Chapter Seven

Stefano

Carmine entered Charles Moreau's two-story home. The DA lived in an upper-middle class neighborhood. Kids played basketball in the driveway next door. A trio of moms pushed a couple of strollers down the sidewalk. Early evening America.

Celine's arms tightened around me as I circled the block for the second time.

I didn't know Marie. Therefore, I didn't trust her. Celine hadn't told her much over the phone, only that she needed her help. And that she was in trouble. I'd heard Marie's sobs through the phone. She could cry a river of regrets, and I still wouldn't have a fuck to give.

Celine had a lifetime ledger of debts to collect. There was a reason they referred to me as a debt collector. I made people pay. My angel was due more than a pound of flesh. I was going to take it from her father first.

The front porch light flipped on. Celine tapped my shoulder. Wearing my helmet, she received the message from Carmine. She gave me a thumbs up, and I pulled into the driveway.

Call me a bastard, but I wanted Moreau to know I had his daughter. Once she'd climbed off, I positioned the bike for a quick exit, dropped the kickstand, and lobbed the helmet over the mirror.

"In and out."

She nodded, stepped into me, and curved one of her small hands around the back of my neck. "In case something goes wrong, kiss me first."

"Fuck." I slammed my mouth onto hers, parted her lips, and sought her tongue with mine. Her hand slid inside my jacket, felt my gun, and she stilled.

She broke the kiss and stared into my eyes.

"I told you, I'm not a good guy." I carried a gun, I followed Marco's orders, and sometimes, I extracted blood and pain for debts owed. But for her, I'd kill for no other reason than she asked me to. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

I followed her up the steps. She opened the door and froze. Inside the front room, a man crumpled in a heap on the floor. Blood trickled from his nose, and his arm twisted at an odd angle. Another man sprawled out, unmoving, face down in the entryway.

She covered her mouth with her hand. "Are they dead?"

"Not yet." I stepped over the bodies.

"Who are they?"

"Most likely Irish."

"Did they hurt Marie? Where is she? Marie," she hollered, rushing forward.

"In here," Carmine called from deeper in the house.

Celine bolted into the kitchen. A woman sat at the table with her hands clasped in her lap. Tears streaked down her face. Carmine lounged on the counter, legs dangling over the edge, his gun in one hand, and eating cookies from a jar with the other.

"She said you made these, Angel."

Celine hurried across the room. Marie's frightened gaze darted around the room. Was she more concerned with Carmine, the gun, or my angel? She chose Celine, standing and pulling her into a hug.

"Don't call her Angel," I said to Carmine. "She doesn't like it."

He smirked. "She didn't seem bothered when you did."

"Just me." My tone dared him to argue. "Did you call it in?" I wanted the two men in the entryway relocated to the basement of the bank.

"Yeah. Timoteo will be here in ten minutes." He brushed crumbs from his lap and jumped off the counter.

"Celine, take Carmine with you to collect everything you want from the house. This might be your only chance, so don't leave anything you can't live without."

Marie was hesitant to release Celine's hand. "Yesterday, several men showed up. Your father took them to your studio. I asked him why they were moving everything." Marie cupped my angel's face, brushing her tears from her cheek. "All your paintings."

"It's okay." A soft smile tilted her lips. "I'll paint others. The one that matters is safe."

"But your brushes, your canvases, everything. He said you were moving in with your boss, that you would finally have everything you deserve."

"He lied to you. He lied to me."

"Who is that man?" She glared at me. "Did they kill them…those men in the entryway?"

"Those men were waiting for her," Carmine said. "If they're dead, they deserve to be."

"Why are you with these men?" She lowered her voice. "Are you in trouble? Did they hurt you?"

Celine glanced over her shoulder at me but spoke to Marie. "He has a gun because he's protecting me from my father and the man he sold me to. If you need to know more than that, you need to ask him."

"Come on, Angel." Carmine slid his gun into the back of his jeans. "You know I wouldn't have killed her, right?" he said, referring to Marie as they walked out of the room. "Can't say the same about the guys in the hall."

Once Celine's voice faded, I stepped closer to Marie. "Sit down. We need to talk while she's out of the room."

She slowly lowered to the chair. "Are you going to hurt her?"

"We're not going to talk about Celine. She's no longer your concern." I sat across from her. "Your loyalty has been to a man who sold her to the head of the Irish mafia. A man who intended to rape her, and then give her to his associates, brutal men who would have torn her apart, fucked her until there was nothing left of her. Once she no longer served a purpose for him, he would have sold her, and you would never have seen her again."

As she choked on a sob, I took my knife from my waistband and ran the flat of the blade along my jeans.

