6. Aaron

CHAPTER 6

AARON

T he days bleed together in a haze of paperwork and home visits, the ache in my chest a constant companion. I throw myself into work with a single-minded focus, desperate for anything to distract me from the memory of Santino's touch, his taste, the way he shattered me with pleasure and put me back together with whispered words of devotion.

But even the most challenging cases can't chase away the ghost of him, the phantom sensation of his hands on my skin, his breath hot against my ear as he took me apart piece by piece. I'm haunted by the things we said, the promises we made in the heat of passion, only to have them crumble in the cold light of day.

I know why he did it, why he pushed me away. I saw the fear in his eyes, the certainty that his world would chew me up and spit me out broken. But it doesn't make it hurt any less, doesn't ease the hollow feeling in my chest where my heart used to be.

I'm picking at a wilted salad in the break room, trying to summon the energy to face another long afternoon, when Gia saunters in, all designer labels and razor-sharp edges. "Well, don't you look like shit," she drawls, perching on the edge of the table. "Trouble in paradise?"

I flinch, looking away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Please. You and my brother have been eye-fucking each other for weeks. And now you're both walking around like someone died. So spill, Shepherd. What did that idiot do this time?"

For a moment, I consider lying, brushing her off with a vague excuse. But the understanding in her gaze, the genuine concern beneath the snark, loosens something in my chest. "He ended things," I say quietly, my voice cracking on the words. "Said it was too dangerous, that I deserved better than what he could give me."

Gia is silent for a long moment, her gaze assessing. Then she sighs, shaking her head. "That self-sacrificing bastard," she mutters, more to herself than to me. "Listen, Aaron. My brother...he's not good at this feelings shit. He's spent so long burying his heart, convincing himself he's not worthy of love, that he doesn't know how to let himself be happy."

I swallow hard, a lump rising in my throat. "I thought...I thought we had something real, Gia. Something worth fighting for."

"You do." She leans forward, her voice fierce. "Santino is crazy about you, Aaron. I've never seen him like this with anyone. But he's also scared shitless, because he knows that being with you means confronting all the demons he's been running from his whole life."

I meet her gaze, something like hope sparking in my chest. "What do I do, Gia? How do I convince him that we can make this work, that he doesn't have to face his demons alone?"

A slow smile spreads across her face, sly and conspiratorial. "You corner him at the gala tonight. Wear something devastating, remind him exactly what he's missing. And when you get him alone...well, I'll leave the rest up to your imagination."

I shake my head, a reluctant grin tugging at my lips. "You're kind of terrifying, you know that?"

She winks, sliding off the table with feline grace. "You have no idea, honey. Now go get your man. And Aaron?" She pauses at the door, her expression serious. "Don't give up on him. Underneath all that macho bullshit, my brother has a good heart. He just needs someone to remind him it's still beating."

The gala is in full swing by the time I arrive, the museum's grand atrium transformed into a glittering wonderland of champagne and diamonds. I smooth a hand down the front of my tux, trying to quell the butterflies rioting in my stomach. Gia worked her magic, and I have to admit, I look damn good. The fabric clings to my body like a second skin, highlighting the lean lines of my muscles, the trim cut of my waist. It's a far cry from my usual work attire of sensible button-downs and slacks, and I can feel the appreciative gazes following me as I make my way through the crowd.

But there's only one set of eyes I care about, one man I'm desperate to impress. I scan the room, my heart in my throat, searching for a glimpse of dark hair and darker eyes, the magnetic pull of Santino's presence.

And then, as if conjured by my thoughts, he's there. Standing by the bar, a vision in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, a glass of amber liquid dangling from his long fingers. He looks devastating, all sharp angles and coiled power, and the sight of him steals the breath from my lungs.

As if sensing my gaze, he turns, our eyes locking across the crowded room. For a moment, the world narrows to just us, the heat and hunger that crackles between us like a living thing. I watch his throat work as he swallows, watch the way his fingers tighten on his glass, and I know he feels it too. The inescapable pull, the need that claws at us both, desperate for an outlet.

I start towards him, my steps measured and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. He watches me approach, something wild and desperate flickering in the depths of his gaze. When I'm close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat of him, I pause, my voice low and intent. "We need to talk."

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "I have nothing to say to you, Aaron. I made myself clear."

I step closer, crowding into his space, my voice a rough whisper. "I don't believe you. I think you have a lot to say, Santino. I think you're just too damn scared to say it."

His eyes flash, a warning and a challenge. "You don't know what you're talking about. What you're asking of me."

I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder against me. "I'm asking you to be brave, Santino. To fight for what we have, instead of running away like a coward."

