Chapter 11

11

"Okay," Wren murmurs, body visibly relaxing as she presses her lips against mine.

I lick at their seam, tasting the faintest bit of vodka and citrus as my tongue darts inside her mouth and my hands coast up her body, cupping her breasts.

Pulling back, I gently squeeze them beneath my palms. "I swear these keep getting bigger."

She whimpers, locking her legs around my waist and pulling me closer. I can feel the warm heat of her pussy against my stomach and my cock aches to be inside her. My hands caress her thighs, sliding underneath the short material of her dress to grip her ass.

"No panties?" I growl, digging my fingers into her soft flesh and hoisting her up into my arms.

"They didn't work with the dress," she replies breathlessly, her fingers scrabbling to undo the buttons of my shirt as I carry her down the hall that leads to my bedroom.

I couldn't fight the stupid smile I got when I saw her out on the dance floor earlier- losing herself in the music, body swaying effortlessly with the beat, laughing unabashedly at herself and her friend. Then I saw the way a few guys were eyeing her, stepping closer to what was mine, and the thought of another man sliding up behind her, hands roaming over her flushed skin sent me over the edge.

Knowing I had to get down there, I threw back the rest of my whiskey and sent Rocco off with a few soldiers to check in on the tip we'd received earlier. Business should have come first, but the guilt I felt from lashing out on her last week and the territorial need to claim her as my own overruled my senses.

The confirmation that Allen's weasley hands had been stealing from me made me black out with rage. If I wasn't dick deep in her pussy, I'd have been destroying my office, but instead, I took that anger and fucked her like a savage prick. When I finished and came back to my senses, my heart cracked at the sight. There were tears in her eyes, blood and cum running down her thighs, and I just… shut down.

Blood doesn't scare me. It actually fascinates me; the way the crimson liquid will bead out over the tip of blade, rivulets staining a trail as it finds its escape. Or the way it surges up from a gunshot wound and spills across the skin. But seeing Wren's blood, knowing I caused it… knowing the closer I got to her, the closer she'd be to living in my world, turned my own blood to ice in my veins.

How could I do that; bring her into my world and expose her to dangers she never asked to be a part of? That is what being with me costs. And I'm actually considering it. She'd be at risk though; a liability. A weakness that my enemies would be eager to expose. I know the closer we get, the more willing I'll be to trade my life for hers, but is she willing to trade her life of normalcy for one cast with shadows of violence?

Hindsight's an eager bitch, ready to magnify your shortcomings and force you to see how wrong you were. I could've asked her, could've had that conversation, and I should have. But it seemed easier in that moment to put distance between us; to force her away instead of giving her the chance to leave me first.

The business trip was a perfect distraction, until it wasn't. The outfit in Vegas is legitimizing some facets of business and wanted some guidance on the flip, but the entire time I was in meetings, my mind kept wandering back to Wren. I hoped she'd use the VIP passes this weekend, and I had the guys at the door under strict instruction to let me know the moment she flashed her ID. And it worked.

Bending at the waist and releasing my hold, I drop her on top of the black duvet. Her long lashes frame her lust-filled eyes as she licks her lips and props herself up on her elbows. I straighten, undoing my belt and stepping out of my shoes and slacks, shucking off my unbuttoned shirt as I stare down at the little bird perched in my bed.

My cock slaps against my stomach as I shove my boxer briefs down my hips and kick them aside. The urge to rut into her and have her screaming my name hangs heavy between my thighs. I clench my teeth around the knuckles of my left hand at the sight of Wren spreading her legs to reveal her bare, glistening cunt.

"Cazzo, Passerotta," I groan, fisting my length as I kneel at her feet. "Is that for me?"

She bites her lip and nods. Her fiery personality always goes a little tepid when it comes to sex, and I'd be a fucking liar if I said I didn't like it. The way she takes my cock so well, no matter how hard I hammer inside her. So eager to please, but tonight, this is an apology, and I want her to feel that she isn't just a place to release my anger. She's more, and if she wants it; if she wants me, I'll take care of her.

Grabbing her ankle, I place kisses on her calf, working up to the soft flesh at the apex of her inner thighs. She mewls out in pleasure, goosebumps prickling her skin from my gentle touch as she threads her fingers in my hair, directing my mouth to where she wants it most.

I flatten my tongue, licking up the juices already weeping from her folds and my name falls so lightly from her lips, I have to strain to hear it. Bunching the metallic fabric of her dress- if you can even call it that- I push it up her hips and she shifts her body, letting me tug it off over her head.