"Only one part of that story remains true. You'll never see her again."

"Please, don't take her from me."

I stood. "I didn't have to. She came to me."

"You don't understand. She's unstable."

"No. She's brave as fuck because she fights back even when she's paralyzed with fear. She's been afraid of her father for her entire life, and you did shit to protect her."

Marie wrung her hands in her lap and rocked on the chair. "He's her father. He wouldn't hurt her."

"She's fucking terrified of him," I roared, surging up from the chair and stabbing my knife into the center of the table. Marie jumped, and more tears fell from her eyes. "Did you cry for her while she had panic attacks alone in her room? Did you shed tears for her while she poured her pain out on her canvases?"

"Yes," she wailed. "I didn't know how to reach her. I wanted to. She hasn't been the same since her mother's death." Marie hiccupped through her words.

"Did you ask her why?"

"No, she wouldn't talk. She was a troubled young girl who grew into a troubled young woman."

I yanked my knife from the table. "She won't be back. Don't try to contact her. Don't look for her. You haven't seen her since this morning. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "What if she wants to see me? Would you stop her?"

Celine entered the kitchen and abruptly stopped.

Those blue eyes, once timid, now sparking with fire, held mine. I felt the penetrating heat from my chest to my balls. Blonde hair escaped her braid, a wild halo of spun gold and light. She was mine. "Yes, as long as you're with Moreau, you're a threat to her."

Celine swung a duffel over her shoulder and approached Marie. "Go home. Don't let him find you here."

"I can't. He told me to stay in case you came home and to call him when you did."

I stepped in front of Celine. "Did you?"

"No," she sharply said.

"Then I hope you're a good liar. He'll kill you if he finds out you helped her escape."

Celine gripped my arm. "Stefano, we can't let him hurt her."

Carmine approached Marie from behind. Raising his arm, he slammed his gun into the side of her head. Celine screamed, and Marie grunted. Carmine wrapped his arm around her neck in a triangle choke hold and squeezed until she crumbled to the ground.

"What did you do?" Celine clawed at me to get to Carmine.

"Your father is going to know we were here," I said. "I'm taking the men in the hall. He'll check the security footage and know you and I are more than acquaintances. With the injury, Carmine saved her life."

Celine crouched next to Marie. Blood trickled from the torn skin and dripped down her face, but she'd already begun to stir.

Carmine plucked another cookie from the jar. "You can thank me by making some of these when we get home."

Timoteo arrived in an SUV. Carmine left as soon as we had the men loaded into the back. Celine gripped the handles of her duffel.

"It'll be easier to ride the bike without the bag," I said to her. "Tim can take it, and we can pick it up in the morning."

She glanced at Tim, then me, and nodded. First, she unzipped the bag, grabbed the notebook, then handed the rest of her things over.

"I'll carry it for you." I stuffed the notebook into my leather jacket and zipped it in.

"Marco wants you back at the house." Tim slammed the SUV rear door, climbed behind the wheel, and drove away.

Good thing he didn't say when Marco wanted me back at the house because it wasn't going to be tonight. We climbed onto the bike. As soon as Celine wrapped her arms around me, I rolled the throttle and raced down the road with the roar of the engine between my legs and my angel pressed against my back.

But the closer we rode to my building, the stiffer she became behind me. I got it. The shock, the disbelief of what could've happened. My girl struggled with fear and insecurity. Today would hit her hard. She needed to know she wasn't alone.

I didn't just want her with me. I needed her. Since seeing her across the room at the gala, I'd been drawn to her like the opposing side of a magnet. She was everything I wasn't, beautiful, innocent, soft, and untainted by the violence seeping into her life.

Once back at my building and on the elevator up to my apartment, she avoided standing too close.

"No one can get in the building without my knowledge."

"Okay." Her voice broke me. I wanted to tell her she'd be safe, but why would she believe me? She hadn't felt safe in her entire life.

"Are you hungry?" Not that I had shit to eat in my apartment. I entered the code, opened the door, and turned on the lights.

"Not really." Celine stopped in front of the painting. Two canister spotlights illuminated the details of the work, catching the small forks of lightning within the red and black.

Adrenaline fucked with appetite. She might not be now, but the crash would come. I had wheat bread for toast and peanut butter. There might be some leftovers I'd taken from Marco's fridge when I'd grabbed a few bottles of Bruno wine. I thought I'd be half drunk on a Bruno red when I fucked my fist on a video call.

After grabbing my smokes from the pocket, I shrugged out of my leather jacket and tossed her notebook on the bed. I pushed open the window, sat on the ledge, and lit the cigarette.

She turned, approached the bed, and picked up the notebook. "Don't you want to look at the names?"

