from my absence.

“We’ll be there in… forty minutes. Tops.”

Then they were, filing into the apartment, faces grim, stinking up the place with their combination of anger and concern.

“You guys packing, or you need to borrow?” I asked.

Nico moved his jacket to the side, showing a gun in a shoulder holster.

“We’re covered.”

“Lorenzo,” Cesare, her brother I’d almost had killed said, speaking of the Capo dei Capi, “wants to know if you want men to help you question the rest of your crew.”

“Don’t have an answer on that yet,” I admitted. “Was focused on getting Lore home and settled,” I added. “Haven’t been able to suss out anything else yet. But I will let him know, if need be.”

We exchanged numbers, and I made my way to the door.

Then hesitated.

For once, not wanting to get out there.

Wanting more than anything to just go back upstairs with my wife.

“Take care of our girl,” I said, looking at all of them, then focusing on Nico.

“We will. Handle this shit.”

With that, I went out and did exactly that.

Knowing full well that when it was finally all done, I could go home to my woman.

I couldn’t fucking think of anything better.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Lore - 1 day

I slept hard and long, waking up disoriented and achy.

But alone.

The sun was streaming through the windows, telling me I’d at least slept through the night.

“Renzo?” I called after changing into a roomy sweatshirt and leggings, then making my way out of the bedroom.

“Sorry to disappoint,” a familiar voice called, making me rush forward toward the balcony.

And there he was.

Nico.

In the apartment.

As were the rest of my brothers.

The joy fizzled out into worry as I ran toward the steps.

“What’s going on? Where’s Renzo? Is he okay?” I asked, nearly falling off the last step in my haste.

“Hey, he’s alright,” Nico said, voice calming. “He asked us to come hang out with you while he was… working.”

“He asked you to babysit me while he handled the coup,” I clarified. “Don’t think I missed this,” I added, reaching out to tap under his arm where the firm outline of a gun was situated.

“Something like that,” Nico said, reaching out to snag my chin, turning my face from side to side. “What’s this from?”

“An airbag,” I told him. “Didn’t Renzo tell you?”

“The Cliffsnotes,” Cesare said, moving closer, holding out his arms.

I didn’t hesitate.

I folded myself into them, realizing again just how much I missed my family.

Having them here was a step in the right direction when it came to mending fences between our families, to having a true alliance, not just one in theory.

“Figure you can tell us the whole story,” Gavino said, accepting his hug.

I went around to them all before circling back to Nico, folding myself in, borrowing a little of his strength before moving away.

“I can do that,” I agreed, making my way toward the kitchen that someone, likely Nico, had already cleaned up. “But I need some coffee and acetaminophen first,” I told them.

The screaming in my head had become a dull, but ever-present, ache.

“Coffee is on the way,” Cesare said, making my brows pinch as I turned away from the coffee pot.

“You ordered?” I asked, looking at Nico, who was the only one of them who likely remembered how I took my coffee, since we went out and got it often.

“No,” he said as there was a knock on the door, making me stiffen.

“You’re okay,” Cesare said, voice soft, sensing my anxiety. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

I nodded tightly at that, pushing back the memories of the last time I stood in this kitchen, the confusion and fear I’d felt then.

But Nico pulled open the door, then let two people inside.

Cinna, carrying two cardboard trays of coffees.

And right beside her…

“Elian!” I said, heart leaping as I rushed toward him, wanting to throw my arms around him, but pulling back. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, arms still raised a bit, but not going for it.

“You won’t,” he said, reaching for me instead, holding on for a second. “Worried we lost you,” he admitted.

“Me?” I scoffed, pulling back. “I was worried about you,” I said, thinking of the pop of the gunshot, the thud that I knew now was him hitting the ground.

“He’s fine,” Cinna said. “Dug around in his chest a bit, pulled out a bullet, stitched him up, and pitched a small fit when he signed himself out first thing this morning.”

“Had to check on you,” Elian admitted, then his gaze slid from me to my brothers behind me. I could practically feel their gazes on us, trying to make sense of our obvious closeness.

“Guys, this is Elian. Who almost died for me yesterday,” I said. “And Cinna. Who is, like, Badass Barbie,” I said, getting a pained smile out of her. “Is Renzo okay?” I asked as Nico relieved her of the coffee trays.

