Chapter 76 RóISE

A sleek passenger helicopter is waiting for us on the roof of my uncle's warehouse, but Miceli wants me to change into dry clothes before we get on.

"It's a short flight," I argue, just wanting to get home. "Please. I'll even let you have a doctor look me over."

He's not impressed. "You know that's happening regardless."

"I want to go home."

Something flares in his eyes when I say that. "Whatever you want, vitù. "

His life? Warmth spreads through me.

"Don't break out the Sicilian if you don't want our bodyguards to get a show on the helicopter," I tease, only half joking.

Miceli is to die for sexy when he starts speaking Italian, but when he uses the Sicilian dialect, I know his emotions are involved. And that's a bigger turn-on than any romance language could be, even uttered in that deep tone that goes straight to my ladybits.

"I would have to kill anyone who saw you in that state of passion," he says musingly, like he's considering it.

Laughing, I scoot around him and climb into the helicopter. The joy inside me is weird, considering what I just went through.

But I'm safe and I'm with Miceli. Two things to make me very happy.

Once we're buckled into side-by-side seats, he takes my hand and kisses the palm right above the shallow cuts. "I am sorry."

"What? Why are you apologizing?" Is he done with me?

Has he decided I really am too much trouble ?

I cut my spiraling thoughts off. What is wrong with me?

Miceli cares about me and I'm beginning to believe he loves me. I mean, he called me his life. That's pretty big, no matter how I look at it.

I shake my head, dislodging the negative thoughts.

"I let you get kidnapped." He kisses my palm again. "But it will never happen again.

"It wasn't your fault. Gabriel Lion has to have someone on the inside of my uncle's organization."

Miceli nods. "The sonar would have picked up the three men and no alert was given. But I should have told you not to go to the boathouse. Your uncle should have an underwater patrol."

I want to say that's overkill. I'm pretty sure it is, regardless of what happened to me. "Maybe underwater robots?"

Like the kind they used to search for Nessie in Loch Ness. Sometimes, the Scots get it right. Not that I'll tell my moma that. The rivalry between Ireland and Scotland is alive and well in her heart, despite one of our forebearers being a Scottish immigrant in Ireland.

"I'll suggest it to him."

And by suggest, I'm pretty sure my fiancé means, argue until my uncle sees reason. Either that, or my days hanging out in the boathouse with my cousins are over.

"After what happened to me, he'll listen. It doesn't look good for a mob boss to have a family member kidnapped from under his nose. Besides, that could have been his grandson."

Uncle Brogan loves us all, but Fitz is important to him. The little boy is his heir and that's paramount to a man like Uncle Brogan.

"Yes." Miceli's expression changes and dark eyes devour me as the pilot lifts us into the air. "You were so fucking hot back there."

"You mean with the kobutan?" I tease.

It's not the first time he's implied seeing me with a weapon is a turn-on for him. I guess seeing me use that weapon is even more of one.

Because right now the air between Miceli and me is sizzling with restrained passion.

"I was just so angry. They thought it was okay to grab me and take me away from my family. Away from you . They're living under some kind of mass delusion if they all think I would marry that violent piece of garbage with a disgusting preference for women young enough to be his granddaughter."

"Tell me how you really feel," Miceli teases, but the expression in his eyes doesn't bode well for Jed or my grandfather .

"I feel like we need to get Aunt Hope out of there. She warned me this might happen and she had to have been taking a really big risk to do that."

His expression intense, Miceli laces his fingers through mine. "You knew this might happen?"

"Well, not this . Who would have foreseen something this extreme?"

"But your aunt warned you about something."

I nod. "She sent me a note."

"What did it say?" Miceli asks with a patience not reflected in his furious gaze.

"That my grandfather had not given up on the idea of me marrying Jed."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" The controlled menace emanating from him is way sexier than it should be.

"When I got it, I didn't really trust either you or my uncle."

"And since then?"

He's asking if I trust him now. And there's only one answer to give him. "It slipped my mind since I've come to trust you." To love him.

I wince at the disbelief in his expression. "Security has been so tight," I try to explain. "I honestly didn't think it was a problem."

"It shouldn't have been," Miceli growls.

My body, which wants to celebrate winning over the bad guys and being free, thrums with desire. "No, it shouldn't. Do you and Uncle Brogan have any idea who is responsible for feeding intel to my grandfather?"

We didn't have plans to visit my family today. It was the spur of the moment. So, someone tipped off the team that tried to take me.

They had to have been waiting for just such an opportunity, but it only worked if they got apprised of my arrival.

Unless they were watching my uncle's estate, but that wouldn't account for the sonar alerts being ignored.

"Your uncle is holding the two men who were on the observation detail today."

"Two of them?"

"We won't know if it's both of them until after they've been questioned."

"By questioned, you mean…"

"I'm good at getting information." His tone sends a chill down my spine.

And excitement through my veins. There's definitely something wrong with how I react to Miceli's violent nature. But it's never directed at the innocent. Not like those guys today.

"They threw me in a trunk like a bag of junk getting donated." Not caring what I landed on, or if it hurt.

"Which was their second big mistake."

"What was their first? "

"Taking you in the first place. They forfeited their lives the moment they touched you."

One is already dead and Miceli is going to kill the other two as well. I can't make myself regret that.

Those men thought it was okay to kidnap me because they didn't believe that I have the right to make my own choices.

Even Uncle Brogan allowed me to choose. Yes, he pushed me toward one choice with coercion, but he would never have physically forced me into the marriage with Miceli.

