Chapter Twelve

Celine

One gun shot. I tried to focus on Stef's words, but I couldn't hear through the rushing roar of my own thoughts. He leaned up on his arm.

I ran my hands over his torso. My dad could've shot him. It could've been Stef. I stared into his face. His lips moved, but I couldn't hear his voice. The echo of the gunfire in my mind continued to drown out everything else.

But Stef's warm body surrounded me, his amber eyes drank me in, and his hands roamed over me. The same desperate need was in me, to make sure he wasn't hurt.

Slowly, his words seeped into my brain. "Look at me. Angel, keep your eyes right here. Please, for me."

My brows furrowed as reality covered me in a suffocating black cloak. Oh, god, he'd killed himself.

"It's my fault." I'd backed him into a corner with no way out. I did this. I wanted him to feel the way he made me feel. Trapped under the heavy weight of fear.

Marie screamed. She flung her arms, scratching and clawing Carmine.

"Calm the fuck down," he roared.

I scrambled to my feet, but Stef gripped my arms and spun me away from my father.

Not before I'd seen the devastation.

"He needs help," Marie wailed. "I need to call 911."

Stefano glanced over my shoulder. "I don't give a fuck what you think he needs. Make that call, and I'll cut your fucking hand off. He's dead because he's a coward."

Carmine gripped Marie's arm and hauled her toward the door. He forced her to sit against the wall. "For once in your fucking life do the right thing and think of Celine. Sit there and shut up."

Nausea churned in my gut. "I have to see him."

Beneath the dark whiskers, a muscle ticked in his jaw. "Some things you'll never unsee."

And some things I couldn't unhear, like my father confessing to killing my mother, admitting to trading me to a sex trafficker, and blaming me for it all. Stef couldn't protect me from the truth. The man I loved as a little girl was dead.

"I can't have any more regrets. I have to learn to deal with the hard stuff." Holding onto the man who would slay my demons, I turned toward the desk.

My knees crumbled. Bile surged into my throat. Covering my mouth, I heaved once. Blood and brains sprayed the wall behind the desk. My father slumped in his chair, what was left of his head listing to the side. The stench of gunfire and the iron-like pungency of blood saturated the air.

I couldn't breathe without gagging, but I couldn't turn away from the macabre massacre.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I'm sorry." Stef's voice was strained and gravelly with remorse.

"I'm supposed to feel something. Right? I should feel…something." Inside, I was numb. I didn't know what I was supposed to feel. I wasn't sorry he was dead. I hated that I was still afraid. Afraid of what would come next.

"Don't feel sorry for him. If you can't hate him, you can find peace knowing he died better than he deserved. The men he crossed wouldn't have given him a painless death."

Stef draped his strong arm around my shoulder and guided me out of the room.

Carmine stood in front of Marie. "Let's go."

She batted his hand away and kicked her legs. "Stay away from me. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're going to the fucking kitchen with Celine. You're going to answer any questions she still has, and then you're going to sit quietly while I explain the only way you leave this house is with his permission," he said of Stefano.

Stef led me into the kitchen. I sat at the table. He squatted down in front of me.

"I need to call Marco. He'll get a crew here. We need to go through his office." He cast a quick glance at Marie as Carmine stood over her. "She doesn't leave."

I swallowed hard and nodded. Stef and Carmine left us alone in the kitchen.

Marie sobbed into her hands.

"Do you want something to drink?" I asked her.

She snapped her gaze at me. "How can you be so calm?"

Pretty sure I was in shock. No tears. No panic. Just a numbness that started in the hollow of my chest and migrated out to my extremities. I grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water. "I trust Stefano and Carmine."

"Are they going to kill me, too?"

I slid into the chair next to her. "They didn't kill my father. He pulled the trigger rather than face the consequences of what he's done."

I needed to weigh my words carefully. Marie was a risk. I didn't doubt her love for my father or her ability to twist the truth once the shock had worn off.

