Chapter 12

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Saverio

W hen I have to be at the club, Anya works at Antonio’s old desk in my office. The arrangement more than suits me. Safety precautions aside, I like to have her close to me, preferably within my hand’s reach, and my hands always seem to reach for her as if they have a mind of their own. I can’t go a minute without touching her, even if it’s just to smooth my palm over her silky red hair or to brush my knuckles over the growing curve of her stomach.

I study her from where I’m working, my gaze constantly drawn to her. She’s lost in the numbers, her lip caught between her teeth and her eyebrows pulled together. She’s wearing one of the dresses I bought for her, a form-fitting blue one that shows off her small bump. I like showing off her pregnancy. It makes my chest expand with pride, the mere sight of her round belly filling the empty spaces inside me with warmth.

My treasure is angry with me, and although her discontent beats wrong in my chest, I don’t regret my decision. I never intended on trusting a woman again, let alone dragging another one to the altar. I don’t trust Anya because I shouldn’t. If she gets the chance, she’ll escape me. If she could, she’d tell the truth and have me arrested for Lewis’s murder.

But if giving her my surname protects her, there’s no question about doing it. The possessive part of me wants this. The part of me that’s just found the woman who awakened my slumbering libido wants to tie her to me. For good. Forever. A different part of me wants what only she can give me, something I’ll otherwise never have.

And as the countdown to our imminent union advances, she makes no move in either choosing a ring or a dress. I’m giving her all the choices I can, the only ones she has, but she’s making a very clear statement by choosing nothing. My words of last night upset her. I felt it in how rigid she turned in my arms when I gave her my ultimatum. Nevertheless, she dozed off quickly after that. Mercifully.

After I fucked her raw, she was exhausted. I made a stunning mess of her, marring her pale skin with bite marks and scratches from my stubble. She still has the hickeys on her neck and shoulder to show for it. Hence the silk scarf she wears today. Sadly, it’s not one I used to tie her up. The thought of her wearing that improvised rope around her neck makes me hard. It was only last night that I fucked her with a V-plug and a vibrator, yet I’m starving for her again.

I push the lust down. She needs time to recover. Nicole is having a field day with my sex questions. She probably hopes my dick falls off so that she doesn’t have to answer the hundred and one inquiries I text her every day.

At six, Anya is still typing away on the laptop I gave her. The keys make a clacking sound as her fingers fly over them. She doesn’t look up when I push to my feet, take my jacket from the back of my chair, and pull it on.

I go over and stop in front of her desk. Still, she doesn’t acknowledge me. She continues to type as if her life depends on it. I press a finger on the back of her laptop screen, pushing it closed.

Finally, she lifts her head to grace me with a glare. “I’m not done.”

“You’ve been going at it for hours. You need to eat and rest.”

The set of her mouth is obstinate. Cute. “I’m not hungry or tired.”

I take her laptop and zip it up in the computer bag.

There.

End of discussion.

She scowls. “You’re a control freak, Saverio De Luca.”

I grin. “You’re a workaholic, Anya Brennan.”

She wheels back her chair and crosses her arms. “Speak for yourself.”

I throw the strap of the bag over my shoulder. “Come on.” Taking her hand, I pull her to her feet. “Let’s go feed you.” I grab her coat from the stand and help her to fit it. “What do you feel like eating?”

“I don’t know yet.” She adds with spite, “As I said, I’m not hungry.”

“I know you, treasure,” I say with a chuckle, gripping her elbow and pushing her to the door. “In twenty minutes, that baby is going to demand to be fed, and you’re going to fall on the nearest plate of food like a vulture.”

She scoffs, but she doesn’t argue because I’m right .

My men stand outside. They follow us through the gallery and down the stairs.

Cleaners wipe down the tables. The candy floss scent of the floor wash they used is stickily sweet in the air. The barman takes stock before opening. He nods when we pass. A bouncer calls the elevator when we approach.

We wait as the numbers above the doors light up. I draw Anya closer and wrap an arm around her shoulders just because I can.

The doors open with ding. Two women in skinny jeans and puffy jackets exit. Their platinum hair falls straight down their backs.

