Chapter 6

SIX

Angelo

Aknock falls on my study door. Heidi enters without waiting for my reply.

My irritation flares. I haven't done a stitch of work tonight. Why? Because I can't focus my mind on anything other than the woman I locked up in an abandoned house. I can't help but question that decision now that my fury has abated enough to allow rational thoughts. I can't stop thinking that the isolation can't be healthy in the long run. The worst by far, however, is how close I am to asking Heidi for news about my wife.

My housekeeper has just been there.

I know.

Perhaps the plan of banishing Sabella will work in my favor. Maybe she'll break quicker after a few weeks of living like a hermit. I'm not even sure she'll last days before admitting what she and Lavigne are scheming.

Heidi marches to my desk.

I take my frustration out on her. "What is it?"

Her voice is uncharacteristically stern. "Angelo."

I look up from my laptop, caught off guard by a tone she never uses with me.

"There's a problem at the new house," she continues.

Every muscle in my body tenses. "What problem?"

Propping her hands on her hips, she says, "Lice."

I blink. "What?"

"You heard me. Sabella caught lice. You can fire me for speaking her name, but you must do something about it."

Motherfucker. "I thought Toma took care of cleaning the place."

"The men swept it, but it needs a good scrubbing and a proper fumigation."

Leaning back in my chair, I steeple my fingers. "Consider it done. In the meantime, you better bring her back here."

Her blue eyes light up with approval. "Yes, sir."

"I'll send someone to the twenty-four-hour pharmacy in Bastia for a treatment."

"I already took care of that."

"Good. Do you want one of the men to drive you?" I add with a wry smile, "I would've gone myself, but I have important business to finish before tonight's dinner."

The truth is that I could've instructed Gianni to bring Sabella. He's already there anyway. But I don't want her to know I'm having her watched. If she's going to step out of line, it's better that I give her some rope.

Heidi lifts her chin. "I'm a good driver. I'll be fine."

That statement pierces something in my chest. My memory drifts to my mother. I remind myself with effort that this isn't that day, that since the accident we have the cars checked on a daily basis. "Call me if there's a problem."

"What about your guests?"

"They're not due for another forty-five minutes. The dinner doesn't have to be served until you return."

She heads for the door with a bob of her head.

"And Heidi?"

She turns, waiting.

"Lock her in her room. She's not to wander around in the house, especially not when my guests are here."

The lines around her mouth tighten, but she doesn't contest the order.

When she's gone, I dial Toma.

"Angelo," he says, sounding uncertain.

His father no doubt brought him up to speed with how our morning meeting panned out. He must hate being on babysitting duty. "I thought you took care of the new house."

"I did. I mean the guys cleaned up and cleared out the rubble."

"Didn't you get a company to do a deep cleaning?"

"Um, no. What would've been the point? It wasn't as if anyone was going to live—" He bites off the rest of the remark. I imagine he belatedly realizes that someone is indeed living there again, someone he's supposed to keep an eye on.

"Who's on duty there?"

A small pause passes before he answers. "Gianni." He clears his throat. "I think."

I clench the phone in my palm. "You fucking think?"

"I know," he says quickly. "I mean I know."

He's young, but let's face it. Toma isn't the brightest light on the Christmas tree. That's why I need an heir to take over the business. I can't rely on my cousins to do a good job. We worked too hard to get to the top. There's no way I'm letting the business dwindle because my cousins don't have enough brain cells. No. Sabella may not be a wife to me other than in name, but she will do her duty by giving me an heir.

"Do you want me to arrange something?" he asks in a too-thin voice. "A cleaning service?"

"No," I bite out. "I'll do it myself."

Ending the call, I throw the phone on the desk and massage my temples where a headache is building. If I ever lay my hands on that old man who calls himself my grandfather again, I'll strangle him.

Prioritizing the task over the business that needs my attention, I summon a fumigation and cleaning service. Then I email my personal shopper with instructions to refurbish the place. I wasn't planning on making it comfortable for Sabella, but my impulsive decision is driven by guilt, the same age-old guilt about who I am and where I come from.