“He’s… working,” she said, choosing the words carefully. “Which is where I need to be,” she added, snagging one of the coffees out of the tray Nico was holding. “Can I leave him with you?” she asked, patting Elian’s shoulder hard enough that it must have jostled his wound because he winced. “Make sure he doesn’t overdo it?”

“Of course,” I said, nodding, already reaching gently for Elian’s arm to lead him inside.

“Be careful, okay?” I asked Cinna. “And make sure Renzo is too. And Dav and Rico.”

“Always,” she agreed, nodding, giving my brothers a chin jerk, then heading out.

I felt Nico’s eyes on me as I led Elian to a chair, helping him sit down, then handing him one of the frozen coffees Cinna had picked up.

“You’ve really settled in here.”

It was a statement, but also a question.

“I have,” I agreed, nodding. “I know it’s hard to believe after all these years of animosity between our families, but I really like this crew. Especially Elian, Cinna, and Dav. Rico seems nice too, I just don’t know him very well.”

“And Renzo?” Cesare asked.

“No,” I said, watching his jaw tighten. “No, I don’t like Renzo. I love Renzo.”

Renzo - 2 days

It wasn’t as bad as it seemed right off after we used Michael’s cold, dead finger to unlock his phone, and give us access to his web of betrayal.

Eight associates, who were disposable on a good day, so it was no skin off our noses to track them down and take them all out.

Three soldiers. More rank. Actual members of the organization, technically, compared to the associates. People we knew better. Had shared drinks with, that kind of shit. But there was no love lost over having to put down a few disloyal fucks.

It was the one capo that had rocked us.

A capo.

A made fucking man.

Someone we’d seen at every gathering.

Someone who’d signed my cast when I’d busted my leg at seventeen.

Someone that had acted like a mentor to Cinna.

Who’d saved Rico’s life twice.

Who Dav considered a close friend.

We’d all stood there in shock when we saw his name in Michael’s phone, as we scrolled the texts full of deception and disloyalty.

“I want him,” Dav said, that darkness overtaking his features again.

It was my place to take him out, technically.

But I wasn’t going to deny him his revenge.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But Cinna goes with you.”

To that, he’d given me a tight nod, and the two of them had walked off to end this once and for all.

“What do you want from me?” Rico asked.

“Go get the kid, I guess.”

“Coal?” he clarified.

He’d been left alone for nearly two days at this rate. The guy was probably severely dehydrated and starving.

“Yeah. Free him. Get him cleaned up. Feed him. Then tell him to show up on my doorstep tomorrow morning.”

“You going home to your wife?” Rico asked, eyes knowing.

Fuck yeah, I was.

Lore - 2 weeks

The apartment was filled with familiar scents.

Turkey, gravy, buttery mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, fluffy rolls, the whole shebang.

Renzo had tried to insist that I should take the time off, slow down, recover after my ‘ordeal.’

But I’d never been more motivated to pull the whole Thanksgiving dinner idea together as I’d been following the attack, knowing how so many of these men and women had worked their asses off to protect Renzo and me.

After all the betrayal and loss, I felt like they needed this.

And I was happy to give it to them.

Well, me and Elian, who was by my side in the kitchen, lending the extra set of hands I didn’t realize I’d need so desperately, since I’d never done a whole holiday meal like this before.

The family had been through a lot that made them feel torn apart.

This, I hoped, would help them feel like a family again.

There was nothing better than everyone gathered around a table, enjoying a meal and conversation to help you connect.

“How is it?” I asked after Elian dipped a spoon into the mashed potatoes to taste them for me.

“If you weren’t married, I’d propose right now,” he said, smile warm.

“Well, married and like a little sister to you…”

“That too,” he agreed, looking across the room to where his sister was being casually charmed by the enigmatic Dav.

Elian’s brothers were also in attendance. I’d needed to buy an extension for our table and more chairs for this event.

A lot of the crew had their own families to go back to, but there was a surprising number of them who had no one and nowhere to go. Including the new kid, Coal.

No family.

Until now.

“Ready?” I asked as he grabbed the potatoes and I grabbed the rolls, the rest already on the table.

“Yep.”

“Dinner,” I called, making everyone’s heads turn to me.

