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Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Saverio

T he bottle of painkillers stands unopened on my desk. Instead, I reach for the decanter of brandy, gritting my teeth against the pain. The physio session this morning was extra tough. It’s not conducive to hover in the past, but I can’t help the bitterness that sweeps through me when I think there was a time I could run hard enough to push my heartbeat to the limit. Now, walking from my desk to the bathroom is an exhausting challenge.

Dante, who sits in the visitor’s chair facing my desk, motions at the drink in my hand. “Maybe you should just take the pills. It’s too early for hard liquor.”

I have no intention of swallowing those pills. The pain grounds me. It reminds me of what must be done. It’s motivation to succeed in my goal, which is to get my mobility back as soon as possible. Until then, I’ll let the constant ache in my leg torment me because as long as it bothers me, I’m impatient to fix it.

“How are things at the club?” I ask.

“Anya is doing a great job. She’s running the place as well as any of us. Better, actually.”

I let sufficient warning infuse my tone. “Don’t get too chummy with my wife.”

“I’m Claire’s godfather,” he says, splaying his fingers.

“So you keep on telling me.”

“I’m not a backstabber.”

“No.” He did kick the first grenade away and pulled me off Anya when the ambulance arrived. He was the one who dragged me out of the debris when everything was over. For that, I’ll always owe him. “But Anya is Anya. She’s easy to like.”

He considers me. “However, you don’t love her.”

“It’s complicated,” I say, gritting my teeth.

“I gather you’re not sending her to Switzerland anymore.”

“She refuses to go.”

His gaze sharpens. “Are you guys talking?” He adds, “As in communicating.”

“Yeah.” My defensiveness is a knee-jerk reaction. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” He rubs a thumb over his bottom lip as he studies me too closely for my liking. “What’s happened is hard on both of you. Women need to talk to get stuff off their chests.”

“Are you an expert on women now?”

He smiles at the jab. “Just looking out for both of you.”

I push down my irritation. Dante is the only man I trust, but he riles me up when he gets too friendly with my wife.

“Did you ask me here for a reason?” Dante asks.

“Could you trace Raphael’s supplier?”

“The weapons came from the Balkans. That’s as much as I could find out. What about your hacker? Did he find anything on the dark net?”

“Nothing.” I take another swig of my drink. “They covered their tracks well.”

“Did you ask Anya? Maybe she can pick up a money trail.”

My reply is clipped. “I’m not involving her in this.”

“I hate to break it to you, my friend, but she’s already involved.” He adds with a wry tone, “Thanks to you.”

I gnash my teeth harder. “That was never my intention.”

“You brought her in to do the books.”

That sounds like an accusation.

“I had to.” I tighten my fingers around my glass. “Luigi wanted to kill her. It was the only way I could make her indispensable.”

“Kill her?” His brown eyes flare. “Why?”

“She saw Giorgio and me when I knifed down Lewis.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sav.”

“A bunch of witnesses saw me with Anya when I went after her. I needed an alibi, and she happened to be there.”

“So you kept her close,” he says, not bothering to hide his astonishment. “Pretended to be in a relationship. And then you found out she was pregnant and thought, hey, why not marry her and kill two birds with one stone—protect your alibi from Luigi and gain a child in the process.”

I don’t tell him about my long spell of near impotency after I found out that I was infertile and my first marriage went up in flames or that Anya was the unexpected magical cure for my unresponsive cock. He can fucking judge me as much as he likes.

“Doesn’t matter why I married her,” I say. “She’s mine. Always has been. I evened the score by offering her freedom, and she didn’t take it. Now she’ll always be mine.”

He gets to his feet. “I guess you’re just going to have to deal with the shitstorm you created.”

“I’m dealing,” I bite out.

“Good.” He fixes me with look. “You’re my friend, but so is Anya. If you don’t treat her right, expect to have me in your face. A lot.”

I sit there like an idiot with my mouth full of teeth instead of getting in the last word because I’m too thrown off kilter to formulate a reply.

Dante doesn’t do friends. Period.

It’s different between him and me. We have an understanding that developed over many years. Trust my treasure to win him over in the short span of a few weeks. It must be all the time they spend together. I don’t like it, not one fucking bit. I should be there with her, not him. The injustice is enough to make me howl. It makes me want to summon Kevin to drive me to After Dark right now, but I’m not going to put all my goddamn weaknesses on display for my men to lose hope and faith. Our situation is dire enough as it is.