I blew a stream of smoke out the window. With my cigarette pinched between my lips, I removed my gun and knife and set them on the table next to the lamp. "Not tonight."

She lifted her gaze from my gun to my face. "But it's important. There could be other names."

"Not tonight," I repeated. "Come here."

She patted down her flyaway wisps of hair as she crossed the room to me. A storm of uncertainty swirled in the blue depths of her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, turned away from me, and covered her face with her hands. "I shouldn't be here."

"Angel, you're safest here with me, but this isn't your only option. I can take you to my brother's. Or we can stay in my family's suite at the Onyx."

She shook her head. "I want to be here with you, but what if he comes for me or comes for you now because I've involved you?"

"My issues with your father and Ian Byrne started before we met."

"And I'm making the situation worse."

"Angel?"

She shook her head. I couldn't see her tears, but I heard the catch in her throat and saw the tremble in her shoulders.

"Talk to me," I said.

Seconds felt like minutes. I couldn't quell the fierce need to right her wrongs. I wanted her secrets. I wanted her to know mine.

Deeper, darker needs demanded more. Ian would pay for touching her, and her father would pay for a lifetime of terror. I wanted her to choose me. But when she learned the truth, she'd run.

"I shouldn't be here with you."

"I can keep you safe."

"What happened to my life? I mean, I had school, my painting, and my panic attacks, but I wasn't married to someone who threatened to pass me around like a blunt at a frat party. I meet a man who doesn't scare me but probably scares every other person on the planet."

I didn't argue as I smoked the cigarette.

"I guess about now you're regretting that kiss at the gala."

"I don't regret a single moment with you."

"I'm a mess, Stef. I count tiles or find pink pieces of paper to control my anxiety. But it's a lie. Do you know why?" She didn't wait for me to respond before she continued. "Because the only time I wasn't fighting my fear was when I was painting."

Her lips trembled.

"Until you."

I stared at her. "I'm waiting to hear the problem. I make you feel safe, and you make me feel. Porca puttana! Fucking hell. I pursued you, Angel."

She ripped the tie from her hair and pulled her braid loose. "I have no job, no money, no vehicle, no phone, no way to continue my education. My trust fund is gone along with everything else I own. Except the clothes I shoved into the duffel, I have nothing left." She flung her hand toward the notebook. "Oh, and a list of names and numbers that will probably get me killed." She covered her mouth with her hand. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I've lost everything."

I sank my cigarette into a can of sand on the floor. In three steps, I closed the space between us, fisted my hands in her tangled hair, and forced her to look into my eyes. "You've gained your freedom. I want you here with me, but not against your will." I lowered my face, feeling the warmth of her breath against my lips. "Angel, that I can hide you away for a few days or weeks or fucking months just means I get to spend time with you alone."

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"Yes. I want you here, in my apartment, in my bed. And I have an offer for you." I sat on the end of the bed and pulled her onto my lap. "A way for you to have some security in the bank, to know you can run if you need to, but I hope you never fucking feel that vulnerable again."

The bruise that bastard had left on her face stoked an inferno of rage within me. Tonight was about her, but tomorrow, I'd begin to burn down Byrne's world.

"Stef?"

I unclenched my jaw. Bellissima. Fuck, but she was beautiful. Hair, like spun silk, slipped through my fingers. Her skin carried the subtle scent of flowers. She couldn't deny her attraction to me any more than I could disguise the lust heating my blood.

Sexual chemistry crackled in the air. She felt good in my arms. She belonged in my bed, thighs spread, and soaking my sheets with her arousal.

She draped one arm around my shoulders, curling her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. Tingles ran along my spine, setting off the nerves in my gut, shooting energy down my legs, and causing the muscles in my buttocks to tighten, thrusting my erection into the roundness of her ass.

She adjusted on my lap, aligning my cock with the sweet crease of her buttocks. "What kind of offer?"

I rested my hand on her thigh, touching her, imprinting on her with the heat of my hand. "Paint for me. I'll set up a studio for you here in the building."

Her brows furrowed. "You want to commission me for a painting?"

"Two paintings actually. One to replace Emancipator." I glanced at the painting. "You earned it tonight. It's yours."

"I can't. I don't have any money to pay you for it."

"I don't want your money." I wanted her soul on canvas. I wanted her to paint the way I made her feel. "The second painting is for me." I breathed a kiss to her neck. "I don't want your pain. I want your blood." I bit her flesh. A soft gasp slipped from her lips. "I want your spit, your cum, your sweat."

She shifted on my lap, rocking against my erection, searching for a bit of friction. Gripping her hips, I kissed her neck, flicking my tongue against the flutter of her pulse, tracing the veins flushed with blood beneath her pale skin.