But I only sought one face.

Renzo’s.

Finding him giving me that sweet smile as he came across the room to pull out my chair.

“Everything smells fucking amazing, mouse,” he said, kissing my temple, making my heart swell.

“Okay, so my family has a tradition,” I said when everyone started taking their seats. “We go around the table and someone says one thing they’re grateful for this year,” I told them.

“Easy,” Renzo said, staring right at me across the long table. “I’m fucking thankful for you.”

Lore - 3 years

“You’re home early,” I said as Renzo walked in, making a beeline for me.

He was kind of ruining my plans, actually.

I was only halfway done cooking a very important meal.

One that was going to come with an announcement at the end.

The whole ‘and baby makes three’ kind of announcement.

Big deal stuff.

And here he was.

Early for the first time in two weeks.

What were the chances?

“Missed my woman,” he said, coming up behind me, pressing my front against the island as his head ducked, his lips pressing against my neck. “How long we got until that food burns?” he asked, teeth nipping my earlobe, making desire surge through me.

I glanced at the clock as his fingers teased up my bare thigh. I’d dressed up for the reveal too, going out and buying a flirty little sundress I knew Renzo would drool over.

“Forty minutes,” I said as his fingers snagged my panties, teasing them to the side, and running a finger up my cleft, finding me already wet for him, ready for him.

“Fucking starving,” he said as he went down on his knees behind me, pulling my panties down with him, making me realize he had another meal in mind even as I felt his head slip under my skirt and press my thighs apart.

Then his mouth was on me, sucking my clit, then working it with the circles he knew I liked so much, making me slam my hands into the island as my legs started to shake.

My moans filled the apartment, quickly drowning out the sounds of Sinatra crooning from the stereo.

His fingers slid inside of me, curling and stroking against my top wall, driving me to the edge faster than seemed possible, then making the orgasm float through me, a shallow pulsing that moved deeper as it went on, as he kept working me through it.

“Renzo, please,” I whimpered as he kept working me even after, taking me down from one orgasm, and working me toward another.

“Please, what, mouse?” he asked, nipping my inner thigh.

I knew exactly what he wanted from me, how he would usually have to tease it out of me.

But I wasn’t an insecure little virgin anymore.

And years with Renzo’s dirty mouth had been rubbing off on me.

“Please fuck me,” I said, hearing that growling sound move through him that I loved so much.

“Fucking love how it sounds when you say that,” he said, moving to stand behind me, ruching up my skirt with one hand as he freed himself with the other.

“Wait,” I said, turning, watching his raised brows as he stood there with his hard length in his hand. “Maybe I’m hungry too,” I said, watching his eyes blaze even before I lowered myself down in front of him, taking his cock at the base with my hand, then sucking him long and deep, feeling his groan of pleasure like a touch across my clit.

“Fuck, mouse,” he groaned, rocking a little deeper, making me curl my toes tight to ease the gag as it started when the head of his cock hit the back of my throat. “Always so fucking greedy for my cock.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

I was.

Once he showed me how he liked having me go down on him, I was surprised by how often I found opportunities to do so. How much I wanted to.

Because seeing a man like Renzo Lombardi lose control was a power like I’d never known.

And let’s say that practice had truly made perfect, because I’d even picked up some new tricks all on my own.

I slid up his length, teasing my tongue around the head, then letting his cock slide out of my mouth with a little pop that had his body jerking before holding his cock up straight, and pressing my lips to the very base of him, sucking the underside of his cock from base to tip, making a deep, ragged groan move through him.

“You feel so fucking good taking my cock,” he groaned as I took him in to the base again, this time opening my eyes to look up at him. “Fuck,” he groaned, then grabbed the sides of my head, holding me still as he fucked my mouth for a few long seconds, making me gag, getting me sloppy, before he finally slid out of my mouth, and dragged me to my feet.

Grabbing me, he turned me, bending me over the island, then yanking up my skirt.

“Spread your legs for me,” he demanded as his cock teased between my lips to move up and tap against my clit. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured. Then he slid back and surged inside of me.

Hard. Deep.

Making me have to grab the other end of the counter to stop from being pushed up and onto it.

That rumbling noise moved through him as he settled deep.