"My father wasn't the man you thought he was. I've had ten years to come to terms with his dark side. Because if he was here now, and I didn't have Stefano, he'd hand me back over to Ian. Stef and Carmine are the good…the good bad guys." I sipped from my glass of water. "Marie, the men that have been coming over are dangerous, and they're going to be nervous about their business becoming public."

"I overheard your father. Your boyfriend is in the mafia. He was trying to protect you from them."

Her unwillingness to accept the truth was exasperating. "What about my mother?"

She was quiet. My heart hurt for her. She desperately wanted to find a way to believe in him.

"He didn't deserve you." I released a heavy exhale. "You were the only thing good about growing up."

More tears slipped from her eyes.

"Marie, we have to pretend not to know anything. You can't trust anyone."

"You trust them." She stared down the hall leading to the office.

"Yes, but…" How did I make her understand? Stefano couldn't protect her. He was fighting for the survival of his brothers and his family. I also wouldn't protect her if she chose to betray the man I'd fallen for by talking to the police.

I pivoted in my chair to face her. "Dad has dirty cops in his pocket. Dirty judges. The Irish mafia. Tomorrow one of us has to discover him and call the authorities."

"You're just going to leave him here all night?"

"Yes! What more do you need to understand you'll be dead too if you don't distance yourself from him?"

"What am I going to do?" Her voice was small and lost. "You and Charles are my family. I don't have anyone else." Her eyes were swollen from crying, and her body shuddered from the shock and stress. "I'm scared."

"Good." If she was scared maybe some part of her would recognize her need for self-preservation.

I wiped my palms on my thighs shocked to hell that I wasn't the one in the corner looking for pink items, counting tiles, and trying to breathe.

"You're going to do exactly what I tell you to do because his crimes are not going to land on you or me. And those men in there trying to protect me are not going to take the blame either. They didn't do this."

Tension saturated the space between us. She and Presley were the only people I'd been remotely comfortable with until Stefano came into my life. Nothing mattered to me the way he did. But I still cared for Marie.

"I'm hurt and angry," I said to her. Tears finally filled my eyes. "But you've been my mom. I don't want to lose you, but I'm not going to beg you to…to love me."

Time seemed to stop. She stared into my eyes, and something shifted. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me tight. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." She whispered it over and over again as she clung to me.

"He hurt us both. It's easy to believe his lies, and you love him."

"I love you, too. I think I believed him because I understood why you ran away with him. I just wish you wouldn't have run to him. He's frightening."

A soft smile found my lips. "Not to me."

"He is to me."

"Not if you don't cross him. Marie, he's everything I need." I trusted him, and I was going to follow him, even if it meant finding him in the dark because I knew he'd be there waiting for me.

"The police will investigate." Nausea roiled in my stomach when I thought of what the next week would entail. I hadn't been to a funeral since my mother was buried.

Dad had a burial plot next to her to keep up pretenses that he was a devoted husband. I'm sure he relished the thought of tormenting her for eternity. I planned to send him to hell.

"I'm not going to bury my dad anywhere near my mother. I'm going to have him cremated. I don't know how long it will take before we can make arrangements."

Stefano passed by the kitchen on his way to the front foyer. A moment later, the front door opened and closed. Voices approached.

I recognized the Irish man, Knox. Unlike Stef and Carmine in their black leather jackets, black jeans, and black boots, Knox wore faded and frayed denim. Bloody skin peeked out from the rips at his knees. A cigarette tucked behind his ear, and tattoos covered his hands and arms.

Several men walked past with Carmine and headed to the office.

With a bit of a limp, Knox crossed the kitchen. Stefano moved off the chair next to me and offered it to Knox.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Stef nodded to Knox as if he was giving him permission to talk to me.

"You won't be looking over your shoulder for Ian Byrne anymore. He's at the bank." He leaned back in the chair. "And he's fucking pissed." He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear. Blood stained his hands. "He put up a fight. He lost."

Breath rushed from my lungs, my shoulders trembled, and relief flooded my body.

"You're going to be able to sleep tonight." Knox smirked at Stefano. His eyes sparked, and a smile curled lips that hinted at mischief. "With the way Stef is grinding his teeth, maybe you won't be sleeping. Do you need to work out some aggression?" he asked him.

