Chapter Ten

Lore

I just stood there, leaning against the shower wall for what felt like forever, not stepping back under the spray.

Some strange, unknowable, primal part of me was sickly turned on by the idea of his release still on my skin.

I barely resisted the urge to reach down and touch it with my fingers.

It was the sound of the bedroom door slamming closed that finally had me waking up from the orgasm haze, realizing that he’d just… left me again.

I stepped forward into the spray, letting the water wash him away, then scrubbing again with the soap, wanting to rub away the slimy feeling my thoughts seemed to coat me in.

About feeling, I don’t know, used.

The only time he came to me, spoke to me, even looked at me, was when he wanted to touch me, wanted to be inside of me.

And I, so freaking desperate for his interest, for maybe even just a tiny chunk of his heart, let him do it.

Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them back as I climbed out of the shower, drying myself, and trying not to let my thoughts go dark again.

Even as I knew he was down there with his friends.

Any, anyone but me.

I walked in my towel back into the bedroom, seeing something sitting on my nightstand that I hadn’t left there. A little box.

I felt a small thrill, wondering if he maybe had bought me something, that I’d been on his mind while he was out and about in his life.

But as I walked over and picked it up, what I found only compounded those dark feelings.

He hadn’t gotten me a gift.

He’d gotten me a box of birth control pills.

“Damnit,” I snapped at myself as I felt a hot tear spill down my cheek.

Reaching up, I swiped it away as I tossed the box back down.

I would take them, I knew I would. Because, despite the disappointment, and the way little cracks kept spider webbing across my heart each time he only remembered me when he wanted to be intimate with me, it was all I could get from him.

And I was going to take it.

Because the need for him only seemed to be growing with each passing hour.

Moving into the closet, I found some pajamas to slip on, then found myself rummaging around in one of my bags, finding something I hadn’t bothered to look at since the morning of my wedding when I’d turned it to silent and ignored the tsunami of texts begging me not to go through with it.

My phone.

I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to deal with my family’s upset when I was feeling so fragile. But I reached for it like a lifeline now, knowing that it was filled with people who didn’t want to use me, who just wanted to love me.

I took it and my charger back to my nightstand, plugging it in and charging as I ripped open the damn box, then pulled a pill out of the blister pack, pressed it against my tongue, and swallowed.

My objection wasn’t to the Pill itself.

While, yes, I wanted babies one day, I definitely didn’t want them yet.

It was just the feeling attached to the Pill that had me tossing it back into my nightstand drawer afterward, not wanting to look at it until I had to take it again the next night.

I curled up in the bed, reaching for my phone when the light indicated it was charged enough to use again, then sucked in a deep breath, and swiped the screen to my messages.

I tapped through the ones from my aunts and female cousins, all of them asking if I was okay, saying they were worried for me, wanting to make sure I was being treated alright.

I had to answer them all eventually.

But it was the texts from my big brother that had my attention.

I had a bunch of big brothers. But my “biggest” brother, Nico, the oldest of all of us, had always been my most ardent protector, my friend when I needed one the most, the one who dropped by to take me out for ice cream weekly even after he moved out. The one I’d dragged me to every bookstore in the tristate area I wanted to explore.

The one whose heart I’d ripped out of his chest by putting my foot down and saying I was going to marry Renzo Lombardi.

He hadn’t just sent me one text.

Oh, no.

He’d sent over twenty.

Each and every one dripping with his heartbreak, with his concern, with his confusion. Some even with his rage.

I swear on my fucking life, Lore, if he is keeping you from me, I will burn down that entire goddamn borough to get you away from him.

He would do it.

Of all of my brothers, Nico’s love was the strongest. To the point of suffocation at times. But warm and comforting to someone so prone to insecurity and uncertainty. His love was a hug to wrap around myself in times of panic or sadness.

He would bring an entire underground war into this city if he knew I’d shed a single tear because of Renzo Lombardi.

I’m sorry if my concerns made you doubt my ability to keep loving you even if I disagree with your decision.

Please answer me.

Don’t shut me out.

Your silence is fucking gutting me, Lore.

