Satisfaction courses through my blood. “Good girl.” Reaching between her thighs, I smack her clit, one, twice, three times. She screams as another orgasm bursts through her. Fuck, my girl likes it rough. I never would have guessed.
Three more relentless thrusts and I spill inside of her with a low groan. As soon as I’m spent, I gather her into my arms. She’s shaking, her skin hot to the touch, and I know it’s going to take her a while to come down from this.
Carrying her to the bedroom, I wrap a blanket around us and sit on the mattress, holding her tight. She sobs, clinging to me. My anger diffuses.
“Did I hurt you?” Calmer now, worry gnaws at me. There’s a fine line between punishment and actually hurting someone. I hope I haven’t crossed it. “You need to tell me if I hurt you, if I took it too far.”
She shakes her head. “N-no. I’m okay. Just hold me.”
Her words are like a balm to my soul. I rest my chin on her head, cradling her close. She cries, releasing everything she’s been holding inside for too long. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen her and I know it’s a privilege that she’s let me in this close. That she trusts me enough to let herself fall apart, then hold space as she puts those broken pieces back together again.
As her tears dry up, she says, “I’m truly sorry for what I did to you. It will never happen again, I promise.”
“I forgive you,bella.”
She utters a sound of disbelief. “Just like that?”
Cupping her cheek, I tilt her head up until her sorrowful gaze meets mine. Her flushed face is stained with tears, yet she’s never been more beautiful.
“Cara mia, you could put a gun to my head and pull the trigger, and I’d spend every moment I’m burning in hell forgiving you, over and over again.”
CHAPTER 39
Maximo
“That proves nothing,” Don Rizzo says from across the table. “Like you said, I have two sons who could have been the ones to attack your yacht, except for the fact that they were home for lunch that day. What evidence do you have against Lazaro or Julius? Nothing. No more than you have against my boys.”
Dons Valente and Casella both nod.
I lean forward, frustrated. “Look, we all suspect a rat among us. We need to get to the bottom of this. Which means action, not sitting around waiting for these bastards to strike again, hoping this time they’ll leave us a clue.”
I don’t bring up the fact that Don Rizzo’s wife has been using mine to spy on me. Although, honestly, I’m not sure he even knows about that. Portia Rizzo is a force of her own. I still can’t believe that she’d do that to me.
“Come back when you have actual evidence,” Don Valente says. “Anything. We need more than a hunch to upset the balance.”
Don Casella swallows down his wine. “I wish to act as well, Pontrelli, they shot Enzo. But if we start going after those closest to us without cause, it’s a slippery slope to infighting. Everyonebegins blaming everybody else. We’ve seen it before.It can not happen again.Not on our watch. Bring proof and we will back you in questioning Lazaro and Julius. Until then.” He spreads his hands. “We can’t help you.”
Rising, I say, “Thank you for your time.”
Simmering in my frustration, I get the hell out of the restaurant. Vincent opens the car door. I’m too lost in thought to pay much attention to the drive home.
The plan I made with Lazaro and Julius is totally fucked. If either of them are the enemy, then I can hardly trap them with a plan we all laid out together, can I? I have to test their loyalty. Individually. But first, I need help from the outside.
Scrolling through my contacts list, I find the one I need. The only man who can help me—if he will do it. That’s a bigif.
I press the call button.
“What do you want?” Blake Baron’s annoyed voice answers my call.
Dragging my fingers through my hair, I sit back in my seat, trying to stay unruffled. “It’s Maximo Pontrelli.”
“I know who the fuck it is. What do you want? Don’t waste my damn time, Pontrelli. My wife’s still upset with you for lying to all of us and forcing her cousin into marriage.”
I grind my teeth, lowering my voice, “I’m not calling about family business, I need a favor from theBlack Baron. I’ve heard he can get any information, anything at all. Can you help me or not?”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “Depends,” he drawls. “The only currency theBlack Baronaccepts is favors.”
Now he’s talking about himself in third person. I roll my eyes. Who the fuck does he think he is? Though I’ve heard enough rumors about the man to approach him with caution, I wonder if even half of them are true.
