Chapter Ten

Stefano

Sunlight cracked the horizon. For a moment, the world was perfect. My bed was warm, my mind was quiet, and Celine's curves fit perfectly against me.

I closed my eyes to keep the morning from intruding. My cock thickened and stretched. Last night, she'd fallen asleep as soon as we'd climbed into bed. I'd been content to simply hold her.

My phone vibrated on the table. I ignored it because I had no doubt it was Anna ready for her first training session. She could wait.

I draped my arm over Celine, holding her close and burying my face in her tangles of silken hair. Her flesh was warm against my lips as I nuzzled the soft skin where the slope of her shoulder met the graceful column of her neck.

"Morning," she whimpered, waking slowly. Her back arched, pressing her ass into my groin, rubbing against my erection.

"Buongiorno, bella," I whispered, touching my tongue to the shell of her ear with my cock perfectly pillowed in the cleft of her ass.

"Mmm. I love this." Her palm slid along my flank.

My phone buzzed again. She leaned forward, grabbed it off the table, and handed it back to me. At the same time, she shifted, parting her legs, hooking one over my hips. Reaching beneath the sheet, she grasped my cock, slid the head through her juices, and nudged her opening.

I tossed the phone to the side and gripped her hips. "Condom."

"Will you pull out? I need to feel you." She leaned her head back, kissing my jaw. Her arm reached around my neck. "Fuck me, Stef."

Spooning behind her, with a slight thrust of hips, I stretched her passage and slid deep. She was so small and tight. Her wet heat surrounded me as I surged deeper into her.

Whatever intentions I had toward her in the beginning had become something deeper and more meaningful. Possessiveness surged hot and lethal because she was mine. I was hers.

"I'm going to spend forever fucking you, Angel. You were made for me."

She whimpered as I pulled out and glided back in. Her pussy clenched, gloving my cock. I rocked into her with a slow, steady cadence. My fingers splayed across her belly, then sank lower, slicking across her dewy folds. I thrummed her clit as I fucked her with a sated tempo.

"You own me, Angel. I'm always going to protect you."

Her fingers wrapped around my forearm, holding onto me as she gasped with each plunge of my cock into her velvety cunt. "I know who you are."

"Do you?"

"Yes." Her core clenched. Heat from her body seeped into mine.

"I'm a man who kills. I'll kill for you."

"Justice isn't murder." Her nails clawed my flesh. I fucked her harder. She gasped as I pounded the breath from her, railed into her again and again.

"I'm going to bathe in the blood of my enemies, Angel." I burned. My fingers dug into her hips, forcing her to take my punishing thrusts. "You're my salvation. My only redemption."

"Your shadow will leave you in the dark." Her core contracted, her thighs trembled, and her pussy soaked my cock. "But I won't. I never will."

I thrust harder, tightened my hold on her, a ruthless and unholy pounding into her body, imprinting my claim on her. "I'm always going to be with you. Even in the dark, I'm going to be there. Even when you can't see me, you'll feel me. You'll never have to be afraid because you have me."

Her body shuddered, her eyes closed, and she shattered in a breathtaking surrender. Her pussy squeezed my cock in rhythmic pulses, creaming along my shaft and flooding her channel with a wash of heat.

Scorching need sizzled along my spine, burned into my groin, and ignited a fury of emotions. I ripped from her cunt, erupting in a mind-numbing climax. Hot jets of cum spurt between us.

I locked her against me and kissed her. Our breaths blended, and the rampant beat of her heart matched my own.

For long minutes, we simply held onto each other. I was her sanctuary, and she was my salvation.

My phone vibrated from somewhere on the bed. I reached for it and blinked the text message into focus. "My sister is impatient." I sat up and typed a response to her text message. "She's waiting for me."

I slid my legs over the bed, crossed to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. As the water warmed, I leaned against the doorjamb, my gaze meeting hers.

"What does she want?" she asked.

"Most days she's a pain in my ass. This morning, we planned to begin training in self-defense."

She sat up in bed. "You're teaching her to fight?"

