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Chapter 27

27

"Do you have to go?" I ask, jutting my bottom lip out and reaching past Bowie for the shampoo.

He cants forward, my eyes slipping shut as he nips playfully at my pouted lip. His fingers brush mine as they snatch the shampoo bottle from my grip.

This morning I woke up to Bowie's dick buried inside me, and we're supposed to be cleaning up right now, but the ache between my thighs is returning with a vengeance with each tease of his touch.

I'm getting used to his wake-up fucks and honestly, I can't think of a better way to start my day. Consent is important, don't get me wrong, but there is something so exhilarating when you have your control taken away by someone you trust. And fuck, having pleasure coursing through my body long before awareness has a chance to is like finding nirvana.

Who needs an alarm clock when your boyfriend's dick does the job better?

"This meeting is a means to an end," Bowie says, squirting the shampoo into his palm. "The sooner I meet with them, the sooner the outfit's outta the drug trade."

Oddly enough, out of all I'm learning of Bowie's streams of revenue, it's the drugs that bother me the most. Maybe it's got something to do with realizing that drugs played a part in Trey's decline. Not that I miss Trey. I'm happier with Bowie than I ever was with Trey, but I can still mourn for the person he used to be when we were at our peak.

Bowie's fingers massage my scalp and I watch with hooded eyes as rivulets of water trail across the hard planes of his inked-up chest and down his washboard abs to the sharp V-cut of his Adonis belt.

Fuck, he's hot and he's mine.

The throbbing in my core only grows stronger the more I tour his body, and like the thirsty bitch I am, I give into the intrusive thoughts. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't give him a proper goodbye?

I sink to my knees, the hot water of the shower pelting against my face as I take his balls into my mouth. "Wren-" he groans, knees buckling as he slaps a hand against the black tile. My fingers curl around his thickening shaft, the barbells of his Jacobs Ladder rolling against my palm with every nimble stroke.

Looking up at him through wet lashes, I release his balls and trail my tongue from base to tip. I pause at the top, teeth tugging on the piercing right beneath his head.

"Cazzo," he murmurs, dark waves of hair plastered to his forehead as his lust filled gaze sends a ripple of excitement through me.

Keeping my eyes on his, I hollow my cheeks, sucking him into my mouth until he hits the back of my throat. I swirl my tongue as I draw back, moving my hands to grip his thighs. I alternate the pressure and flicks of my tongue as I bob up and down his length.

I know he's getting close when his muscles tighten beneath my palms and he threads a hand into my hair. Wanting to make him feel as good as he makes me feel, I quicken my motions, and right when I think he's going to come, he yanks me back.

He twists a fist in my hair, forcing me to look up at him as I pant in confusion.

"My cum belongs in that sweet pussy of mine."

Bowie pulls me up, slotting our mouths together with a hungered force making me moan against his lips. Breaking the kiss, he spins me around and growls for me to lean forward and grab my ankles. I do as he says, his fingers digging into my hips bruisingly hard as he ruts inside.

He doesn't wait or let me adjust to the way his thick cock feels twice as big from this angle. No, he holds me in place, pummeling into me at a fevered pace as the shower spray cascades over my folded body and trickles into my nose.

Blood rushes to my head and I choke on water, struggling to swallow any air between gasps of pleasure. His voice strains out broken thoughts with each drag and thrust.

"I love fucking you raw… so warm and wet… goddamn tight."

With one last brutal punch of his hips, he rasps, "So fucking mine," as his hot seed spills inside me.

My legs are trembling beneath me, heart pounding against my chest as I struggle to find my balance. Slipping out of me, Bowie bands an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his panting form. His fingers find my clit, deftly working me towards my own release.

"You're fucking perfect, Passerotta," he murmurs in my ear as his other hand caresses the soft swell of my belly.

I'm to the point now where it's hard to conceal the little bump, and at first, I was self-conscious about it. Especially when my slacks wouldn't button the other morning. But the way it seems to turn Bowie on is a serious serotonin boost.

A flurry of chills runs up my spine and I throw my head back against his shoulder with a shuddered cry as my orgasm surges through me.

We finish our shower, actually getting clean this time, and Bowie hands me a plush gray towel as I step out. I pat down my body, flip my hair upside down, and twist the towel around my wet locks.

A scream rips from my throat as his palm connects with the bare skin of my ass and I jolt upright. "BOWIE!"

