Chapter Thirteen

Celine

Each stroke of my brush untangled more of my emotions. Lust, anger, envy, fear. I'd purged the seven deadly sins and tasted the seven heavenly virtues in the hours I'd been alone in my studio.

Somehow, I'd rationalized how I could hate a man who murdered…and yet, I'd fallen in love with a killer.

I'd woken in his bed, blood stains on the sheet, and felt an overwhelming wave of panic. Not because he was intimidating and deadly. I'd seen the monster lurking in his amber eyes. I wanted to exist in his shadow, to feel his hot breath on my neck, and feel the weight of his body on mine, to have his cock inside me as he spit in my mouth and painted me in blood.

The door opened, and he entered the room. He was beyond beautiful. Like a venomous snake, coiled tightly, silent, and seemingly without vulnerability because with absolute accuracy he would strike with lethal precision.

Looking at him hurt. Light seemed to bend around him, unwilling to wither and die in the suffocating intensity of him. He was beautiful, emitting a dangerous aura I couldn't help but be drawn to. I swallowed the extra saliva in my mouth and dropped the brush into a mason jar of clean water.

As he crossed the room, I popped out my ear buds and set them to the side.

"Buongiorno, Angel."

"Good morning." The butterflies in my belly took flight. I never wanted to lose this feeling. But from the moment I woke, I worried about what would happen when they discovered the body. "Have you heard anything?"

"Sì. Last night, your father placed a cryptic call to a friend. He went to check on your father and discovered the body. No one outside of my family knows you're here. You have a new phone and a new number. No one can contact you without you first giving them the number. Marie will give the police my name. I'll make arrangements for a meeting this afternoon."

"Here?" I sat on the stool in front of my canvas.

He smiled at me, and an answering warmth pulsated between my legs.

"No. Both my home and the bank are sacrosanct. No one is allowed in, especially police officers. A neutral location will be best."

"Oh no." I suddenly remembered I had Presley pick up my painting from Professor Kyte. "Stef, I had my friend drop my art project at the bank." I grabbed the phone. "I guess that probably wasn't a great idea, but I was still under the impression she could give it to one of the tellers, or a loan officer." I sent a text off to Presley. "It's not like she'd try to open an account."

A smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

"Now, I understand it's not that kind of bank."

"Maybe best if you return to meeting her for ginger tea."

I set the phone to the side. "Really? Can I start going out again?"

He touched my face. "Soon. But like Anna and Allegra, you'll need security with you."

"Why?"

"Il mio cuore è tuo, amore mio."

"Stef, tell me. I don't understand Italian."

"I have to work."

"That's not what you said." Amore was a word I understood.

He softly kissed my lips. "I'm sure Anna or Giada has the painting."

My stomach did a flip with another woman's name on his lips. I hadn't heard him mention Giada.

I'd been jealous before of artists that landed a coveted exhibit or a painting that could make me cry because it evoked such deep emotions, and I coveted the base desire that I could exist without worrying about pink lip gloss and pink pens. But I'd never felt this possessive and protective of someone.

"I'll be here." I tucked a stray tendril of hair behind my ear.

"I'll get your painting." He headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and turned back to me. "Because my heart is yours, my love."

Amore mio. The most beautiful Italian words. My love.

Before I could respond, he was gone. My heart fluttered, and heat tingled through my body. Maybe it was my insecurity, but I couldn't just blurt out the words I wanted to say, and I didn't have a foreign language to conceal them with.

I grabbed my phone, went to the translator app to get the Italian words for what I desperately ached to tell him, and then sent him a text. I hoped the translator was correct.

Celine: Mi sono innamorato di te.

I had fallen in love with him. I wasn't expecting declarations of love in return. Stefano wasn't a man of flowery words, poetry, and making love. His silence spoke loudly, and I felt a million words in his touch. But the way he fucked me left me speechless.

Several seconds passed. I chewed on my thumbnail, waiting for his reply. I paced, staring at the phone. Maybe he was on his motorcycle already and unable to read the text. Or maybe he wasn't ready to hear how I felt about him.

The handle turned, and the door flew open.

I startled, but the scream died on my lips. Stefano stormed across the room, forced me against the wall, and then his mouth was on mine. Tongues tangled, and a low growl vibrated from him. Words I didn't understand rumbled from his throat.

I didn't need to understand. These were his words of poetry, a brutal kiss, his fingers tugging the crotch of my panties, and two fingers slamming inside me.

With my back braced against the wall, I hiked my leg high on his thigh.

"I need inside you, Angel."

