Chapter 16ANGELO

Chapter 16

ANGELO

"That's the definition of stalking," she gripes then narrows her eyes in thought. "A year, really?"

"What can I say?" My fingers ache with the need to touch her, but I hold myself back. She needs time to adjust. "It was love at first sight."

They say sociopaths latch on quickly when it comes to finding that special someone and she's definitely mine.

"That's a myth."

"Agree to disagree." I wink at her.

"Well, if you really did love me, I definitely wouldn't be trussed up like this," she accuses.

While I disagree, that's easy enough to fix. "Do you want me to remove your bindings?"

"Of course I do!" The look she gives me questions my intelligence.

It's not an expression I'm used to having directed at me. No one else would dare. But Candi can dare anything she wants with me.

I pull out my knife, flipping it into the air and catching it with the forward edge up. "Your wish is my command, amate ."

"What are you doing?" She rears backward, but she's against the couch with nowhere to go.

I position my knife to slice through the denim and tape on her right pantleg. "What I said I would. Now stay still."

"Just cut through the tape where it holds my legs together. Or unwind it, or something!"

"I will always endeavor to give you what you want," I promise her. "How I give it to you..." I shrug.

"You're going to cut me!"

"I won't." Tossing my knife, I keep my gaze locked to hers, catching it in an icepick grip, before launching it into the air again. "I'm very good with knives."

She gasps. "Stop that. You're going to drop it and one of us is going to end up bleeding."

"Never happen," I scoff. My knife is an extension of my hand at this point.

Sometimes I don't even realize I have it out until someone says something.

"Yeah, well, stop it anyway."

I catch my knife and keep it in my hand this time. Look at me listening to her express her needs. The book I read on building strong relationships said that's an important trait in a good partner.

Giving time is another. I definitely give her that. If I'm not with her in the club, I'm watching her on the cameras I installed in her apartment.

I've got this boyfriend thing in the bag.

"You're going to ruin my jeans," she gripes, her brows puckered adorably. "I've only got two pairs baggy enough to wear on the subway."

I make a point of looking at the amount of duct tape wrapped around them and then back at her.

"Don't give me that look," she mutters. "You could peel the tape away." She huffs out a sigh. "At least you could try."

I start slicing up the pantleg, the denim and duct tape giving way to my knife's sharp blade with ease. "Waste of time."

"And you would know that how?"

"In my line of work, there are many situations that duct tape is preferable to zip ties."

The longer the tape stays against fabric, the more residue it leaves behind. Warm conditions only make it worse. Since Candi is not shivering, I assume her ride in the SUV wasn't a cold one.

"Your work as an assassin?" Curiosity eclipses her anger for a second.

She's wants to get to know me.

That deserves a reward, so I answer the question with a nod. Some made men hide their mafia lives from their wives. I will never be one of them.

Reaching the top of her thigh, I hold my knife between my teeth so I have both hands to maneuver Candi onto her back.

She squeaks—again adorable—but doesn't fight me.

"You're doing a good job of not moving," I praise her as I finish cutting the denim over her pelvis.

"What are you doing now?" Her voice is sharp, but she doesn't move.

I hum with approval at her self-control. "Finishing what you asked me to do."

My knife cuts through the waistband of her jeans and the denim falls to one side.

"Well, one leg is free anyway." She lifts said leg, bending and stretching it.

Mesmerized by what I can see of her beautiful flesh, as I always am, I forget momentarily about the other leg. But when she tries to sit up, I remember.

"Stay there. I still have the other one to do before your legs are free."

"You could have started with my hoodie, and I could have removed my jeans myself," she grouses. "Didn't they teach you anything about efficiency in Made Man school?"

I smile at her little joke, that's truer than she knows. Half the men in our ranks trained as soldiers in one branch of the military or other. Only a few went into Special Forces like me, but the mafia has a long tradition of getting Uncle Sam to pay for our soldier's weapons and hand-to-hand combat training.

And smart leaders like Severu and his father before him, add to that training. It's not called made man school, but it amounts to the same thing.

"Well, get on with it," she grouses.

"Shh. Don't rush me." Running my hand down her still denim clad leg, I say, "I'm enjoying unwrapping my gift."

"Your goons might have taped me up like a package, but I'm not your present," she huffs. "Anyway, it's almost Halloween, not Christmas."

I cock my head to one side in thought and nod in agreement. "You in our home for the first time is the best Halloween treat ever."

"Spare me the Candi for Halloween jokes. Besides, it's not Halloween yet."

Technically, she may be right. It's the early hours of the morning of the 27 th , but that doesn't make her presence any less of a treat.

"You're cute when you're grumpy." I finish cutting through her left pantleg and waistband.

"I'm not grumpy, I'm furious." Her scowl has a definite pout cast to it though. "And it's not cute."

Tapping her nose, because I can't help myself, I say what I've been thinking since she started her Grumpy Cat routine, "Adorable then."

Her body tenses and I slam my hands down onto her thighs just in time to stop her from doing me damage with a well-aimed knee. "None of that now. You want me to remove the rest of your bindings, don't you, piccola gatta? "

My spitting little cat.

She honest-to-god hisses, but subsides. "Yes."

Plans for my demise burn brightly in her eyes while she waits for me to cut her hoodie off of her.

Lightness bubbles through the dark haze of need for violence that is my constant companion, dissipating it so much I can feel an emotion I have only recently become familiar with.

Delight.

Since that first night I watched Candi dance, I have learned what it means to feel both that. And joy.

Thinking about her warms the cold places in my soul, but I only ever feel actual joy and fucking delight when we are together.

I pull the jeans away from her body, bemused by what I find underneath them. I thought the shorts were a kind of underwear. But there's no waistband I can see.

"Stop staring at my bodysuit."

"But how do you go to the bathroom?" The black Lycra that covers the tops of her thighs and goes up her torso under her t-shirt and hoodie has no access for that basic function.

"I don't need to pee on the train and I take it off when I get home."

My combat readiness trained mind puts the pieces together instantly. And the reason for her wearing the bodysuit fills me with fury.

"If someone attacked me, they couldn't just yank my jeans off and…" She pauses before finally saying. "Hurt me."

By hurt she means force penetrative sex on her. Rape.

But wearing her bodysuit means an attacker would have to completely undress her to do it. Which takes time a lot of opportunists wouldn't risk. Unless the asshole had a knife to cut access.

Just the thought of anyone pulling a knife on her in threat makes a red haze of rage cloud my vision.

Cazzo . "That never would have happened," I grit out. "My men have been watching over you when I can't since the first night I saw you."

"Well, I didn't know that, did I? And also, you do realize how creepy that sounds, don't you?"

"Being protected is not creepy." It's necessary, especially in our world.

Whether she realizes it, or not. Though the bodysuit she wears under her clothes says she's very aware of the danger she faces on the streets of New York.

Knowing why she feels a particular need to protect herself like that ratchets my fury up to homicidal levels. If her former foster father wasn't already dead, I would have killed him the minute I found out what happened.

"Uh, you look angry." For the first time tonight, I hear fear in Candi's voice.

That snaps my focus back into place faster than anything else could. "My wrath is for anyone who would try to harm you, Candi. I never will."

"Me being here against my will says otherwise." One perfectly sculpted brow lifts in challenge.

I shrug. "Circumstances did not allow me to woo you as I planned."

"Woo? What am I, a Victorian maiden?"

"If you were, I'd be in trouble. I'm no one's idea of a gentleman." Not even by modern standards.

"Yeah, well, guys who consider themselves gentlemen sat by and did nothing when Ronnie tried to use my body to get off."