"I couldn't help myself," he chuckles, rolling his lip between his teeth. "It was just begging to be branded."

Rubbing the offended flesh, I turn to look in the mirror and sure enough, a bright red handprint mars my skin. I narrow my eyes, cutting him with a glare as he has the audacity to stand there and wink at me. "I'll go make us breakfast while you get ready."

It's hard to stay mad at him when he's offering to make me food, though. I huff out in exaggerated annoyance as I pull out my blow dryer and he steps into the bedroom.

When I come into the kitchen, there's oatmeal, yogurt with fresh fruit, and bacon with steam still rising from it- but no Bowie. Grabbing my mug of tea, I follow the sounds of voices to find Bowie standing in the living room watching the morning news.

I slip under his arm not holding his coffee and see what's caught his attention.

'Arson investigators from Chicago FD have found no evidence of foul play at the warehouse fire off of South Racine from Tuesday night. Chief Darren Colson tells us that it appears an unknown gas leak was ignited by a discarded cigarette. Luckily, there was no one inside the building, but several vehicles in the area were consumed by the flames, including one from a commercial cleaning company with high-grade chemicals on board. Chief Colson believes this is what fueled the fire to consume the structure so quickly. I'm Naomi White on the scene for Chan-'

"Let's eat," Bowie says as he clicks off the television.

"Did you have something to do with that?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

He takes a sip of his coffee, hazel eyes darkening as he nods. "Necessary destruction serving as a distraction."

Letting him lead us back to the kitchen, I take a seat at the table and pepper him with questions between bites of food. Bowie has gotten better about sharing more aspects of the outfit with me, and the more he does, the more fascinating I find it all. The bad boy thing has always been hot, and having a man who will literally kill for you? That doesn't just make my panties melt, it makes them fucking disintegrate. But what I love most is knowing that the playful and sweet way he acted this morning is reserved completely for me.

"But the girls," I swallow roughly. "They're okay?"

"They're... unharmed." He puts his fork down on his empty plate. "It seems he kept them drugged awaiting whatever his next step was going to be."

Pushing to my feet, I take my bowl to the counter and open the dishwasher. "What happens to them now?"

"Well, all but two have been returned to their families," Bowie says, bringing his own plate over and loading our dishes. He leans back against the island, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "The other two left for Vegas last night. Nicky and Zia Lisa offered to help them here, but neither wanted to be in Chicago any longer. So, I made some calls and the outfit out there still owed me a favor, so I cashed in."

I don't have words as my hand comes to rest over my heart and a sense of pride swells in my chest, confirming what I've known all along- Bowie is my favorite shade of gray.

Sal is waiting beside the jet talking to Rocco when we pull up to the hangar later that morning. I'm all sorts of anxious to be spending the night at Bowie's parents' house. Sal still doesn't seem to be my greatest admirer, but Corinne on the other hand seems to think I'm single-handedly saving the Sorrentino legacy.

I'm not sure what the guy's got against me, and no matter how much Bowie assures me that's just how he is, I can't shake the feeling. Something in the way Sal looks at me, like he's studying me, keeps me on edge.

Bowie loads my suitcase into his father's Bentley, slamming the trunk shut and checking his watch. "I'd better get going."

"And you'll be back tomorrow?"

Turning on his heels, he closes the distance between us, tipping my chin up with his fingers. "'First thing, and I'll even take you and Drea out to brunch."

I circle my arms around his waist. "That's a good start to make up for jetting off to New York without me."

His brows furrow. "You want to go to New York?"

"I've never left Chicago," I reply honestly as I shrug in his embrace.

"No?" he questions, his large hand stroking my hair before he places a kiss to the top of my head. "Pick any place in the world you want to go, and we'll go."

His words bring a smile to my face and floods my chest with warmth. I don't know if I'll ever get used to the fact Bowie can make promises like this and actually keep them, but the prospect of seeing the world with him by my side has me so excited, I'm biting back tears. These stupid hormones seemed to have turned me into a full time sappy bitch. I revel in his gentle touch a little longer. It's a contradiction to how he fucked me this morning, but both mirror his feelings for me.

"I love you," he says, arms tightening around me as he hugs me goodbye.

Rolling up to my toes, I murmur "I love you" against his lips and deepen the kiss.

He pulls up the handle of his suitcase as we break apart and starts toward the jet. Bowie stops in front of his father and they share words that undoubtedly have something to do with me, by the way Bowie tips his head in my direction. Sal nods, then continues in my direction to open the passenger door of his car for me.