Our hands fought for space between us. He alternated between rubbing my clit and curling his fingers inside me. He grazed a sensitive area sending volts of lightning through me, deep into my core and flaring into my nipples, electrifying my body.

I fumbled with the buckle on his belt, finally pulling the prong free, unhooking the closure, and lowering the zipper. I slid my hand into his boxers, feeling the smooth, hard flesh of his cock. Wetness beaded at the slit.

Stef lifted me into his arms. Gripping his dick, I angled the shaft and poised the head at my soaked opening. Slowly, he lowered me onto his shaft, sliding deep inside me, pushing in until there was nothing between us with his groin flush against me.

His mouth latched onto my neck, sucking and biting his pleasure as his guttural growl rent the air.

With a clench of his buttocks, his cock drilled into me a fraction deeper. I felt him everywhere. His large, strong hands on my ass, his hot breath on my neck, the flick of tongue and the cutting edge of his teeth on my flesh.

I knotted my fingers in his hair, tugged his head back, and dragged my tongue over his lips. "Fuck me filthy."

And then he was there, pistoning his hips, driving his cock into me with unrelenting strokes. All I could do was grasp onto his shoulders, absorb the punishing thrusts, and relish the way he filled me.

He fucked me hard and fast, and my orgasm claimed me just as quickly. My pussy pulsed against his deep penetration. The dome of his cock rammed against my cervix, triggering a flood of fluids to lubricate his aggressive slide in and out of me.

"Io e te per sempre?" His jaw tightened and his mouth formed a savage line.

I nodded, my body melting into the heat of his. "Sì," I said, speaking one of the only Italian words I understood. But I was going to learn his verbal language as fluently as I understood his physical language. "You and me forever."

He thrust twice more. Muscles flexed and hardened beneath my fingers, and a feral sound roared past his lips. Hot jets of cum erupted inside me. I clutched him close, riding out the storm of his release. I held him tightly, steeped in his prowess, breathing with the rise and fall of his chest against me.

His cock slipped out of me, my legs lowered, and my toes touched the ground. His hands roamed over my arms, cradled my cheeks, and lifted my face to his. He kissed me, a soft, yet possessive claiming of my mouth. For several breaths, we lingered in the moment. Then he stepped back.

"I'll see you later." He tucked his dick back into his pants and kissed me again.

"You will. I'll be here painting." At least I would be after I slipped upstairs for a cleanup. Our blended juices trickled down my leg. This time he hadn't pulled out, and I'd never felt closer to anyone.

While I was upstairs, I changed into loose jeans and a T-shirt, made a cup of ginger tea, and returned to the studio. Still feeling the delicious aftereffects of getting nailed against the wall, I grabbed a new canvas, loaded my palette, and painted.

Tunes played through my phone, morning sunlight glimmered through the open window, and my brush danced across the canvas. Stef wanted a masculine painting to replace Emancipator.

Using metallic paint and bold strokes, I created lines and movement that reminded me of his motorcycle, the way I felt holding onto him as the ground blurred beneath my feet. The pattern of my strokes represented the wind on my face and the rush of adrenaline. Jagged brushstrokes hinted at the tread of his tires.

After a few hours at the easel, I stretched out the crick in my neck, stepped back, and stared at the progress with a critical eye. Something was off, but I wasn't sure what. My phone pinged with a text.

An effervescent tingle flitted in my chest. I bounded over to my phone, eager to get a message from Stef. No one else would text me. Actually, I needed to call Presley back.

I checked the message.

Unknown: Ciao, Celine. This is Giada. I have your painting.

Celine: Thank you. Can you give it to Stefano to bring home?

While I waited for the reply, I added her to my contacts. Obviously, she worked with Stef.

Giada: I can bring it to you now.

Celine: That would be great! I'm here at Stef's building.

Giada: On my way. You'll have to let me in.

The only way I'd come in was through the garage. But I had the code to the entrances. If the code didn't work, I'd just text Stef to get it. I wasn't going to disturb him unless I had to. Today, he was interrogating Byrne. I didn't want to think of what he did to motivate an enemy for information.

Celine: I'll meet you at the door.

I tucked my phone into my back pocket, slipped on a pair of canvas flats, and took the elevator to the first floor.

My heart pounded a little harder and raced a little faster. While in the studio, I'd occasionally hear a worker on the floor below me. With the window open, the echoes of construction became white noise in the background of my thoughts.

Stef trusted them to be in the building with me, so there was no reason to panic. Still, I found myself counting gray stone tiles on the floor. At some point the first floor of the building must have been a lobby. Windows stretched the front of the building but there didn't seem to be a purpose to the area, except maybe as a buffer to the rooms in the rear.