Stefano growled.

"Fuck, no sense of humor," Knox said.

Even with the toxic atmosphere surrounding us, I smiled at the teasing. "I like him aggressive."

Knox stood. "We're all fucking glad that bullet wasn't meant for you."

I wasn't sure it wasn't. Or worse, what if my father had shot Stefano? In that moment, I understood the need for vengeance. I'd never before felt this visceral reaction ripping through me with the thought of losing Stef.

My dad had broken under the pressure. I understood because I'd been there before, standing on the precipice of a choice that couldn't be undone. Countless times, I'd wished for death, making deals to alter my decision. This time, my dad didn't have any deals left to make with himself.

"Santi worked out some of his aggression. We got Ian's boys, Aiden Doyle and Finn Clarke. Doc is at the bank with Tim to stitch up Finn."

After Knox left, Stefano stayed with me. Whether he meant to or not, his presence intimidated. Marie needed to understand the danger of not recognizing the position she was in.

"You weren't here tonight," I said to her. "I wasn't here. Dad was alone. I'll come over early and call the police."

"No," Stefano said. "It's not safe. Not yet. I'll take care of it."

I didn't question how. I trusted him. I wish I could trust Marie.

"When the police notify you," I said. "You need to be convincing. Cry, wail, and when they ask if you know why he killed himself, you tell them that he's been under a lot of stress but that he doesn't share his business with you. You work for him. That's it."

"What do I tell them about you?"

"The truth," Stefano said. "She moved out, and she's living with her partner."

Butterflies stung like bees in my belly at the possessiveness in his tone. This was always the way tonight was going to end. My dad was dead, but this brutal, beautiful man who set my flesh on fire with his touch hadn't had to kill him.

"If they press you for details, you can tell them that I'm having issues in my marriage. I can't hide that I'm Ian's wife. It's public record."

"What about him?" she said of Stefano.

"You can tell them you've seen me with him. An entire gala of people saw us together. But you don't know him. I've never introduced you. Marie, promise me."

"I promise."

"You should go home." I slid off my chair.

Stefano towered over me, his presence a shadow at my back. He spoke to Marie. "Come to work as usual in the morning. The house will be a crime scene. The police will talk to you. Give them my name. They'll find Celine through me. Understand, I will know what you say to them. My men will be watching you."

She paled, and her lips trembled.

"Don't doubt my ability to protect her, even from you," he snarled, his tone cutting with a threat. "I don't take pleasure in harming women, but if you put her in danger, you won't live to regret it."

"I'm not the one putting her at risk."

"No, but you haven't done shit to protect her either." He rested his hand on my lower back. "Knox and Carmine will stay with the crew and go through his office." He handed me the pages of my insurance policy. "These come with us. Nothing can link you to your father's crimes."

I folded the sheets and stuffed them into my back pocket. "Will you take me home? I don't want to be here anymore."

Nothing more needed to be said. I was never going to be able to forget the blood and carnage. Never forget the sound of the gunfire, the stench of death, or the sick twist of gratification unfurling in my gut that my tormentor—my mother's murderer—was dead.

Stefano

I entered the code to the door of my apartment and reached for the light switch.

Her hand rested on my arm. "Don't. Don't turn the light on."

The soft glow from the streetlamp illuminated the room. She toed off her sneakers and kicked them to the side.

"I can't stop thinking about him, but I don't want to talk about it." Her voice was soft, almost broken. "No words. No light. I feel safer in the dark."

Tonight, she'd lost the last of her innocence. Blood, violence, and retribution had made a stain on her soul. "I'm sorry, Angel."

Her small frame pressed against me. "Where do I go from here, Stef?"

I folded her into my arms. "One day at a time for now."

She lifted her face to look at me. "What did Knox mean when he said Byrne was at the bank?"

I stepped back, shrugged out of my jacket, and dropped it onto the loveseat below her painting. I rested my harness and gun on top of it. She sat on the end of the bed, and I positioned across from her on the loveseat. For us, there could be no more secrets.