I nodded. "And how to use a knife. Also target practice. A weapon is only effective if you train. Do you want to train with her?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Good. If you don't want to smell like sex, come take a shower with me."

Ten minutes later, I'd pulled on compression shorts and a T-shirt. As Celine plaited her hair, I fixed her a cup of ginger tea and made myself a cup of coffee.

She stepped out of the bathroom in leggings that molded to her slight curves like a second skin. Tight nipples prodded against a pink sports bra and tank top. She wrapped her hands around the mug of tea and brought it to her nose.

"Mmm. Thank you." She sipped the drink then set the cup down. "Can I paint today?"

"You never have to ask. The studio is yours."

I couldn't quell the rise of satisfaction I felt at seeing the darkening marks and whisper burn of my kisses against her pale skin. I collared her throat, and she swallowed.

"You will be too much of a distraction." I grasped her braid, tipped her head back, and stared into her deep blue eyes. "How can I train to fight when I want to fuck?"

Morning sun sliced across the kitchen, catching the angles of her face, the spun silk of her blonde hair, the tint of red on her lush mouth, and the blush of pink in the hollow of her cheeks.

I seethed at the bruising around her eye from that bastard. The soft tissues ranged from deep purple to pale yellow. Rage still burned hot in my gut. I'd make sure she had the skills to destroy any man who tried to hurt her. I'd show her how to fight, and how to use a weapon, however, her appearance of innocence would make her deadly.

I kissed her, leaving her lips glossy and wet.

"Ready to kick some ass?"

"What did you tell your sister about me?" she asked as we headed to the elevator.

"Not much. She's two years younger than me. She's stubborn and beautiful. She's protective of her family and fiercely loyal."

The elevator descended to the second-floor gym. "Angel, I want you to be strong and fearless. Training never ends. We begin today, but every time we come to the gym, you'll build skills."

I held the door for Celine.

Anna sat on the floor and plucked her buds from her ears. "You're late," she said. Her gaze darted to Celine.

"è la mia ragazza," I said to Anna.

Celine questioned me with a quirk of her lips.

"I told her you are my girlfriend." I bent and kissed those startled lips.

Anna smiled. "I only have an hour because Dante wants me at the bank early. Marco has been an asshole, so teach me something I can threaten him with."

"My sister Anna," I said to Celine. "She verbally busts my balls because she can't fight with our brother Marco."

Anna's lips twitched. "Because Ally has his balls in her purse." She bounced around on her feet, more ready for ballet than Krav Maga. "Can you teach me how to take down Antonio?"

"No. We had this conversation. Stay away from Ant. Do not even touch him. Ready?" I asked Celine.

"Yes." She took a breath and relaxed her shoulders.

After a few stretches, I started with basic body positioning for power, base and space, and targeting the sensitive areas of the body, such as kicks to the groin, and how to break free from a bear hug.

I had Celine and Anna practice techniques against each other. Within ten minutes, Anna had Celine laughing as they took each other to the ground. The morning quickly shifted from a training session to girl bonding.

I sat on the bench and watched them practice. Sweat soaked the hair at Celine's temple, but the exertion was more from laughter than actual combat techniques.

"We're done," Anna said, flopping to her back. She rolled onto her hands and knees. "I need coffee and a croissant." She turned to Celine. "Want to grab a coffee with me? There's a Vintage Brew on the corner."

"Oh, um, I'd love to but…" She turned to me.

"It's not safe," I said to Anna.

Anna sat and pulled her knees to her chest. "I knew that. I'm sorry. We'll do it another time."

Celine smiled. "I'd like that."

"She's going to be in the studio today."

Anna grasped Celine's hand. "Do you love it? I had so much fun shopping for supplies. Antonio helped me set up the shelves. If you need anything, tell me, and I'll bring it over to you." She sighed and stood. "I need a nap now, too, but I should get to the bank. My boss can be an asshole if I'm late."

"Yeah, I have one of those, too." Celine cocked a brow. "Or I had one of those for a couple of days. I quit."

I rested my hand on Celine's lower back as we left the gym. "I'm Anna's boss."

