35. Stephano

35

STEPHANO

I sit at my desk and send Dominic a message from my phone.

You've been monitoring Carla's laptop?

Dominic

Yes. Gigi's too. Why? So far, no red flags.

I huff out a breath.

Best keep an eye on what's going on there. Something's up with Carla and she won't talk to Gigi. Matty's picked up on it too.

Dominic

Will do. As for Gigi's business, Franco's given us the perfect starting point for our cat and mouse game.

I know. Want to comment and get this party started?

Dominic

I'll check with Benny and make it happen. Will keep you posted.

I got the women company-issued laptops and phones for this reason. We have simple spyware installed in what seemed like brand-new products. We can see everything they do, from the last email they sent, to the porn they watch, if any.

I groan. To think I demanded to know from Gigi whether she trusts me. Looking at everything we've put in place to keep tabs on them, she shouldn't trust any Scalera at all. It's not like their story of fleeing for their lives didn't ring true when they arrived, but we're Il Consiglio, and Trojan horses come in many shapes and sizes.

So far, nothing has indicated we're being set up for revenge for Randazzo's death or by anybody else. Gigi and Carla's story holds true. It seems nobody has linked Matteo and Tasha's presence to what happened in Sicily almost two months ago, but in our line of work, you can never be too careful.

I log in on my laptop to do some other work I've been neglecting, but my head isn't in it. It's because my heart is walking around the apartment behind my closed office door. Gigi is moving her art supplies or something, and I burn to tell her to leave it as it is. Make my apartment's first floor her studio.

Invade and conquer, angel, as you seem to be so good at it.

Fuck.

After we unpacked all the art supplies, she set up the easel and played for hours. I gave her the space she needed, came to hide in my office and tried to work. By late afternoon, she knocked on my open door and peeked in, a smaller canvas in her hand.

I stood as she walked in, torn between wanting to push her to my desk and fuck her senseless, and giving her the space she needs.

"It's in oil so still wet." She came around the desk and propped the canvas up against my monitor. She'd painted Palermo's Porta Felice, a small copy of Mom's painting, but in her own style. "I made this for you…uhm… You keep on calling me your angel, but today, I've realized you're the angel here, Steph. I don't know how you do it, but you always know exactly what I need." She looked up at me, cheeks flushed and shy. "Thank you."

She went on her toes and wrapped me in a hug, and as I pulled her close, all resistance in her body seemed to deflate out of her.

That's what she'd needed in that moment: a long, warm hug.

Angel . She called me her angel . The last thing I needed was for her to break the final barrier standing between my heart and her. She has it now. Carries it around in the palm of her hand.

I'm so screwed. I stare at the small painting where it's propped up against a stack of books. It's fantastic, and to think Gigi thinks she doesn't have what it takes. The memory of this afternoon does things to me. My heart rate speeds up, my cock pushes against my fly, and deep inside me, I die a little. This wasn't the plan. Scalera boys don't get to love.

Falling in love with the woman who used to hate me, who told me I'm an angel, not knowing I'm the devil who's about to use her as a deathtrap for one of the biggest rising Mafia overlords in Europe. I know it's to keep her safe forever, but she'll think I've done it for her money when reality sinks in and never forgive me if things go wrong. If things go wrong, she'll be dead, and I won't be able to live with myself.

This afternoon, I had to get away from her body, from her sweet soul that always puts everybody else first. I stepped away from her, and I told her she needed to go see her sister.

I was grabbing at straws, but I had to see my brothers. They were all at Matteo's house already, waiting for us. While she was with Carla, Benedict led the meeting. We're all systems go. Everything's in place. We only have to drop the first breadcrumb, and the crows will come.

I've loved before, and I've lost. Mom. Tatiana. Now Gigi. I can't lose her too. In a weak-ass attempt to protect myself from getting shredded again, I told her I'll sleep on the fucking sofa. As if that would help. I want her. And fuck knows, I need her. You're more your mother than your father. Her words have been eating at me, and now that she's seen me in that light, I want to prove it again and again to myself.

It's in your blood.

No, it isn't. You're the angel here, Steph.

I drop my face to my hands and breathe slowly, trying to calm the rising panic of being with her, before I flip into the violence always simmering in my core.

I sit for a long time, becoming calm enough to go through every single step of our plan, looking for holes and mistakes people can make. We've closed all our gaps, and Franco Fiore remains our only variable. Until he reacts to what we do, we won't know how to adjust our plans to plug the holes we don't know about yet.

By the time I've broken down every emotion, feeling numb, it's almost midnight. It's been quiet in the apartment for a long while. Gigi should be asleep, alone in the loft. I switch off all the lights and pad out of my office. I glance over the kitchen and out to the lit-up Boston skyline as I make my way to the sofa. I didn't think far enough to grab pillows and a blanket from the bedroom, but when I reach the sectional, I freeze.

Gigi is lying under our bed's duvet, which she must have dragged down the stairs. Our pillows are there, and the sofa's been stripped of its own, making it much wider, comfortable for two skinny teens, which we are not.

Baby. Angel. My love….

"Steph?" She leans up on her elbow and blinks into the dark, sounding half-asleep.

"What are you doing down here, Gigi?" I murmur, really wanting to growl at how she's played this.

"I don't want to sleep alone, and since you said you'd take the sofa, I came here." She sits up and opens the duvet for me to crawl in.

"What are you wearing?" The big windows bring in enough light so I can see it isn't one of the pieces I bought her.

She shrugs. "I dug… I'm sorry. I dug in your cupboard and borrowed a T-shirt."

She's going to kill me. So fucking slowly. Death by blue balls.

"All I want, Steph, is to hold you, and be held in return when I need it." She sucks her bottom lip. "Nothing else. Please. Just that."

She needs to be held. I knew this.

Control freak. I smirk. She called me that on our wedding night, and now, she's testing me. "Nothing else?"

"Nothing else."

"Fine." I unbutton my shirt, trying my hardest to ignore my fucking cock that's begging for everything we've agreed is off the cards.

"What happened to you?" she asks as I toss the shirt to the side, her eyes wide as they travel the expanse of my chest and sides. "You're hurt! You're?—"

"Just bruised. I sparred in the gym this morning."

" Sparred ? Steph?—"

"It's fine. I'm used to it."

"Is this what you do to?—"

"Yes, angel," I say as I slip under the duvet and into her arms. "This is what I do. This is me."

Raw and undiluted. Who needs tattoos if your skin is an ever-changing landscape created by battles you fight with the monsters within? I slip my hand under the T-shirt and over her butt, and sigh in frustrated relief to find she's wearing panties.

"You need to stop, Steph! It's cruel?—"

"No, it isn't. I need it like Franco Fiore needs to cut into people."

She shudders in my arms. "God. Please don't compare yourself to him."

I have more in common with Franco than I'd ever admit. "Shh. Go to sleep."

She burrows her head under my chin, her hand on my chest wandering, feeling for where I'm swollen and bruised. I sigh into her hair, sinking into the feel of her gentle touch and soft curves against my harder, tougher frame.

"Whatever you do, angel, don't kiss it better."