Unlike Gabriel and Jed, Miceli would never physically force me to walk down the aisle either. He's ruthless and the mafia have some outdated attitudes about women, just like the Irish mob, but he respects my intelligence.

He respects me.

And that matters. A lot.

When we land on the roof of our building, Miceli doesn't let me walk, but lifts me out of the helicopter and swings me up into his arms.

Barking orders to security, he carries me inside the building and heads straight to the access to our penthouse. The elevator ride lasts only a few seconds and when we get to our place, four of his men accompany us.

He assigns one to the hall outside the elevator and another to patrol the outdoor space, with two inside the apartment.

I have a feeling this isn't a temporary aberration in our security. I'm going to have a lot more guards going forward and I get that, especially once I am the don's wife.

I tell him, "We are going to discuss having two soldiers in our living space."

"Later," he grits out.

Yeah, I don't want to fight right now either. There's something else I need a lot more than an argument with my fiancé.

Miceli carries me into the ensuite bathroom off of our bedroom. His expression on the verge of demonic, he lets me slide down his body until I’m standing on my own two feet.

He keeps one arm a tight manacle around me while reaching in to turn on the shower. "We need to wash all that salt water off of you."

The words are prosaic; the tension emanating off of him is not.

"Is this part of my new barnacle life?" Seeking more of his heat, I press against him, leaning my forehead onto his chest.

"Barnacle life?"

"Stuck to you like one," I explain, wriggling out of his suit jacket and letting it fall to the floor .

A hot shower sounds heavenly right now. Even with a guy whose expression and tone are a good match for someone who just escaped hades. Especially with that guy, if I'm honest with myself.

"I like that idea," he says gutturally.

Not a surprise. "You did threaten not to allow me out of your sight again."

Which is over the top and totally unrealistic. But still sends warm fuzzies through me. Despite what happened today, right now, I feel safe.

Protected.

Cherished.

His arm tightens convulsively. "It's not a threat."

"It's a promise?" I ask with dry humor.

"Spending time with me is not a punishment," he informs me in what is probably supposed to be a teasing haughty tone but is too gravelly for any real humor.

Turning my head, I rub my cheek against his chest. "No, it's not."

Without warning, Miceli steps back far enough to rip my shirt up over my head and unclasps my bra.

Still damp, the stretchy lace clings to my skin. My nipples pebble as he peels it away.

Pupils dilated with desire, he yanks the rest of my clothes off.

Craving reconnection with him at the most primal level, I tear at his clothing too.

Off. I want everything off.

Nothing between us. Just naked skin ready to meet naked skin.

It takes seconds to divest us both of our clothing and Miceli of his weapons. Including the time it takes him to slash through the sides of my underwear. He's not the only impatient one. His shirt is missing a few buttons too.

With nothing between us, he pulls us into the shower under the hot spray.

I can't help but notice one of his knives makes it into the shower with us.

Heat pulses between my legs, shivers of desire cascading along the backs of my thighs.

There are words I want to say. Words I want to hear. But right now, what I want most is to feel.

Him. Me. Us.

Grabbing his wrist, I bring the hand with the knife between my breasts and press his knuckles against my skin.

His eyes darken with primal heat and he drags the flat of the blade along the curve of my breast so lightly there is no chance he will cut me. Part of me wants him to, wants to be marked by him. As his .

"No," he growls. "I'm not cutting you."

I'm not surprised he knows what I'm thinking. He gets me like no one else does. Not even my grandmother and cousins.

"There's a scar from the day my mom died." A permanent reminder of that day. "Why can't I wear your scar?"

"I will not hurt you, vitù ." There's no give in his voice.

"Tattoos hurt. People still get them."

"You are mine to cherish and protect. I will not give you pain."

I don't want pain. I want the result. The permanent mark.

"Then I'll get a tattoo."

"If you do, it had better be of my bloody thumbprint."

My arousal spikes. "Yes, that."

"For now, this will have to do." He presses his thumb against the tip of his dagger, drawing blood.

Then he presses it against my left breast. "Mine."

I nod, my throat too tight for words.

His hand travels down and presses against my center. I can't see the bloody print he leaves behind, but I know it's there.

It burns like a brand. I know it's an illusion created by my psyche, but I don't care. I can feel that thumbprint to the depth of my soul.

"Yours," I squeeze out of my uncooperative throat as I hold my hand up in offering. "Do it."

He's done this before. He cannot deny me.

A purely animalistic sound comes from deep in his chest before he does what I ask, pricking my thumb.

Once the blood wells, I place it over his heart. "Mine."

Then I press, leaving a crimson red smear before rivulets of water turn it pink, washing it away, bit by bit.

"I want my mark here," I tell him.

He offers me the knife, but I shake my head. "A tattoo."

"As you wish."

I force more of my life's essence from the tiny prick before it stops bleeding and press a print onto the underside of his big erection. "Mine."

"Do you want a tattoo there as well, mi dolce fiore ?"

Atavistic pleasure settles deep in my belly. I don't feel sweet right now. "Would you get one?"

"Yes."

My thighs pressing tightly together as a shudder of arousal travels up my spine, I open my mouth to say no . Of course not. That's too much. Too primitive. Right?

Only what comes out of my mouth is, "Yes, I want that."

"Aphrodite, a true goddess who requires sacrifice to her love." His mouth slams down onto mine, locking my words inside me, his lips moving with feverish intensity to claim mine.