Chapter 32

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

Saverio

I fuck Anya at night and in the morning. I'm inside her at every chance I get.

It's never enough.

It's a good thing she works, or she'd never leave my bed.

That's where I prefer to spend all her free time, but things changed. I need to be more careful than ever. The trust between Luigi and me is broken. He's the boss, but he went behind my back. He ordered the unthinkable, and I have to come up with a solution of keeping Anya safe.

My only option is killing Luigi, and that will cause a war. My men are loyal. They'll stand by me. However, Luigi's men will demand retribution. Giorgio won't throw me under the bus. He needs me too much. There's no love lost between him and his father. Giorgio isn't the most emotionally intelligent man who walks the earth, but he knows how much his father despises him. Luigi never made a secret of it. Giorgio will jump at the chance of taking over the reins. It won't be a smooth handover though. The men will be divided. Some may follow him. Others will split away and rebel. The war will be bloody.

I have no doubt I'll win. The determining factor that can tip the scale is Raphael. Now that he's marrying into the family, he's part of Luigi's business. If he drags his father, Michele Morelli, into the fight, it will be their men against mine and Giorgio's. We'll be vastly outnumbered, and I don't believe in fighting stupidly. I need to come up with another idea, something that'll keep Luigi at bay.

In the meantime, it doesn't hurt to teach Anya a few new survival skills. She lives in my world now, and I will protect her if it's the last thing I do, but she needs to know how to defend herself.

That's why, on Saturday, after shopping for a wedding outfit at an exclusive boutique, I take her to the shooting range.

She looks around when we enter, confusion etched on her face. "What are we doing here?"

A few men who are shooting targets give us curious glances, but one warning look from me and they avert their eyes.

I take her hand and lead her to an empty booth. A target stands against the wall. I take my piece from the back of my waistband, eject the magazine, and check that the chamber is empty.

She stares at me with big eyes when I hold out the gun.

"Come on, treasure. It's not going to bite."

Mistrust sparks in her whisky-colored eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

I shrug, trying to make light of it. "If I have guns in my house, it's best you learn to be confident in handling them."

She studies the Glock on my palm with a tilted head. "Aren't you afraid I'll shoot you?"

That makes me chuckle. "Very."

She looks at me. "Then why take the risk?"

"Because you're not going to shoot the only man who can protect you."

Something passes through her eyes, but before I can get an accurate read on her, she grabs the gun from my hand and the magazine from the counter. She clips the magazine in place with surprising speed, pulls back the slide, flicks off the safety, aims, and fires.

Bullseye.

I stare at the hole in the center of the target with an open mouth. There's little in life that dumbfounds me, but Anya just aced it.

"There," she says, handing me the gun with the barrel turned away from me. "Anything else you'd like to teach me?"

Motherfucker. "You can shoot." She didn't even fit the earmuffs.

A mischievous smile curves her lips. "My mom had a boyfriend whose sole pastime was shooting cans off the fence. He taught me."

My chest draws tight. "How old were you?"

"Ten, I think." She squints. "Maybe eleven."

"For the love of God." I grind my molars. "You were just a child. You could've gotten hurt."

"I didn't." She grins. "As it turned out, I was quite good at it."

"What happened to the boyfriend?"

"I shot him in the ass when things got violent between him and my mom. He left after that."

I need a moment to process that. "You shot him? You could've killed him." My protective instinct goes into full-on killer mode. The guy deserved to die. Who the fuck gives a little girl a gun? Who lets a ten-year-old Anya with fiery red hair and freckles shoot at cans? What if she shot herself? "Do you realize what would've happened to you? You could've ended up in some shady institution for delinquents."

"It was only a pellet gun. He wasn't going to press charges after trying to stab my mom with a steak knife."

The fuck?

Anya is so soft and gentle I sometimes forget what a traumatic childhood she had. She never talks about her past or what she suffered. The little I know, I learned from Livy.

I stare at the small woman standing so bravely in front of me, a woman who shoots better than most of my men. Let's face it, they're good, but none of them gets a bullseye on the first try after a long period of not practicing.

I admire the fuck out of her.

It hits me then.

I've never admired anyone in my life, not my mother who wouldn't stand up for herself or for her only child and not my father who valued his pride more than his wife. No teacher was ever a role model to me. I certainly had no admiration for Giorgio or the rest of his friends. If anything, I felt sorry for them. I stopped admiring Rachele a long time ago. I may have mistaken the awe in which I held Luigi's achievements for admiration, but that quickly fell by the wayside when I got to know the real man.

I put the gun aside and wrap my arms around her. In my fervor to protect her from both my enemies and my friends, I crush her against my chest. Her soft curves give way to accommodate my body as I mold myself around her. The fire that always burns under my skin in her presence leaps to flames.

I'm hard in a second, driven not only by the need coursing through my veins but also by everything that could've happened to take her away from me long before I even met her.

My mouth is on hers in an instant. I'm bending her backward, devouring her lips with an urgency unknown to me. I've always been controlled. In charge. Seduction has usually been a skill, one I concentrated on delivering well. I executed the task with precision. It took away from my own spontaneous pleasure.

Not so with Anya. With her, I still think about how to cut through her defenses so effectively that she doesn't see me coming. I still focus on pleasing her to the point that she'd always come back for more. Yet it's not a chore. It drives my own desire higher. Wrenching pleasure from her body isn't a conquest. It's not a duty. It's something I need , something I can't live without. Her pleasure is mine. Nothing makes me come harder than when she throws back her head and moans my name.

