Chapter 15ANGELO

Chapter 15

ANGELO

An electric current of anticipation buzzes under my skin.

She's going to be here soon.

My forever starts tonight. Ahead of schedule, but that can't be helped. Candi witnessed something she shouldn't and now she's more at risk away from me than with me.

I've had fun with our courtship, but the darkness inside me that's drawn to her light is fucking glad.

I've already doubled security on the property and the number of men watching her mom and sister's apartment. We'll move them to the mansion soon, but waking my future mother-in-law in the middle of the night to drag her out of her home doesn't seem like the way to start our relationship off right.

Mario : Three minutes out. Warning. La Barbarina is pissed at how the game is playing out .

A grin pulls at my lips.

My little dancer is angry. Not afraid. Angry.

So perfect for me.

Forcing myself to wait in the living room for her arrival, I stand at the window, tossing my knife high, catching it and then walking it over my fingers before flipping it over my thumb and doing it all over again. I've done this so many times, I don't have to look at my knife anymore.

I've only been home for a few minutes because I was in Manhattan too, but I keep my eyes fixed on the frustratingly empty drive.

My leg muscles tense with the need to pace, but I remain in place, my only movement the small flicks of my hand manipulating my knife.

Finally, the gates begin to slide open and then Derian pulls through in his SUV. It takes both him and Mario to get her out of the truck even though she's wrapped in what looks like half a roll of duct tape.

Her mouth is moving, but the double pained bullet resistant glass doesn't allow sound through. They disappear through the front door and I turn away from the window, walking rapidly across the living room to the partially open door.

I hear her before I see her.

"Put me down, you overgrown ape!" That's not mere anger; that's pure fury in her dulcet tones.

Interesting.

My men's voices aren't loud enough to make out individual words, but their placating tones can't be missed.

When they're right outside the door, I hear Mario. "She wasn't this mouthy in the car."

"That was before she managed to get her gag off the second time," Derian says.

Frazzled is a new tone for him.

Mario grunts. "At least she didn't get the jacket off after we retaped it."

"You two can admire my Houdini-like skills another time," Candi says acerbically. "You need to let me go!"

"No can do." Mario says with exaggerated patience, like that's not the first time he's had to say the words.

"You know this isn't necessary, damn it. I won't go to the cops." Pleading bleeds into her tone.

I don't like it. Candi should never feel the need to beg.

"Sure, Ms. Candi, I believe you, but will your dad?" Derian asks.

"Don't call him that. He's not a father to me, much less a dad." The pain I hear in her voice bothers me more than the near begging.

Should I kill Stefano Bianchi? His neglect hurt Candi and for that, he has to pay. With his life?

The judge is still deliberating on that one. The judge being me. Killing a capo in my own Family isn't something even I treat lightly.

And there's the small chance it would upset Candi. She may profess to despise him, but she's got a tender heart. Too tender to leave to the mercies of a man like Stefano Bianchi.

"You're safer with us." Mario's long-suffering tone says he's repeated this more than once too.

Her scoff is loud. "Right. You've got me wrapped up in duct tape like a mummy, taken me on a long ride out of the City against my will. I thought you were going to kill me and dump the body," she complains.

"We don't dump bodies on Long Island," Derian informs her.

The sound of frustration Candi makes sends a zing of arousal straight to my cock.

"You brought me here against my will, which is called kidnapping by the way—"

"My men didn't kidnap you." I step into the hall, cutting her off before she can launch into another tirade. "They brought you home."

Candi's sulfuric glare zeros in on me. Her usually smooth and shiny long brown hair is in a mess of snarls around her head. A smear of dried blood taints her chin. I pull a sanitizing wipe from my pocket and tear the small foil packet open.

"You should not have left blood on her skin." I gently rub away the dried blood with the alcohol pad.

Mario texted me that she bit both Freddy and Derian. Which made me proud, but I've got a course of doxy-PEP ready for her. Lucky for her we keep it on hand. Blood borne pathogens are a risk in our line of work. No matter how careful you are, sometimes blood spray gets into your mouth or eyes.

Our protocols for dealing with that when it happens means Derian's not going to give her anything, but I don't know what kind of safety procedures Bianchi's soldiers are supposed to adhere to.

Even if I did, I wouldn't trust them. Not when he runs such a sloppy crew. She wouldn't have witnessed anything if they'd been doing their job right.

"This swanky mansion on Long Island is not my home."

"It is now." Maybe I could have broken that more gently.

My poor dancer's face turns red as a tomato and a wordless scream of frustration erupts from her beautiful lips. Doubling her efforts to get out of my men's hold, she squirms like a fish on a hook.