I was blinking back different tears as I tapped to respond, my fingers feeling clunky, each attempt at a response feeling wholly inadequate.

I love you, Nico.

It was the simplest, but most honest thing I could say.

Too tender to deal with any more back-and-forth, I set my phone to silent, then buried it in the drawer along with my birth control pills, turned off the lights, curled into myself, and did something that had become an alarming ritual since I started this new life of mine.

I cried myself to sleep.

—

I woke up alone, as usual.

There were no days off for Renzo, it seemed.

When I made my way downstairs, though, I realized I wasn’t exactly alone.

Elian was already hard at work, cleaning up the mess from the party the night before.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked, shaking my head at him as he broke down the last of the pile of pizza boxes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Lombardi,” he said, giving me a ghost of a smile. “I cut out early last night to catch some sleep,” he said as he turned away. He turned back a second later, something wrapped in foil in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sensing something off in his expression.

“You didn’t want this?” he asked.

“What is it?”

“Your dinner,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, the clawing feeling in my stomach making me well aware that I hadn’t eaten. “I, ah, I didn’t come down,” I admitted.

“Why not?”

“I… I didn’t feel… invited,” I admitted, the confession making me feel exposed.

But Elian’s head just tipped to the side, watching me with scrunched brows. “This is your home,” he said. “You don’t need to be invited.”

I couldn’t say what I was feeling.

That this didn’t feel like my house.

Because, well, Elian was right.

This was my home now.

Maybe what I needed to do was act like that.

“Do you think everyone will be coming over again tonight?” I asked.

“Judging by the order for booze I had to place today, yeah.”

To that, I nodded, my mind reeling, trying to talk myself into it, to imagine it.

Walking down the steps.

Making an entrance.

Acting like I belonged.

Maybe if I faked it hard enough, it would start to feel true.

I made my way to the coffee pot, preparing another awful black cup I would need to choke down, making a mental note to pick up some cream and sugar when I went out.

And I did have to go out.

Because if I was going to act the part of a mafia boss’s wife, I had to look the part. No more leggings and roomy sweatshirts. I had to wear something more mature to this party.

“Thank you for ordering that for me,” I said to Elian, watching him turn.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked.

“Because my husband wouldn’t have thought to,” I told him honestly.

To that, Elian winced, but he didn’t contradict me.

“You gotta remember to eat,” he said.

There were a lot of things I needed to start doing if I wanted this to work. And it had to. Because there was no changing my fate now.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You don’t need to order me breakfast today, though. I’ll pick something up when I go out.”

With that, I took my awful coffee upstairs with me while I got myself dressed. By the time I walked out of the apartment building, I felt like I was walking a little taller as I grabbed a good coffee and a muffin, then went in search of something that would be appropriate for the party.

From what I’d seen when I’d peeked out, the parties were casual. Even the women gathered around were usually in jeans. But their looks had a harder edge to them. Tight, black pants, tees, and leather jackets. Everything in black.

Dipping into a store that seemed to have items to fit that edgy style, I picked out a pair of tight black jeans.

“What are you trying to project?” the saleswoman asked, sensing my rising panic as I blanked at what to buy after picking out the pants.

“I want to look put together. But not like I’m trying to,” I told her. Then was quick to add, “And that I’m not scared.”

If she thought there was anything weird about that, she didn’t show it as she helped me pick out a warm black sweater that was cropped and would reveal a little sliver of belly skin when I put it on.

“It’s a power move to show a little skin,” she insisted. “Without making it look like you’re showing skin,” she added, taking the shirt with us to the counter to check out.

Armed with my new outfit, I made my way back home, finding Elian gone. The guard at the door was one I’d never seen before, and he barely gave me a glance before standing to plug the code into the door.

This time, I paid attention, realizing that was something I might want to know.

The guard didn’t greet me, and I swore I could feel annoyance oozing off of him as I moved past.

I shook that off, though, as I walked into the clean apartment. Someone had even been in to strip and re-make the bed.

I wondered if it had all been Elian. Or if there was some sort of designated mafia cleaning person as I set up my new outfit, then laid out my makeup on the sink counter before taking a long ‘everything’ shower, wanting to wash away any feelings of uncertainty and insecurity.