"Paint your passion, Angel. Paint the way I make you feel."

She shuddered, and her thighs widened.

"Feel me." I cupped her cunt and pressed the heal of my palm against her clit. "Paint for me. Be in my bed." I'd brand every inch of her flesh as mine. I'd paint her with pleasure.

With a tilt to her head, her lips were on mine. I kissed her hard and filled her mouth with my tongue.

Her whimpers of surrender sent a current of need through my veins, heated my gut, and surged into my cock. A hard pulse hit my balls as they tightened and grew heavy.

"Stay here tonight. If you want to leave tomorrow, I'll make sure you have somewhere safe to go." I slipped my hand inside her turtleneck. Muscles in her flat, toned abdominals contracted against my fingers. Her breath caught, and her lips slightly parted on a quick inhale.

"I want to stay." Her back arched as I closed my hand over her breast. "I want to paint for you." She tunneled her fingers into my hair. "Because no one makes me feel like you do." She twisted in my lap and pushed me down on the bed. The heat of her cunt warmed my cock as she straddled my hips and ground against me.

Her mouth was on mine, hot, wet, and chaotic. I held to a thin thread of control. I gripped her hips. The loose, cotton pants gathered in my hands.

"Nothing has ever made me feel like this." She lifted my shirt and fumbled with the prong on the buckle of my belt.

"Do you want my cock, Angel?"

"Yes." Her hips swiveled. "I need inspiration to paint."

The strap pulled free, the snap popped, and the whir of the zipper had me riding the edge of sanity. My dick swelled into the wedge of the fly, the head and shaft outlined in relief against the tight fit of my boxers.

Her eyes darkened, and she reached for my cock. I grasped her wrist. "Not yet." I sat up, then stood.

Celine scooted off the bed. "I want to give you a blowjob."

Grabbing my shirt at the collar, I pulled it over my head. Then I tossed a pillow at her feet. "Get undressed, Angel, and get on your knees."

A wide smile found her lips. Pants and panties dropped to the floor, and she jerked her top over her head. I kicked off my boots, dropped my jeans and boxers, then crossed the room, and flipped off the light.

With the window still open, a cool breeze swept into the room. Light from the streetlamp cast shadows on the walls and glinted off her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders in messy tangles. She really was an angel, a fallen angel as she dropped to her knees on the pillow.

I gripped the base of my cock and pumped the shaft. Celine braced one hand on my thigh, the other curled around my fingers.

"Open your mouth." I slowed my stroke.

Her blue-eyed gaze lifted to mine. The cool air made her nipples pouty and pink. Soft, wet heat closed around the head of my dick, her tongue glided over the slit, and her low hum vibrated into my shaft. She opened wider, swallowing more of my length, unleashing a need to grip her skull and fuck her face. But her bruises kept my touch gentle, even as a hunger to mark her as mine unfurled in my gut.

As she took over pumping my dick, mouth meeting fist in the middle, spit slicked her fingers and trickled onto my balls.

"Spread your thighs. Put two fingers into your pretty pussy."

Two fingers disappeared between her folds. Her mewl of pleasure vibrated into my balls, my ass clenched, and I thrust deeper into her mouth.

The sound of her gagging only rivaled in pleasure to the feel of her mouth as she sucked. The inner tissue of her cheeks caressed my cock, and she continued to fuck her pussy with her fingers. Cream turned the blonde trim of hair dark with wetness and the scent of her arousal saturated the air around me. I flared my nostrils, breathing in the intoxicating scent.

"That's it, Angel. Now, put your fingers in my mouth."

She plunged into her center twice more, then lifted her arm. I clasped my hand around her wrist and sucked her fingers into my mouth. My tongue swirled between her fingers, tasting her essence. Sweet and sinful. Liquid fucking arousal. She tasted like everything I didn't deserve, eclipsed every want I'd need from a woman.

My dick throbbed. Heat burned in my chest, radiated out into my limbs, and seeped low into my balls. My knees weakened as my orgasm built in my gut. Pressure tightened my core, muscles flexed, and veins swelled with blood.

I was riding a knife's edge of ecstasy, sharp and cutting. Her murmured moans had me primed to unload in her mouth.

I released her fingers with a pop. "I'm going to fill your mouth with cum. Don't swallow."

She hummed her agreement, slurping and sucking. Her tongue swirled around the head, drilled into the hole, then she sucked me deep again.

"Fuck." Lightning, white-hot and violent, streaked along my spine, set fire to my nerves, blazed into my gut, and shot through my cock. I erupted in blinding hard pulses.

Celine swallowed.

