Chapter 15

CLEO

T he strain of our night apart lifted as we spent the day slowly mending the unseen, broken fences between us.

I made us breakfast: scrambled eggs on toast.

Alessio brewed me coffee and finished the foam with a phallic shape, which I chuckled at for many long minutes.

His eyes remained shadowed, but his lips curled at my amusement as the coldness in my heart thawed.

‘Scusa, mia sola, forgive me for being a dick to you.’

This morning, the man’s golden hair hung in unruly waves around his face, giving him a wild and untamed appearance.

His sharp and intense leonine eyes gazed into mine, and I fought the urge to plunge both hands into his gilded tresses and kiss him.

Instead, I gave him a slight smile. ‘Water under the bridge,’ I murmured. ‘We’re good now.’

I might have prolonged my sulking so he’d grovel harder, but the fact he’d revealed how he’d gone over and above to secure Nonna’s care over the years had melted my last reserve.

His freakishly delicious coffee helped.

After breakfast, I nailed him with a keen look. ‘So what now?’

He canted a brow, well aware of what was asking.

His leverage over me had evaporated.

He was healing well and had no reason to hang around.

‘If it’s OK with you, I’d like to stay a few days more until Franco is back and we have a handle on him. Does that work for you, carissima?’

His deep, timbered ask was hard to refuse.

As was the soft heat radiating from his eyes.

I nodded, conscious we’d turned a corner.

Fuck, I’d swept past it and fallen over the cliff.

He jerked his chin at me, and it was decided.

He was staying.

The relief that went through me was palpable, and I rose from the table in a rush.

The scorching heat of his gaze followed me, giving me shivers.

He dedicated a good part of the morning to fixing my piece-of-shit 4X4. He replaced the two wheels he’d shot at with two from my spares in one of my vast container sheds.

I spent most of that time drooling from afar as he worked in the sunlight, tee off, muscles rippling with primal strength.

‘Woman, you’re a hoarder,’ he groused, rolling one of the tires from my storage space when I strolled toward him, holding out a mug of fresh coffee I’d brewed. ‘Albeit a neat one.’

‘You never know when the apocalypse will come,’ I chuckled.

We locked eyes, and that sharp lurch I got when I glanced at him hit again.

I was warming to Alessio Calibrese very fast.

Ever since he’d shared about Nonna and then about the bracelet, I hadn’t been able to keep my thoughts from him.

On my birthday call to her, Nonna had confirmed over the phone that she was safe and having a whale of a time with her new capo minders.

‘They’re young, tight, and sexy,’ she’d whispered with a wicked chuckle. ‘All the other women in the facility are jealous as fuck.’

I’d laughed so hard that Mrs. Henderson had come to check on me, offering a glass of water as I chuckled with my grandmother at her naughty, freaky mind.

I’d had to mask my amusement from Alessio when I’d emerged from the Henderson’s farmhouse while hiding my intrigue and curiosity at his mindfulness to me over the years.

What he’d shared and laid down was a confession of sorts that he had some form of feelings for me.

I was unsure how to respond at first because what-the-actual-fuck ?

All along, I’d thought the man was out to get me, that he was heartless and ruthless, without an iota of care for me.

I was so wrong.

While he’d never come close nor engaged me, he’d waved his proverbial mafia wand over me for years.

The concept was complex to wrap my head around.

More and more, I saw evidence of his care .

In the way his eyes leaked heat, smoldering each time they aimed at me, how his lips curved and softened when he now gazed at me.

He’d let his mask fall, letting me see his need for me.

It scared the hell out of me.

Not because he was petrifying. Well, he was.

But because of how much it moved me as well.

For some strange reason, it didn’t feel creepy; it was righteous.

Perhaps it’s because he’d been consistent for over ten years, giving me space yet looking out for me and mine.

Part of me was so unsure what to do with the revelation.

Another freakin’ welcomed it like water finding its way over a desert that had been dry for decades.

I soaked it, cherished it in my heart, and pondered it.

Then I shelved it, my mind exhausted from thinking so hard.

I focused on keeping calm and creating a rich, chunky Spezzatino di Manzo, an Italian casserole Nonna had often made.

It was packed with chuck beef and braised until tender in a hearty stew of carrots, celery, mushrooms, and red wine.

I added rosemary and bay leaves for additional flavor and planned to serve it with chunks of crusty bread.

When he wandered back to the cabin searching for things to do, I put Alessio on baking duty.

It meant we stood close together in my kitchen’s tight space.

I began to sense his flirtation ratchet up, heating me as he made slow, deep, timbered statements that left me weak in the knees.

At one point, as he kneaded the dough, thick arms bulging, his tee sticking on him in all the right places, he declared, nailing me with those leonine eyes.