The reality of my life leaves me restless and irritated. When Dante is gone, I throw myself into work. Dante is good at procuring new business, but he has his hands full with getting information on those weapons Raphael ordered, so I start doing research on Raphael’s regular suppliers to gauge if there’s anyone worth corrupting.

Mid-morning, I order a cooked meal for dinner. Then I bury myself in work again. When I drag myself upstairs to change, it’s close to five.

In the hallway, I pause in front of the nursery. Unable to help myself, I open the door.

The yellow walls and curtains look the same. So do the stuffed animals, books, and toys on the bookshelf. But the space smells different. A scent of baby powder and laundered clothes lingers in the air. It feels different too. The room feels inhabited. There’s a palpable presence and subtle signs of life—diapers stacked on the changing table and a blanket forgotten over the back of the rocking chair.

My gaze falls on the red sports car in the corner. I could’ve bought Claire a racing helmet and taught her how to be a hell driver, how to beat the boys at rallies. I would’ve taken her to drag races with popcorn and ice cream intervals. Hell, I would’ve just settled for a couple of dogs and a pretty little girl running through the house, bringing the stuffy old rooms to life.

My chest closes up until I can’t breathe.

Shutting the door, I push everything down. I go to the bathroom, strip, and get into the shower. I should’ve used the wheelchair to take the pressure off my knee. I can hardly stand under the spray of the water. Instead, I sit down on the bench to shampoo my hair.

I nearly jump out of my skin when something brushes over my shoulder. My reflexes are fast. I strike out and grab whatever touched me in an iron grip even before I’ve pried my one eye open through stinging shampoo suds and water.

Anya stands in front of me, her curvy body gloriously naked and her whisky-colored eyes round in her pretty face.

“Jesus, Anya.”

I slacken my hold on her wrist, hating that I scared her and hating more that I didn’t hear her come into the shower. Before the attack, I never would’ve missed the sound of the door opening. My senses were sharp enough to discern the soft exhale of a breath in the midst of a fucking thunderstorm. Now, I’m a liability. I can’t even trust my hearing to protect my wife.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I don’t hear the words as much as I read them on her lips.

Turning the left side of my face toward her not only to hear but also to see her better, I say, “No, I’m sorry.”

“I heard the water in the shower, and I thought…” She gives me a sultry look that has my dick stand at attention.

“Thought what?” I ask, my voice already husky with intention.

She straddles me, swinging her legs over my thighs before wrapping her arms around my neck. “That I could join you.”

She doesn’t wait for my answer. She leans forward, rubbing her nipples over my chest, and presses her mouth on mine. I don’t hesitate. I tease the seam of her lips with my tongue until she opens. Her mouth is warm. She tastes sweet—like strawberries. Her long hair cascades down her back, those vibrant red curls now straight and heavy with water.

“Anya,” I say, twisting that rope of hair around a fist and pulling down to tilt up her face.

I want to look into her eyes. I want her to show me the only thing that’s good between us, the only time I give her something that brings her pleasure.

“Sav?” she deadpans, her tone seductive.

Fuck.

“Do you know what you’re doing, treasure?”

Because she doesn’t have to. In this, I always gave her a choice. That will never change.

Her answer is to lift onto her knees and to close her fingers around the root of my cock. I nearly come when she positions the head at her entrance and sinks down over me. She parts her folds with the crest first, keeping still with her eyes closed and her head thrown back before taking me deeper.

It’s as much as I can handle. I lock my hands around her narrow waist and yank her down while punching my hips up and burying myself inside her to the hilt. Still, it’s not enough. I hold fast and pummel her pussy, taking everything with greedy, hard thrusts. She hangs on with her arms locked around my neck as I bounce her on my lap, moving too hard and too fast.

I’m close already, too close to hold back, so I let go, getting off inside her before I’ve had a chance to take care of her pleasure. I spill my load until I’m empty, and then I lift her onto her feet and spin her around.

A nudge between her shoulder blades shows her what I want. When she bends over, presenting her ass like I taught her, I drag her closer with my hands on her hips and bury my head between her thighs. Holding her to me with one arm around her waist, I clamp my teeth around her clit and flick my tongue over the nub while sinking two fingers into her slick, tight heat.