“This fucking pussy,” he groaned. “Made for me,” he added as he started to fuck me.

I was already halfway there.

And the uncontrolled way he was fucking me drove me right to the edge, leaving me crying out as he pumped into me over and over, his release hot deep inside of me.

“Come here,” he demanded, reaching for me, and pulling me toward him. “This looks real fucking nice,” he said, teasing the bodice of my dress with his fingertip. “But I think this would look even better,” he said, pulling up the skirt, and lifting the dress up over my head, leaving me completely naked. “Yeah, think I like the idea of you walking around the kitchen just like this.”

The heat rose to my cheeks for a second.

But this wasn’t the first time he’d made that kind of request.

I could feel his gaze on my ass the whole time I walked away to the bathroom, then when I emerged to find him sitting on the chair in the living room.

I made my way right to him, climbing up on his lap, resting my head on his chest. My favorite place in the whole world.

I wanted to wait until dinner.

Really, I did.

But something about this moment, with his heartbeat under my ear, and his fingers drifting casually over every inch of skin, felt even more right.

“I have to tell you something,” I started.

“If you already spent that five grand on books, you know where to find more,” he said, making a smile tug at my lips.

“We’re going to need to increase that book budget soon,” I said, pulling back to look at his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, something in my voice having his brows draw together.

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for his hand, and pressing it onto my belly. “Because I plan for this baby to be a reader too.”

I watched as the curiosity morphed to understanding. And then, better yet, wonder.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah,” I said, smile spreading wide.

“Fuck, Lore,” he said, grabbing the back of my neck, and pulling me in for a long, hard kiss.

“You’re happy?” I asked. “I know we weren’t planning on this yet…”

“Can’t think of anything I want more,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine. “Think maybe I need to get someone in here to start building a library now.”

“That might be for the best,” I agreed, making him let out a little laugh.

“When?” he asked.

“Around Christmas. Before.”

It seemed like a present to us both from the universe.

“You’re gonna be a fucking amazing mom, mouse.”

“You’re going to be a great dad,” I told him, knowing he sometimes doubted that, given his own horrible upbringing.

But he’d shown time and time again his ability to be fatherly.

Especially with guys like Cage and Coal, who he’d taken from unruly kids to mature men.

And if he ever doubted his ability to do sweet and soft, he needn’t look any further than how he treated me.

“Fucking love you, Lore,” he said.

It didn’t matter that he’d been saying it since just a week or two after the whole kidnapping thing years back. Each time, it still made my heart feel too big for my chest.

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

Maybe that was true.

I might have loved first.

But Renzo loved hard.

It was everything I had ever dreamed of.

And more.

And now we got to take all that overflowing love of ours and pour it into a baby.

Then another.

And another.

I wanted about half a dozen little Renzo Lombardis.

This was just the beginning…

Renzo - 15 years

“What’s going on?” I asked, walking into the apartment to find Lore standing there, jiggling our youngest, at three, on her hip. As our oldest, eleven, sat on the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes defiant, face busted the fuck up.

That apple, yeah, it didn’t fall far from the tree, I had to admit.

He looked like me. Same face, same hair. But he had his mother’s eyes.

Though, right now, one of those eyes was filled with blood—a subconjunctival hemorrhage. I’d gotten dozens of them over the years. And I knew what they came from.

Taking a fist to the eye.

Along with that, he had a busted lip, and a nasty bruise sneaking up his cheek.

“What’s this?” I asked, walking over to grab his chin, angling his head up to get a better look, checking for any worse damage.

The hardheaded little shit stared up at me, not an ounce of fear or regret.

I didn’t want my kids afraid of me.

But he was still being ballsy as fuck.

“What’d we say about fighting in this family?” I asked.

“That we don’t start ‘em. We finish ‘em.”

Well, I mean, that was what I’d told him, much to his mother’s chagrin.

“Who’d you fight with?”

“Elliott Miller,” he said, biting off the name like he wanted another piece of him still.

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “I’ll bite. What’d Elliott do?”

To that, his head whipped to the side, refusing to give me eye contact.

“Don’t think this counts as snitching,” I reminded him.

He might be only eleven, but the kid had big ambitions already. Namely, running this family one day. And as much as some part of me wanted him to go to college, get a normal, boring-ass job, and have a normal, boring-ass life, I knew that the chances were slim that he wouldn’t follow in my footsteps.