I’d just finished drying my hair when I heard Renzo come home, talking to someone else. Maybe that hostile guard.

I forced my focus back to myself, slathering on some concealer to hide the smudges under my eyes, applying some mascara and light liner, and finally putting on a bolder lip than I would normally dare to.

The sounds below me grew louder as I finally climbed into my uniform for the night.

That was what it was, too.

A uniform.

For a part I was playing.

Disconnecting myself seemed to help chase away the flutters of insecurity.

As I stepped back to look at myself, I really didn’t even see myself anymore. I looked a little older, more confident. I looked like someone who belonged at Renzo’s side.

I slipped my feet into a pair of ballet flats, took a few deep breaths, then opened the bedroom door, walking out onto the balcony.

No one seemed to notice me for a long moment.

And it was, of course, Elian, who placed me first, shooting me a nod and a small smile as I got to the top landing.

As soon as I started to descend, though, people seemed to notice.

Heads turned, making my steps falter as that little voice in my head told me to turn around, to run back to the safety of my room.

But I forced my legs to keep moving, to take me further down the steps, despite most of the gazes in the room glancing at me.

Eventually, sensing something was up, Renzo finally turned.

His gaze had impact, knocking the breath out of my lungs, but I lifted my chin slightly, then moved onto the lower level.

I hadn’t really given this much thought past the entrance, so I made my way toward the bar, where a man with lighter hair and blue eyes was standing behind it, talking to a gorgeous woman.

One of Renzo’s notorious female capos, I was sure of it the second I laid eyes on her. Power oozed off of her just standing still having a casual conversation.

“Well, there she is!” the blue-eyed guy greeted me, shooting me a charming smile that felt genuine. “Nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Lombardi. I’m Dav. Short for Davide,” he said.

“Lore,” I said.

“Short for?”

“Nothing. Just Lore.”

“Well, Just Lore, this resplendent creature right here is Cinna,” Dav said, gesturing toward the woman.

“Don’t mind Dav,” Cinna said. “He thinks he’s a lot more charming than he actually is.”

“Oh, sweet girl, I’m every bit as charming as I think I am,” Dav countered. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, pretending to ignore the snarling sound Cinna made at, I imagined, the pet name he’d used.

A drink.

No, I wasn’t a drinker.

But, God, if this wasn’t a situation where I felt like I needed one.

“Sure,” I said. Then, “Surprise me,” I added before he could ask what I wanted, forcing me to admit that I didn’t know.

“Are you old enough to drink?” Cinna asked.

“Cin,” Dav scolded.

“It’s a valid question.”

“I’m twenty-one,” I said, seeing the movements as Dav mixed me something with two different kinds of juices.

“Christ,” Cinna said, shaking her head as she raised a glass of amber liquid to her lips.

“Be nice,” Dav hissed at her as he passed me my drink. “A Bay Breeze,” he said.

“That’s the girliest drink possible,” Cinna griped.

“Ignore her. She’s so naturally sweet that she doesn’t need a mixed drink,” he teased, getting an eye roll out of the woman as I reached for the glass, taking a tentative sip.

“That’s good,” I declared, shocked to find I meant it. It was like cranberry and pineapple grew up and got a little bit more of a bite to them.

“Anytime you need a refill, you just flag me down,” he said, holding up a finger to someone across the room who was calling him.

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a smile before he wandered off.

Leaving me alone with the intimidating Cinna.

“How long have you been Renzo’s capo?” I asked, figuring this was the kind of woman who appreciated bluntness, even if it wasn’t normally in my nature. Better, I felt, to stay and talk to Cinna than to wander around and hope someone else would engage me in conversation, so I didn’t feel like a complete outsider.

“Since I was nineteen,” she said.

“But you have a problem with my age?” I asked, genuinely curious.

To that, Cinna sighed.

“I have a problem with girls being traded like fucking chattel. I have a problem with someone your age blindly marrying a man like Renzo. And I definitely have a problem knowing you were traded like chattel in what was supposed to be a sham of a marriage to a man like Renzo who made me go and get you birth control pills,” she said, making my belly wobble.