I fisted my cock at the base. "Look at me. Open your mouth." I grunted the commands.

Tears streaked down her face. Her lips parted. Cum continued to jet from my cock, splashing her lips and tongue. White stripes slid down her tongue. After the last hard spurt, I leaned over her and spit into her mouth. She whimpered as my saliva and cum mingled on her tongue, sliding to the back of her throat.

"How do I taste, Angel?" I raked my thumb over her lips, smearing my cum across her mouth. With her eyes locked with mine, I lifted my thumb to my mouth and sucked it.

With her lips parted, and my fluids coating her tongue, a sharp inhale slipped from her lips, and I was fucking gone.

I crashed my lips onto hers and swept through the darkly bitter taste of my cum on her tongue. She clawed my thighs as she gripped onto me, steadying herself against the onslaught of my mouth on hers.

She swallowed around my tongue, drinking me down. I slid to the floor next to her, wrapping my fingers around her throat as I kissed the fuck out of her. With my other hand, I squeezed her breast and pinched her nipple.

Lustful moans filled her mouth. "Stef, oh god." She shoved her hand between her legs, rubbed her clit, and pushed two fingers into her cunt.

"On the bed, bellissima. I want my mouth on you."

"Yes, please." She clambered onto the bed. While she faced the top of the bed, on her hands and knees, I gripped her hips.

"Perfect." Her pussy glistened with juices. I licked her slit, spread her cheeks, and touched my tongue to her puckered anus.

"Stef," she cried out, buried her face in the sheets, and backed her ass against my face.

This girl was fire, and I was kerosene. With her back arched, I ate her pussy, slicing the blade of my tongue through her folds and nudging against the hood of her clit.

She thrashed on the bed, her legs trembled, and her pussy fluttered against my lips. Small gasps filled the room. She clenched the sheet in her fists and moaned her pleasure.

"I'll paint you with my tongue," I whispered. "You're a work of art."

She turned her face, her cheek still pressed to the mattress. She smiled. "Your tongue feels so good."

I licked her again, teasing her from clit to pucker. With her back hole still wet with my spit, I pressed a finger against the tight ring.

"Stef?" She held her breath as I gently stretched her and slid my finger into her ass.

"Yes, Angel?" I sucked her clit and fucked her ass with my finger. First one and then doubling up.

"Feels so good."

"I'm going to fuck all your holes."

"Yes, oh god. Oh god. Stef."

"My name sounds good on your lips, as good as your pussy tastes on my tongue."

Stretched and arched like a feline in heat, she rocked on her hands and knees, threw her head back, and came. Incoherent mumbles rolled from her lips. Rhythmic convulsions milked my fingers in her ass, and her pussy creamed against my tongue. I sucked her like a ripe peach, letting her juices drip onto my chin.

As the final tremors fluttered like a butterfly's wings against my lips, she exhaled a heavy breath. With her ass still in the air, she melted into the bed. I sank my teeth into her buttocks, not enough to break the skin but hard enough to leave my mark. Then I sucked hard and laved the bite with my tongue.

She was exquisite, and my cock thickened and hardened, bouncing against my abdomen, desperate to get inside her pussy. I climbed onto the bed behind her, ran the head of my dick through her juices, notched her opening, then glided into her tight sheath in one slow plunge. Inner walls stretched as I pressed in until her ass was nestled against my groin.

Balls deep, I stilled, drenching my dick in her tight, wet heat. I ran my palm over the muscular contour of her flank, onto the curve of her hip, and into the hollow of her lower back.

"Fuck me, Stef. Fuck me so good."

I chuckled at her attempt at my Italian accent.

Rearing back, her pussy gloved my dick, clenching me in wet heat. A euphony of erotic moans and sighs from her lips was an aural seduction.

"Fuck you good? I'm going to fuck you filthy." I thrust into her. "Fuck you hard." My cock, slick with her cream, glided out on a smooth stroke. "Fuck you slow." I filled her again with a slow torturous plunge. "And then I'm going to nail you to the fucking bed."

"Stef." She whimpered my name, and I growled.

"Yes, Angel?" Her pussy strangled my cock, squeezing and pulsing around me. "You feel good… Take me so good." Muscles in my thighs and buttocks flexed as I fucked her with short, yet penetrating thrusts. The head of my cock nudged against her cervix sending shards of pleasure through my shaft and into my balls. "Do I fuck you so good?"

"Yes," she wailed. "So good. You make me feel so good. Fuck me so I know how I make you feel."

Rocking on her hands and knees, she fucked me with the same fierce need that I fucked her.

I roared as I flipped her to her back and hovered over her. "I want you looking in my eyes."