The drive to Vento's is entirely silent aside from the faint sounds of a jazz station playing from the radio. I expect Sal to drop me off and pick me up later, but he follows me up to the offices, making himself at home on the couch across from Cami's desk.

Cami shoots me a questioning gaze as I pass by, and I mouth 'later' as I dip into my office. Unable to go on knowing there's a morsel of gossip she doesn't know, Cami busts in twenty minutes later, placing a Chai latte on my desk.

I tell her enough to satisfy her curiosity before we go back to our work. Friday afternoons are always on the slow side, and by two o'clock I'm caught up and venturing down a Pinterest rabbit hole of places to travel to. New Zealand looks breathtaking, but with fall weather in full force, somewhere tropical like Hawaii or the Bahamas is super tempting.

The thought of laying on a picturesque beach with Bowie beside me in short little swim trunks and his tanned muscles covered in oil, makes my pussy clench. Fuck, that image will live rent free in my head all night.

"Are you ready, Wren?" Sal's gravelly tone calls out as he leans against the door frame holding his phone. "Corinne has been texting every hour, on the hour, to see if I'm on my way with you yet."

"Yeah, let me grab my things and we can go."

His focus returns to his phone as I pack up my things and we take the elevator down to the parking garage. I check my phone, hoping Bowie is done with his meeting, but the lack of messages leaves me doom scrolling Instagram for the entire drive.

Sal clears his throat, stealing my attention abruptly. "Are you happy? With Bowie, I mean."

I swivel my head to face him, shocked at his question. Even though he wears the same stoic mask I've seen on Bowie's face a thousand times, there is a hint of nerves worrying his features.

"I am." I state with confidence. "Nothing about us is conventional or traditional, but I wouldn't trade it for a second."

"Good." His lips thin into a tight-lipped smile as he returns his focus back on the road. He doesn't say another word to me the rest of the way to the house, and as weird as the interaction was, I chalk it up to an awkward attempt at small talk.

To my surprise, Corinne is waiting on the porch when we pull into the drive. She orders Sal to take my suitcase to the guest room and practically drags me to a sunroom where tea is waiting. Handing me a gold-rimmed cup, she starts asking me all about my pregnancy.

"They say that morning sickness is more common with girls, but I couldn't keep anything down when I was pregnant with Bowie." She waves her french manicured hand in the air. "But with Nicky, I was never sick. Are you two going to find out the gender?"

Leaning forward, I place my empty cup on the tray. "We haven't talked about it yet. I'd like to, though."

"You do whatever you want, sweetheart, and if Bowie gives you any trouble, you let me know and I'll handle him."

"Okay," I laugh.

She checks her watch. "Are you hungry? Dinner should be about ready?"

As if asked directly, my stomach grumbles in response. "I'll take that as a yes," she chides, heading toward the door.

I help her bring dinner to a smaller table near a bank of windows off the kitchen as Sal saunters in. He pecks her on the cheek, telling her how good it smells, and I can't help but admire how sweet they are together. It's easy to see where Bowie gets some of his swoon-worthy habits from; I can't help but hope we fall deeper in love as the years go on.

The conversation at dinner is basically rapid fire questions from Corinne, and while it's all polite, I'm mentally exhausted by the time it's over.

Until now, I'd never understood how having a family could be so taxing.

Excusing myself, I head up to the guest room across the hall from the bathroom Bowie and I christened last time. According to Bowie's text message, his meeting morphed into dinner and drinks. He promised to call when he and Rocco got back to the hotel, but I don't know how long that will be. So, I change into my pajamas and slip between the luxurious sheets of the king-sized bed to read until I fall asleep. It's clear that Sal and Corinne spared no expense in their home, even when it came to the guest rooms.

I get lost in the pages of my book, only pausing when I can't ignore my bladder any longer. After I do my business, I pad downstairs for a glass of water since I'm already up. The house is dark save for a the light spilling out of a cracked door off the hall before the kitchen.

"But how do you know it's Wren?" I hear Corinne ask in a hushed tone.

I freeze in place. The quiet conversation I've walked into is clearly not for my ears. I feel bad for even listening in on their conversation- eavesdropping isn't normally my thing- but hearing my name has my ears perking up. Maybe this will give me some insight into what Sal's deal is with me.