The twins.

They wink at me, batting long, glittery eyelashes. Their full red lips curve with sultry smiles. I don’t know their names. I never ask. They speak a little English, but I’ve never been interested enough to strike up a conversation.

Next to me, Anya tenses.

The girls pass in a cloud of perfume, giggling as they glance back over their shoulders.

I lead Anya inside the elevator and hold the doors for my men. We ride down to the underground parking lot in silence.

Once the men have gone ahead to get the cars, Anya asks in a terse voice, “Who are those women?”

“Strippers.”

She faces straight ahead. “Did you fuck them?”

I’m not going to lie. I don’t have a reason to hide the truth from her. “Yes.”

She nods.

“Anya.” I put my hands on her shoulders and turn her to face me. “It meant nothing. Besides, that was before you. ”

She utters a laugh, but it comes out wrong. “Does that mean we’re exclusive now?”

I tighten my fingers on her soft flesh. “We’ve been exclusive from the moment I put my dick inside you.” No, from the moment I laid eyes on her. My tone is full of ugly jealousy, claws of possessiveness threatening to dig a green monster from my chest. “If that wasn’t clear, let there be no misunderstanding about it.” I narrow my eyes, staring into the melted honey pools of hers. My voice is even, cold and calculated. “Touch another man, and he’s dead.”

She backtracks a step, her head jerking as she does a double take.

I grip her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze so that she can see the murderous rage and serious intent on my face. “If any man touches what’s mine, I’ll cut off his hands and throw them like treats at a pack of wild dogs. Then I’ll hang him feet down from a tree and lower the rope slowly until those beasts have eaten every morsel of meat clean off his bones.”

Her throat ripples as she swallows.

I let her chin go to cup her cheek, the gesture tender even as my smile is cruel. “Is that clear?”

She nods, her pretty eyes wide with fright, and fuck me if her fear doesn’t turn me on. Like a predator, it makes me want to hunt her down and chase her just so I can catch her and make her submit. The victory always feeds the part of me that needs to own her, but the conquest tastes sweet for both of us.

Kevin pulls up. The guards follow in two cars.

I set her free before I’m tempted to push her flat onto the backseat, pull up the partition, and fuck her six ways from Sunday like my beast demands I do. That monster doesn’t like to be provoked. He’s not human enough to hide behind practiced civility. It’s dangerous to poke him. It’s a mistake to unleash the chain that keeps him at bay.

I open the back door and help her inside before locking the laptop in the trunk. When I get in on the other side, she scoots to the door, thinking she can escape me. I anchor her next to me with a hand on her knee, keeping her where I want her, which is close. Always close. My thigh presses against hers when I get comfortable and spread my legs. Warmth bleeds from her body into mine. If I could, I’d mix our blood and pump the cocktail through both our veins so that we share the same life force. That’s how fiercely I need to own her. Anya doesn’t seem to feel the same. She tries to pull away without making it obvious by turning her legs sideways.

“Home, Mr. De Luca?” Kevin asks, catching my gaze in the rearview mirror.

Fuck it. I can’t be bothered to cook. I’m too on edge, too close to ripping off Anya’s clothes and showing her who she belongs to.

“Rusty’s,” I say, drawing Anya’s leg roughly back to mine and unintentionally spreading her knees in the process.

I smooth my hand over her leg, brushing up the hem of her dress, and rest my palm high on her thigh, my fingers inches away from her crotch. She sits as quietly as a little mouse next to me, wisely not prodding the monster she lured out of its cage with her earlier comment. The mistake she made was suggesting we hadn’t been exclusive from the moment I’d locked my fist around her neck and claimed every breath she was yet to take. Every fucking breath she drags into her lungs is mine. They’re all mine, for the rest of her life.

Kevin exits the underground parking lot and steers the car into the street. Per habit, I scan the surroundings through the windscreen. My attention locks on a white car that pulls away from the curb just as we pass, inserting himself between our vehicle and those of my guards.

In a second flat, my hand is on the gun I keep under the seat.