"There're holding cells in the lower levels of the bank." With my elbows braced on my thighs, I rubbed one hand over my fist of the other. "It's where I hurt my enemies. When Byrne is properly motivated, I'll get the information I need. Byrne is a threat to you, and he's also an enemy of my family."

Her tongue slicked across her upper lip, and her audible swallow filled the silence.

"Where you kill people?"

"There is always death in war." I lifted my gaze to hers. "Are you afraid?"

"Not of you." She shook her head. "Never of you. But I'm scared. I'm scared something will happen to you."

I stood and pulled her back into my arms. For a moment, I simply held her and spoke with my hands. I cradled her face in my palms. Her cheeks were wet with tears. I didn't need to ask her if she was okay. She wasn't. In her quiet way, she was letting me know what she needed. She needed me.

"I know it doesn't matter now, but I believed him."

"Your dad didn't have any reason to lie."

Contradicting the emotions choking her, a small laugh bubbled out of her. "He's still a dick."

I gathered a single tear from her cheek with my thumb. Her huge eyes were so fucking blue. To stare into them was being swept into the deepest ocean. She made me feel. She made me want to take refuge inside her body. But she'd just watched her father put a forty-five-caliber bullet through his brain.

"Are you tired?"

"No. I just want to be…with you."

Tilting her head back, I slanted my lips over hers. My palm slid from her cheek onto her neck. She was vulnerable, and I showed her I was strong enough to be what she needed.

I thrust my tongue past her lips, kissing her hard and deep, determined to replace the memories of tonight from her mind. Her body softened in my arms, her hands rested on my hips, and a low whimper slipped from her mouth into mine.

"Sei la mia vita."

"What does that mean?"

"You're my life now. Io e te per sempre. You and me forever."

"Io e te per sempre," she repeated. "I think about us all the time," she said. "I only feel complete when you're touching me."

I tasted the tears from her face and tugged her hoodie up her torso. She lifted her arms, and I pulled it over her head and tossed it behind me to the loveseat.

"You were fierce tonight." I slid my fingers inside her bra and grazed her hardened nipple. "Do you know what it did to me to see you stand up to your father? To go to war against the man who would destroy you?"

I would've fucked her while his corpse was still warm. Even now he lay slain by his own hand in a house alone. Justice.

"I was terrified." Her voice quavered. "I didn't have to face him alone. You were with me."

"I'm always going to be with you." I dropped to my knees and slipped open the top button of her jeans.

More tears trickled onto her cheeks. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and when she looked at me again, she raked her fingers through my hair, holding my stare with her penetrating gaze. "I don't know how to respond when you say things like that to me."

"You don't have to say anything." Slowly, I peeled her jeans down her legs, revealing her tiny white panties. She lifted one leg then the other as I stripped her of her jeans and panties.

"Everything could change tomorrow," she said. "What if the police figure out we were there? My father has dirty cops working for him."

I stood and kissed along her neck as I unclipped her bra. "Don't worry, baby. We have the chief of police working for us."

She stilled, and the straps dropped into the crook of her elbows. "Chief Williams?"

I hummed a positive note, bent, and sucked her nipple into my mouth.

"No wonder he hated my father."

I released her nipple and whispered against her ear. "Clearly, my methods of distraction need work."

"I'm sorry." She wrapped her arms around my neck. "I can't stop my thoughts."

"I know. You'll never forget, but you can't let those images poison your mind."

"But I can't get him out of my head," she whispered. "When I close my eyes, I see him. I see the blood, and his head." She shivered. "You were right. I can't unsee it."

"Then don't close your eyes."

"Huh?"

"On the bed," I instructed. As she climbed onto the bed, I turned on the lamp. I sat on the edge of the bed, tugged off my boots, removed my ankle gun and knife, then stood and stripped out of my jeans.

A storm brewed in her blue eyes, a turbulent need to excise the gruesome images in her mind. With a sharp edge of pleasure, I'd take her. Then when she remembered tonight, she'd think of me.

