9. What happens now

NINE

Leaving my wife on her own after she gave me head is the last thing I want to do. I wasn't kidding when I told her it's my expectation that, now that she's agreed to be my wife, she makes sure I go to bed satisfied. I'm more than looking forward to doing the same for her, and though I draw the line at taking anything from a woman that she's not willing to give, the way she sucked me off in between telling me she hated me only makes me want to dominate her more.

But I can't, and not only because she's glaring at me as she wipes the corner of her mouth with her hand. Like a good girl, she swallowed ever fucking drop I gave her after I blew my load in her mouth, but the venomous expression on her gorgeous face warns me that she's already plotting how she's going to try to assassinate me next.

Good luck, my dear.

Tucking my cock back into my pants, I hurriedly button them before zipping up. I adjust myself so that I'm as comfortable as I'm going to get, check to make sure my knife is still where it belongs, then start for the door.

I make it three steps before Savannah's voice calls after me.

"What happens now?"

I look over my shoulder at her. She's standing, arms crossed over her impressive chest, as she glares at me.

Damn it. I have to adjust myself again after the way that heated look goes straight to my cock.

Her attention dips, eyes drawn to the way I cup my groin. Since she's not looking at me, I don't bother concealing my smirk.

She can deny it all she wants, but at least she's drawn to me. I can work with that. There's a fine line between love and hate, and the fact that she already has some strong emotions regarding me will work in my favor.

I want this woman any way I can take her, and if I have to use every tricky, manipulative maneuver I can to get what I want… I will.

"I am going to check on my sister. You can get ready for bed."

Her eyes darken as she takes one noted step back. "I already told you. You can't make me fuck you. If you do, that's rape?—"

"I'm not going to rape you. When I fuck you… and, believe me, Savannah, I will fuck you… it'll be because you opened your legs for me the same way you just opened your mouth for my cock. If that's not tonight, fine. That's a disappointment, but I'm a big boy. I can wait?—"

"You'll be waiting until your dick is shriveled up then."

"If you let me live that long. Hmm?"

She doesn't say anything to that. Certain that I made my point all the same, I start for the door again.

And, again, she stops me.

"That's really your sister? Not your girlfriend?"

Oh, Savannah. Did she really think I was that much of an asshole that I'd cheat on my romantic partner by forcing Savannah to marry me, then manipulating her into going down on me?

From the look on her face, the answer is yes—but that's not all I see.

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Jealous, wife?"

She scoffs. "What? No. I'm just trying to figure out how I'll ever face her again if she really is your sister. You might not give a fuck, but I don't perform sex acts in front of an audience. Her first impression of me is sucking her brother's dick. You don't see why that would make me feel like shit?"

Interesting that my murderous wife cares about what Genevieve thinks about her… and that she honestly believes I'll let her get near my baby sister.

"Don't you worry about her. My sister is my business."

"And she's used to walking in on you getting your knob polished? Is that it?"

No. And that's precisely why I have to go check on her.

But first?—

"Deny being jealous all you want, Savannah. I'll set your mind at ease regardless. Genevieve is my sister. Vincent is my cousin. You are my wife. I have no… mm… arrangements with any other women. Before tonight, I wasn't married. I don't have a girlfriend… and if I did? I'm fucking forty. It's a little ridiculous to refer to my partner as a ‘girlfriend' if we're exclusive, don't you think? Anyway, I much prefer the title of ‘wife'. And, in case you still think this is all a bad dream, I assure you, it isn't. You're my wife, and if you want a happy husband, you'll do what you're told and stay put."

She didn't say a word the entire time I spoke, but she swallows roughly when I finish.

And then?—

"And if I don't?"

I run my finger along the hilt of my stiletto, drawing her attention to it, and trying like hell not to preen when she focuses on the way the muscles in my chest flex first.

"Let's just say, you're not the only one who knows how to wield a knife, ragna mia."

I thoughtI would have to head upstairs to find Genevieve. Hoping that I'd put enough fear into Savannah to keep her from trying to leave the manor, I was prepared to take the stairs as quickly as I could without aggravating my stitches—but that wasn't necessary.

Not when I find Gen in the hall, with her back to my door, forehead pressed to the wall opposite me.

When she was younger, my sister had a bad habit of putting her ear against my door, trying to listen to what I was doing. I know from experience that hormones are a bitch, and sex is a mystery when you're a teenager.