"Oh," Celine said, and both her and Anna laughed.

Back in the apartment, I took another quick shower.

Marco and Luca lived in suits. I preferred jeans and my leather jacket. Today I had business at the bank. I wore a black suit, a slate gray dress shirt, and a burgundy tie.

Celine sat with her legs crossed on the bed with a cup of tea in her hands. She'd stripped out of her workout clothes, opting for one of my T-shirts, and a pair of cotton shorts that rode high on her smooth thighs. They gaped at the leg, and when she shifted, I glimpsed the white lace of her panties.

She chewed on her thumbnail.

"What's wrong?" I asked her.

"I keep thinking about what we know for facts, even if we don't have proof. There are five rules for evidence. Is it admissible, authentic, complete, reliable, and believable? It would be a big no on all of those."

I cocked a brow.

"Yes, I'm going somewhere with this. Pretend you're my dad." She blushed. "Sheesh, I sound like Presley. She has a thing for older guys and likes to call them daddy. I have daddy issues, so don't pretend you're my dad."

I stalked toward her, leaned over the bed, and banded my fingers around her neck. With her face a breath away from mine, I stared into her eyes. "I've never been into daddy kink, but I wouldn't hate if from you."

Her fingers weaved into my hair. "I'd hate it." Her gaze searched my eyes, becoming turbulent pools of blue. The moment grew heavy between us. "I want you, the monster in the dark. I want the man who seeps under my skin with the touch of his strong hands. The one whose amber eyes haunt my dreams. My monster."

I placed my knee on the bed, towered over her, and sank my fingers into her hair. Her face tipped to mine. "Mine," I softly said and waited.

"Yours." Her lips parted. I spit in her mouth, giving her a part of me. She whimpered and swallowed.

I crashed my lips against hers, thrust my tongue into her mouth, and savagely kissed the fuck out of her, tasting ginger tea and honey. A low groan crawled up my throat as a corkscrew of pressure tightened my balls. She was fucking addicting.

I inched back, and she licked her lips. "If…um…I'm supposed to have a photographic memory, but I can't remember what I was going to say."

"We decided I'm not your daddy." I adjusted my tie and slipped the button through the hole on my sports coat.

She blushed and dipped her head, glancing at me through the fringe of her lashes. "Right. Before you ravished me."

"That wasn't ravishing," I interrupted. "That will come later." I checked the time, then I sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry you couldn't go to coffee with my sister. I love seeing you smile. I promise, this is temporary."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around her knees. "I have everything I need. You and my painting. I'm good." She rested her chin on her knees. "Are you going to the bank?"

I nodded.

"Is the bank code for mafia work?"

I stretched out in front of her, resting on my elbow. I ran my fingers along her ankle, over the curve of her calf, to the soft skin behind her knee. "The bank is a legitimate financial institution. We can control the appearance of deposits. Anything over ten grand needs reported to the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network of the Treasury Department and the IRS. People who bank with us don't like the government in their business."

"Are you going to do mafia stuff today?"

I smiled at her innocence. "Sì. Everything I do is for the family."

She seemed to sigh with relief. "Good. Listen Daddy, what if in your work you'd made a sweet deal for, let's say, the Irish mafia, knowing one day you might need a favor? Then you kill your wife in a fit of rage. You call in the favor. They dispose of your problem. Score is even, only it never will be.

"My dad is the DA now. He might have called in the favor, but he's going to be paying for it forever. Whether it was the Irish or someone who spilled his secrets to the Irish, he won't have any choice but to do what they want. If someone has proof, even if it's not admissible evidence, he'd be ruined."

I nodded. "We need Emilio to dig deeper, go back further in your father's history in the prosecutor's office. If Ian Byrne somehow discovered what happened a decade ago, and he's using it against your father, we still don't know how that involves you. Ian Byrne targeted you and used your father to secure his claim on you."

Patrick Byrne was into young girls. Some he kept for himself and corrupted. Others disappeared, sold to his wealthy ilk. Ian wasn't opposed to getting his hands dirty, but I couldn't see him bargaining for a bride.