Little over fifty minutes later, a car engine sounds outside. I can't deny the spark of anticipation that zings through my gut as I get up and exit my study. Just as I walk down the hallway, the front door opens. Heidi glances at me with a stony expression when I stop a few paces away. She pushes the door wide open and bends to pick up a large vacuum-sealed storage bag that lies at her feet. The contaminated linen, I'm guessing.

"You go right upstairs," she says, her warm tone insinuating she's not addressing me. "I'll take care of this."

She meets my eyes briefly as she hurries down the hallway, leaving Sabella and me alone by sly design. My wife stands on the threshold wearing the coat I gave her over a sweater and jeans. She carries an overnight bag in her hand. Her dark, glossy hair falls in damp tresses around her shoulders. I hope my shopper will remember to include a hairdryer.

Our gazes lock in a stare-off, her dark eyes piercing mine before she reaches behind her and closes the door. Her nearness does something to me. Under my clothes, my body hardens. The smell of her skin is different. Clean. It's not the cherry blossom fragrance of her usual products I got used to.

I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the way my cock responds to her. "How are you doing?"

She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Do you care?"

"Your health is my responsibility."

"Oh." Her smile is sarcastic. "If you're taking my health so seriously, you must've decided to keep me alive."

"For now." I return her animosity with a dose of my own. "You won't serve me if you're dead."

Anger makes her eyes glimmer like gemstones, reflecting the effort it takes her to keep her mouth shut.

Her silence throws me off balance. I expected her to take the bait, to start the fight I need to blow off steam.

Surprising myself, I give her a piece of honesty. "I'm sorry about the discomfort you suffered." I can't quite bring myself to say the word lice. It's too much of a concrete confirmation of something I don't want to admit.

Her answer surprises me even more. "I need keys for the doors."

"Keys for the doors?"

She bites her lip. A moment passes before she opens her mouth, but then she seems to check herself. Tipping her chin up, she says, "To lock myself in."

I study her carefully. "Did something happen?"

"No," she says quickly. "But prevention is better than cure."

"Fine." It's not like she can lock me out. "If it'll make you sleep better."

"And I want a phone."

"To do what with?"

"Oh, I don't know." She glares at me even as she gives me another saccharine smile. "To maybe call Heidi when I discover lice on my head?"

That statement instantly fucks with me. It's not just the lice. It's the fact that she'll turn to Heidi instead of to me. Unjustified jealousy burns in my stomach. It only irritates me further. God only knows why. I don't want her to need me. But even as I tell myself that, I recognize the lie.

My answer is flat. "No."

She clenches her hands at her sides. "Because you don't trust me."

"Exactly."

"What if something happens to me out there?"

I advance on her. "Nothing is going to happen to you."

She keeps her eyes trained on my face, tilting back her head to hold my gaze when I stop flush against her. "You don't know that."

I chuckle. "Don't be so dramatic. Stay in the house like a good girl, and everything will be fine."

"And present myself naked on my knees when you grace me with a visit," she snaps.

"You're a fast learner."

"Fuck you."

"I'm afraid not yet."

"What's the matter?" she asks with taunting spite. "Scared you'll catch lice?"

Taking a lock of her hair, I rub the silky strands. "The price will be a small one to pay. I'll make the fuck worth it. Of that you can be sure."

She steps away, her hair slipping through my fingers as she escapes the touch. "Then what are you waiting for?"

I lean a shoulder on the wall. "Is this your way of begging me?"

"In your dreams," she says through thin lips.

"Sorry to disappoint you, cara, but I already have plans for tonight."

She balls her hands tighter, pressing her arms stiffly at her sides. "What makes you think that will disappoint me?"

"How hard I'll make you come if you beg me."

Her nostrils flare. "Here's a newsflash, Mr. Russo. I don't need you to get me off."

I click my tongue. "So feisty. I'm glad you didn't lose all that fire burning in your deceitful heart."

Her laugh is ugly. "Is the pot calling the kettle black?"

As much as I enjoy this exchange, my guests will arrive soon. Heidi is staying away longer than necessary. I've never done laundry, but I know for a fact it doesn't take this much time to get a load of washing started.