"I don't care if you're the world's best assassin," she yells at me. "I'm not letting you keep me here, away from my family."

I give Derian a look meant to warn. With the way her legs are taped together, and her hoodie has been turned into a straitjacket, even her dancer's balance won't keep her upright if they let her go. And if she falls, Candi won't be the only one pissed.

Showing why they are number one and number two on my crew, Derian and Mario keep their hold on Candi without touching any part of her skin.

The duct tape wrapping job is more evidence of their superior thinking skills. There's no way she's getting out of the bonds, but no rough ropes or zip ties are rubbing against her tender flesh either.

I step forward and lift the squirming woman into my arms. Derian and Mario release her with clear relief.

With a heave backward, she tries to throw herself away from me.

I have to grab her close to stop her from falling to the marble tiled floor. She feels so right in my arms, I close my eyes to savor the moment.

Finally.

Leaning down, I inhale deeply and saturate my olfactory senses with her delicious scent. Spiced by the sweat of her efforts to get away tonight, it sends arousal roaring through me.

"Let me go." Her words are a plea entirely different than the one she made to my men.

My cock hardens painfully.

She tries to twist away again, straining her bound muscles.

"Stop that." I squeeze her more tightly to me. "You're going to fall and give yourself a skull fracture."

Should we have carpeting in here? I'll ask what she thinks when she's in a better mood.

A sound comes out of her a lot like the one my nonna's old fashioned kettle use to make when it came to a boil on the stovetop. "Someone is going to end up with a skull fracture and it's not going to be me. Let. Me. Go!"

"Di m kisa ou renmen, ma di ou ki moun ou ye." Derian gives Candi a look of respect, his words echoing in my head. Tell me who you love, and I'll tell you who you are . "You keep her, boss. She's as strong as my mamma, that one."

Without acknowledging Derian's words because of course I'm keeping her, I look at Mario. "Her phone."

He pulls it out of his pocket and offers it to me. "Here you go, boss."

I release Candi's legs and put my arm around her middle, with her facing away from me so I have a free hand to take the phone. She immediately starts trying to kick me with her heels and gets more than one solid hit in before I manage to get the phone into my own pocket.

Regretting not putting her in a fireman's hold to begin with, I rectify my mistake and dismiss my men with an inclination of my head.

Enjoying Candi's inventive invective and threats, I carry her into the room I just came out of.

Give my entire arsenal of weapons to the gun buyback program? My woman knows how to hit where it hurts. The fact that her threat shows how well she knows me warms me.

Ignoring threats and insults, I reluctantly let her go to set her on the couch closest to the fireplace. "A hoodie is not a warm enough jacket for this weather."

Reaching over, I press a hidden button in the wall near the mantle and the gas fire springs to life. Warm air gently blows from the vent at the bottom and I shift the ottoman so that when I sit down to face Candi, I'm not blocking it from reaching her.

"It's not winter yet." She squirms into a more upright position. "What business is it of yours what kind of jacket I wear anyway?"

She's not ready for an honest answer to that question, so I shrug. "Just stating an opinion."

"Well, keep your opinions to yourself. You're not my parent and even if you were, I'm years past being a child."

Grazie a Dio . The thoughts I have about her are not remotely kid friendly.

Candi squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches up her face. "I can't believe I'm talking about clothes with my kidnapper."

"I'm not your kidnapper."

Her eyes pop open again, filled with ire. "What would you call it?"

"I'm your man." Keeping the truth back isn't doing her any favors.

"You should talk to your doctor about getting meds for those delusions of yours."

"It is fact, not fantasy." If any other man tries to claim her, he will die.

"You can't be my man! We aren't dating. Before tonight we'd spoken maybe two sentences to each other."

"I've spent several nights a week with you for the past year, I'd say that constitutes dating." That's more time than I spend with any other person.

She stares at me like I've lost the plot. "You came to my club to conduct your mafia business while I danced. That's not a date."

"I wasn't there for business." That the darkened VIP section is a good place to get certain things done is inconsequential. "I was there for you."

"Well, I wasn't there for you." A flicker in her pretty brown eyes says something about that is a lie.

"Weren't you?" I push.

Heat darkens her cheeks again, but it feels more like embarrassment than anger. What does she have to be embarrassed about?

"I was working. You were working. Not a date ," she emphasizes.

"You want romance?" Can I do romance? For Candi, I can try.

"From my stalker-slash-kidnapper? I don't think so!" She wriggles against her bonds.

My girl's not a quitter.

"I watch over you."