Lucy turns her face back to mine, and there’s anxiety swirling in her eyes.
“The only one who matters is me. You’re the only one I’m thinking of. Got it?”
She nods and takes a deep breath, the rigidity in her body and the apprehension in her eyes softening.
I brush my lips over hers, and murmur, “Good girl. You feel my cock? You like that?”
“Yes.Yes.”
“I going to make you mine, one stroke at a time.”
“Please, Damiano,” she cries. “All I want to be is yours.”
As she climaxes, I watch with rapt attention at the pleasure flickering over her face. Pushing her knees up to her chest, I fuck her harder and deeper with more purpose. Every stroke reminds me she’s mine. Ever thrust is pure pleasure. As I come, I’m rewarded with Lucy’s second climax, and we ride out the wave together.
My head drops close to hers as we pant, my cock still deep inside her.
“Perfect,” I whisper and kiss her.
Slowly withdrawing, I gather her into my arms. Lucy cuddles against my chest and closes her eyes. She must be exhausted after the day she’s had, and the engagement she’s had. I press a kiss to the top of her head and silently vow to keep her safe while she rests.
As she dozes, I notice my phone lighting up every few minutes on the nightstand, but it’s on silent, and I can’t see who’s calling me. Finally, I reach out and check the screen and see that I have seven missed calls from Mom. As I’m looking at my phone, it rings again.
Lucy lifts her head with a frown. “Who’s calling you?”
“It’s Mom. I’ll ignore her.”
Before I can reject the call, Lucy puts her hand on my arm. “If you don’t talk to her, she’ll just keep getting angrier. Tell her that we’ll talk to her face to face as soon as we know it’s safe.”
This time should just be for me and Lucy, but she does have a point. I answer the call, and I try to cut off Mom’s diatribe. “Mom. Before you say anything, I had to kill Andreas. No one hurts Lucy and…”
I trail off as the sound of Mom sobbing hysterically fills my ear. I’ve rarely seen her shed a tear in ten years, let alone lose all emotional control like this. “Mom, why are you crying over Andreas Montoni? He had it coming after what he did, and I’m furious with you and Dad for keeping it from me.”
“This isn’t about Andreas,” she shrieks, before going back to sobbing. “This is all your fault. Yours and Lucy’s. You’ve killed him.”
19
Lucy
Damiano’s face goes on a journey from resigned to angry to shell-shocked. I can’t hear Mom, and Damiano gives brief, one-word answers. Finally, he hangs up the call and lifts his eyes to mine, and they’re etched with trouble and confusion. “Dad had a heart attack. He’s in surgery.”
Damiano’s words break over me like a freezing cold wave, blasting away all my post-orgasm pleasure and warmth. I sit up, unable to comprehend what I’m hearing. I’ve been picturing Dad ordering our assassinations, not fighting for his life. He didn’t look well in church, and he didn’t do or say anything as I denounced him and Mom or when Damiano murdered my fiancé. I put that down to shock. When he walked in on me and Damiano in the bathroom, he clutched his chest and crumpled in on himself. That was a warning he’s not as strong as he seems.
There’s a storm of guilt and confusion in my heart as I lift my eyes to Damiano. “We did this, didn’t we? I did this.”
Damiano shoves his phone in his pocket, and says fiercely, “Andreas did this when he hurt you, and they kept it from me. Dad was having warning signs, and he should have gone to his doctor. You are not to blame, my love.”
“Are we allowed to see him?”
He presses his lips together in a grim line. “Mom gave me the name of the hospital. I’ll go. Dad’s men might have orders to hurt you.”
“You think it’s better I stay here by myself?” I ask doubtfully.
Damiano glances at the shoddy lock on the door. “You’re right. It’s better if we stay together. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
“I wish I had my gun,” I mutter, reaching for my underwear and pulling it on. “I couldn’t think of a way to holster it under my wedding dress.”
“Where is it now?”