She arches her back, trying to escape when I bite down gently, but the playful slap I deliver on the soft flesh of her left globe makes her go still. It doesn’t take long before her inner muscles tighten on my fingers and her body draws taut. I keep on pumping and licking, making her ride out her climax until she collapses in my grasp.

I regret not looking into her eyes, so I turn her and lift her onto my lap with her legs hanging over the edge of the bench. My hand is already between her thighs, my lips on hers as I work her need higher again.

“Sav.” She pulls away and pushes on my chest. “Too much.”

I give her distance. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” Her smile is shy. “I’m just oversensitive.”

Sucking a nipple into my mouth, I tease the hard tip with my teeth. The sharp intake of her breath makes my cock twitch.

I bite down gently before licking away the sting. “In that case, you need more practice.”

The cries of a baby fill the room.

I cut my gaze to the monitor on the vanity that’s visible through the shower door. “Livy will go.”

Anya gets off me. Stands. “No, I’ll go check. She’ll need a diaper change.”

She rinses off and squeezes the water out of her hair before grabbing a towel from the rack. I close the tap and take a towel for myself, watching her as she steps out of the shower and quickly dries herself.

She’s the same gorgeous goddess as before, her pale skin soft and flawless and her red hair the color of flames and the sun. Her stomach is flatter than when I met her. She’s losing weight. I’ve lost half of my sight, but I’m not blind to the dark circles under her eyes and the weariness etched on her features.

“We need to hire a nanny,” I say, following her out of the shower.

“I don’t need a nanny.” She combs her hair with her fingers. “I can handle Claire.”

I wrap the towel around my waist and lean my hip against the counter to take my weight off my leg. “You work full-time.”

She dumps the towel in the hamper and shimmies into lacy panties. “I have the advantage of being able to take Claire with me.”

“You’ll wear yourself out.”

“Sav.”

As always, I still at the sound of my name on her lips.

She gives me a sweet smile before going on tiptoes and brushing a kiss over my cheek. “I’ll tell you if I need help.”

I don’t like it. I don’t like knowing she’s at the club with her baby, trying to keep my sinking business afloat. She’s doing a lot more than just the books, a lot more than she’s supposed to.

“Come down for dinner?” she asks with a hopeful air, dressing in a T-shirt and leggings.

I don’t want to disappoint her if I can avoid it, but I’m not ready to sit across a table from Livy and my wife only to rob them of their appetites. It’s enough that Anya has to look at me without the eyepatch.

Snatching up the patch from where I left it on the vanity, I pull it over my face. “I have a lot of work still. I’ll eat in the study.”

Claire’s crying turns into bawling, making it clear she’s not prepared to wait any longer.

Disappointment crosses Anya’s face, but she keeps her voice bright. “Okay. I’ll see you later in bed.”

“Later,” I promise, looking after her as she grabs the monitor and rushes through the door with her wet hair dripping down the back of her T-shirt.

A foreign feeling builds in my chest, an ache sticking like a hiccup behind my ribs. I rub a fist over that spot as if I can massage away the discomfort when the unsettling sensation comes from a deep sense of unease.

It’s not the first time in my life that I feel compassion, but this is different. Worse. It cuts me deeper than ever.

I’m not going to lie. It’s a godawful feeling to watch someone you care deeply about burn themselves out and to feel helpless to do anything about it.

Fine. I admit the idea of hiring a nanny stems from guilt. It’s not so much to make Anya’s life easier—although, it’s that too—than to make myself feel better. I’m not going to help with Claire, which leaves Anya alone to deal with the club and a newborn baby.

A part of me is proud that she’s not like Rachele’s late mother who dumped the entire caretaking of her children on nannies and maids. Rachele’s mother never bathed or fed her daughter or son. I doubt she ever cooked them a meal. She never took an interest in their schoolwork and projects. That’s what private tutors were for. Maybe that’s why Rachele turned out the way she did. It’s the only example she had. Yet Mary Brennan gave Anya even less, and that didn’t stop my treasure from being a caring, loving mother. Because that’s just who Anya is. My good girl is everything I ever wanted in a woman. It’s a pity she came into my life too late.

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