Sliding one hand around her waist, I pulled her into my body, the other curving around her nape, not caring that my blood soaked the leather outfit. “What you are, Koro, is mine now. And what’s mine always bears my mark.” I squeezed her neck lightly, forcing her forward until our lips brushed. “But you can’t be branded, because the scars you already wear will make mine inconsequential. For now.” I brought my hand from around her nape, to palm her throat.
“For now?” Amusement mixed sarcasm lined her tone.
I leaned into her lips, my chuckle soft as I ground my hips against hers, the heat cresting between us. My hand on her waist dropped to cup her mound, my fingers hard, possessive, my tongue licking into her mouth, tasting her sexy groans. “First, we have to survive each other, bleed for each other if that’s what it takes and then…”
I left the unspoken words hanging.
sixteen
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
Injury in my life was non-negotiable but the last four weeks felt like I’d died, more from boredom than my wounds. And getting back into the swing of things, brought a sense of efficacy like no other. Now that my body was healed, my cock appeased, I was itching to do something besides looking at our financials like my brother wanted me to, I wanted to kill, to maim, to do any fucking thing other than nothing.
Against Lorenzo’s wishes, I climbed into my car for a self-drive back to our country estate, one of many, hoping for some action along the way. Unfortunately, the ride was quick. No hiccups, disruptions, or delays. Just the hum of my black Hellcat under me, darkness shading the road, with Tony and Joey eating my dust.
Another the ten minutes and the more fortress than mansion, came into view. Surrounded by a hundred acres of thick, untamed forest, double wrought-iron gates that screamed keep the fuck out and men on patrol, no one would be stupid enough to test it.
Well maybe Koro of course because nobody could determine when or where she’d appear. I’d never been this entranced by a mystery woman who sashayed into my brother’s place like she owned the damn building, fucked me twice, then walked away the way I usually did to the woman I fucked. She was fast becoming a spectacular distraction I could do without but the fact that she wanted nothing in return except my cock, made it a worthwhile diversion. Admittedly, I remained curious about this morning’s conversation, wanting more insight into her and why she believed we could never have anything more, not like I wanted to.
A grin tugging the corner of my lip, I parked the car, stepped out and headed for Lorenzo’s study. On my way there, my ears pricked at the loud sobbing, followed by bursts of Italian intermingled with bits of English, spiraling out of Lorenzo’s study. I paused at the open door, catching remnants of the conversation while taking in the scene before me.
Lorenzo stood at his desk with our baby sister, Evelina in his arms, her cheek resting against his chest, her body trembling with loud sobs.
I was seventeen and Lorenzo twenty-three when we found out Mother was pregnant with Evelina and that we also had another half-sister. Arabella was already ten by that time and living with some distant aunt since birth, to prevent a scandal apparently. Like that would’ve made any fucking difference to Mother’s nightmarish reign.
Lorenzo, always the aggressive challenger, insisted Mother bring Arabella to live with us and it took less than a month for a bond to develop between the three of us. Once Evelina arrived, we tried to protect her as much as we could, but life happened and Mother dictated her growth until Lorenzo usurped the queen bitch’s seat. We brought Evelina to the States on our return.
“What the fuck happened?” I growled.
Mascara smudged eyes found me. “Remo!” She cried harder, peeled out of Lorenzo’s arms and launched herself into mine.
While she rattled off in rapid Italian, my gaze locked with my brother’s over her head. Anger pissed fire through my body. Chaos chomped at the bit for freedom.
Evelina finished with, “quell'uomo mi ha toccato.” That man touched me.
I gripped her arms and held her away from me. “Names?” I gritted.
“Remo–” Lorenzo began.
“Not fucking happening, brother.” I cut him off with a scowl. “Names, Lina?”
At nineteen, she was easy prey on the campus where she studied, as the sister of an infamous don though, not many tried interfering with her, knowing they’d fucking die if they did.
She rattled off three names and I frowned. “Go to your room.” Wiping her eyes, she nodded. I watched her leave then turned to face Lorenzo.
“Keep a lid on it, Remo,” he cautioned, aware I was about to explode.
Teeth clenched, I neared him. “When Arabella died, you tore this city apart looking for the people responsible.”
At eighteen, Arabella suffered shame after she was raped by men she thought were friends. She killed herself four days later. For years my brother hunted the people responsible and only when he got his revenge, was he less haunted by her lifeless face.
“Yes, I did but things have changed.”
“The fuck it is. You might be a don now, you’re still Lina’s brother.La famiglia prima della vita,” I reminded him. Family before life, the quote he promised would remain foremost after Mateo’s death and my nightmares began. “You taught me that, Renz.”
He lifted those ominous eyes to me and walked over to the bar to pour himself a drink. Downing the first one, he raised the empty glass, offering me one. At the shake of my head, he poured himself another, walked back to his chair and took a seat, looking at me.