"Those eyes," Sal's answers, voice missing the hard edge it normally carries. "So big and bright. Filled with innocence and wonder. I'll never forget the way she looked at me that night."

"Sal," she soothes. "No one knew Frankie had a family."

"Yeah," he scoffs. "He kept that secret better than he did those of the outfit."

"I know you feel guilty, but-"

"Damn it, Amore Mio," Sal shouts. "You didn't see the way the girl looked at me as she clung to my neck in terror. The confusion contorting her face as to why I was taking her from her home. If I'd known that piece of shit Mario had a knife to her mother's throat when I shot him, I would've handled it differently. But there's no mistaking that my orders took both her parents that night."

"Salvatore, still. You'll need more evidence before you take this to Bowie."

"I had Doctor Marino check the sample from the paternity test."

My throat constricts as I try to swallow the next words that leave Salvatore's mouth.

"Wren is Frankie Fracassi's daughter."

The glass in my hand shatters against the floor and my heart seizes in my chest.

No, it can't be...

My throat seals shut as I stand there trying to remember how to make my lungs work. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The walls feel like they're closing in around me and this once giant house feels entirely too small. I need… I don't know what I need, but I can't be in here right now.

My head swims as heat scorches through my veins. My parents never abandoned me, they were murdered. I force my feet toward the front door, and even though I hear my name being called, I don't stop. This is all too much and I can't, I just can't.

The cold bite of the October night air washes over me as I stumble down the front steps and past the front gate. A wave of nausea rolls through me, stopping me in my tracks. Sweat beads at my temples, and I can't stop myself from retching, my stomach churning as I empty its contents into the bushes. Blinking the tears from my eyes, I stay bent over, gulping in fresh air and willing my pulse to slow down. But I can't get a grip on anything; my breathing, my thoughts. It's all one mesh of shock and disbelief.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and Bowie's name lights up the screen as I pull it out. I'd forgotten I'd even brought it with me, still waiting for his call. I swipe to answer, voice cracking under the latest revelation as I say his name.

"Wren, are you okay?" Panic laces his tone.

"I-I'm… no, I'm not."

"Change of plans, take us to the airstrip," he says to someone in the background. "Wren, where are you? What happened?"

Fresh tears blur my vision, burning my eyes. "Tell me you didn't know. They said you didn't but I… I just need to hear it from you."

"Tell you what? Passerotta, I don't know what you're talking about?" "I don't know, something's wrong and I need to get home. Call my old man, see what's going on."

I wrap my other arm around my torso as if that will comfort me, and tilt my head up at the stars trying to find the words. "Frankie Fracassi is my father."

A string of Italian curses follow after a moment of silence, then Bowie's voice fills my ears with a level of conviction I really want to believe. "Frankie didn't have kids. Who told you this?"

"Your dad. He said he saved me that night. That someone killed my mother by accident… I don't know, I just overheard it and-"

"And you could have heard wrong, Passerotta."

"I know what I heard, Bowie!" My throat feels like sandpaper as I shout. "He said the DNA test proved it."

"Wren, baby. Where are my parents? Let me talk to them."

"I couldn't be there. I needed the space to breathe again and I couldn't do it in that house."

"Where are you?" he grits out sharply.

Looking around, I realize I'm only a couple houses over. The lanterns on either side of the driveway still visible. "I'm just down the block."

"Can you go back?" his voice softens, pleading. "I swear I didn't know, but I'm coming home and we'll sort this all out, together."

The voice in the back of my head tries to convince me he's lying, throwing doubts at me like a spike strip during a high speed chase. My knee-jerk reaction is to hang up and run in the opposite direction. But for once- for fucking once- even under a cloud of distress, I think before acting. Focusing on the sincerity in his words and the confusion in his tone is all it takes for me to believe him.

He's already laid his cards all out on the table, telling me anything I want to know, answering my questions without hiding his true self, promising me anything if I vowed to always stay and talk through it. Why would he go back on that now? The adrenaline starts to ebb away and I shiver, holding myself tighter as I reluctantly walk back towards his parents house.

"Wren?"

"Sorry, yeah. I'm here, I'm heading back. Who would be delivering something at this-"

I hear the sound of metal crunching a split second before the ground ripples beneath my feet. The rock wall in front of me erupts before high-pitched ringing fills my ears. Suddenly, I'm thrown backwards, my back slamming onto the concrete. Bright orange flames surging toward the sky is the last thing I see, before it all goes black.

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