"Have you eaten?" I ask.

Sabella blinks. "What?"

"Did you have dinner?"

"I had a sandwich."

"If you'd like a snack, now's the time to grab it." I check my watch. "You need to be in your room in five minutes."

Her tone is mock-sweet. "Why, are you grounding me?"

"I'll remind you that you're a guest in my house who'll do as I say."

"A prisoner, you mean."

"Five minutes, Sabella. After that, you'll only have the tap water in your bathroom to drink."

"Go to hell," she says, spinning on her heel and stalking toward the stairs.

"I'm glad you didn't have to cut it," I call after her.

She stops and looks at me.

"It would've been a pity." I mean that sincerely. "I like your hair long."

A spiteful glee invades her eyes. "Then maybe I'll cut it."

"It's your choice, but it'll still be a pity."

She's about to mount the first step when the doorbell rings. She distracted me so completely that I failed to hear the cars arrive. Heidi is still nowhere in sight. She better be setting the starters on the table, or she'll hear from me tonight.

"Go to your room, Sabella."

Giving her my back, I pull my spine straight and school my features. My friendly expression is intact when I open the door wide to reveal a small party of people on the porch rubbing their hands in the cold.

"Right on time," I say, stepping aside to let them in.

They file through the door, their banter loud as they comment on the welcome warmth of the house.

Gripping the shoulder of the man who leads the group, I shake his hand before greeting his wife. "Welcome to my home."

He hands me a bottle of Scotch. "Here's a little something for you. I believe it's your favorite brand."

I accept the gift with a gracious, "Thank you," and leave it on the entrance table to greet the rest of them while they shrug off their coats and hang them on the stand.

My guests are business alliances, and it's not ideal that Sabella sees their faces, but she stands rooted to the spot at the bottom of the stairs like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh," one of the wives says, giving a start when her gaze falls on Sabella. "I heard you got married." She frowns as she takes in Sabella's attire but then adds good-naturedly, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"My wife had a small mishap. She won't be joining us tonight." I direct the next part at Sabella, saying with meaning, "If you'll excuse her, she'd rather retire now."

"Oh," the woman says again, laying a hand on her neck.

"Excuse me," Sabella mumbles, managing a smile before she flees up the stairs.

"Is she all right?" another wife asks.

"Perfectly fine." I give them my most charming smile before indicating the dining room. "Shall we? My housekeeper outdid herself with the menu tonight."

They glance at the top of the staircase as they pass me, but when we enter the dining room where pink caviar mousse and champagne are set out for starters, my wife is forgotten to everyone but me.

As the night drags on, it becomes increasingly difficult to pay attention to the conversation. My carefully cultivated charm is a useless weapon, my usual magic ineffective, because my thoughts are elsewhere, hijacked by an obstinate woman who bears my name. One who should soon bear my children. The more I fail to navigate the discussion, the more I blame her. The more I think about planting my seed inside her, the more I wish this dinner is over already.

I have a heavy hand with the wine and an even heavier one with the Scotch. It's not before the bottle is empty that my guests summon their drivers who are waiting in the kitchen where it's warm.

It's well after two in the morning when I finally make my way upstairs. It's too late to stop in front of Sabella's bedroom door. I have too much alcohol in my blood to turn the key and push the handle down. Yet those reasons don't stop me from entering and closing the door behind me. When I've locked the door again, I slip the key in my pocket.

The room is dark except for a sliver of moonlight that falls over the bed, illuminating the small shape under the covers. Of course she'd defy me, sneaking into the bed when I explicitly told her that luxury is reserved for dirty girls who beg on their knees.

The need to push her down and pin her underneath me isn't just to punish her for her defiance. A part of that depraved urge is born from an anger that won't let me go, an anger she ignited when she thought she could get away by marrying another man. By selling me out to Lavigne. It's the worst kind of anger, a cold and bitter resentment for which there's no medicine. It's a poison that fills my veins. It's a deadly creeper that winds around my chest and squeezes until there's no air left in my lungs, until I'm clawing for oxygen and each breath is like inhaling fire. Until living is hell. And she will pay.