I hitched her thigh around my hip, opened her, and slammed my cock deep into her passage. With every hard thrust, I knocked the breath from her lungs.

Clinging to my biceps, she held tight while I railed into her again and again. She gasped, arched, and collided with her release. Her scream echoed through the room. A gush of fluids soaked my dick. Muscles in her legs trembled.

I braced on an outstretched arm, stared into her eyes, and rolled my hips, triggering another flurry of spasms in her core.

Tears leaked from her eyes and trickled down her face. She clung to me, gasping for breath. Fucking perfect.

My cock thickened, became harder, ready to erupt. "You're soaking my dick."

Grabbing her thigh, I changed the angle, penetrated deeper, and ground against her clit. Tendons in her neck stretched, and her nails clawed my flesh.

An inferno of heat blazed through my veins. "One more, Angel, then I'll have mine." I lowered my face to hers and kissed her dirty in a depraved mating of lips, tongues, and teeth. "I want to feel your cunt choke my cock. You fit me perfect." Her light to my dark. Her innocence to my sin. She was mine. Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to corrupt, mine to fuck.

Short, shallow thrusts, and my fingers against her clit triggered another climax.

"I'm coming." Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her body convulsed, muscles seized, and a silent cry strained her lips.

A roar erupted from deep in my chest. I ripped from her body, fisted my cock, and shot my load across her. Cum spewed onto her tits, her belly, and splashed her face. Pump after pump, my mind dizzied in a spiral, my blood burned, and my body caught fire. My core contracted until I'd emptied out, staining her porcelain skin with my cum and marking her with my scent.

Her legs splayed open, and I sat back on my haunches. My painting. My masterpiece. A flush warmed her skin, her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and her spread thighs revealed her swollen and wet pussy.

Celine's sex-glazed eyes focused on me. I grazed my fingers along her quivering abdomen and slid my fingers through my cum. I painted her nipples, gathered more, and painted her lips.

She licked my taste from her lips, and I stretched out next to her.

"Kiss me," I said and slanted my mouth over hers. She sighed, wrapped her arm around my neck, and curled into my body.

A slow smile tilted her lips. "I'm hungry now."

Celine

Stefano offered to make us something to eat while I grabbed a quick shower. Since my backpack was at his brother's house and my duffel was in a van somewhere with two incapacitated men, I opted to wear one of Stef's T-shirts. It was that or go naked.

"Feel better?" He'd pulled on his jeans, but his chest was still bare. Dark hair sprinkled across his pecs and trailed in a thin ribbon down his corded abs.

Sheesh, I'd become addicted to the delicious ache between my legs whenever I thought of him or his huge dick and wicked mouth.

"Much."

"You may still be hungry when I confess there's not much to eat. I can offer you toast, microwave popcorn, and a half a box of animal crackers."

"We could order a pizza and have it delivered."

"Can we talk?"

The serious tone of his voice had my heart instantly jumping into my throat and lodging there. I tried to lighten whatever this heaviness was between us. "You're Italian. Don't tell me you don't like pizza."

I crossed the room, climbed onto the bed, and covered my legs with the sheet.

"I have my vices." He patted his trim belly. "Fast food is one of many. I don't have deliveries here." He inhaled off his cigarette. "We can run out and get something to eat."

"Popcorn and crackers are fine. We can get something good for breakfast." I glanced at his kitchen area. Although it had some components, it wasn't functional. No stove or oven. No counter space for food prep. Well, no table or chairs either. I wasn't sure if he even had dishes. Some components might be stretching the functionality.

"I've only been here a couple of days. With no kitchen, I don't need groceries." He chuckled. "But I'll remedy that since you'll be living with me now."

A riot of butterflies exploded in my belly at the thought of spending all my time with him. I was already falling hard and fast. "Temporarily staying with you." I tucked my hair behind my ear. "I don't know how to thank you. I'd have nowhere to go without you."

He stuffed his cigarette into the can of sand, and then he sat on the bed next to me. "Celine, that doesn't work for me." He reclined on his side, supporting his weight on his bent elbow and forearm. "I'll always be there for you if you need me, but I don't want you in my bed, living with me out of gratitude. I don't need a thank you fuck." He lifted his gaze to mine. "You're not my whore. You're not paid pussy, making the rent with your body."

My eyes widened, and I sucked in a breath. "That's not what I meant."

"I need for you to want to be here, to be with me. But if you don't want to be, I'll pay you in advance for the paintings. A hundred thousand dollars, directly to you, and you can leave town for a few weeks, until it's safe to return."

"Are you crazy? No way would I take that kind of money from you."

"I think you're under the impression that my resources are limited. They aren't."