‘Bella to me you’re buono come il pane. It means you’re full of goodness like bread, with a heart of gold.’

Who knew I had a thing for men covered in flour rasping husky, sweet nothings?

I flicked a towel at him even as my soul lurched at his utterance.

Then, my logical mind kicked in.

All he was doing was tossing out words.

He was probably so used to mesmerizing women that this was one of his ploys.

‘You think you’re charming, don’t you?’ I said, crossing my arms over my chest. ‘With your brooding personality and your sexy Italian prose.’

Alessio’s scoffed, a gleam in his eye. ‘I don’t think, cara. I know.’

‘Please,’ I countered with a snort.

He threw the dough over, folded it, and pounded it. His posture relaxed like he’d been baking for years. ‘You like it, no matter how much you resist.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Please. I’ve met plenty of men like you before. All talk and no substance.’

‘Ah, but you’ve never come across a man quite like me,’ he countered, his voice low and seductive. ‘I’m one of a kind, bella. And I intend to prove it to you.’

God, he was insufferable , I thought, even as a shiver ran down my spine.

Why did he have to be so damn fuckin’ sensual?

Why did his muscles bulge as he kneaded, and why was his body too tight and lean?

I almost moaned .

I turned away from him, busying myself with stirring the stew in the pan.

‘You’re all talk,’ I said, my back to him. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

Without warning, his presence ghosted behind me, his breath warm on my neck. ‘Not all the women,’ he murmured, his rasp sending shivers through me. ‘Only the special ones. Those who make me feel alive.’

I whirled around, finding myself face to face with him, our bodies only inches apart. ‘I’m not special,’ I said, just above a whisper. ‘I’m just a girl with a messed up past and a lot of baggage.’

‘You’re also a woman who desires love, who craves me.’

Again, this man’s balls had to be gilded, given how much golden bullshit he was spewing.

‘Alessio, my mind knows the difference between wanting what I can’t have and craving what I shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t want you. I don’t deserve passion or you.’

Alessio reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Flour from his sinewed hand sprinkled all over my nose.

I didn’t fuckin’ care.

He slid a powder-dusted hand to my nape and pulled me close, and my body pressed to his freakishly raw powered length.

‘You’re wrong, mia sola,’ he rasped, his eyes holding mine. ‘You’re one badass woman who’s fucking adorable at the same time. You’re worthy of the world laid at your feet. And I’m going to make you see that, in the short time we might have together, perhaps even forever.’

Damn, he was fast-forwarding this show, and I was not ready for it .

Still, the words he used wormed their way into my keening soul.

Forever , I thought, my heart skipping a beat. A dangerous word.

Gazing into Alessio’s eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder if an endless love was my portion after all.

He remained tight to me, leaning his lean hips on the counter, eyes on me.

His tongue eased from between those luscious lips, and his eyes laser-focused on my mouth.

My nipples pebbled, and my pussy pulsed, wetness seeping into my panties.

‘Alessio -,’ I breathed.

‘Che cosa?’

‘We need to get that bread into the oven.’

His eyes smoldered. ‘I know what I’d like to get into.’

I hissed at his brazenness as the hand around my waist slipped away.

‘What more can I do ?’ he asked when he’d slid the loaf into the stove to bake.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. ‘I’ve got it under control,’ I managed to say, my voice sounding strained even to my ears.

But Alessio was not one to be deterred. He reached for the wooden ladle in my hand, his fingers brushing against mine as he did so.

I jerked my hand back as if I’d been burned, my cheeks flushing with heat.

‘Relax, cara, I don’t bite.’

I raised my hand and pointed to the couch. ‘I do, so get the hell out of my kitchen unless you want to know how hard I bite down.’

‘Ah, mia sola, do you also swallow?’

I gasped, raising the utensil as if to whack him.

He tipped his head back and roared, strolling off, shoulders shaking.

He had an incredible laugh, rasped, hoarse, low.

A rumble came from his chest and through his neck as he threw that leonine head off his back, revealing his corded nape.

Fuck me.

I told him as much.

‘Fuck you in particular,’ I called, fighting the red color flying up my cheeks.

‘Name the date and place, and I’ll be there.’

I rolled my eyes, sliced them away from him, and returned my focus to the countertop.

He smirked and prowled back to the living area, picking a book from the shelf, which he settled down with.

Still, a small smile played on my lips as I continued to stir the pot.

Damn, the transformation in how we were relating to each other was blowing my mind.

That he cared so much under that gruff, brooding mask helped lower my barriers. For so long, I’d been used, manipulated, and discarded, which had destroyed most of my confidence, leaving it torn and ragged for years.

That he desired me heightened my self-esteem to stratospheric levels.

It also had my clit pulsing every single freakin’ moment I was near him.

It’d been years since I’d slept with anyone .

