He proves it when he groans out his release and comes all over my breasts. The dark satisfaction in his eyes sparks my hunger all over again.Madonna Mia.This can’t be normal.
When I glance up at Angelo, I wonder if my face betrays this constant war inside me. I crave him, even as I’m grieving the loss of him—knowing I’ll have to leave.
I push those thoughts aside and sit there quietly, watching as he soaps his body and cleans himself. When he turns off the shower, I’m sad it’s over.
He tells me to wait, then returns a moment later with a towel and dries me off. Despite my assurances I can probably walk, he carries me back to the bed and wraps me in a blanket.
As he heads toward the closet, my gaze drifts over all six-foot-four inches of his naked backside. His body is ink, muscle, and perfect lines. But in the middle of that beautiful landscape, I notice a deep, jagged scar slashed across his back. I can only imagine how brutal the injury must have been to leave a wound like that.
My breath hitches, and he stiffens at the sound. He doesn’t turn to face me when I ask the question I know I shouldn’t.
“Who did that to you?”
“That’s what happens when someone stabs you in the back, Abella.”
His clipped response is steeped in long-simmering hostility. It’s impossible not to think that remark is directed at me. He indicated once before that he thought I wanted him in prison, but I still don’t understand why. I suspect that’s where he received this injury, and I want to ask him more about it. But I can tell now isn’t the time.
He brings me my travel bag, and we dress in silence. Angelo wears a sharp black waistcoat and trousers with a white dress shirt casually unbuttoned at the collar. When he rolls up his sleeves to reveal an inked forearm, I say a little prayer for my ovaries.
I slip into a curve-hugging black pencil dress and the Louboutin stilettos I packed, which I’m now regretting. But when Angelo’s gaze carves a path down my legs, my discomfort dissolves.
“I need to go check in with the crew,” he tells me.
“Okay. I’ll finish getting ready.”
He nods, and I can’t help but feel the distance between us. I shouldn’t have said anything about the scar. Whatever memory that brought up for him, it left him in a dark mood. I can only hope it doesn’t linger.
I hobble into the bathroom and do my hair and makeup. When it’s time for the walk of shame, I steel myself with a deep breath. Just as I suspected, when I open the door, all eyes fall on me.
As I move gingerly through the main cabin, Nicky and a few of the other men glance at my husband and smirk. I guess it’s obvious he fucked me into oblivion last night.
Genevieve shoots me a contemptuous glare, which reminds me I need to handle this situation soon. I just have to decide how.
I take a seat beside Angelo just in time for a champagne brunch. After last night, I’m ravenous, so I fill my plate with fruit and pastries. Genevieve fixes me with a judgmental stare.
I smile at her and take a huge bite of a chocolate croissant. “So good. You should try one.”
“My hips could never.” She stabs at a piece of fruit on her plate.
“I like a woman who enjoys the pleasures in life.” Angelo’s voice drips with insinuation as his palm settles possessively over the back of my neck.
Genevieve’s fork clatters to the plate as she reaches for a croissant and stuffs it into her mouth. Dear god, she really is trying so hard.
By the time we land, I’m grateful to escape the plane without her.
Now, we begin the journey back to the Vitale estate—my new home.
28
ABELLA
We board one of the Vitale water taxis, and Angelo catches up on a few phone calls while I relax. It’s a beautiful day, and I should be enjoying it, but admittedly, I’m nervous about the transition back to real life.
The Vitale estate has always felt like a home to me, and I’ve known the family as long as I’ve existed. But today, there will undoubtedly be a dark cloud hanging over my head when I see the Vitale siblings. I can’t help but wonder if they’ll blame me for yet another empty space at their family table—that of Matteo’s.
When we dock at Black Stag Island, I breathe a little easier, despite my nerves. This place has been my home since I was born, and excluding my family life, I can’t imagine a better setting to grow up. From the rocky cliffs to the moss-draped evergreens and sandy beaches, it provided a sanctuary away from the world.
In the autumn and winter months, it’s often shrouded in fog and mist, lending the perfect atmosphere to its namesake’s legend. It can be dark and moody—an ominous presence to the vessels that pass by. But within the boundaries of the island, there exists a magic unlike any I’ve ever known.