"You don't want a thank you fuck, and I don't want to be bought. My paintings aren't worth fifty grand a piece." But I did have something of value. I wasn't strong enough to fight my father. I realized that now.

My father's lies and treachery were in the book. But selling it would mean others would be hurt. Others like Ian Byrne. I pointed to the notebook on the nightstand. "What is that worth to you?"

Stefano didn't hesitate. "There is no price too high for my brother's life. No matter how accustomed you become to the darkness, never mistake me for the light. There are consequences for betraying my family. Ian and your father won't just answer for what they've done to you. They're enemies of my family."

Enemies of the Italian mafia. But Stefano wasn't like them. That he was in the mafia explained the guns and knives. Even the banker had to have protection and had to defend his family.

The tone of his voice had my heart slamming painfully against my ribs. When I was with him my past didn't define me, and my future didn't terrify me. I existed in the moment with him. Being here, with him, was all I needed.

But I didn't want to be an obligation.

"I don't want to leave. I want to be with you." I traced the whorls of hair on the knuckles of his fingers. "I don't want you to feel obligated to help me." I softened my words. "I don't want your money. I want to feel safe."

"I'll keep you safe"—a half smile tugged at his lips— "and fuck you filthy every fucking night."

"Now, you know I'm staying," I teased, but I wanted him to know that he'd crept into my heart, that I already felt safe with him, and had since the first glance across a crowded room surrounded by sharks. Stefano belonged in the shadows, and I wanted to be there with him.

"I hate that I'm pulling you into my crazy." I tried to keep tears from my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

I tumbled him to his back, leaned over him, and nipped his chin. "I can say I'm sorry when your dick isn't still inside me."

He laughed and banded an arm around me. "Then I suppose apologies are acceptable. I have one of my own."

I rested my arms on his chest, and his hand slid under the T-shirt I was wearing and cupped my ass. "Oh, this should be good. I can't see you as someone who apologizes often."

He shifted my legs to straddle his hips. "I'll be apologizing often if ordering late night pizza is something you like to do. No one comes in or out of my building that isn't authorized. Pizza guy isn't getting in."

"Really?" I sat up, and he leaned on his bent elbows with me still on his lap.

"My life is dangerous, Angel, but my building will be the most secure structure in the city when the renovations are complete."

"Your building?"

He nodded. I glanced around his apartment. He owned the building.

"By now, Ian will have found your car, he knows you've left with me, and he's going to want you back. You'll be safe here, but I don't think you should leave."

"Ever?" A flash of panic hit my bloodstream. I slid off his lap.

"Unless you're with me, and just until the threats have been removed."

We lay facing each other on the bed, covered by his soft, black sheet. The darkened room cocooned us in intimacy. Our voices filled the silence, and the scent of sex saturated the air. With his calloused hand on my hip, he tucked me closer, his breath warm against my neck, and with the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.

"Carmine is across the hall. My sister, Anna, is downstairs. You can meet her in the morning if you want. There are a few others. Anyone you see in the building is loyal to me. When I'm not here, guards will be stationed on the lower level. Renovations are being made to the floors below."

"I'm so screwed."

He smiled at my choice of words, and I felt a blush crawl up my neck and into my cheeks.

"I had a theory that all my issues would go away when I turned twenty-one. I counted down the months and days. But they've trapped me. I'm legally tied to Ian."

"Temporarily. I don't know why your father would fuck you over, but I'm going to find out." He kissed my forehead. "Not everything is fucked. Some things can be fixed immediately."

I lifted my face.

He brushed my wild hair from my eyes. "I broke your phone, and I'll get you a new one. No one will bother you while I'm out. I'll be gone for a few hours today. Will you be okay here on your own? I'll make sure there is more than popcorn and crackers to eat."

I nodded and feathered my fingertip over the soft hairs on his chest. "Are you taking the notebook with you?"

"Not without your permission." He slid his legs out from the bed, crossed to the kitchen area, and brought the crackers to me. "Eat."

He crawled back into bed with me, and we snacked until my eyes grew tired. I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, I was alone in bed.

Stefano had covered me with a thick, warm blanket. Steam clouded the window. A growl rumbled from the bathroom, and the sound of the shower cut off. I snuggled into the bed, breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in his pillow.

I tracked his movements as he quietly went to the kitchen area. He dropped a pod into his coffeemaker and pulled a cigarette from his pack. A towel rode low on his hips and outlined his ass. Thick thighs led to calves cut from granite. Water droplets clung to the tips of his tousled hair, dripped onto his chest, skated down the dips and cuts of his abdominals, and soaked into the edge of the towel.