A soft gasp falls from Anya’s lips. I don’t let go of her leg. I keep the gun in one hand and the other on her thigh, squeezing her soft flesh to reassure her while my attention remains on the action outside.

My guards act fast. The driver of the first car overtakes and cuts off the interloper but not before I’ve gotten a good visual of the car.

The license plate confirms what I already know.

Detective Jordan.

Jordan swerves, inviting some honking. The maneuver forces him to line up behind my guards. He’s not trying to be discreet. No, he wants me to see him. He’s sending a message, letting me know he’s watching me. As if his psychological games will have any effect on me. I almost laugh out loud at that.

“Is everything all right?” Anya asks in a panicked tone, glancing at the gun I hold on my thigh with the barrel pointing toward the opposite door.

“It’s Jordan.” My voice is clipped. “He’s tailing us.”

Knowing that a deal is going down at Rusty’s tonight when some high-end players are meeting there, I tell Kevin, “Go left here.”

He doesn’t question the change of direction. He turns, and when I look through the back window, Jordan’s headlights creep up behind the second car in my convoy.

I give Kevin the name of a high-end restaurant in Manhattan. They’re always fully booked, but they’ll give me a table.

While we drive, I slide my fingers to the junction of Anya’s legs. She’s wearing a lace thong. The fabric is rough beneath my fingertips. And damp. My good little girl is always wet for me, even when I threaten to kill any man who’d dare to touch her. Even when there’s a gun on my lap. Especially when there’s a gun on my lap.

She won’t admit it, but she loves the high that comes with danger. It turns her wetter beneath my probing hand. It makes me reckless, not caring that I’m all but fingering her underneath the meagre protection of her dress.

I press my fingers together and turn my palm sideways, parting her folds and shoving the lace between her pussy lips. She grabs my wrist and flattens her back against the seat. When I rub up and down, dragging rough lace and slick arousal over her clit and through her slit, she bites her lip and throws back her head.

Her fingers remain locked around my wrist, but I’m not sure if she’s holding on or urging me to move faster. She’s definitely not pushing me away. So I go faster. Harder. I watch her come undone right there beside me, her pussy clenching around nothing while my driver is none the wiser.

She’s breathing hard when we reach our destination. Holding her gaze, I lift my hand to my nose and inhale her scent. She’s musky and ripe summer fruit and a beautiful Indian summer. An unexpected, prolonged stretch of balmy days and perfect sunshine. A gift I don’t deserve.

I put away the gun and get out to open her door.

The restaurant sits in the middle of art galleries on a trendy street. It’s one of the places to be seen. I only come here because I like the food. The menu is an eclectic selection of dishes from around the world, featuring spicy curries and richly flavored tagines. The slow-cooked tomato bredie is one of the best I’ve had. Anya will like it.

The hostess smiles when she opens the door. “Welcome back, Mr. De Luca.” She takes Anya’s coat. “Will it be just the two of you or do you expect a bigger party?”

I flash Anya a smile. “Just me and my fiancée.”

“Oh.” The hostess glances at Anya, trying to but not succeeding in hiding her surprise. “Congratulations.” She hangs the coat on a stand. “Please go through to the bar while I prepare your table. Drinks are on the house.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking Anya’s hand and pulling her behind me as I weave through the tables to the bar on the raised platform at the back.

“Do you always get what you want?” Anya asks when I seat her at the counter.

I slide onto a stool next to her. “No.”

She averts her gaze, and I know exactly what’s going through her mind.

Rachele.

My father’s affection.

Yes, there’s a lot I wanted that I didn’t get, but nothing is more important than her. It’s how she makes me feel—invincible, always hard for her, as if I can’t breathe when I’m without her.

The barman adds the finishing touches to a cocktail, and once a waiter takes it away, he comes over. “Champagne?”

I order still water, which he serves with slices of lemon in chilled glasses.

In a prime spot by the window, the hostess whispers something to the occupants of the table. The man and the woman put down the menus they’ve been studying, their expressions pinched into frowns.