"Angel, I don't know how you're involved in this, but I'm going to find out."

Celine

I didn't know why my heart raced. I had my new cell phone in my pocket, a mug of ginger tea in one hand and those tempting ginger cookies in the other, and I had the whole day to spend in the studio. I padded to the elevator in my bare feet, descended one floor, and used the code Stefano gave me for the door. He'd said it would give me access to the building, our apartment, and the studio.

For a moment, I stood in the threshold and inhaled the scent of fresh paint and freedom. With the flip of the switch, bright light flooded the studio. The door clicked shut behind me.

I was overwhelmed and exceedingly happy. Everything was new. I ran my fingertips over the edges of the shelves. Brushes, pastels, oils, watercolors, acrylics.

In school, I'd dabbled in several mediums. One semester, I'd even tried pottery, but I was more of a ceramics girl when it came to clay. I'd tried throwing on a wheel, but only succeeded in making a pathetically awful bowl. But because I'd painted it, the piece had taken third place in the ninth-grade art fair.

I'd been horrified.

Sable brushes, still in their protective sleeves, filled one of the shelves. I grabbed a black box and opened the clasp. Inside, I discovered a silver-tipped pure badger hair fan brush. Another box contained a Kolinsky brush. I had a few good brushes but nothing compared to these.

Professor Kyte believed in the five stages of the creative process. Inspiration, percolation, preparation, creation, and reflection. I'd found my inspiration.

Stefano's beautiful eyes held mystery and secrets. With one look, he said everything. He made me come undone. I gravitated toward the intoxicating pull he had over me, aching for him in ways I didn't want to understand. I wanted him, and I would sacrifice myself on his altar because of the way he made me feel.

Warmth bloomed in my belly. I pulled up my Tommee Profitt playlist on my phone, stuffed buds into my ears, and grabbed a canvas. I meticulously chose my color palette and prepared my workspace.

Last night, I'd glimpsed Stefano's criminal world. The first time we'd met, he'd told me he wasn't a good guy but a lethal man. I just hadn't realized he was everything I needed.

Sitting at my easel, I prepped my canvas, applying several coats of gesso, layering on a base color, and soaking the backside with a water spray bottle to keep the paints from bleeding through. And then I let my mind drift back to last night, the way I'd felt when he'd softly whispered words I'd been so afraid to hear. My mother was dead. And soon my father would be, too.

My brush strokes attacked the canvas.

Stef was deadly and beautiful. Broken and reshaped by his life. He was me. I'd suffocated under the blanket of my fear. He'd honed his and become a weapon for the mafia.

My protector. My lover. My killer.

Warm colors of amber, oranges and reds blended on the canvas. Black and grays created shadow. Using my fingers, I smudged the paint. My hand trembled at the lustful narrowing of his eyes. Breathe. When I looked at the painting, he was here with me. I could feel the weight of his power over me, his rugged and brutal beauty at odds with the gentle way he called me his angel.

The hypnotic beats of the music burned the world away. I was here, too, in the painting. This was the way he looked at me. Everything I was reflected in the eyes taking shape on my canvas. He was all I could see. All I'd ever want.

Tears blurred my vision and dripped from my chin. I wiped my cheek with my stained fingertips, gathered my tears and dragged my fingers through the space below his eyes. My tears mixed with the intensity in the paint.

I stepped back from the painting. I wasn't a realist painter. I'd never be asked to paint the Queen. But within the brash and aggressive strokes, my emotions bled onto the canvas.

Stefano's eyes, swirls of smoke, and black wings of an avenging angel. It wasn't finished, but maybe I wanted to keep it that way because neither were we. I paused the music, removed my earbuds, and checked the time. I'd been in the studio for hours.

I turned the easel toward the natural light, grabbed the ginger cookies, and crossed the room. There was a fire escape platform outside the open window. The egress window's interior ledge was about a foot wide and made the perfect place to sit. A sliding screen kept the bugs out but could be easily opened in case of fire.

The sounds of traffic echoed up the building from the street below. I bit into the soft and chewy cookie. Could this really last? Stefano, the studio, this feeling inside of me? I glanced at the painting. Even if it didn't, I'd remember.