Not that I hadn’t wanted to; I’d just suppressed my needs, given my solitary life.

Until Alessio.

I sensed he’d be a fantastic lover.

It was in how he moved, with predatory power, powered by his thick thighs, six-pack chest, and corded neck.

I found myself obsessing over those erotic lips, his sinewed hands, and his lithe body.

He made me want to experiment, to explore, to go buck wild, unfettered by all the cares in my freakin’ world.

He kept giving me glimpses of a sensual, seductive man with an unrestrained generosity I’d never be able to repay, enticing me to kiss him, stroke him, ride him.

Oh, Dio!

Seeking sanity, I focused on dinner.

The food was triumphant, and when I served it, Alessio cherished it, making appreciative moans while he ate.

I smiled, warmed by his appreciation, trying my damnedest to ignore the spikes of desire it sent through me.

I squeezed my thighs and hoped to goodness my hardened nipples weren’t pebbling through my shirt.

At one point, I caught him flick his eyes to my chest, but his face remained inscrutable.

A small smile played on it as we shared a light-hearted conversation at dinner.

I asked him about his childhood, and he indulged me.

Relaxing with a glass of Pinot Noir, he launched into anecdotes about his early life in Italy. ‘Growing up with three brothers was never boring,’ he rasped with a chuckle. ‘We were always getting into trouble, playing pranks on each other, driving our poor mother to the brink of insanity. ’

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth twitched, a smile threatening to break through my stoic facade.

Alessio’s eyes sparkled as he recounted a particularly memorable incident involving a goat, a paint bucket, and his eldest brother’s prized motorcycle.

‘Lorenzo’s Ducati was covered in white pigment for months until my father agreed to restore it to its chrome beauty. All because a pair of fucking goats couldn’t help themselves head-butting each other in the garden.’

‘I love goats!’ I exclaimed. ‘They’re so endearing and always look like they are smiling. They’re so unbearably adorable. In my opinion, second only to kittens on the cuteness scale.’

‘They’re also little shits. Fuckin’ butt heads. Can’t tell you how many of them took me down for no reason.’

As he spoke, I was drawn into his world, one so different from mine.

It was filled with laughter, love, and carefree joy I had never experienced.

For an instant, I imagined what it would have been like to grow up in a family like Alessio’s.

To have siblings to play with and parents who loved and protected me.

But the moment was fleeting, and reality came crashing back down around me.

My childhood had been nothing like his.

There’d been no joy nor affection, only fear, pain, and the constant struggle to survive. I’d been robbed of the innocence that Alessio had enjoyed, and the realization left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

I pushed my plate away, suddenly not hungry .

He fell silent, his brow furrowing in concern as his eyes raked over me.

‘Cleo?’ he growled. ‘Che cosa?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, forcing a bright note into my voice.

He didn’t believe me, and his eyes searched my face for the next few moments as we cleared the table.

At one point, I had to slick away the tears in my eyes, and he tagged it.

With a suck of his teeth, he prowled to the bookshelf.

His fingers danced over the spines of the books until he found what he was looking for.

‘Cleo, here.’

It was an order from a man unused to being disobeyed.

I went to him, eyes wide, as he patted the space on the couch beside him.

‘Sit.’

Heart raw, I did as ordered while he opened the tome in his hand.

‘You read books like these?’ I asked, shock tinging my voice.

‘I’m European and Italian. We were born with them in our hands.’

‘That’s my grandfather’s,’ I said, recognizing the title― Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy. ‘He highlighted his favorite excerpts and read them to me at night.’

‘So I shall do the same,’ Alessio drawled.

I raised a brow.

‘Hey?’ he growled, meeting my bemused gaze. ‘Can’t reconcile a rough as fuck rogue like me with classic literature?’

I shrugged with a slight smile.

‘The thing is, cara,’ he rumbled, ‘the modern mafioso doesn’t fight with only fists these days. He needs his wits and intelligence to stay alive and navigate a high-tech and fast-moving world. Books are like a whetstone, sharpening and keeping the intellect on guard. Now can I begin?’

I gave him a slight nod.

‘We climbed, he first and I behind, until though a small round opening ahead of us, I saw the lovely things the heavens hold, and we came out to see once more the stars.’

I curled my feet under me and leaned closer, enamored by the deep timbre of his accented intonation.

At first, his gesture threw me.

I couldn’t quite believe this burly, gruff, beautiful man was reading to me in the most poetic way possible.

His voice lulled me, comforted me, healed me.

Each word, like oil, was a balm to my troubled soul.

At one point, I found my head on his muscled shoulder, my hand creeping around his waist as he read on.

Eyes fluttering shut, I rested my weary spirit against the rock of Alessio’s bulk.

On fuckin’ hope itself.