Spin Ruin: (A Mafia Romance Two-Book Bundle) (41 page)

“He went to Katrina. His team grilled her, and I don’t like it.”

“What did they grill her about?”

He knew damn well, but he wasn’t going to assume. I noticed that about him. He never assumed anything or jumped to a conclusion.

“You,” I whispered.

“Me.”

“You.”

“And you told him what?” he said.

“To stop. To leave you alone. That if he didn’t, I had enough on him to make his life a living hell.”

“Do you think you maybe should talk to me first, before you do crazy shit?”

“No.” I twisted and pulled my hands down. He let them go but increased his weight on me, pushing me against the lockers. “You barely let me out of an apartment that’s not even mine. I highly doubt you’d let me see Daniel.”

“Because it’s stupid and dangerous.”

“It’s what I have to give. And it’s useful to you. And go to hell if you don’t like it. I will never, ever sit still while he’s after you.”

“I’m already going to hell.
Grazie
.”

I pushed him away, and he grabbed my jaw, holding me still while he put his nose next to mine and spoke into my mouth. “You’re a loaded gun. Do you see that? You’re from a different world, but you smell like home to me. I haven’t been to Napoli in ten years, but whenever you’re near me, I smell olive flowers. My heart gets sick with thirst, but the water is poison.”

“Antonio—”

“I’m drowning, Contessa.”

“What are you talking about?”

His face got tight, holding back a flood of emotion. His fingers pressed harder on my face until I took hold of his wrist, pulling it down. He let go.

“Talk to me,” I said. “Just tell me.”

He looked confused for a second. Overwhelmed. Then, as if the dam had burst, he wrapped his arms around me and put his mouth to mine. It happened so quickly that I didn’t kiss him back at first. I couldn’t breathe; he held me so tight, but I got my arms around him and my mouth open, pulling him close, pushing as much of myself as I could into whatever part of him was within my reach. Thighs, hips, hands, shoulders, lips bashing lips, tongues forceful on tongues. It wasn’t even a kiss, or at least, not like one I’d ever had before. It was a slap, a punch, the use of force, a coercion of two worlds into uncomfortable cohesion.

The kiss never got soft and only ended when he jerked himself away.

“Talk to me,” I said in a breath.

“The thing I want most is the only thing between me and getting it. You are everything that will destroy me. I should go back to who I was. But you made me dream I could be free, when I’d forgotten I was in prison.”

“Is this about you being honest? Is it about me seeing Daniel? Antonio. If I hurt you, just tell me how. Let me make it right. Let me help you get out.”

He caressed my face with both palms with a tenderness that shouldn’t have been able to contain such intensity.

“Sweet olive blossoms,” he said. “That was God’s message to me.” He stepped away, and the space between us became a sigh. He held his hand. “The only way out is through.”

antonio

 wanted to kill her. I wanted to worship her. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to fill her so deeply she broke from the pain, screaming my name.

There would be no end to the trouble. She would cause it then escalate it then make it impossible for me to change my life enough to make it stop. She was dangerous, undefendable, and powerful in her own right.

She was going to be the death of me, and I was suicidal. I would kill for her, or I’d be killed by her, but no matter what, someone was getting anointed in oil and put in a pine box. God willing, it would be me and not her.

I kept the top up and the windows closed after the church. I was still at a rolling boil, and she sat back and said nothing, about that or anything, as I drove her up the hill to my little Spanish house. It was in slightly better shape than when she’d seen it last. The walls were plastered, but there was dust everywhere. The kitchen had been ripped out and the bathrooms were down to the bare necessities, but the bedroom was beautiful in spite of all the mess.

I’d tried to integrate her into my life before, but with half measures. I’d introduced her, thinking it would shield her, and it did, as long as my crew was my crew. Once that broke, she wasn’t above getting hurt for betraying us, nor was she considered one of us. I was back to square one, and only when she admitted to seeing the future mayor did I realize how vulnerable she was.

I’d protected my wife. I’d protected her life, her virtue, and her ignorance. In the end, only her virtue survived, and I knew in that church basement that it was the most useless of her qualities. Only her life had been worth saving, and I’d failed at that.

Had Valentina known about my history, my father, and the world I’d turned my back on, she might have been more careful. She might have known what to look for. But I’d treated her as if she were an amusement park: a separate world, free from reality, where I could pretend I was something I wasn’t.

I didn’t want that for Theresa. I couldn’t leave her. I was not a good man. I wasn’t even decent. But with her, I could find an honest place in the world. Because she was worldly and sophisticated but still virtuous, I knew she could teach me to be the same.

In the seconds when I held my Theresa’s jaw and she kept a firm grasp on my wrist and looked at me without fear, I recommitted to my plan to become a better man. I would have her and leave the life my father had denied me and that I’d rushed into despite him.

She was the only one who could take me there but only if her eyes were open and only if she wanted us as much as I did.

I didn’t even want to think about it, but I had to. Tomorrow. Now, I was drunk on her scent, smelling the orchards of my youth, when I was just a fatherless child and not the end of a long line of bastards.

theresa

e snaked up a familiar hill. He’d been quiet the whole drive, only acknowledging me by taking my hand and squeezing it. At a red light, he looked at our hands together. I wanted to ask him what had changed, but the light went green, and the car took off.