I clutched my knife in my hand and crawled onto the bed.

"Lie back." I spoke low and controlled even though, inside, I was boiling with pent up aggression. She was stunningly beautiful, powerful, and fuck if I'd let another man, not even her father, occupy her mind.

I straddled her hips. Keeping the knife under my palm, I braced my hands at the side of her head. My chest expanded. With every breath, I inhaled the wildflower and vanilla scent of her flesh, her warmth, and the drugging essence of her arousal.

My cock rested hard and heavy against her lower abdomen. Pre-cum leaked from the slit, and my balls nestled into the V of her thighs. My chest grazed her pebbled nipples. She was mine—her breaths, her fears, and her tears.

I'd learned from my brothers a blood bond couldn't be broken. Marco had bled for Allegra, Luca had bled for his submissive, and I would cut my heart from my chest to give to her.

She'd taken my spit, my cum, and my sweat. And she'd take my blood.

Warmth from her body radiated into mine. I grazed my nose along her neck, kissed along her jaw, licked my way past her lips, and devoured her mouth.

With equal ferocity, she kissed me, sucking my tongue and whimpering with her surrender.

Breaking from the kiss, I hovered over her. "Do you trust me?"

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted on a breath. "Sei la mia vita." Her Italian was far from perfect but seeped into me like no other words could. "You're my life."

I sat up and clutched the knife in my hand.

"What are you doing?" Her voice quavered, fear slipping into her thoughts. Her eyes focused on the knife, her breath came faster, and her body shuddered beneath me.

"Chasing your fears." I unsheathed the knife. "You belong with me now." Light glinted off the blade. "When you see blood, you'll think of me." I sliced the razor-sharp edge across my flesh, high up on my arm. Pain bloomed with a crimson stain.

"Stef!" She tried to sit up, but my thighs locked to her hips. "Please, stop." Tears flooded her eyes. "Stop."

I pulled the knife from my skin. Blood oozed from the gash. I took her hand in mine and smeared her fingers through the blood. I placed her trembling fingers over my heart. "Paint me, Angel."

"I can't." She sobbed as she covered the cut with her palm.

I tugged the ponytail from her hair and spread her shimmering hair around her shoulders. "Whenever you see blood, you're going to think of me."

She shook her head. "I don't want that."

"Angel, you're going to paint me while I fuck the fear out of you." I surged off her, spit in my palm, and fisted my dick.

"Stef—"

I grabbed her hand and smeared the blood across my chest. "Spread your legs and tell me to fuck you."

"Oh god." Tears streaked down her face as she opened her legs for me.

I braced in the cradle of her hips, ran the head of my cock over her slippery folds, and poised at her opening, waiting for her to claim me with a dark and primal need. "Paint me, Angel."

She wiped her fingers through my blood, dragged her hand down my torso, and curled her fingers around the shaft. Fire blazed across my flesh. Her touch created a lethal chain reaction within me, a perfect storm of heat, oxygen, and fuel. "Fuck me, Stef."

Hot, wet, and soft. Her walls stretched as I breached her entrance. She sucked in a breath and held it as I slid deeper, penetrating into her warm body.

The cut to my arm burned as I braced above her, reared back, and plunged into her again. Muscles flexed, and blood continued to leak from the sliced skin and dripped down my arm.

Celine gulped for breath. Blood coated her hands. She stared at her fingers, then closed her eyes.

"Look at me, Angel. Don't close your eyes."

Her thighs shifted higher on my flanks, her lashes fluttered, and a low moan whispered past her lips as I drilled hard into her.

"Look at us," I said, slowing my thrust. "Look how you take my cock. You feel so good."

She leveraged up on her elbows, her hands gripping my biceps, her fingers sliding through my blood. Her lips parted as I retracted my cock from her cunt, the shaft glossy and wet with her cream, and screwed back inside her, plunging slowly. She whimpered and mewled, focused on the way my cock speared into her.

"I know you belong inside me." Awe softened her words. Her gaze lifted to mine, and she began to paint.