He rears back, his expression thunderous. "I am not a coward," he hisses, his hand clamping around my wrist like a vise. "You have no idea the things I've done, the blood on my hands. I'm trying to protect you, Aaron. From me, from my world."

I meet his gaze head-on, unflinching. "I don't need your protection, Santino. I need you. All of you, even the parts you think are too dark to love."

For a moment, he just stares at me, something raw and aching bleeding through the cracks in his mask. Then, with a muttered curse, he's dragging me through the crowd, his grip on my wrist unbreakable.

He pulls me into a deserted hallway, the sound of the gala fading to a distant hum. Before I can catch my breath, he's on me, his mouth hot and demanding against mine, his hands fisting in the lapels of my jacket.

I gasp into the kiss, my own hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. He tastes like whiskey and desperation, like everything I've ever wanted and never dared to hope for. I pour myself into the kiss, all my longing and frustration and need, and he meets me with equal intensity, his tongue delving deep, claiming me, possessing me.

When he finally breaks away, we're both panting, our foreheads pressed together as we struggle for control. "Aaron," he rasps, his voice wrecked. "We can't...I can't..."

"Yes, you can." I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Santino, I know you're afraid. I know you think you're protecting me by pushing me away. But I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? I'm in this, with you, for as long as you'll have me."

He closes his eyes, a shudder running through him. "I don't deserve you," he whispers, the words like broken glass. "I don't deserve this, after everything I've done."

"Let me be the judge of that," I murmur, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Let me love you, Santino. Let me show you that you're worthy of happiness, of a future beyond all this darkness."

With a groan, he surges forward, capturing my mouth in a kiss that sears me to the bone. I melt into him, into the hard planes of his body, the desperate clutch of his hands. He walks me backwards until my shoulders hit the wall, his thigh slotting between my legs, pressing against my aching hardness.

I gasp, my head falling back as he mouths hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of my throat. "Santino," I pant, my hips rocking against him, seeking friction. "Please, I need..."

"I know, baby." His voice is a low growl, his teeth scraping over my pulse point. "I've got you, I'm going to take care of you."

His hands find my belt, my zipper, his long fingers delving inside to wrap around my length. I cry out at the contact, my hips bucking into his grip, desperate for more. He sets a ruthless pace, his strokes firm and tight, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head on every upstroke.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his gaze hot and heavy on my face. "So fucking gorgeous like this, falling apart for me. I'm never letting you go, Aaron. Never letting anyone else touch you like this."

His words, the unyielding possession in his voice, send me hurtling towards the edge. I can feel my orgasm building, coiling hot and tight at the base of my spine. "Santino," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm close, I'm going to..."

"Come for me," he commands, his hand tightening around me. "Let go, baby. I've got you."

With a strangled cry, I let the pleasure take me, my release pulsing hot over his fist, my body shaking with the force of it. He works me through it, his hand gentle now, soothing, until I collapse against him, boneless and spent.

For a long moment, we just cling to each other, our breathing ragged, our hearts pounding in tandem. Then, slowly, Santino pulls back, his hand coming up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my kiss-swollen lips.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his eyes searching mine. "For pushing you away, for making you doubt what you mean to me. I was a coward, Aaron. You were right."

I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his palm. "You're here now," I murmur. "That's what matters. We'll figure out the rest together."

He nods, something fierce and determined hardening in his gaze. "I'm going to make this right," he vows, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm going to be the man you deserve, Aaron. The man Matteo deserves. Even if it means burning my whole world down and starting over."

Before I can respond, the sound of gunshots rips through the air, followed by screams of terror and pain. Santino goes rigid against me, his eyes wide and panicked. "Matteo," he whispers, fear and rage warring in his expression. "Aaron, where's Matteo?"

Ice slides down my spine, realization dawning with sickening clarity. The gala, the public venue...it's the perfect opportunity for Santino's enemies to strike, to take out the man who's been dismantling their empire piece by piece.

And now Matteo, the innocent child who's already lost so much, is caught in the crossfire.

Santino is moving before I can blink, his gun materializing in his hand as he heads for the door. I lurch after him, my own weapon a cold weight at the small of my back. "I'm coming with you," I snap when he opens his mouth to argue. "Don't even think about telling me to stay behind."

For a moment, he looks like he wants to protest. Then, with a curt nod, he grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. "Stay close to me," he orders, his voice brooking no argument. "And if I tell you to run, you fucking run, do you understand?"

I squeeze his hand, my heart in my throat. "I understand," I whisper, praying to a God I'm not sure I believe in anymore that we'll all make it out of this alive.

As the screams and gunfire grow louder, as we plunge headlong into the chaos, I cling to Santino's hand like a lifeline. We're in this together, for better or worse.

I can only hope our love is strong enough to see us through to the other side.