The only way out is through.

I didn’t know what he’d meant, but in saying that, he’d changed. He got tender. He kissed my lips and said, “Come home with me?”

I didn’t know where that was, but it could have been old Napoli for all I cared. I would have gone anywhere.

“I’m sorry, Antonio. I wasn’t trying to cause you trouble. I was trying to help you and Katrina both.”

He didn’t answer explicitly. He could have said it was all right. He could have shrugged or kissed me again. In the end, I let him take me to his car.

“Why here?” I asked when we stopped at the end of the drive at the Spanish house on the hill.

“This is my house.” He opened my door and led me out of the car and up to the house.

“I thought the place on the east side was where you lived.”

“Before this house, I had the small place for me.” He unlocked the door and swung it open. “I got this because I realized I wasn’t in this country temporarily. I was never going back, so I thought I’d settle in. Act like I really lived here.”

“I like it.”

“Good.” He put his hand between my legs, wedging it. He bunched my skirt in his fist and curled a finger over my crotch. “Because I’m about to fuck you in it. You ready to scream?”

“I think we should talk,” I said, not really meaning it. I wanted him to take me before he could tell me something I didn’t want to hear. My legs opened to take his hand, and my skin tingled.

“After. We have plenty to discuss after.”

“Capo,” I whispered.

“
Sei mia
.” He got his finger around my clothes until he found where I was wet. “
Questa è mia
.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. My hair was still a nest of wind, and it stuck to my lips when I spoke.

“This”—he slipped his fingers over my pussy—“is mine.” He put his other thumb in my mouth before I could answer, pressing my tongue down. “
La tua bocca è mia
.”

I nodded and pressed my lips around it. He tasted like church when he slid his finger from between my lips. When it was out, I said, “My mouth?”

“Mine.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I unfastened his pants and we kissed. I was at his command, no matter what he wanted, no matter what his plan.

He pushed me to my knees, and I collapsed to a kneeling position, looking up at him when he put his thumb back in my mouth. I stroked his cock, so thick and ready, the thumb a small piece of flesh in comparison. “
La bocca
,” I said.

“
La
mia
bocca
,” he replied. “My mouth.
È tua.
Is yours.”

“La mia bocca è tua.”

“Excellent. Now I’m going to use what’s mine.”

I opened my lips, and he took them.

He was cruel. He put his cock in my mouth and held my head still while he pushed forward, down my throat. He shoved past my gagging, past my breath, and I let him. When he let me go and drew back, I sucked in air, paused, and then looked up at him.

“La mia bocca è tua.”

I opened my lips to let him take me, let him fuck my throat raw. He took a handful of hair and pulled me forward, sliding his cock in my mouth, stroking the bottom of it on my tongue.

“
Sei mia
,” he growled between his teeth then pumped down my throat again. The bottom half of my face dripped with spit and throat gunk, but still, he kept his cock in my face. It was uncomfortable, painful, degrading, and yet my nipples hardened and my panties were soaked with wanting more.

When he was as big as I’d ever felt him, and his firmness matched the weight of my ache, he took his cock out of my mouth and held it there, the tip almost touching my lips.

“
Apri
,” he said, eyes at half-mast. “Open.”

I opened my mouth, and he started to come into it, leaving a bitter trail on my tongue. He pulled out and moved against my face, coming on my nose, my forehead, groaning into it, until he looked down at me and smiled.

“Oh,
Dio
, Contessa.”

“You like it?”

He chuckled and kneeled with me. I smiled, and semen dripped in my mouth. I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“You look like a wedding cake.” He wiped his thumbs across my cheeks.

“It doesn’t really come off.” I licked my lips and wrinkled my nose. “And it doesn’t taste like cake.”

He laughed, rubbing the moisture down my forehead and across. “I anoint you in the name of the father, the son, and the holy moley.”

I laughed so hard I nearly choked, and he laughed too, even as he tried to wipe my face with his undershirt. I put my face up against his chest and wiped it all over him and laughed so hard tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Woman!” He pretended to be angry but wasn’t. Who could be angry while laughing and wearing a shirt covered in spunk?

He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, singing some Italian song on the way to the bathroom, while I pretended I didn’t love it.

He put me on a pink-tile vanity built in the 1950s and ran hot water over a washcloth.

“What happened before church?” I asked. He opened my legs and settled between them. “You didn’t just barge in because you had a bad dream.”

He wiped my face tenderly with the hot cloth. “I had a meeting with Paulie and the head of the Sicilian family that runs the east side.”

“What was it about?”

“Splitting territory. That’s how it started.” He kissed my damp cheeks, one and then the other, then gathered my shirt at the hem and pulled it up. “Arms up.”

I put my arms up, and he peeled the shirt off.

“Did it go okay?” I asked.

“It went fine. I’m not worried about territory. I only have to make it look like I’m worried.” He unhooked my bra, and I wiggled out of it. “I have to be at full attention. I have to rebuild the shop, take care of my men, and make good decisions.”

“I sense there’s a ‘but.’”

“But I’m preparing to leave. I’m thinking about it every day. Then Paulie announces you’re sitting with your ex, in a room.”

“It wasn’t—”

He put his finger to my lips. “
Basta
, woman. I know you’re not going back to him. I own you, remember?”