My son’s gaze cut back, cold anger still in them, despite clearly having gone a couple rounds with this Miller kid.

“He was pushing a girl around,” he said, jerking his chin up, daring me to scold him for doing… exactly what I’d raised him to do.

“She okay?” I asked.

“Skinned her knees,” he said, eyes narrowing at the idea.

He had mostly brothers.

But his baby sister, propped there on his mother’s hip, was going to be really fucking protected as she aged up, with a brother like this.

“And Elliott?” I asked.

“More than skinned knees,” he said, shrugging it off.

“More than… like I should be expecting the cops or his father at my door?”

“You could take ‘em,” he said, making a laugh burst out of me, despite myself.

“I’m sure I could,” I agreed, shaking my head.

“His dad’s not around, I don’t think.”

“No?” I asked, sucking in a breath. “Then I think you need to invite Elliott over to dinner tomorrow.”

“What? No.”

“Wasn’t a question,” I said, shaking my head at him. “Seems like Elliott needs someone to teach him how we treat girls around here. Invite him to dinner. But ice that face first,” I said as he got up off the couch, pissed off at me, but he’d get over it.

“That’s very sweet,” Lore said as we watched our boy go into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of peas out of the freezer, and taking it with him as he stomped up the stairs, then into his room, slamming the door for good measure. At least, in some ways, he still acted like a kid.

“Gotta fix the little problems before they turn into big, two-hundred-pound ones,” I said, walking over to press a kiss to her cheek, and taking our little girl off of her hip to place on my own.

I’d been good with the boys.

Sure of my ability to raise them.

When the ultrasound finally told us it was a girl, I gotta admit, I fucking panicked a bit. Until Lore reminded me that through loving her, I learned a lot about being gentler.

She looked just like her mama, too.

Her brothers and I were gonna constantly get scoldings from Lore about being too overprotective with her in a few years, I was sure.

“You’re a good man, Renzo Lombardi,” Lore said, wrapping an arm around me.

“Don’t let that shit get around,” I said, wincing down at our daughter, who was picking up words like a fucking sponge. I was already in trouble for her confident and frequent use of the word ‘fuck.’ And it seemed she got her brains from her mama, because no amount of insisting I said ‘duck, truck, luck, or muck’ deterred her. Though, I had to say it was kinda funny as hell when she used it appropriately. Like when she’d dropped her sippy cup, slapped her hand on the table, and growled, Fuck!

“It can be our little secret,” Lore said as we both turned to the ruckus in the hallway.

Not a minute later, the door flew open, and our other kids flooded inside, followed by exhausted-looking and paint-colored Cinna and Dav.

“They’re monsters,” Cinna declared, waving toward our boys as they rushed to the kitchen, ripping open the fridge, and perusing the offerings. “You bred and raised monsters,” she said, accepting a napkin from Dav, and wiping some neon green paint off of her shoulder. “They got only your evil genes, none of Lore’s.”

“They kicked your asses, didn’t they?” I asked, grinning at the grown-ass adults who’d clearly lost a paintball match against a bunch of kids.

“Look at that,” Cinna said, avoiding answering the question, waving toward the boys who’d busted open a box of tube yogurt. “We just fed them twenty minutes ago.”

“Where’s the big one?” Dav asked, looking around.

“Icing his face,” I said.

“I remember those days,” Dav said, nodding. “Alright. We’re going to go get a grown-up drink,” he said, nodding at Cinna. “Or ten,” he said, laughing at her expression.

“I feel like we should be worried that two of the scariest capos in the city are exhausted and mildly afraid of our young children,” Lore said, looking at the boys as they ran toward the stairs, tracking partially dried paint across the floor after having left the fridge wide open, and the half empty box of yogurt tubes out on the island.

“I think this one is gonna give ‘em all a run for their money one day,” I said, lifting our daughter up high enough to make her squeal, before dropping her quickly enough to make her belly bottom out, getting another squeal as I set her on the ground.

“Can’t we have one calm, gentle, sweet child?” Lore asked as I dropped onto the couch, reaching out to grab her, and pull her down on my lap.