He smoked as he opened the little fridge, bent down, and grabbed a pint of milk. My heart was in my throat, and my stomach knotted.

I'd never shared quiet, intimate space with a man. Everything about this moment was his. Me, naked, rumpled sheets, smelling of sex. A cigarette between lips that had wreaked havoc over my body. A dangerous man in a dark room, with a gun and knife on the table.

I swallowed the extra saliva in my mouth. My gaze took a slow slide back up his body until my eyes connected with his.

"Buongiorno, Angel."

"Good morning."

He leaned against the wall and sipped his coffee. "I want to spend the morning with you, but I need to get to the bank." He extinguished his cigarette in the can of sand.

I scooted over, and he sat on the edge of the bed. The towel gapped, giving me a glimpse of his semi-hard dick.

"I haven't been careful with you. You were a virgin, but I never asked if you were protected from pregnancy."

A trace of panic slipped through my veins. I squashed my fear, taking responsibility for my part. We'd both been swept up in the moment. I hadn't asked him about his sexual history either.

"Stef, I…uh…I took the morning after pill. You didn't finish inside me last night, but we haven't used a condom. I'm not on the pill."

He wrapped his arm around me and tumbled me to my back. "I want nothing between us. Is that what you want, too?"

I combed through his damp hair with my fingers. "We should probably use condoms until I can get on the pill, and you can get tested."

He pressed a kiss to my belly. "I'll get tested today. I should have talked to you about this. It's my mistake. My need to be inside you made me careless. But know that you are important to me."

The thickening of his accent pulled on a string between my nipples and my clit. Wetness leaked from inside me. He made me aware of my body in ways I never thought possible.

"Celine, I never would have taken risks with your health if I wasn't sure I was clean, and I haven't been with anyone in months."

I wouldn't have asked, but I loved that he hadn't.

"I've been living with my brother, and I haven't had sex without a condom since I was thirteen and fucked Martina Conti in her parent's pool house after school."

"Wow, thirteen?" No wonder he was good in bed. He'd had a lot of years of practice.

"She was older and seduced me." He smirked. "Three months older. Then she moved onto my best friend."

"That's cold."

"Besides the girl, he got a black eye and a split lip. She kissed him better. We both learned a lesson from it."

"Oh yeah. Never date older women?" I said with a chuckle.

He traced my lip with his thumb. "I believe in karma. People deserve the shit I do to them."

When I was alone in his arms, it was easy to forget he was part of the mafia. If he did more than work at the bank, I didn't want to know because I wanted this man. So sinfully dark and filthy, a man who made me forget every caution and trust in the way he made me feel.

I licked my lip, touching my tongue to the pad of his thumb.

Stefano growled and crawled over me. "Have lunch with me?"

"I'll be here." I needed more than food. I needed him.

A knock sounded at the door. He stood, dropped the towel, and grabbed his jeans. After he stepped into them, he crossed the room to the door.

"Stef, I'm not dressed." I scrambled to the edge of the bed and peered over the side.

He laughed. "Stay under the covers. It's Anna."

"What? I don't want to meet your sister when I'm naked." I grabbed my palazzo pants, and his shirt, and dashed for the bathroom.

I slammed the door, spun, rested against it, and met my reflection in the mirror.

Twisting on the water, I took the fastest three-minute shower of my life, finger combed my hair into a loose braid, and searched for something to use as an elastic band.

By the time I was dressed and opened the door, Stefano was alone in the room again.

"She left?"

"Sì, she couldn't stay." He unloaded a few groceries onto the counter and stored items in the fridge. "I asked her to bring a few things."

I joined him at the counter. Now, I felt like shit for missing the chance to meet his sister and say thank you.

I laughed as he placed a couple of microwavable personal pizzas into the small minifridge freezer. But it was the ginger cookies and ginger tea that had my tummy taking a tumble.

"I want to have coffee with you in the morning, and you said you drink ginger tea."

I nodded. "I do," I sputtered, not having the words to explain that no one had ever cared to remember my favorite drink. Maybe except Presley and only because we were creatures of habit always ordering the same thing.

"This is just for today." He handed me a phone. "It's Savio's. He can go without Roblox for one day." He smiled. "Anna had to promise him you wouldn't mess with his ranks or levels." He dumped the rest of his coffee. "Call me, and I can be here in ten minutes."

I nodded. If I was going to spend my day sitting in his room, I could get schoolwork done. "I need my backpack."

"Of course. I'll get it for you. Today, you'll hear workers in the building. No one will come to the door or bother you." He rested his forehead against mine. "Just for today, please stay in the apartment."

Wrapping my arms around him, I breathed in the scent of his shampoo and cologne. "Take the notebook."