“I don’t want to talk about him or that house.” My words sound hollow to my ears. “You took me to fuck me, so just fuck me. I don’t get why you have to talk to me. I don’t get a say anyway.”
He curses under his breath. Guess it’s okay for him to curse, because he’s nota lady. Such double standards sicken me, but it’s often the way of this world even if I have heard tales of how progressive New York is.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Fiero says, glaring at me again. “You are here because I want you here, and it’s not just for your body. Secondly, everything we do will be consensual because I’ll never force you.”
“Then we won’t be fucking,” I retort, “because I’d rather kill myself than be your whore.”
A growl spews from his lips. “I should take us down and put you over my knee right now.” He glances quickly at me, and his expression has softened a little. “Don’t ever refer to yourself as a whore again.”
“Why not? You paid for me. I am a whore.”
“You are not a whore, and I only paid for you because you are married.”
“And if I wasn’t?”
“I would have claimed you as mine the instant I locked eyes on you. I would have dragged you into a private room and fucked you until you saw sense and realized we were meant to be together.”
His words shock the shit out of me. “You don’t even know me.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll discover everything about one another in time. I know what my heart wants, and in that moment—and every moment since then—my heart only wants you.”
He looks as shocked as I’m feeling, but he quickly composes himself. “Unfortunately, youaremarried, and I couldn’t steal you away from a made man without his permission, so I was forced to do this. But I haven’t bought you, Valentina, and you are not a whore. What happens in New York will only happen if you want it. I have never forced any woman, and I won’t be starting now.”
I spin in my seat so I’m facing him more clearly as we dip lower in the sky. “So, if I say no, if I refuse to have sex with you, you’ll just accept it after paying all that money?” I’m sure my skepticism is written all over my face.
“It’s not about the money, and you won’t refuse me. You want this as much as I do.”
Fiero helps me out of the helicopter after we’ve landed on the helipad in the middle of expansive manicured lawns. A man dressed all in black with a rifle strapped across his body approaches, reaching down for our luggage. “Welcome home, boss,” he says, slanting a quick, inquisitive look my way.
“It’s good to be back,” Fiero says. “Take those to my room,” he adds, and the man nods and heads off. Without asking, Fiero scoops me up into his arms and strides across the grass toward the imposing house in the near distance.
Lights are dotted all over the property, highlighting its perfection. The house is two stories, composed of gray brick with triangular roofs of different shapes and sizes. White-framed windows are numerous and wide, facing the dock to my right. I spy a speedboat and a larger craft at Fiero’s dock, and my mind starts plotting escape routes.I’ve never even been on a boat, let alone driven one, but it can’t be too hard, right?
My eyes scan the area, taking everything in. The property seems very big, bordered by copious trees and dense woodland on three sides. Although I see a gray stone driveaway to the right of the house, I can’t see the front entrance gates from here. I’m guessing it’d be way easier to escape on water than on land, but I’ll keep my options open. As soon as Fiero leaves me alone, I’ll be checking the place out thoroughly.
The garden is set across three levels, and we’re on the lower one when we pass a cute stone house with an abundance of hanging baskets and colorful pots housing different flowers.
A fragrant scent tickles my nostrils, and I inhale deeply, savoring the familiar smell. Back home in Detroit, I had zero interest in flowers or gardening, but it became my salvation in Miami. A place I could escape to when I was silently screaming inside and my lungs felt like they were bursting from holding so much in. Dom begrudged the money I spent on seeds and gardening supplies until I pointed out how much money we were saving growing our own vegetables, and then he stopped bitching. Dom likes to entertain a lot, and he always ensures there is money for food and drink, but he’s happy to cut corners where he could. “Who lives there?” I ask as we stride past the place.
“It’s a guest cottage,” Fiero says, jerking his head to the right as we pass a large pool with a small structure at the back of it. “That’s the main pool and pool house. There’s another pool on the first level of the house.
“I see it,” I say, noticing the infinity pool up ahead. Fiero takes the first set of steps up to the next level of the garden, holding me tighter and closer to his chest. “I can walk you know.”
“I like carrying you, and I know you’re tired.”
A yawn leaks from my mouth as if on cue, and Fiero chuckles.
“You have a nice home,” I supply as we ascend the second set of steps and head toward the front door.
“Thank you. When I’m not in Miami, I live in my penthouse apartment in the city during the week and escape here on the weekend. It’s my sanctuary.”
I stare into his face. I’m not sure what to make of Don Maltese. He’s a bit of an enigma, and not entirely what I was expecting.
Fiero finally puts me down to open the door, lacing his fingers through mine as we step inside his palatial home. He closes and locks the door behind us as I attempt to wrench my hand from his, but he keeps a firm grip of it. My face contorts into a scowl when delicious tremors shoot up and down my arm and warmth sinks into my palm from his touch. I hate how natural it feels to hold his hand and to be touched by him. I hate how every part of me comes alive when he looks at me or puts his hands on me, mostly because I don’t hate it at all.
I’m confused. He confuses me, as does the potency of the chemistry between us. I don’t have much to compare it with as the only man I’ve been with by choice was Damiano. I was crazy about him when I was seventeen, but I don’t remember his touch setting me on fire like Fiero’s does.
“You must be hungry,” he says, leading me into a large bright kitchen with white painted cupboards and stainless-steel appliances. After lifting me onto a stool at the island unit, he heads straight to the large refrigerator and opens the door. “What would you like?” he asks, inspecting the contents of his packed fridge. “We have lasagna, chicken pasta, vegetarian curry, or lamb and vegetables.”
