“No.” His gruff, sleep-addled voice gravels over me. It vibrates through my chest. His eyes stay closed, his grip tightens, and I blow out a breath.
“I need to piss.” I grumble.
He blows out an exasperated breath but resigns himself to let me go. I tentatively sit up before wincing and stepping off the bed. I blow out a breath, and everything feels tight. Tender. Sore. I pad into the bathroom. Once I’ve peed, I strip off and step into the shower. I stare at myself in the mirror until the fog takes over the glass, leaving me just looking like a black and blue blob. The colour so dark against my skin. The whole of my side and my back, where I collided with the floor is marred in dark marks. The inside of my thighs, where the tank hit me, and the worst injury is my pride. I know I’d be dead if Vittorio weren’t on his wayto mine. If his dad hadn’t kicked him out, and while I want to trust him, I also don’t. Why would he turn so easily on his father? His brother? Why would he toss them aside for a woman? For me? One who wants to take over the family business. One who is making waves and will never be what I was bred for, I’ll never be a Stepford wife. I want a man by my side. I refuse to follow one, and I knew I would have to with Bellino. But if I marry Vittorio, how different are they really? Just how far does an apple fall from a tree?
Is he his father’s son? Only time will tell, but if he is, can I kill him? I know the answer should be yes, could I kill Bellino? Yes. Could I kill Massimo? Yes. But him, Vittorio, if push comes to shove, can I kill him? I want to say yes. I need to say yes. But there’s something about the way he makes me feel, the way he looks at me.
I’ve never been looked at like that before. Like I hung the moon. And I want to be looked at like that. I don’t know if I can be what he wants me to be, though. Admittedly, I don’t know what that is. We’ve barely spoken, and yet I’ve slept in a bed with him twice, wrapped in his arms.
I gave my virginity to a man who abused me to keep him on side. I fucked my trainer to stick it to my dad and my ex, and why would I fuck Vittorio? What will I gain from that? The scary thing is that I view sex as a transaction. Will I always be on the losing end? The more I scrub at my skin, the redder it becomes, and I can’t help but feel confused. I’m not sure what he wants from me. Alfredo wanted power. That much was obvious. He craved it and wanted to take it from my father for me to be his prize, his pathetic, dutiful wife. A token for others to see how powerful he would have been to have taken over my family destroyed my father and have me beneath him.
Craig wanted a quick fuck, no strings attached, until he didn’t. He wanted rich women to fund his lavish lifestyle. He wanted my connections. He wanted my father’s money, but did he really want me? I think he wanted what he could get from me. But Vittorio? It started out as I felt like he saw me. I asked him to marry me because I wanted to piss his father and brother off. I wanted to reclaim my control. He was there. Is that the only reasoning? Sure, he’s good-looking, his body is to die for, those tattoos and all-seeing eyes that bore into my soul on a deeper level. What do they truly want? Do they really want me, or does he just want my throne? My position? Will he destroy me and hand it all over to his father and brother? Will he pull the wool over my eyes enough for me to believe him and then stab me in the back? Why would he walk away from them so easily? Why did he follow me? How did he know I’d take that route home? Did he orchestrate it? Was he the reason they were there?
Someone had to tell the Costas I was leaving, the Riccis? Surely they were the only ones who knew I was at the house, or at least let them know I was there. Alone. Which one of them set me up? Massimo? Bellino? As much as I want to believe Vittorio is innocent, I’m not stupid enough for this to be the end of my story. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.
I step out of the bathroom, dripping wet with the smallest towel wrapped around me. It splits at my hip, giving a little show of… everything as I grip it tight across my chest. My wet hair curls slightly as it trails over my shoulder, dripping down my front and onto my towel. He’s sitting up on the bed. His eyes darken as he watches me stride across the bedroom. The bruising covering over half of my skin. He scans over my body, focussing on each bruise until his eyes drop to the split in the towel. My trimmed dark hair between my legs blatantly shows as I take each step. I walk around to him slow, steady, predatory. When I step to the side of the bed, his eyes flick to mine.
I stare down at him. I bite my lip and drop the towel. I lift my leg and straddle him, sitting down on his lap. I lift his chin. His gaze meets mine and I lean in and kiss him. My tongue licks at his mouth as he groans, opening his lips to let my tongue in. His rough hands slide to my waist. They rest, but he doesn’t grip me tighter, just enough for me to know his hands are there.