On my third cookie, I noticed the same blacked-out sedan driving past the back side of the building. At least, I thought it was. I looked for something I could distinguish from every other car on the street. Admittedly, blacked-out vehicles made me more nervous because of my encounter with Ian Byrne.

My phone pinged with a text.

Anna: I'm at the door. I have food.

My heart jumped into my throat, and my stomach felt as if it plummeted to my feet. Did I want anyone to see my painting? Not really but the paint was too wet to risk moving it.

But I wanted to know more about Stefano. And I wanted to laugh again. I carefully turned the easel until the painting faced the wall. Then with a calming breath, I went to the door and opened it.

"I picked us up burrito bowls. Here, take these." She handed me the bag of food. "I'll be right back. I made us cocktails, but I couldn't carry everything." She bounded across the hall and into her apartment. I stood in the open doorway holding the food.

"I would've asked Stef what you liked, but he's out for the day." She hollered from inside her apartment. A moment later, she appeared with two glass tumblers filled with a sparkling orange drink. "That's why I can take a two-hour afternoon lunch." She handed me a drink. "Aperol Spritz. My favorite. You'll love it."

She stepped past me into the studio but stayed near the door.

"I can see you've been painting." She smiled as her gaze raked me from head to toe. She had the same whiskey-colored eyes as Stefano but held none of the intense mystery. Because I'd had paint on my hands and touched my legs, I had paint smudges on my thighs. I'm sure I had paint on my face as well.

"I tend to get messy when I work." I rubbed my cheek.

"Then you have something in common with my brother." She shifted from one foot to the other. Perhaps she was as nervous as I was. "I'm intruding."

"No, I was taking a break." I pointed to the cookies by the window. "Actually, come watch with me." I returned to the window and made room for her next to me. I set the bag of food between us. "I think I might be paranoid."

"A little paranoia is good. It keeps us cautious." She took a sip of her drink, then set it on the window ledge and dug into the bag.

I didn't know how much she knew of my situation. After this morning, I wanted to get to know her. She was part of a mafia family, and I was technically married to their enemy. Ian seemed determined to keep me.

Anna needed to know associating with me could put her at risk.

"My father sold me to the Irish mafia." I figure I might as well throw my shitty story onto the proverbial table and allow the smell to dissipate.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I'm scared he'll find me." I took a big gulp of the sweet drink and set it next to me. The orange essence left a bit of a bitter aftertaste, but it was refreshing.

"You're safe here."

I nodded. "I ran." I took the foil and cardboard container from her. "I ran to your brother."

"Of all my brothers, Stef is the most complicated. He's a taciturn man. At least, he comes off cold and unfeeling to most people. Because of his work, he wears emotional armor." She peeled the lid off her bowl and twisted her fork in her shredded chicken and cheese. The smell made my mouth water. She poised with the fork near her mouth. "He's different with you."

"I don't know what I would've done without him. I hate that he's being dragged into my problems, especially when he has his own fight with the Irish."

"Like diamonds, Bruno men are made stronger under pressure. Trust me, Stef lives for the fight."

The black sedan slowly rolled down the street.

"Anna, I'm worried." A lump rose into my throat. "I'm pretty sure that's the third time in the last thirty minutes that car has driven by. For some reason, Ian Byrne wants me. He knows I'm with Stef. What if they know I'm here? If they're watching him, they know this is where he lives."

Stef and I were lucky. We'd foolishly left last night when they could have been watching the building. Maybe they had been, and now, they knew I was here.

Anna slid open the screen, leaned out the window, and squinted at the car. "I can't see a plate, but the guy driving looks like he has tattoos and a gold watch on his left wrist."

"You can see all that?"

I leaned out with her. The man's arm dangled out the car window as he flipped ash from his cigarette.

"If it drives by again, I'm calling Antonio."

"Shouldn't we call Stefano?"

"Probably. He'll be pissed if I call Antonio instead of him." She sighed. "If Stef doesn't answer, we call Antonio."