Gripping the covers, I yank them off her body. She jerks awake, shooting upright with her hair wild around her face. How dare she lie there, so warm and soft and comfortable, sleeping soundly like a princess when she thrust me into an inferno where the flames are my own jealousy?

"Get up," I say, my voice sounding more animalistic than human.

She catches her weight on her arms behind her. "Ange?—"

"I told you not to say my name. Get up."

"What's wrong?"

I can't see her face to read her expression, and I'm too drunk to figure out the nuances of her tone. "Switch on the light."

She stretches over the nightstand. The lamp flicks on. The picture of her sitting naked in bed turns clear. Her long, toned legs are stretched out in front of her. They're pressed together, the softness between them hidden from my view, but my mark is visible above the small triangle of womanly hair. Her breasts are pert, her pretty apricot-colored nipples contracted from being so abruptly exposed after the warm cocoon of her bed.

Too tired to explain or command, I lock my fingers around her ankles and yank her to the edge of the bed. Her arms flail behind her, her back hitting the mattress. Twisting my hand in her long, silky locks of hair, I pull her into a sitting position before pushing her onto the floor on her knees. I use my free hand to unzip while holding her in place, keeping her face inches away from the bulge in my pants.

She stares at me with big, defiant eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

I free my cock through the open zipper, not bothering to get rid of the pants. "You know why."

"Because I dared to get into bed?" she asks with a scowl. "After last night, you can cut me some slack."

"If you want me to cut you slack, you know what to do."

She purses her lips.

Fine. Releasing her hair, I grip her jaw hard enough to force her mouth open. Before she can draw a breath, I slide through her lips. The scraping of her teeth over my rock-hard cock tightens my balls. I settle deep in the searing heat of her mouth, loving the way her pink lips stretch around me.

When she tries to pull away, I shift my grip back to her hair, twisting it like a rope around my fist. I hold her head secure as I use her beautiful mouth, deep-throating her for my selfish pleasure. Her tongue is hot and wet. There's not enough space for everything in her mouth, not enough stretch in her jaw. Her teeth graze the base of my cock, almost setting off my release. My dick is already pulsing with the need to come, but not yet.

She slams her palms on my thighs, trying to push me away. A mixture of tears and saliva spill over her face. It's so damn hot I'm tempted to make her swallow my balls too, but when I pull out to let her breathe, she shakes her head and holds up a hand.

"What is it, Sabella?" I taunt. "Do you want to ask me something? Are you ready to beg?"

It takes her a moment to get her sloppy breathing under control. "Not like this." Her voice is hoarse. "Let me do it my way."

"Your way?" Those words spark something ugly in my chest. More venomous jealousy pumps through my veins. "You've done this before?" Because I sure as hell haven't. Not with anyone but her.

"No, but I want to try."

Just like that, the ugly green color that tints my vision fades. Her answer is like a balm on a nasty burn. The envy fizzles out, making space for curiosity. "Why?"

Her gaze is level. Without pretenses. No games. Just the simple truth. "I want to know if I can like it."

Her answer takes the wind out of my sails. It does something to me, both the fact that she didn't like sucking my cock and the fact that she could. What catches me most off guard is how much I want her to like it. No, to love it.

The desire leaves me vulnerable. It opens a big fucking hole in my defenses, but I'm too curious to deny her and too desperate for her enjoyment not to grant her control.

Easing my hand from her hair, I give her silent permission. She shifts closer, so close that I have to spread my legs wider to accommodate her knees. Her grip is tentative when she wraps her fingers around my cock. She tests the feel, squeezing a little.

The air that hisses through my teeth makes her bolder. She tightens her grip and strokes my length. Her hand is like a branding iron. I grind my molars together as I try to hold back, because this is the most important test anyone has taken for me. It can't be over too soon. Not before I know on which side the coin is going to fall.

She repeats the action of gliding her hand up and down, watching curiously as my cock twitches in her palm. My dick grows painfully hard when she uses both hands to rub me.