My hands are on her ass, kneading the firm globes as I yank her against me. I'm about to dip my knees and grind my cock on her pussy when she presses her palms on my chest and pushes me away.

"Anya," I say with a growl, chasing after her as she breaks our kiss.

"Not here," she says in a breathless voice, glancing at the men who stopped shooting to stare at us.

I don't give a fuck who sees us. In fact, I welcome the attention. That's what I want. Where the cops and the rest of the world are concerned, that's the objective. But I'm not going to hump her so they can yank off to the mental image in the shower tonight. I'd sooner shoot every one of the sons of bitches in both eyes.

I take my gun and slip it back in my waistband before ushering her outside. My guards are stationed in the parking lot. It's dark already. The sun set an hour ago. A few lampposts cut wedges of dust-speckled light across the lot. The Corvette is parked at the far end against the high wall that closes in the property.

I walk her to the car, keeping vigilant. The men would've scouted the surroundings to make sure it's safe, but I learned to take nothing for granted. I look through the car windows as we go, making sure there's no one lurking on the backseats.

When we get to the Corvette, I pull her against me and slip a hand under her dress.

"Sav," she utters with a hitch in her breath when I brush my fingers up the inside of her thigh.

"Eyes forward," I say with a rough edge to my tone, my voice carrying across the parking lot.

My men spin around as one, turning their backs on us. None will dare to glance over their shoulders. They know they'll die a slow and painful death.

I call one of them by name. "Guard the exit of the building. Don't let anyone out."

The guard jogs to the building and stops facing the door.

"We should go home," Anya says, but she doesn't fight me when I slip a finger into the elastic of her thong and drag it down her hip.

She stares at me with desire dancing like yellow flames in those pretty eyes as I go down on one knee, bringing her underwear with me. There's no question about my intentions when I hold her gaze and stretch the elastic around her feet.

On my cue, she holds on to my shoulders and steps out of the thong. I press the silk against my nose, inhaling deeply and memorizing her scent. She smells like woman and summer and so fucking ready for me.

I slip the silk in my pocket and straighten. Fastening my hands around her waist, I lift her with one swift sweep onto the hood of the car. My fingers are clamped on her knees before she can protest, spreading them to make space for me between her legs. I lean in and steal a quick kiss.

"Take me out," I say against her lips, removing my gun from my waistband and laying it next to her.

She glances at the weapon. "I could shoot you when you're distracted."

I smile against her mouth. "I'm never distracted."

"I could grab the gun while you're coming."

"You could." I take her hand and put it on my cock. "But you're not going to shoot me, tesoro ."

She bites her lip when I cup her fingers and make her squeeze my length.

My words are thick with lust. Still, I give her a choice. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

A moment passes as she searches my eyes. A battle rages in hers. She fights her desire. Or she tries. But she wants this as much as I do. If not, we wouldn't be here. She'd be in the car already, telling me to drive her home. And I would've. I'll do anything for her expect letting her go.

The need is killing me, but I wait. This has to be her choice. She makes it by gripping my buckle and opening my belt. By pulling down my zipper. I hiss when she locks her warm hand around my cock. When she leans on one arm and positions the crest between her legs, I bite back a groan. Once her wetness coats the head, I'm a goner. I pivot my hips and sink deep even as I remind myself to be gentle.

Her moan is loud. I slam a hand over her mouth and move. Long, hard strokes. I don't mind her sounds. I love them, but they're mine. They're not for my men's ears. Her lips move against my hand, writing a word on my palm.

Sav.

"That's it," I whisper in her ear, bracing my weight on one arm next to her on the hood. "Touch yourself. Show me how hard you come for me."

She slips a hand between our bodies, her fingers brushing over the root of my cock as she plays with herself.

The image is enough to send me over. I ignore the coiling pleasure, slowing down even as I coax her on. "That's my good girl. Grip my cock harder."

Her inner muscles tighten around me.

"You want me," I say, softly biting her earlobe.

She shivers.

When I pull out all the way, she makes a muffled sound of protest.

It's time for her to be honest, to face a truth she's been skirting around, to look this in the eye and admit what it is.

I tease her with the tip of my cock, parting her just enough to make her whimper. "Is this what you want?"

She nods.

I lift my hand off her mouth. "Say it."

"Yes," she says.

I don't give her more. "Say it, Anya."

"I want you," she whisper-cries but not without a hint of sadness.

That's my girl. I know how much the truth can hurt, how much admitting defeat can feel like a failure, but I also know how to make it better.

Dipping my knees, I thrust in halfway. I'm taking more and asking for more in return. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?"

Her answer escapes on a sob. "No."

It's a beautiful, cruel finale, confirming that I accomplished what I set out to do.

I won.

I've got her exactly where I want her.

Her submission may cause her pain now, but in time, I'll make her forget. No one likes to be on the losing end, and there's no war a human being fights harder than the battle for his freedom. I'll give her so much pleasure she won't have time to remember.

So I do. I give her everything, moving like a madman, chasing after her release as well as my own.

When she pinches her eyes shut and locks her thighs around my waist, I let go. I come inside her as she gives me her orgasm and the naked, hurtful truth, that I can fuck her with my gun laying within reach of her fingertips, and she won't pull the trigger.

That she's acknowledged defeat.

That she's accepted her fate.

That she's mine.

TO BE CONTINUED