Chapter 32

32

The leather of the sofa creaks beneath me as I shift, pulling my phone from my pocket and kicking an ankle up to rest on my knee.

Rocco

Everything's all set. See you at Ma's?

I go to respond to Rocco's text when a familiar face flashes on the TV, catching my attention.

"Can you turn that up? " I ask the receptionist.

She nods, grabbing the remote and increasing the volume.

"...Gabriel Belluci, CEO of Archangel Enterprises, was believed to have been distributing the tainted cocaine that was responsible for more than three dozen fentanyl overdoses. Last month, Belluci was found deceased behind the wheel in what police are labeling a suicide. Chicago Native, Trey Davis was found in the trunk of Belluci's sedan with a fatal gunshot wound. According to the coroner's report, Belluci shot and killed Davis and then crashed his 2023 Lexus LS into the abandoned Angler's Ale warehouse in Canaryville. While the motives behind Davis' murder are unclear, police are continuing their investigations into Archangel Enterprises and its associates. Police Superintendent Gary Douglas commends the men and women of the CPD for their efforts in the-"

"It's a shame the police didn't get to punish that man for what he did," the receptionist says, shaking her head as she lowers the volume.

"Yeah," I scoff. "A real shame."

I shoot off a response to Rocco, thanking him for helping with the last bit of Wren's surprise. It's been six weeks since Belluci made his final grab for power, and even though I smashed his skull in, some days I'd like to bring him back from the dead just to give him a more painful end. I used his death, among others, to set an example in the outfit. Those that had their doubts fell on their swords at my feet. And those that followed Belluci, well… they met a similar end as their pathetic leader. That, along with the news of Wren's pregnancy, quickly silenced all chatter about my capabilities to lead. Even my old man backed off, taking a step back from the outfit and taking Ma away on the cruise she's always wanted to go on. I never thought I'd see the day Sal Sorrentino traded his tailored suits for chino's and a polo, but I guess a brush with death will do that for you.

When O'Ryan's name lit up my phone that night and I heard my dads voice telling me that he and Ma were okay, I felt like I could finally draw my first deep breath since I stepped on the plane from New York. Then again, I suppose I should've known it'd take more than a poorly constructed bomb to take my old man out. The lucky bastard should really go to Vegas rather than on a Mediterranean cruise.

"Thanks, Doctor Parsons. Have a good Thanksgiving!" Wren's voice calls out over her shoulder as she steps into the hall, her maroon cardigan slouching off one shoulder. The slope of her stomach is visible where the white crop top ends and her high-waisted leggings begin.

She turns, full lips curling up into a smile as she spots me on the couch and crosses the room. "Ready?" she asks, running a hand through her blonde waves.

With a nod, I push to my feet and swallow down the guilt that creeps its way up my throat as my eyes zero in on the pale pink scar on her cheek.

I'll never forget the way time seemed to slow down as I carried her limp body into the emergency room that night. Watching helplessly from the hall as the doctors and nurses rushed around, hooking her up to machines and assessing her. She had a fracture running through her cheek and jawbone all the way to her eye socket- no doubt from being pistol-whipped- and had to have surgery to correct it. My chest practically cracked open when the doctor told me that putting Wren under anesthesia posed a risk to the baby and the chances of her miscarrying were high. I've never known a more difficult decision to make than in that moment.

The procedure went quicker than they expected. There wasn't any muscle or nerve damage, which was good in itself, but it also meant she wasn't under anesthesia as long. The weight of everything that happened set heavy on my chest, and when the obstetrician gave us the all-clear, the last brick was lifted away.

I'm painfully aware that I could've lost them both that night. My lifestyle isn't one that's earned me a bank of good karma or cosmic favors. I didn't make an empty promise in a desperate prayer to change my ways, but still, somehow the universe gave me mercy I didn't deserve.

"How was your first session?" I ask, lacing my fingers with hers as we step onto the elevator.

"Good," she breathes. "Way different than the online chats. Saying it out loud was a lot harder than I thought, but I feel this weird sense of relief just putting it all out there."

Giving her hand a squeeze, I tilt my head towards her. "I'm proud of you, and you know I'm here for you. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about something."

"I know," her voice wobbles with her response. "Doctor Parsons said that at some point it'll be good to include you in the session too. We both got hurt that night. Trauma isn't just superficial, just because your pain isn't visible doesn't make it less real."

"Very true," I manage, my heart constricting at her words as I drop a kiss to the top of her head.