"I've only met Antonio once, and I have to admit he intimidates me." I took a bite of my burrito bowl.

Anna laughed. "Only you would think Antonio is more intimidating than Stef."

"I should confess now." I took another sip of the orange drink. "I'm not good at friendships."

She rested her hand on mine. "It's hard to meet people when you live in a world outside of society. That makes it even harder to trust people. You can trust Stef."

"I do." I ran my fingertip around the rim of the glass. "He's the only one I trust."

"You can trust me, too."

"Thank you."

She peered out the window again as she finished her drink. "Want another one?"

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Sì."

While she was across the hall, I watched the road. Maybe I had just been paranoid. The car hadn't come around the block again. When Anna returned, she was barefoot, and she'd changed into leggings and an off the shoulder shirt.

"I'm not going back to work. I need a personal day."

Anna was built like an Italian cover model with hips, hair, and breasts. Insecurity had always run deep within me, to my core…until Stefano touched my body, whispered filthy things to me, fucked me, spit in my mouth, and painted me in his cum. He'd branded me as his and nothing else mattered.

"Tell me about Antonio," I said as she handed me the full tumbler.

She licked her lips, tasting off the wetness of her drink. "I've been warned to stay away from him, but I can't help that he makes me hot. Promise you won't say anything to Stef. He'll force me to move back to Marco's. If Marco finds out— No, I can't think about that. I just have to be careful not to let my feelings show."

We finished our lunch. Anna was on her third cocktail, and my phone speaker filled the room with my favorite playlist. I still sat on the window ledge, but Anna had migrated to the floor and leaned against the wall.

"My brother Luca had a dungeon in his house back in Italy. He tied his submissives to his bed." She giggled. "That's what he called his girlfriends. His submissives." She held up her finger. "My brother Marco, I think he can be a dominant asshole, only he doesn't use floggers and whips. He idles at intense alpha male. Anyone but Allegra would be terrified of him. I think she mellows him. Or maybe he just seems less rigid with her."

I was pretty sure we were both intoxicated. Anna's voice grew animated as she filled me in on life with a mafia family.

"You should have seen Ally on their wedding day. She threatened to kill his mistress with a knife."

I slid off the window ledge and dropped down next to her. "He has a mistress?"

"My father always had a mistress. He was monogamously challenged, but my brothers aren't like him in that way. Maybe Marco would have been tempted, but Allegra isn't a typical mafia wife. We're expected to make babies, keep their secrets, and accept their authority. I swear, if Marco forces me to marry Diego Ricci, I'll be tempted to make myself a widow."

"With Stef's training I'll be able to help," I said. "I know how it feels to be forced into marriage. I've been married for over a month, and I didn't even know it."

"That's horrible. I'll help you, and we'll both be widows," she said. She used my shoulder to steady herself as she stood. "We need another drink."

"Not for me. I'm good." My brain was happily buzzing with good vibes.

She didn't need to go across the hall because she'd brought the prosecco, Aperol, and soda water over and set up a minibar on the counter.

"Do you want to paint?" I asked her.

She snorted. "Fingerpainting rainbows and sunflowers with Savio is about the extent of my talents."

"I feel like painting a rainbow."

"I saw your painting in Stef's apartment." She handed me a drink anyway. "I can see why he's fallen for you. One day you'll understand why. That you could paint something like that would speak to him. Just know that he needs someone who can understand him. Stef has walls. He doesn't let people close because he knows they'll be afraid of him."

Silence hung heavy between us. I wasn't afraid of him. I craved him.

"Do you want to see the painting I did today?"

She nodded and followed me across the room.

Careful of the canvas, I spun the painting around.

Anna gasped as she stared at the painting. The shadows and fractured lines of the interpretive piece reflected the incandescent eyes of the man that had darkened my soul. I ached with a wicked need for him.

"I was wrong," she said with a note of awe in her voice. "I think you already do understand him. You have a gift, Celine. When I look at the painting, I see my brother, the dark facets and the protectiveness. It's terrifyingly beautiful."

I sipped my drink. "Let's paint."