“What are you doing?” he gasps as he breaks the kiss.
“Giving you what you want,” I smirk at him and lean back in for a kiss. I slip my tongue into his mouth. I slide it over his. Nipping at his lip as my tongue battles with his. He gasps again, and he grips my hips a little harder this time. “Ari. Not like this.”
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” I rasp against his lips.
I kiss him again, but he pulls back. “You think I just want to fuck you?” I stare at him, but he lifts me and sits me on the bed. “When you figure out what game you’re playing, let me know. Whatever you think this is, I can assure you it’s not.” He storms out, throwing the door open and storming into the hallway. A startled Matteo stares back at me through the open door, his hand lifted as if he were about to knock. I stare at him, my face a mask as I slowly stand. I sashay my way to the door, neverdropping eye contact. I smile before slamming the door closed.
I let out a breath and tip my head back, resting against the door, the cold wood against my back soothes the bruising, and I stay like that contemplating what the fuck just happened, and why I’m not on my back with Vittorio buried between my thighs. I groan at the thought. My eyes closed. Head back searching for clarity, for some divine intervention to tell me how I screwed that up so badly. I thought he wanted me. I thought he wanted to fuck. There’s a sharp rap at the door, and I step back, flinging the door open and resting my hand on my hip. My other hand rests against the door, and Matteo’s eyes bulge before he tries to school his features.
“There’s been a development, Miss Bianchi. Mr Costa is here to see you.” His eyes dart everywhere but at me, and I smirk.
“What does he want?” I snap, trying to sound authoritative and confident while only wearing my birthday suit.
“A truce.”
“Hmm.” I scan his face, but he refuses to look at me. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute. Is he alone? Armed.”
“He’s alone. He was armed, but we searched him and confiscated his weapons until he leaves.
I nod, take a step back and slam the door shut. I don’t know what I was trying to prove by answering the door naked. I don’t think about the whys or what fors of my behaviour right this second. I’m blaming hormones. I get dressed, tucking my gun in the back of my black trousers. Scraping my damp hair back into a neat bun before slipping into my see-through cream blouse, my bra peeking through the delicate fabric. If he wants to play, I’ll play dirty.
Bellino
Chapter Fourteen
“So what happened?” Father spits as he paces the office, rage spilling from him. His neck red and splotchy, his jaw tense and his fists clenched by his side as he grits his teeth, while walking back and forth.
“They said they killed her. Ran her off the road, they said they were just getting the proof of death, and then nothing. I called, and the call answered. I could hear them at the bar. I headed out there. When I arrived, they were dead.”
The tension builds on his features. His jaw tightens, and his face reddens. Father slams his fist onto the desk. “I want her dead. I want them both fucking dead. He’s making a mockery of our family name. I refuse to be made to look this ridiculous by my own son and a, a, a fucking slut. Just some stupid fucking little girl.” He steps up against me, his breath hot and laced with betrayal, spittle flying in my face as he growls. “I want them dead. I want them both fucking dead. You hear me?”
He slaps me across the face, the sting irrelevant, the action, fuel to the fire that is burning inside of me. and my glare tightens as I scowl down at him. I clench my fists,and tighten my jaw. The slap doesn’t hurt anymore, but my patience with his tantrums and taking it out on me is fraying my last nerve. My fucking brother never takes responsibility for his actions. I’m at the brunt of it again, and while I try not to rip off Father’s head, I focus on making my brother pay with his life.
“Remember who betrayed you, Father.” I spit, my voice low, a warning that I will only take so much before I won’t be held responsible for my actions. I don’t think I can contain myself if he lashes out again. I grit back everything because if I lose it, I will destroy my father, and then there’s no going back.
He glares at me, grits his teeth, and his scowl darkens, but I just stare at him, a non-verbal warning to not push me, to not unleash his anger on me, a warning that he put us in this position by creating the spoiled brat that is my little brother, all while crushing me into the monster I am. And if he pushes, this monster will not be held responsible for my actions. Friendly fire is an accident of war, that’s what they say, isn’t it? But unfortunately for Father, if I’m pushed, it will be no accident.
He blows out a breath then takes a step back before turning and walking back steadily around the desk before gently sitting down. He calmly gestures to the chair opposite, and I ease into it.