Her dusky pink nipples pebble up at the exposure, her full breasts bouncing as she falls back on the bed. I hold the wad of skimpy material in one fist, pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger of the other hand and forcing her to look me in the eyes. "You never wear something like this again, unless I'm around. Understand?"

The ghost of a smile dances across her plump lips. "Yessir."

"Good." I toss it to the side. "Now, where was I?"

I lower my head down, suctioning my mouth to her clit and rolling her sensitive bud between my teeth. She tugs on my hair as her back arches off the bed. Hooking her legs over my shoulders, I hold them tightly in place, wearing her thighs like earmuffs as I devour her pussy like a starved animal.

Once I've wrung an orgasm from her, I hover over her small frame, guiding my throbbing cock to her soaked center. I nudge inside slowly, watching myself disappear into her tight heat. When I'm fully seated inside her, she reaches up to stroke the stubble on my chin. "You don't have to be gentle with me."

I laugh. "I know, Bella. You're so good at taking my worst. But I want to give you more, show you the best of me for a change."

Her eyes flutter closed as I draw back, the barbells creating resistance as they reappear and send a shiver of pleasure up my spine. Her mouth forms a gentle 'o' shape when I thrust inside and start pumping in and out at a languid pace. Slow, sensual strokes paint my apology, my promise to be a person she can trust at her most vulnerable points. My lips find hers, moving in perfect unison as our bodies connect and my soul becomes hers.

After we both find release, I roll us to my back, spent dick still buried deep inside, letting her blissed out body rest on my chest as I tug the duvet over us and we both drift off to sleep.

You ever have sex so good that you dream you're still having it? That's exactly what I think is happening until I crack my eyes open.

Wren's sitting upright, gyrating her hips across my lap. Her fingernails dig into the ink-stained skin of my pecs and she tucks her chin, peering down at me with a hooded gaze.

"Good morning," she whispers huskily, voice still deep with sleep.

"Cazzo," I groan out, gripping her hips and rolling my own, causing her to throw her head back on a moan of pleasure.

She slaps my hands away. "I'm driving now."

I stretch my arms out, folding them behind my head as the heat of her palms splaying across my bare chest radiates through my body, and I watch with rapt intent as she takes control.

She bounces and grinds on my lap, using my dick the way she wants it; needs it. Seeing her touch herself as she reaches the crest of her rapture has me careening over the edge, spilling my seed inside her as she collapses on top of me.

Our chests rise and fall in unison, and once her breathing evens out, she tilts her face up and presses a chaste kiss to my chin. "Can I shower?"

I roll us over, easing out of her, my elbows indenting the bed around her head. "After last night, you're never leaving my bed." I nip playfully at her erect nipples.

"Ah," she whimpers. "They're really sore."

"Are you sore anywhere else, Bella?" I ask, rolling to my side and propping my head on my hand.

"A little, but it's okay," she says with a yawn, extending her arms above her head.

My phone dings from my discarded slacks on the floor, and as I push myself up to sit, Wren jolts upright.

"Oh my god!" The color drains from her face and panic laces her tone as she rushes from the bed, frantically searching for her dress. "My phone! Drea!"

I get up, gripping her by the shoulders. "Easy, Passerotta, it's okay. I handled it."

Her button nose scrunches up in confusion. "What? How?"

"Your friend was with one of my men on the dance floor, he relayed the message and gathered your things for me."

"Ohh..." she sighs, shoulders relaxing. "Uhm, thanks for that, then."

"Now, how about that shower?" I tip my chin towards the ensuite bathroom.

"Yeah, that sounds-" Her eyes widen, a hand slapping across her mouth as she rushes to the bathroom. Dropping to her knees in front of the toilet, she starts puking, groaning out as her naked body slumps.

"Wren? Are you okay?"

She hums in response. "I don't get it. I only had, like, one drink." She runs a hand through her hair as she cringes. "Ugh, how embarrassing. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Passerotta." I sink down beside her, stroking her cheek with my knuckles. I take her hands in mine, pulling her up to stand with me. "You take a shower, I'll leave you some things on the counter and get us some breakfast, okay?"

She nods, stepping into the glass shower, and as much as I'd love to join her, I need to check my phone and make sure there weren't any issues with last night's scouting. I pull on a pair of gray sweats and grab Wren a t-shirt, new toothbrush, and towel, leaving them on the countertop.

I fish my phone out my slacks pocket before tossing them into the hamper. Unlocking my phone, I find a text from Rocco asking me to call him. I click his contact, pressing the phone to my ear as I set off for the kitchen.

He answers on the second ring. "Cousin."

"Cousin," I parrot, filling the small pot from the stove with water and turning on the burner.