"Enough," I say in a voice distorted with lust, locking my fingers around her wrist to stop her from jerking me off.

She obliges only to press a kiss on the crest. The caress is tender. Odd. Not what I expected. The tickle of her tongue as she traces the tip is too light. Yet it stirs a different kind of need in me, a need for the softness I glimpsed during that first year. When she laps up the drop of pre-cum my dick spills for her, she hums her approval, and fuck me if it's not the dirtiest, hottest sound I ever heard. It makes me want more, too much, but I wait patiently, nearly combusting as she traces the thick veins that run under the taut skin with her tongue.

I stand dead quiet, not daring to breathe as she slowly sucks me deeper. This is a first for me too, and I'm already addicted to her mouth. I already want it more than I should, enough to want to fuck her mouth hard, but I'm fascinated by the way she stretches her lips around me and anxious to know if she's turned on or repulsed.

She takes me all the way to the back of her throat. A groan reverberates in my chest. She moans in answer, almost making me shoot my load. She's so hot when she's kneeling between my legs and swallowing me. The notion that she may enjoy it only makes me harder.

Watching her come into her own power and seeing that knowledge burn in her eyes while she masters my pleasure is a sight to behold. She slides me out slowly over her curled tongue. The rhythmic arching of my hips is automatic. Every cell in my body is screaming for me to come down her throat, to pin her down and finish this slow torture, but I'm too caught up in the moment, hanging on to her every move.

I reach down and grope her breast, greedily squashing it in my palm. Her whimper is fuel on my fire.

Fuck.

I need this. Need her. Need her to want this. Me.

I'm close. Too close.

I want her harder.

Deeper.

Forever.

I thread my fingers through her hair. Instead of roping her in, I cup the back of her skull, letting her set the pace. She opens her throat to me. Swallows me. I lose myself in her, my resistance crumbling as she gives me this gift. Her enjoyment. I've never been more turned on in my life. It has less to do with the picture of my cock stuffed down her throat and more with the hand she slips between her legs.

Because she likes this.

Sucking me off turns her on.

The onset of my release tightens my balls. I don't want to come yet but when she lets me go with a pop to suck my sac into her scorching hot mouth, I can't hold back any longer. Gripping the base of my cock, I paint her chin and breasts with my cum. I pump until I'm dry, layering ribbons of release on the perfect canvas of her body.

I don't even take the time to tuck my cock back into my pants. I drag her up with my hands under her armpits and shove her with my palm between her breasts. Her legs fold against the edge of the bed. She goes down onto her back, her body bouncing on the mattress.

I'm on top of her in a second, mounting her like a crazed animal and catching her thighs between mine. I stare into her eyes as I rub my release over her breasts. She doesn't hide her reaction from me. She likes this too. She arches her back when I smear the cum over her stomach. I want to soak her in my seed and cover her with my smell so that she and everyone else knows to whom she belongs.

Gathering more of my release on my fingers, I trace my mark above her pussy, outlining the seal of my ownership in cum. I coat her clit with the slickness. Her breath catches when I rub. Still, it's not enough. I soak my fingers with my seed and slide two inside her pussy.

She gasps, her inner muscles locking down on the intrusion. When I thrust, she cries out. Sealing my lips over hers, I steal her sounds and her air. I make her mine, letting her live on my breaths.

"You're mine, bella," I say with a growl into the kiss. "All your firsts."

Her eyes go hazy as I cup her sex while keeping my fingers inside her. She's a stunning mess between her legs, slick and hot and close to coming. She moans when I pull my fingers out. I'm hard again, already inside her before she can exhale. I push up on one arm and slide a hand between us, using my cum as lubrication to rub her clit.

She wraps her arms around my neck and locks her ankles behind my ass, holding on as I pump and rub and goddamn, I'm going to shoot a dry load but I'm going to come with her again.

She makes me do things. Things I can't take back. Things I refuse to regret.

Breaking my own rule, I give her a hoarse command. "Say it. Say my name."

She doesn't scream it in pleasure. When her pussy spasms around my cock, she cups my cheek and utters the word I want to hear most on her lips with a soft sigh. "Angelo."