“Oh, mouse, where would the fun in that be?” I asked as our daughter came rushing back, a book held over her head, delight in her eyes as she climbed up to sit on top of both of us.

“No making up the ending,” Lore demanded as I opened the book.

“The princess working with the dragon to screw over that creepy-ass prince is a much better ending, I don’t care what you say,” I informed her, leaning down to press a kiss to her smiling lips.

“I think the dragon makes a better love interest too,” she said, nuzzling into my neck.

That kind of summed us up, didn’t it?

The princess and the dragon.

Best fucking love story I’d ever heard of.

XX

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A huge debt of gratitude to Fern, whose eagle eyes I appreciate more than she could ever know.

And also a thanks to Gabi, Ashley, Sonya, and Cherie for helping make this book shine.

IF YOU LIKED this book, check out these other series and titles in the NAVESINK BANK UNIVERSE:

The Navesink Bank Henchmen MC

Reign

Cash

Wolf

Repo

Duke

Renny

Lazarus

Pagan

Cyrus

Edison

Reeve

Sugar

The Fall of V

Adler

Roderick

Virgin

Roan

Camden

West

Colson

Henchmen MC Next Gen

Niro

Malcolm

Fallon

Rowe

Cary

Valen

Dezi

Voss

Seth

Finn

The Savages

Monster

Killer

Savior

Mallick Brothers

For A Good Time, Call

Shane

Ryan

Mark

Eli

Charlie & Helen: Back to the Beginning

Investigators

367 Days

14 Weeks

4 Months

432 Hours

Dark

Dark Mysteries

Dark Secrets

Dark Horse

Professionals

The Fixer

The Ghost

The Messenger

The General

The Babysitter

The Middle Man

The Negotiator

The Client

The Cleaner

The Executioner

Rivers Brothers

Lift You Up

Lock You Down

Pull You In

Keep You Close

Grassi Family

The Woman at the Docks

The Women in the Scope

The Woman in the Wrong Place

The Woman from the Past

The Woman in Harm’s Way

The Woman with the Target on her Back

The Woman with the Warning

Golden Glades Henchmen MC

Huck

Che

McCoy

Remy

Seeley

Donovan

Cato

Alaric

Shady Valley Henchmen MC

Judge

Crow

Slash

Sway

Detroit

STANDALONES WITHIN NAVESINK BANK:

Vigilante

Grudge Match

The Rise of Ferryn

Counterfeit Love

Of Snakes and Men

The Survivor

Deja Brew

OTHER SERIES AND STANDALONES:

Stars Landing

What The Heart Needs

What The Heart Wants

What The Heart Finds

What The Heart Knows

The Stars Landing Deviant

What The Heart Learns

Surrogate

The Sex Surrogate

Dr. Chase Hudson

The Green Series

Into the Green

Escape from the Green

Seven Sins MC

The Sacrifice

The Healer

The Thrall

The Demonslayer

The Professor

Costa Family

The Woman in the Trunk

The Woman in the Back Room

The Woman with the Scar

The Woman on the Exam Table

The Woman with the Flowers

The Woman with the Secret

The Woman on the Jury

The Woman in the Woods

Lombardi Family

Love Him Like Water

DEBT

Dissent

Stuffed: A Thanksgiving Romance

Unwrapped

Peace, Love, & Macarons

A Navesink Bank Christmas

Don’t Come

Fix It Up

N.Y.E.

faire l’amour

Revenge

There Better Be Pie

Ugly Sweater Weather

I Like Being Watched

The Woman with the Ring

Love and Other Nightmares

Love in the Time of Zombies

Primal

Taming Scarlet

Under the pen name JGALA:

The Heir Apparent

The Winter Queen

Jessica Gadziala is the USA TODAY Bestselling author of over 100 steamy romance novels featuring all sorts of twisty and turny plots, strong heroines, lovable side characters, steam, and epic HEAs.

She lives in New Jersey with her parrots, dogs, rabbits, chickens, ducks, and her bearded dragon named Ravioli.

CONNECT WITH JESSICA:

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https://open.spotify.com/user/jessiegadz?si=f636a0e5e19b4b1a

<3/ Jessica

Table of Contents

Blurb

Title

Rights

Title.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Acknowledgements

Also by Jessica Gadziala

About the Author

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