"We picked up a couple of stray dogs last night. Was going to drop them off at the pound, but thought you might want to see them first." He keeps things vague. With the technical advances since Fracassi's betrayal to la famiglia, my father taught us that most things are better said offline.

"Hmm," I muse. "I wouldn't mind playing with them before you took them away."

"I can take you to them now?"

I pause, drawing in a breath. Rocco is pretty well apprised of my habits, and bringing women home, let alone cooking for them, is not in my normal realm. I don't know what this is- sure, Wren was receptive to the sex last night and this morning- but there's no telling where the two of us will go from here. There's still more she needs to know about what I'm involved with before we can move forward.

"I'm tending to something this morning. I'll come by when I'm ready."

"Uh, yeah, okay," Rocco replies hesitantly. "That works. Take care, cousin."

Ending the call, I set my phone on the counter and add the oats to the water, turning down the heat. While the oatmeal cooks, I grab Wren's clutch from the hall, setting it down on the bar.

I'm pretty sure I hear the water in the shower cut off while I'm slicing a banana, and sure enough, as I set the bowls down, Wren timidly steps around the corner.

Cazzo.

She's fresh faced, damp tendrils swept over one shoulder, nipples pressing against the thin fabric of my white t-shirt. Watching the way the hem brushes mid-thigh as she walks into the kitchen makes me raise a fist to my mouth, biting down on it to stifle a groan.

"Feeling better?" I ask, nodding to the barstool as I adjust the growing bulge in my pants.

"Yeah, thanks," she replies, sliding onto the vinyl seat. "Day old chicken fried rice probably wasn't the best pre-club meal."

"Here," I say, holding out a spoon for her. "Eat, Passerotta."

She digs into her oatmeal as I round the counter and pull out a stool and join her. It's nearly impossible to keep the smile from pulling at my lips as she hums in satisfaction every few bites.

"So," she starts, but my phone rings, interrupting her.

"Excuse me," I mumble, reaching across the counter to see my father's name lighting up the screen.

"Ciao," I answer, only to be met with his clipped tone. Keeping the conversation in Italian, he insists on meeting with me at the 708 club this afternoon. I mutter my agreement, instantly annoyed at having to send Wren home and get back to business.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have some family matters I need to tend to," I say with a sigh.

"Oh, okay," she replies, her chipper tone deflated. Reaching for her clutch, she adds, "I'll call a rideshare and be out of your hair."

"No," I say definitively, sending off a text to Dallas. "One of my men will take you home."

"Your men? Like a driver?" she questions, and I realize that we've quickly arrived at the point in our relationship where I typically bail. The crossroads where I'm going to have to find out what direction she wants to take this and risk her walking away when she learns who I really am.

"Something like that," I answer, exchanging a few more texts with Dallas before pushing to my feet. "But I'd really like for us to talk more. Can I take you to dinner later?"

Her face lights up, a faint blush staining her cheeks as she nods her agreement. I start to clear the counter while she pads off to the bedroom to get dressed. She reappears shortly after, the glittery fabric of last night's dress clinging to her body like a second skin as the heels dangle from her fingertips. I prowl toward her, fingering the delicate strap that lays over her shoulder and slamming my lips down on hers.

Before I even get a chance to enjoy her mouth, knuckles rap against my door. Reluctantly, I break the kiss and pull it open, finding Dallas and Wren's friend standing in my hall. I cock an eyebrow at him as Wren ducks below my extended arm and rushes out.

"Drea?! What are you doing here?" The girls titter, huddling together in the hall.

I grip Dallas' shoulder, pulling him close and murmuring in his ear. "Take them home and stay nearby. I have business, but I want her back here tonight."

He nods, turning on his heel and directing the girls to the elevator. Wren's face splits in a smile, fingers flexing in a small wave as the doors close between us.

Rocco and I slide into the blacked-out Escalade and take off toward the south side. Along the way, he fills me in on what the men found last night: remnants of our drugs, morons didn't even bother to get rid of our packaging, in the warehouse along with two slouches inside.

The warehouse off Aberdeen is in foreclosure, but it's a well-known fact that Belluci runs the area- and I'd bet anything he'd use the empty building as a stash house for drugs or women.

Pulling off into an adjacent lot, Rocco and I check our pieces before heading inside. Dominic and Cade are here, working hard to prove they don't share Adam's work ethic. Dominic leads us to where two men are tied to chairs, their mouths duct taped shut.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I whistle as I stop in front of them, ripping the tape from their faces and enjoying the screams that follow. "Boys, I've got more business to attend to. So let's cut to the chase." I pull the cigar cutter from my pocket, twirling it on my finger. "Tell me where you got the drugs and you might walk out of here with all your digits."