If the moan she uttered with her mouth full of my dick was hot, then saying my name when she comes is perfect.

I let her come undone, let her ride out the aftershocks on my hard cock until her thighs fall open and her head drops back. I must be pumping her raw, but I can't stop. I chase my release until it aches, until I come dry with painful spurts of nothingness, wrenching torturous pleasure from my spent body.

Only she can do this to me.

Exhaustion steals over my intoxicated senses. It's not just the alcohol. It's her. She's like a drug to my senses. An addiction to my body.

Resting our foreheads together, I take a moment to catch my breath before I pull out. I'm still fully dressed. I haven't even taken off my shoes.

I push to my feet like a drunken man, taking in the sight before me. She's spread out naked, the skin of her belly and thighs scraped red from the buttons of my waistcoat and the teeth of my zipper. My cum is smeared over her. Inside her. Over my clothes.

My gaze dips to her flat belly, to how it caves slightly inward. She's lost weight. It won't do. Not for what I'm planning.

Leaning over her, I cup her stomach beneath my palm. My touch is both reverent and protective as I imagine that secret place of a woman where life grows. "I need to put a baby inside you, Sabella."

My words have the effect of a glacier that crashes into a warm, tropical sea. Her eyes go wide. Wild. She pushes up on her elbows and closes her legs. Closes herself off to me. "You can't be serious."

She sits up and shoves me away.

The rejection is like a slap in the face. It stings, but I don't give her the satisfaction of showing her how much that bothers me.

My actions are casual as I unbutton my waistcoat and slip the garment over my arms. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You want to bring a child into this?" She waves between us. "Whatever you call this agreement you're parading to everyone as a marriage?"

I kick off my shoes and strip my socks. "I need an heir." My pants and briefs follow next. "My father had a contract drawn up for this purpose." Then my shirt. "You would've been familiar with the contents if your father hadn't hidden it from you."

"Do not bring my dad into this." Her nostrils quiver. "Not now."

"You can look it over. You'll find it makes adequate provision for you and any children you'll bear me. In fact, you'll find me more than generous, but you're welcome to add your own demands."

"Do you hear yourself?" She studies me with a pitying look. "You're talking about a human being, not an object whose life you can neatly project with a formal contract. A child needs a loving and safe environment."

"Which he'll have."

"A child needs parents who love and respect each other, not a fucked-up business deal."

"Your father didn't do a great job of respecting your mother, and you turned out well enough."

Hurt flashes through her eyes, making an expressive portrait of pain. It's too raw to hide. I don't like it. I don't like that I did that to her with my words. "Sabella."

She jumps up and heads toward the bathroom. "The answer is no, Angelo."

Agitation pours into my veins. If she thinks she can shun me and have the last word, I have news for her. This is the bargain she struck on her knees before God. This is what she owes me. My father was good to me. I'll be a good father too. I don't give a fuck what she believes or thinks about me.

I catch her wrist. "I didn't give you permission to speak my name."

She looks back at me, her mouth dropping open. "So, I'm only to utter your holy name on command."

Her spite is getting to me. I've got her too deeply under my skin. She affects me too much. "Correct. But you may use it freely when you come."

"In that case," she says with a stiff little smirk, "the answer is no, Mr. Russo."

I lean closer, simultaneously pulling her hard enough to me to make our bodies collide. My armor is cruelty, my defense for her repeated rejection the power I hold over her.

My words are soft, but my smile is cold. "You're making the mistake of thinking you have a choice."

Her beautiful face pales as she stares up at me. Her shock is evident in her breathless reply. "You can't."

"I can, wife." I rub my thumb over the delicate skin of her wrist. "And I will."

She knows it's true. The vein that throbs in her delicate neck tells me so.

I let her go. "You can have a shower and sleep in your bed." Walking to the door, I add, "You earned it."

"You're a monster," she says to my back.

I chuckle. "I'm glad you're finally figuring me out."

Her frustrated cry reaches my ears as I shut the door between our rooms and turn the key. When I walk to my shower, I should feel victory. As it turns out, winning this round brings me no joy.