"Miss?"

I jumped at the voice behind me and took a few steps back from him.

The man slid his hands into his pockets. "I'm Joe Jilani. I work for Stefano. Are you looking for him?"

I smiled at him, masking my nervousness. "No. He's at the bank." I hope that wasn't something I wasn't supposed to say. Stef was going to have to educate me in more than orgasms. I'd lived with a man who kept secrets. I understood parts of Stefano's life couldn't be spoken about in social settings.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked.

We both understood I wasn't supposed to be down here.

"Stef is sending Giada over with my painting. I told her I'd meet her at the door."

The man's brow furrowed. "Stefano sent Giada here?"

"He must have since she has my painting, and he said he'd get it to me."

"Just wait. I'll call him." He pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen, and walked back the way he came with the phone to his ear. Someone banged on the door.

I made my way to the front entrance.

A woman waited. She held my painting by the edge of the canvas. Red lipstick slicked her lips. She smiled as I approached.

I wiped my hands on the seat of my jeans, tucked a few flyaway hairs behind my ears, and tried to quell the flare of jealousy firing through me. She was stunningly beautiful.

Diamonds dripped from her ears, sparking like stars against the long dark hair tumbling behind her shoulders. Mature, elegant, clearly Italian with her feathering eyelashes, cheekbones, and dressed in flared pants, a tight top and oversized jacket with deep pockets.

Someone who would belong on the arm of a mafioso.

I entered the code Stefano had given me for the studio and his apartment. The keypad turned green, and the locks disengaged.

"Celine?" Her voice held the same Italian accent as Stefano. She remained in the doorway, her gaze focused intently on my face.

"Yes."

"I didn't want to believe it." Those smiling lips tightened into a hard line. "But now that I see you, there's no denying who you are." She continued to speak, but the conversation was lost to me. Italian tumbled from her sneering lips. "I knew Stefano was keeping something…someone from me."

Suddenly, I had a vision of this woman with Stef, of her red lipstick on the collar of his shirt. Her lips on his flesh. My gut clenched, and a rush of panic crashed into me like a tidal wave. Each breath invading my lungs became harsher and more difficult.

"I'm just a friend." I was more, so much more.

"Zitto! Shut up. I know who you are. I can see it clearly on your face." She shook her head. "I'm not going to let you fuck up everything I've worked for."

"I didn't know." How could I know? Stef never hinted there could be another woman in his life.

She tossed my painting to the ground still spewing Italian and kept the door open with her shoulder. "Let's go. Now." When I didn't move, she screamed at me in Italian.

"I don't know what you're saying. Let me call Stefano. He owes both of us an explanation." Heat built behind my eyes.

A wicked smile curled the corner of her mouth. "Call him, and I promise, he'll never walk through the door." She pulled a gun from her pocket.

Oh my god. She was going to kill me for sleeping with Stef. "I didn't know. I swear." Bile burned like acid in my gut, teasing to climb into my throat. I tasted the bitterness of betrayal. He wasn't mine. He never was.

"I'm not going to let you ruin everything," she hissed.

"I don't have to be an issue for you. I'll leave. Right now." Maybe I was never supposed to love him. Good things didn't happen to me. Stefano lived a dangerous life, and I brought nothing but more trouble.

My heart slammed around in my ribs, bruising and breaking into a million shattered pieces. Thinking of losing him carved a deep hole in my chest, filling me was a suffocating blackness.

"Celine, stop." Joe rushed around the corner and abruptly halted. "Stefano is on his way." He challenged Giada. "You're not leaving. Celine, head back up to the studio. Lock yourself in."

"She's coming with me."

Oh god. "Why?"

"Zitto!" she said again. But I couldn't stop the babbling words from my mouth.

I didn't need to understand Italian to know I was pissing her off.

Giada lifted her gun, her finger poised on the trigger. "What did he tell you?"

"Not to let you leave," Joe said. "He's on his way."

Joe reached behind his back for his weapon.

"He'll be too late."

Before he could fire, Giada pulled the trigger. I jerked from the sound of the blast, flashing back to my father and the spray of blood and brains. But Joe stood there a moment, the scent of sulfur staining the air, and the piercing noise of the gunfire dulling the other sounds around me.

Giada grabbed my arm. There was nowhere for me to run, no way to get away from her.

Joe looked down at his chest as red bloomed beneath his T-shirt. His gun dropped from his hand, and he crashed to his knees.

"Now," she demanded, pulling me through the door. "Or Stefano is going to find you with a bullet in your head."