The man purses his lips, looking as if he may argue, but then the hostess points in our direction, and his gaze clashes with mine. I lift a hand and wave, my lips splitting into a grin. His cheeks pale. Yeah. Thanks to word of mouth, my reputation precedes me. He puts down his menu and says something to his wife. The hostess replies with a smile. This is the point where she offers them a free meal for the inconvenience of kicking them out to give me the best table in the house.

The couple get to their feet and shuffle to the door, the man staring straight ahead and the woman stealing glances at me.

Anya, who’s been watching the exchange, shakes her head. “That’s low, Saverio, even for you.”

The hostess removes the place settings and straightens the tablecloth while a waiter goes over with clean glasses and cutlery.

“Don’t complain,” I say. “If he was at the top of the food chain, he’d do the same to us.”

“Not all people are selfish and without morals.”

“You stroke my ego, my love .” I rest a hand on her side where her belly expands, enjoying how she feels under my hand. “I happen to be proud of my reputation.”

The waitress walks up to tell us our table is ready.

I get to my feet to help Anya down from her seat when my scalp pricks in the way it does when I have eyes on me. I wouldn’t put it past Jordan to follow us inside just to spoil the evening for Anya, but without a search warrant or a reservation, he won’t get a foot through the door.

I turn my head and catch a man staring. Caught red-handed, he cuts his gaze to a spot on my left, pretending to look at something beyond me, but I know who he is. My eyes tighten with recognition. Rage rolls through me, pulling my hands into fists.

Justice Kearney.

The fucker smiles at the woman who sits opposite him as if he’s following every word of her conversation. He leaves his fork in his plate of spaghetti alle vongole and steeples his fingers while putting on an attentive expression. She gulps down a mouthful of red wine and continues to blabber while cutting into her tournedos Rossini. Judging by the wrinkles lining her face, her hair must be gray, but it’s dyed blond. Glossy lipstick shines on her botoxed lips. Mrs. Kearney. Yes, I familiarized myself with his history, his life, and his family. I studied every piece of information Dante got on him, his wife, and their four kids.

While he feigns unawareness, ignoring our presence, I take in his meticulously styled hair and manicured hands. He’s in shape, his stiff-colllared shirt fitting him well, but he’s soft in all the wrong places. A fist in the stomach will take him down easily. A heel on his dick will prevent him from impregnating another woman he’ll leave to fend for his child on her own. I imagine grinding my shoe on his testicles and castrating him. There’s nothing I want to do more than slam my fist into his pretty-boy face and break his nose. The violence is like a tsunami that builds inside me. It’s not only what he did to Anya. It’s what Nicole said about how the law will be on his side if he decides to take the baby away from us. It’s her words that spread like venom through my mind.

Anya follows my gaze and sucks in a breath.

“Stay,” I tell her, fury crackling in my voice.

She grabs at me but misses, my jacket slipping through her fingers.

The motherfucker looks up when I head straight for him. Panic washes over his features. I want to bounce his head off the table and split his skull open like a nut. I’ll take great joy in watching his brain matter pour out.

I’m vaguely aware of Anya following me, but I don’t reprimand her for not obeying my order. I’m too focused on Kearney, going for him like a missile locked on a target.

By the time I reach him, his face is whiter than the starched tablecloth under which he hides his shaking hands.

“Saverio,” Anya cries softly, finally catching up and managing to grip my arm.

I shake her off, pinning the fucker in front of me with a stare.

His wife bites off her monologue and gapes at me.

I plant a fist on either side of his plate on the table and get real close into his face. “This is what’s going to happen, you lowlife piece of shit. I’m going to have adoption papers delivered, and you’re going to sign over your paternal rights to the child you conceived with Anya.”

The wife pales, her mouth going even slacker as she turns her face and stares at Anya’s bump.

The restaurant has gone quiet. Everyone is looking, but no one dares to move.

“Saverio,” Anya whispers, pulling at my sleeve. “Please.”

I’m not done yet. “You’ll never make contact. If I catch you anywhere near Anya or the baby, you’ll wish you were born with a cunt instead of a cheating dick. As far as the paperwork goes, you’re nothing but a sperm donor. Make that a free-for-all sperm bank.” I stare him down. “Got that?”