"Only me. You and me forever. Paint me."

Dragging her fingers along her soaked folds, she gathered her juices, then brought her fingers to my mouth. She painted my lips. I opened my mouth, and she slid her fingers along my tongue. The tang of her pussy blended with the coppery taste of my blood.

I closed my lips around her fingers and sucked until she pulled them from my mouth.

I leveraged over her and fucked her harder. Wiping my arm, I gathered the trickle of blood still seeping from my wound. I pressed my hand to her sternum over her heart.

"See us," I said. "Together, joined to make one." I smeared blood across her lips. "Open."

She did, and I shoved two fingers into her mouth. My buttocks clenched, and I railed into her again.

"This is us. Blood, sweat, and tears."

I fucked her, pounding into her body in merciless strokes.

Her fingers clutched my shoulders, her nails digging into my flesh as her body tightened around me, and her cunt began to spasm. Her back arched, pushing her head into the pillow, and thrusting her tits into me.

Her body was a masterpiece, her pussy my paradise. When she looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, I was determined to protect her. Nothing could diminish the potency of my need for her.

Staring into those eyes, I reared up, grabbed her hips, and fucked any thoughts except me from her mind. Blood marred her delicate skin, stained her hands, and cleansed our souls. A blood atonement bonding us together. I was born to violence, and she was my salvation.

"Fucking beautiful." With every thrust, the brutal carnage of the night leached from her eyes while I basked in the lustful euphoria of being inside her.

Tears trailed down her temple, her pussy milked my cock, and fluids soaked my dick. A hot ball of pressure built low in my groin. Heat scorched along my spine, and muscles in my arms and abdominals contracted.

I ripped from her channel, gripped my cock, and erupted. She'd painted me with blood, and I'd marked her with my cum. My pulse raged, and my body was spent. I collapsed beside her and pulled her into me.

Her arms wound around my neck, then remembering my cut, she jerked back.

"Your arm."

"I'm good." Blood had already coagulated. I'd only cut deep enough to bleed. The cut had already closed. I'd have a scar to remember how it felt to almost lose her.

She rested her hands on my chest, her touch featherlight but intent with purpose. She traced a pattern with her fingertips. "I can't think of you hurt."

I rolled her into me and clutched her close. "I made a promise to keep you safe."

I'd nearly failed her. A myriad of emotions collided within me. Something about her spoke to a part of me that never existed before. I'd never be the same without her.

She yawned. "I think I could close my eyes now."

"Come on, we should clean up first." I linked our fingers and led her to the bathroom.

The gentle spray of the shower soothed the endorphin release of coming hard. The heat burning away the remnants of a night that had stripped both of us emotionally bare. Water sluiced over her, turning pink, rinsing my blood and cum from her body. She tipped her face to the cascade of water, and I forgot to breathe. A tendril of hair clung to her cheek. Droplets of water dripped from her lips and lashes.

A rushing of adrenaline fired through my veins. She was everything I never thought I'd need. I'd fallen for her. For her innocence, for her fire, for the broken girl, and the fierce woman. I loved the way words floated past her full lips, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and darkened when she came.

I burned for her. I'd kill for her. And I wanted to spend forever with her.

After we showered, we climbed back into bed. Within moments, she slept, her soft naked body curled against me. The gentle cadence of her breathing lured me to sleep.

When I opened my eyes, morning sunlight shimmered through the windows. The apartment was quiet, and my angel was no longer tucked against me.

I blinked sleep from my eyes, grabbed my phone, and checked the time. Fuck. I swung my legs over the side, pulled up the security footage from the studio, and then plucked a cigarette from my pack.

Celine stood in front of a canvas that was a few inches taller than her. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. With earbuds in her ears, she swiveled her hips to the song only she could hear, and she painted.

Setting the phone aside, I started a pod of coffee and grabbed another quick shower. Ten minutes later, I'd dressed in a black suit with a black shirt, black belt, and a black tie.

Ian Byrne was arrogant. When he faced me and my brothers today, he'd face the intimidating force of the Bruno mafia.