"I'm coming." Because this was survival. Not just mine, but I couldn't stand the thought of Stef hurt, not even knowing he'd somehow entangled me with this woman.

"Cazzo!" Two men rushed toward the building. "The silver Mercedes," she said. "Hurry."

I rushed with her to the car. A black sedan rounded the block. Tires squealed, and gunfire erupted. I dropped to a crouch. A man jumped out of the car.

Giada grumbled in Italian. "Change of plans. We go with them. Keep your mouth shut."

Oh, god, gold watch and tattoos and a big fucking gun in his hand.

The instinct to flee struck hard. Fear had me in her grip. My knees weakened, yet a toxic dose of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. There was no time to make deals with myself. I bolted up and ran.

"Grab her," Giada screamed.

I fought the paralyzing thoughts of Ian finding me.

My chest burned as I turned at the corner. My feet pounded against the ground. I weaved between two parked cars and darted across the street. I tried to listen for footfalls following, but the sound of my own heart racing hammered through my head.

If I could hide, I could call Stef. I jerked my gaze left and right. I could run into one of the buildings, find someone to help…but I couldn't risk more people being killed because of me.

The black sedan sped down the street. The brakes smoked. The man vaulted from the rear passenger side.

Defeat washed over me. I crumpled to the ground. There was no escape, nowhere to run.

"Get in the fucking car." He grabbed me by my hair. I kicked and screamed as he dragged me across the road. "No!"

Shit. My shoe ripped off. The man grabbed me as if I weighed nothing and held me tight to his massive torso with a bruising grip. I bucked against him and scratched and clawed his arm.

I could feel my phone slipping from my back pocket. If I lost it, I'd never be able to reach Stefano, and he'd have no way to find me.

I wasn't going to be able to break his hold, so I held still hoping the phone stayed in my pocket. But as he thrust me into the open door, my phone clattered to the asphalt road. I dropped as dead weight, remembering the few techniques Stef had tried to teach me.

When the guy's hold loosened, I fought again. I twisted and turned in his arms, ramming my elbows behind me. He was huge, but if I could hit him in his balls, maybe he'd let go.

My fingers scraped the road, and my knees banged against the steel frame. Gravel bit into my fingers. Where was the phone? I couldn't see anything but the man's thick thighs and arms like pythons.

"Get her in the car," Giada spat.

"She's like a fucking feral cat." The guy shoved me into the backseat and climbed in with me. The driver slammed his foot on the gas before the door closed. I scrambled across the seat and ripped open the opposite door.

"Jesus fucking Christ." The man snatched me back by the hair and threw his body on top of mine before I could toss myself out. "Calm the fuck down."

"Fuck you." I twisted, but he was too heavy. Fatigue and the spike of adrenaline zapped the energy from my limbs. I gasped for a breath.

"Then keep fighting, baby. I like it rough."

"I swear, I'll slit my wrists before I'll let you, Ian, or anyone else touch me."

"I don't fuck Bruno cunt." His gravelly voice sent a shiver of fear through me. "Doesn't mean I won't make your time with me memorable."

"Ian Byrne is in the basement of the bank," Giada spat. "Stef has too much fun extracting information. Byrne won't be anyone's problem anymore."

"If you don't work for Ian, why don't you explain why I'm suffocating under this asshole?"

"Shut her up," Giada said. "Luca is also at the bank," she said to the man driving.

"Fuck, will Byrne talk?"

"Assume they know everything. Stefano makes everyone talk."

"Have you let the boss know?"

"I tell him everything," she said.

He jerked the wheel, and the car made a sharp left and a quick right. I rolled with the man pinning me to the seat.

"They think they're so clever." Giada's accent grew thicker. "Fuck the Bruno brothers. Fuck this girl."

"If you wanted me dead, why didn't you just shoot me when you shot Joe?" I ground out the words despite not being able to draw in a deep breath.

"You talk too much," Giada said.

"Jesus Christ, Giada," the driver said. "Did you clip Jilani?"

"Collateral damage. I should've burned the bank and the building to the ground before taking her."

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. I relaxed my body, hopefully convincing the man on top of me that I'd given up resisting.

"If you calm down, I'll sit you up." He spoke low and controlled next to my ear. "Try to run, and I'll fucking strip you naked and tie your fucking wrists to your ankles."

"I can pay you," I said, struggling to breathe with his crushing weight on top of me.

"You don't have enough money to bribe them," Giada said.

"Then what do you want?" I asked as the man leveraged off me and sat me up. Nerves had me free falling into a panic. Sweat trickled down my spine. My hands visibly trembled, but inside, a violent storm surged. I struggled to find a focus to ground my chaotic thoughts.