Dread floods their features, but no one talks. Needing to get through this quickly to meet my father, I crouch between them, grabbing the kid on the left's hand from where it's tethered to the chair. I slide the cigar cutter over his forefinger and apply enough pressure to break the skin. His body goes rigid and he stammers out, "I don't know! He's new, I think. We were just supposed to repackage it."

Easing back the blades of the cutter, I ask, "Who do you give it to when you're done?"

The other one shoots him a look. "Shut the fuck up, narc," he hisses, shifting his gaze to mine. He lobs a wad of spit in my face.

I swipe a hand down my face, clucking my tongue as I pocket the cigar cutter, and straighten my back. Turning to the mouthy one, I produce my gun from my waistband, palming it before cracking it hard against his temple. Blood trickles down the split in his eyebrow as I stand back, relishing in his cries. Not so tough now, are we?

"Is that how you feel?" I shift my gaze to the first guy, his face pale as he pants, darting his eyes between me and his friend. Then he does the last thing I expect. He cries. The guy goes hysterical, practically hyperventilating in front of me.

"Christ," I mutter, turning and pacing to my men. "You've been here longer, what's your read on them?"

Cade and Dominic share a look before Cade answers. "I think they're just some lowly associates. They don't hold anything valuable."

I tuck away my gun, instructing the duo to handle this appropriately while Rocco and I head outside, loading up to meet my father.

The SUV maneuvers to the curb in Cicero and I unbuckle my seatbelt, stepping out into the mid-afternoon sun. I'm just lowering my Raybans down my nose as Rocco joins me on the sidewalk, fidgeting with his chain and shooting me another one of the curious looks he's been giving me all day.

"It's better to ask than assume," I admonish him, folding the sunglasses and tucking them in the top button of my black Brioni dress shirt.

"Okay, why were you busy this morning, and whose purse was in the hall?" he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Straight to it, no?" I chuckle. "I brought a girl home from the club. She left her things. Dallas brought them up." I shrug nonchalantly, pulling open the front door.

"Huh," he says, seemingly surprised. "Will it be a thing now?"

"Depends on how dinner goes tonight," I answer, striding down the hall, and trying not to let my excitement get the better of me.

"La Madonna, Bowie Sorrentino's wining and dining?" he whistles. "Well, take my nine and blow my mind."

"Stronzo," I mutter, shoving him through the open door of my office where my father is leaning back on the sofa, one ankle resting on his knee. Aldo Ricci sits beside him.

Rocco locks his hands in front of him, standing by the door as I steel my gaze and clear my throat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

My father, ever the mediator between the elder men who served him and myself, rubs his chin as he gathers his words. "One of Ricci's men, a foot soldier, washed up in the morgue last month."

I raise an eyebrow, reaching for a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar and pouring a serving of the amber colored liquor into a lowball glass. "And?"

"And-" my father starts, but Ricci interrupts.

"And I should have been advised!"

"Consider this your advisement," I reply boredly. "Your man was a lazy bastard that failed in his position. I did you a favor by removing him from your ranks." I take a drink, the smooth burn doing well to cauterize my anger.

Setting my glass on the bar top, I turn to Rocco. "Show your father-in-law out. And remind him that he won't garner anything by disrespecting my position."

He nods, motioning for Aldo to follow him. As the two men leave, my father tips his head, inviting me to sit.

"Bowie, between the overdoses and your handling of Adam, the families are nervous."

"I know," I sigh. "Rocco and I are on it."

"Good." He squeezes my shoulder. "It's not easy leading, especially by yourself."

"Cazzo," I mutter, pushing to my feet. "Not this shit again."

"Fine," he says, raising his hands in surrender as he stands beside me, buttoning his suit jacket. "Come by and see your mother sometime. She misses you."

"I will," I answer, clasping my arms around him in a brief hug before he disappears into the hall. I'm just finishing off my glass of whiskey when my phone starts ringing in my pocket. Dallas' name flashes across the screen as I slide to answer. "Yes?"

"Wren was attacked, I'm taking her to Northwestern Memorial right now," Dallas rushes out.

My stomach plummets at his words."I'll meet you there," I manage, before ending the call and sprinting outside.

Rocco's leaning against the SUV, cigarette hanging from his lips as he scrolls on his phone. I demand the keys, flinging open the driver's side door and sliding inside. He hops in the passenger seat, door barely closing before I peel away from the curb.

Weaving frantically through traffic, my mind goes off the rails imagining what state I'm going to find Wren in. My pulse ratchets, blood boiling, and I make a silent promise to torture the soul out of whoever touched my girl.