Wren's been so strong since Belluci kidnapped and tried to rape her. She didn't want to talk about it at first, and I respected her, never pushing her, just laying there beside her in the hospital and silently supporting her. The first night we came home, she initiated sex immediately, and when I hesitated, she broke down in tears. She honestly thought that I didn't want her anymore because some piece of trash forced himself on her.

That was the farthest thing from the truth. There isn't a thing in the world that could change how much I love her. We stayed up that night. She told me what she could, but mostly I just held her while she cried. When the tears finally stopped and she asked me again, I didn't hesitate. Even though I know Wren loves the rough and wild sex we have, that night, I made love to her. I took out my piercings, moving with languid, sensual strokes as I held her in my arms, telling her everything I love about her as I begged her soul to let me bear her pain.

She seemed better after that, her feisty personality that never fails to put me in my place rearing its head the next day. Things seemed fine for a while, but then a couple of weeks ago, the nightmares started. She'd wake up in the middle of the night crying, camisole soaked in sweat. I'd like to take credit for being the one who got her to go to therapy, but that was all Drea. Dallas didn't take kindly to me beating down his door at two a.m., but Drea was upstairs in ten seconds flat. Wren wasn't sure at first, but after a few online sessions, she was ready for the next step.

The elevator dings, pulling me back from my thoughts as we reach the parking garage. The doors slide open and my hand moves to the small of her back as we make our way to the car. The BMW chirps as I unlock it, stepping around to open the passenger door for her. My hand trails across the swell of her stomach, lingering on her bump before clicking her seatbelt into place.

Cazzo. I adjust my thickening dick as I slide into the driver seat and put the car in drive. The thought of her carrying my kid still elicits something primal in me. And even though my pride and happiness grow each day along with her belly, I can't fucking wait for her to have this kid so I can knock her up again.

"Where are we going?" Wren asks as I turn in the opposite direction of the Monarch building.

"It's a surprise," I say with a chuckle.

"Surprise for what?"

"Your birthday."

Her brows furrow together. "But that's not til Saturday?"

"So?" I shrug a shoulder.

"Bow-ie," she chides. "We're already going to the Bahamas, the trip is more than enough. I don't need anything else."

I plant my palm on her thigh, giving it a squeeze. "Just let me spoil my girl, okay?"

She twists in her seat, wrapping her hands around my arm and resting her head on my bicep. "How about you just tell me and I'll act surprised when we get there?"

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love me," she muses.

"I sure fucking do."

"Please," she lifts her head and juts out her bottom lip.

"Mhmm, you know I love it when you beg... but no."

"Fine," she sighs in defeat, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms across her chest.

We shift into an easy conversation, talking about what all we need to do before we leave for the Bahamas on Friday after Thanksgiving. Getting away from the city and who we are here will do us both some good.

Punching in a code at the new gate, I drive up the paved road to the hangar and continue past the building to a newly constructed area in the back corner. Wren's nose scrunches up as she looks at me in question, but I don't say anything as I shift the car into park.

My lips tug up in a smile as I get out of the car and go to open her door. She takes my outstretched hand, and I lead her toward the gate door. "Close your eyes," I instruct over my shoulder.

She blows out a breath and her long lashes flutter against her cheek as she obeys.

Pulling open the cedar door, I guide her onto the concrete footpath that winds toward a small structure.

"No peeking," I admonish as I see a sliver of baby blue peering around.

She lets out a giggle as she clamps her eyes closed again.

I move her in front of me, settling her hands on the metal case that's laid out on the wooden bench under the overhang. Leaning forward, I whisper into her ear that she can look now.

"What's this?" she mutters as she undoes the latches and flips open the lid. Then she gasps, spinning around and throwing her arms around my neck, crashing her lips onto mine.

"Thank you!" she squeals, turning back to trace her fingers over the custom rose gold Sig P365.

"A promise is a promise, Passerotta."

The Sig is damn near tiny in my hands as I pull it from the case. I wanted Wren to have something small that fit her hands well and she could carry with ease. Starting with safety, I go over the gun and how to properly hold and fire it. I place it in her right hand, adjusting her fingers before having her interlock her left hand for support.

"Keep your wrists and arms straight, but don't lock out your elbows… good. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire."

I kick my foot between hers, widening her stance and settling my hands on her hips. "Don't let the shot surprise you. Pull the trigger smoothly when you're ready."

Wren tilts her head, aiming the gun down the range at the paper targets Rocco set up, and fires. She wince's slightly at the crackle of the gunshot echoing around us.