I was twenty-five when I took her in to live with me after our dad was killed. She was only ten then. I didn't think she had any idea what I was doing with the women I brought home, but once the thirteen-year-old smartass that she was asked me why she heard my date screaming my name the night before while we were eating breakfast, I found out I was wrong.

I also choked on my toast that day, but from that moment on, I refused to let any women come over when Gen was round. Eventually, it just became easier to have sex in a hotel, then head home when I was done. When I had a relationship, I would spend time at her place, but anyone who tried to get close to me had to deal with the fact that Genevieve will always be the most important woman in my life.

She's grown up knowing that her big brother will always be there to protect her. And because I've been careful to shield her from both syndicate life and my sex life, it probably never dawned on her to knock on my closed door before she let herself into my room.

That was my mistake. So distracted by my new wife, I forgot to lock the door. I only have one on the inside—which isn't helping me now that I have someone I'd like to see stay in there—but if I'd have turned the lock before I whipped out my cock, I wouldn't be talking to the back of Gen's blond head right now.

"Gen? Sorellina?" I ask, slipping into Italian. I don't often do it because I've always felt like it made me a walking stereotype, the Italian gangster, but sometimes—like when I slipped and referred to Savannah as ‘my spider'—it just comes out. Like now, calling Genevieve my little sister. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing. Just willing myself blind."

Willing myself blind… I sigh. "Really? Because you decided to walk into my bedroom without knocking, it's my fault that you?—"

"Saw my brother getting his dick sucked by some stranger? Yup. That's your fault alright. What the fuck?—"

"Language," I say mildly.

Without even turning around, my sweet sister flips me her middle finger.

"Genevieve…"

"What? In all the years I've been living under your roof, you never brought a woman back here. Not even when you were dating that golddigger, Damien. You spent the night at her house. How was I supposed to know you were busy?"

She's not wrong.

Well, not about that.

"Besides, she's not a stranger. She's my wife."

That gets her attention. Pushing away from the wall, she spins around, her eyes—light blue like mine—going fucking huge.

"Wife?" She folds in on herself, looking even smaller beneath the winter jacket she still has on. "What do you mean, wife? What… are you telling me that my brother… my only brother… had a serious relationship behind my back, then ran off and got married… and he never told me?"

"Genny—"

Suddenly, those baby blue eyes fill with tears. "I rarely get to leave the manor, and the one time I would've loved to… to see my big brother get married… and you kept that from me?"

If there's one thing I can say about my sister, it's that she got most of the emotions in the family. While I'm a stoic bastard most of the time when I'm not turning on the charm, she can turn on a dime.

I'm not surprised she's hurt to think I hid something so significant from her. Mainly because she's so used to being iced out on the day-to-day Family business, that she's at least sure I'll tell her about the things that truly matter.

Like, oh, being engaged.

"It's not what you think. I didn't know I was getting married until a few hours ago."

"How does that make sense?"

Admittedly, it doesn't. Not to anyone but me, that is.

I try to explain anyway. "You heard Vin and I talking about the woman who gave him a ride the other day?" When she doesn't deny it, I'm not surprised. I've learned that anything discussed in the manor is overheard by my sister, whether I want it to be or not. "That's her."

"Wait." She blinks, and the sadness turns to disbelief in a heartbeat. "Her? That's the woman who's been following you? Didn't you only just learn her name?"

"Yes."

"And now she's your wife? Without, like, dating her first?"

I nod. "That is accurate."

Genevieve bites down on her bottom lip, a slight furrow to her brow. She opens her mouth, probably to call me out on my bullshit, when she suddenly pauses for a moment. Lifting her hand, she points at my side.

"Damien. What's that?"

Fuck. I ran after Genevieve to make sure she was alright, but the only thing I stopped to do was pull up my pants. I'd left my bloody shirt and my suit jacket on one of my chairs. I didn't bother grabbing either, and I completely forgot about the bandage on my side.

"It's nothing," I begin, but when Gen reaches for the bandage, I step away before she can see the extent of the two-inch slice and all of my stitches. Instead, I try to soothe her curiosity by saying, "Just a little cut."

I don't mean to coddle her, and I know how much it pisses her off, but I like to protect my sister from the violence in the life—and that very rarely works because, like other Libellulas, she is very perceptive.

A glance at the gauze, a glance at the door, a glance at the stiletto in my holster that I would normally remove before I was being intimate with a date…

She's perceptive, and she's smart, and she guesses it in one.

"She stabbed you?" Genevieve squeals.

I don't even have a chance to come up with an alternate explanation to my knife wound before she's marching in front of me, hands perched on her hips.

"What did you do to her?"