Outside the side window, I figured out my bearings. We headed out of the city. Pivoting around, I glanced out the back window, praying I'd see a black motorcycle. Praying he could save me again.

The man next to me grabbed my face and turned my head. My heart ratcheted into a frenzied tempo. Tattoos covered his arms, and thick fingers. Veins roped his thick forearms, and a gold watch wrapped his wrist. He was strong. His muscular body crowded against me.

A scar cut a line along the side of his face from temple to the corner of his sneering lips.

"Don't try to run. You don't mean shit to me, but my boss is into pretty young things like you. Byrne made a sweet deal for you."

"Can they track her?" the driver asked.

"Do you see anyone following?" Giada's flippant reply must have pissed him off. He reached across the seat and squeezed her neck.

"Listen bitch, we both know you were heading to your vehicle. I'm going to assume you were bringing her to me. You'd be a dead bitch if you tried to double cross the boss the way you do the Brunos. I'll remind you once. Remember your fucking place. The terminator made it known she was his. I'll ask again. Can. He. Track. Her?"

"Does she have a phone?" she squeaked.

He released Giada's throat. "Check her."

The man next to me raked his gaze down my body.

"My phone fell out when you grabbed me."

"Lift your shirt."

Fat tears rolled down my cheeks. I fingered the edge of my T-shirt but couldn't summon the strength to expose myself to him. "Please don't make me."

He growled with my hesitation, grabbed my shirt, and shoved his hands underneath. I gouged my nails into his arms, tearing his flesh. With a hard shove, he had me pinned to the door.

"Stop," I screamed and bucked as he roughly reached into my bra. Pain shot through my breast as he mangled my skin in his fist, pinching and twisting my nipple. My chest contracted, caving in to ease the torturous mauling.

"Next time I tell you to lift your shirt, you'll listen. Now unzip your jeans."

The car grew quiet. "When would I have had time to shove a phone down my jeans?"

Was he really going to put his hands in my pants? Violent tremors wracked my body.

"Are you going to make me ask twice?" the man asked.

I closed my eyes and popped the snap on my jeans.

He leaned closer. Nausea gurgled in my gut. His hot breath rippled against my neck, and his hand rested on my abdominals. An icy shiver slithered through me, chilling me to the bone. Darkness clouded my vision with the vile touch of his hands on my body.

I was Stefano's. Tears fell from my eyes as his hand slid lower into my jeans. My skin crawled, and pain pierced my chest.

"Are you going to be wet for me?" he asked. "Do you like to fuck killers? You must if you fuck Stefano Bruno."

I held my breath. His fingers touched the edge of my panties. I clinched my legs closed, trying to keep him from touching me, but he dug into my skin, forced his hand into my panties, and cupped my crotch. I couldn't utter a word as my throat tightened.

I ground my teeth, keeping my legs tight, but his finger penetrated me. I screamed and flailed but couldn't dislodge him from my body.

"Maybe I would enjoy breaking Bruno's bitch."

"The boss will kill you if you fuck her," the driver said.

He pulled his finger from my panties and slipped it into his mouth. "Mmm. Sweet."

"You're tasting Bruno cum." I couldn't believe the words came from my mouth. I shouldn't be antagonizing them but instead working on a way to run.

The man smiled. "The boss trusts us to bring you to him. You'll learn to do as your told, and once he's done with you, I'll teach you what your mouth is good for." He glanced at Giada. "She's clear."

The driver kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, took the turnoff to the airport, and pulled into the private hangers.

The driver stopped at the gate, showed credentials to the guard, and drove onto the tarmac to the jet.

"Bring her," Giada said, opening her door.

The door at my back opened, and I tumbled into the driver's clutches. He gripped my biceps. "Be a good girl and do exactly what you're told."

No, I couldn't get on that plane. There would be no chance for escape.

I screamed, a blood-curdling, ear-piercing wail. I went limp in his arms, dropping to the ground.

"Fucking bitch." He tried to pick me up.

"Help! Help!" Please let someone hear me. I screamed and kicked.

The driver banded his arm around my chest and clamped his other hand over my mouth. I tried to bite him. Slamming my head back, my skull cracked against his face.

"Fuck! Can I get some help?"

Scar from the backseat came around the rear of the vehicle, wrapped his fingers around my neck, and squeezed. My toes barely touched the ground as he lifted me.

"Are we done?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, and couldn't fight. I committed his vicious face to memory. When I got the chance, he'd be the second one I killed.

For betraying Stefano, Giada would be first.