Her shot goes high, clipping the edge of the paper nowhere near the bullseye, but hey, at least she hit the paper. I slip my hands over hers, adjusting her grip and steadying her hands so they're pointing the gun at the center of the target.

"Try again," I encourage.

She fires again, this time hitting the thick outline of the first circle. "That's it, Passerotta," I praise. "Keep going."

With each shot, Wren's aim improves, even hitting the bullseye once. Fuck, if the sight of her emptying the clip isn't a goddamn turn on. After the final shot, she clicks the safety into place, lowering the gun into its case and leaning back against me.

"Holy shit," she exclaims. "What an adrenaline rush!"

"You did so good," I rasp, snaking my arms around her form.

"Oh yeah?" She wiggles her hips not so subtly against my growing bulge. "Is there a reward?"

Dragging my tongue along her collarbone, I nip at her earlobe and glide my hands under her crop top to undo the front clasp of her bra. Her tits spill into my palms, heavy and warm, nipples pebbling up at my touch. She starts to pant as I roll and tug on the hard buds, moving one hand behind her to dip in the front of my jeans.

The pregnancy has made Wren's breasts overly sensitive and lately, nipple play alone can have her soaking through her panties.

I shudder a breath as her lithe fingers curl around my shaft, stroking it within the confines of my boxer-briefs.

"You like this Passerotta?"

"Mhmm," she hums in response, arching her back and kissing my jaw.

My lips find hers and she moans against my mouth as I pinch her nipples harder.

"Fuck, Bowie… fuck me already!"

"Not before I taste you," I say huskily, hooking my thumbs in her waistband and yanking her leggings and panties down her thighs.

"Bowie! Someone could see!" she gasps.

"Everyone knows better than to look at what's mine," I growl.

A flush creeps across her skin as I spin her around, lifting her to sit on the edge of the bench with her glistening cunt on full display. I knew she'd be drenched. I sink between her legs, hooking her thighs over my shoulders and licking a path from ass to clit.

Wren is the only woman on the planet that has ever brought me to my knees, and I will damn well stay on them if it brings her pleasure.

"Yes!" she shouts, threading a hand into my hair.

Sucking her swollen clit into my mouth, I gently rake my teeth across it before I plunge my tongue into her slick center. Banding an arm around her, I pull her closer, going deeper with my tongue and earning another moan as her thighs clamp shut on my ears. Her hips start to buck as she rides my face, digging her nails into my scalp, smothering me against her slit.

There's worse ways to die. At least I'd go out with my favorite meal on my tongue.

Her thighs start to shake, telling me she's close. I flick my tongue faster, nipping and sucking until she cries out, collapsing back on her elbows as her sweet juices flood my mouth.

I swipe a hand down my face as I straighten and stand, looking down at my entire world laid out before me. Then I pop the button on my jeans, shoving them and my boxer-briefs down my hips to free my aching cock as I step closer. Wren gazes up at me with hooded eyes, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as I fist my length.

"You still want me to fuck you?"

A sheen of sweat coats her skin as she nods up at me demurely.

In one brutal thrust, I bury myself to the hilt and start to move between her thighs. Her pussy grips me tightly as I draw back slowly and punch inside. She raises her hips, meeting me thrust for thrust like her body's as desperate for this connection as mine is.

"Such a good girl, Passerotta," I groan as my balls draw up. "Such a good fucking girl."

"Harder!" she moans as her inner walls start to spasm.

Leaning forward, I scoop her up, holding her against me as I rut into her quivering cunt at a relentless pace. My leg shakes as I find my release and Wren convulses beneath me, falling over the edge of another orgasm.

When our frantic heartbeats start to slow, I ease out of her and tuck my softening cock away. I help her down and she wobbles on her feet as she pulls up her leggings.

Heaving a sigh, she runs her hand through her hair as she pins me with a hard look. "We're going home to shower before we go to Zia Lisa's."

"Where's the fun in that?" I chuckle, grabbing the gun case from the table and draping an arm across her shoulders.

"You sit through a family dinner with cum running down your leg, and tell me how much fun it is," she deadpans, looping her arm around my waist as we head toward the car.

As much as the thought of my cum seeping out of her has me salivating, if a shower will make her happy, I'll gladly oblige- maybe even getting in another round.

"Don't even think about it, Bowie Lorenzo," she scolds. "We're gonna be pressed to get to Riverwoods by seven as it is."

Nobody seems to care when we stroll in at 7:23, and by the sated look on Wren's face, she's perfectly happy that we're late.