His Adam’s apple rides up and down his throat. I want to grab the knife on his plate and stab it through his windpipe so badly that I have to count to ten to prevent myself from acting on the fantasy.

“Was that a yes?” I ask with a smile that will give grown men nightmares.

Ms. Kearney tilts her head, bitter disillusionment glittering in her eyes as she waits for her husband to deny my accusation, to say he has no idea what I’m talking about .

He bobs his head.

The wife pushes back her chair, gets up, and walks with a stiff back from the restaurant.

I straighten, only marginally pacified.

Anya goes after the woman, but I still have shit to say to this clown. “Anya is mine. If you fuck with her, you fuck with me. Got that, pretty boy?”

He nods again.

“Good.” I straighten his tie, pulling hard enough to yank him forward in his chair. “You’ll hear from my lawyer in the morning.”

The hostess tiptoes over, her face and neck flushed. “Mr. De Luca, is there a problem?”

“No.” I hold Kearney’s eyes. “Not any longer. Isn’t that so, Kearney?”

He squeaks out a yes.

“Can I offer you appetizers?” the hostess asks in a too high voice, but I don’t bother to answer.

I walk outside to find Anya and the wife in a heated argument on the sidewalk.

“He didn’t wear a ring,” Anya exclaims. “He gave me a false name and told me he was single.”

The wife turns up her chin. “You’re not the first young girl who thought you could catch yourself a wealthy man by falling pregnant.”

“Stop right there,” I say, advancing on them.

The woman’s eyes flare when they land on me.

“Your husband is a sack of shit.” I point a finger in her face. “Don’t you dare pin the blame for that son of a bitch’s actions on Anya. I suggest you both get the hell out of here.”

She doesn’t let me invite her twice. She flags down a taxi and jumps inside. The justice comes running out of the restaurant just as the taxi takes off .

Good.

His wife deserves to know she’s married to scum. Or maybe she knows. In that case, I have no sympathy for her.

He hops into the next taxi without a backward glance.

I take Anya’s arm to lead her back to the restaurant, but she yanks free and steps back.

“Anya,” I say in a way that warns her not to walk away from me again. “Let’s go back inside.”

“After the scene you made?” Her nostrils flare. “I don’t think so.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s the guilty one. The only person who should be ashamed is him.”

She presses her arms against her sides and fists her hands into balls. “I’m not ashamed of my baby or of my actions. Yes, I was irresponsible, but I’m not running away from the consequences.”

I close in on her. Crowd her. Corner her. “Are you saying you’re ashamed of me for defending you?”

“Is that what you did?” She makes it sound like a challenge. “You defended me?”

“I also protected you. Do you think murder is beneath a justice? As long as you carry his secret child, he has a good motive for wanting to get rid of you. At least now it’s out in the open.”

“Really?” She utters a laugh. “Is that your excuse for the public spectacle you just made?”

“Why are you so upset about this? I called him out on his bullshit.”

“Are you expecting me to be grateful?” she asks with an incredulous expression.

“What the hell are you saying? What’s wrong with what I did? ”

She cranes her neck and holds my gaze brazenly. “I’m saying you should practice what you preach.”

“What the—?” I stab my fingers through my hair and walk two paces away to calm the fuck down, but a second later I’m in front of her again. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sparks fly from those honey-colored eyes. “I saw the way you looked at my stomach when I first told you I was pregnant. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the disgust on your face? And now you’re pretending to…” She makes a frustrated sound. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to pretend.”

Her words are like punches raining down on my solar plexus. “Wait a minute.” I hold up a finger. “First of all, I don’t pretend. Not with you. I don’t need to. Secondly, why in the name of God would you think I was disgusted to find out you were expecting a baby?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t give her a chance.

I step closer, backing her up to nowhere. “What you saw on my face that night was the disgust I felt for having pushed my blade against the baby growing inside you. I detested myself for pointing a knife at your unborn child. I still hate myself for it even though that threat wasn’t intentional. You should know by now that I only have admiration for the changes taking place in your body. I hoped my actions would speak for themselves. Haven’t I tried to only take care of you, to give you and your child the best? If you think for even a minute after everything we’ve been through that I’m disgusted by your baby or your pregnancy, you’re a very poor judge of character.”

Her back hits the wall behind us, the air leaving her lungs with a soft puff that escapes her lips. “Yes, you’ve taken care of me, and I appreciate what you’re doing for my baby, but adoption?” She points a finger toward the restaurant. “What you said in there… Are you out of your mind?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “My mind has never been clearer.”

She pushes up against the wall, flattening her body, the stance reminding me of the night we met.

Searching my eyes, she says, “You told Justi?—”

I bite off every word. “Do not say his name.”

“You told him you’ll have paperwork delivered.” She drags in an audible breath. “To sign over his paternal rights.”

I slam a palm next to her face on the wall. “Damn right. He’ll sign it over even if I have to cut off every finger on his left hand.” My smile is mocking. Savage. “I’ll start with his ring finger. He won’t miss it too much. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring anyway.”

“Why?” she asks, her pretty face scrunched up with confusion. “Why would you force him to do that?”

I lean in. “Because he can take the baby away from you. Have you thought about that?”

She blanches.

“Yes,” I continue. “If he wants to, he can file for custody, and not you or I will be able to win a court case.”

“Because of whom you are,” she whispers, shock washing over her features. “Because I’m with you.”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

“He can simply denounce his paternal rights.” Her voice is pained. “Why do you want to adopt my baby, Saverio?”

I snap my teeth together and grind my molars so hard my jaw aches.

Why indeed?

It takes only a moment to school my features, to lock the violence in the cage with my beast and find that place where I can ignore my emotions before they show on my face.

“You’re going to marry me,” I say. “Your baby will need a father.”

“A father,” she says with an ironic chuckle.

“Yes.” I straighten and drop my hand to my side, releasing her from the prison of my arm. “A father who can protect him and take him fishing, teach him what to say to a girl if he truly likes her, how to drive a vintage car...”

“And how to handle a gun.”

“You can handle a gun.”

She folds her arms behind her and leans against the wall. Her tone is soft but earnest, perhaps all the more earnest because it’s so soft. “I won’t give up my child, Saverio. Never. I’ll fight whoever tries to take her away from me until my last breath.”

And there she is, the lioness I admire.

I cup her cheek. The coldness of her skin penetrates my palm. “I know, tesoro . I don’t expect you to give him up. Even I’m not that cruel.”

“Why?” she asks again, giving me that look she does when she’s trying to figure me out. “Why would you do something like that for a child who isn’t yours, a child of a woman you don’t even love?”

“You know the answer. You want to hear it again? I own your life. You’re mine, and I told you I take care of what’s mine. I already took responsibility for the baby inside you from the moment you told me you were pregnant. It’s my job to keep both of you safe, and I take my duties very seriously.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, something sad reflecting in her eyes despite the vow I just made .

“I’m not a good man.” I brush a thumb under her eye, tracing the softness of that spot. “But I know how to be a good father.”

“I suppose, once again, you’re not giving me a say in the matter,” she says with an accusation burning in her gaze.

I pull my hand away from her face. No. What she says matters, but it won’t change anything.

“It is what it is,” I say, willing her to accept our situation and spare herself a lot of suffering. “We’re getting married, and I’ll be the best father I can be for your child.”

She nods, but the gesture is absent-minded.

Sensing her slipping away from me mentally, I take her hand. “Come back inside. You didn’t even take your coat.” I rub her arm. “You’re cold. We’ll have a warm meal and a mocktail. You’ll feel better for it.”

“Just take me home,” she says, hugging herself.

I can’t deny her the little things when she has no say about the major decisions in her life.

Shielding her from the cold by pulling her under my arm, I take my phone from my pocket and summon Kevin.

We go back inside for her coat. I leave a few bills, enough to pay for Kearney’s meals and ours, the ones we won’t be having after all, and do what my treasure wants.

I take her home , to my place, to the place where I’m keeping her forever.