“I… I chose this,” I said, feeling my fake confidence starting to fall away.

Cinna’s gaze watched me for an agonizingly slow moment. Sighing, she nodded. “Maybe you did,” she agreed. “But I think we both know that you didn’t know what you were getting into. And I get it. Renzo is successful. And he’s got a face and body like a fucking marble statue. I’m sure he fucks like a porn star.” She paused then, giving me a surprisingly gentle look. “But he’s hard,” she said. “And when hard things crash into soft ones, the soft ones get crushed.”

With that, Cinna finished her drink, then turned and walked away.

Alone, I lifted my drink, taking a long sip as her words swirled around in my head.

The thing was, she wasn’t wrong.

I genuinely didn’t know what I was getting into. If I had, I wouldn’t have been crying so much, feeling so despondent and unsure of myself.

And while Renzo had shown me sweetness, even softness, there was no denying he was a hard man.

One who clearly didn’t want a life partner. Just his alliance. And a body to move with when the mood struck.

He didn’t want me.

That thought had stupid tears pricking my eyes again, making me finish my drink, then make my way toward the kitchen where Elian was standing, holding something in a takeaway tin.

“What’s this?” I asked as he handed it to me.

“Chicken fingers and fries,” he said.

“How’d you know I practically live on this?” I asked, taking off the lid, and popping a fry into my mouth.

“Because my sister does too,” he said, nodding. “Finally got that invitation, huh?” he asked.

“I did,” I agreed, nodding with a certainty I didn’t feel.

Sure, I was here.

But I didn’t feel like I belonged.

And I was pretty sure I might never.

But then Dav showed up with another drink.

And by the time I finished it, I kind of didn’t care anymore if I belonged or not.

I drifted around the room on a cloud, greeting people who engaged me, talking to a man named Michael for a while, then trying to play pool, and failing spectacularly, and drinking the refills Dav kept bringing me.

I didn’t even know how much time passed as I was trapped in a Bay Breeze haze, but the party seemed to thin out a bit by the time I was walking through the seating space where Renzo was seated.

He hadn’t said a word to me all night.

And I’d been trying to pretend that didn’t hurt.

It got easier with each drink, I found.

But walking?

Walking got harder and harder with each one.

“Whoa!” one of the men yelled as the walking thing and the coordination thing failed me at the same moment, making me trip and start to pitch forward.

Only to feel myself snatched around the waist by strong hands, then pulled backward until I was set in someone’s lap.

Someone who smelled deliciously of leather and smoke and tonka bean.

“How you feeling there, mouse?” his voice and breath met my ear, making a little shiver course through me.

“Like I could fly,” I declared, shooting him a smile.

“Let’s keep your ass away from the balcony then, huh?” he asked, his arm tight around me, preventing me from getting up.

But I didn’t have any intentions of doing that anyway.

He felt good and solid.

And the world was kind of starting to spin.

It felt good to be anchored.

Even if everyone seemed to ignore my presence as they continued their conversation like I wasn’t there, not even bothering to try to engage me in it.

But I didn’t want to be included anyway.

Not with Renzo’s body plastered to mine, his arm possessively around me, claiming me in front of his friends.

This had been what I’d been waiting for, hoping for.

I was just going to savor it.

“Still flying?” Renzo asked sometime later.

“No,” I said, realizing that everyone had seemed to filter out without me even realizing.

“Gonna have to tell Dav to pour a little lighter next time.”

So he’d seen Dav bringing me drinks. He hadn’t been oblivious to my presence.

A warm little tendril of hope started to form in my heart at that information.

“They were good,” I insisted.

“Bet they were,” he agreed.

“Everyone left.”

“It’s late,” he said. “Almost early,” he added. “I should get you to bed.”

“Yes, please,” I said, getting a strange sound from somewhere deep in Renzo’s throat.

“Not what I meant.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“A little,” I agreed.

“A lot,” he countered, a little smile pulling at his lips. “Can’t fuck if you’re drunk,” he added.

That word sent a thrill of desire through my system as I leaned in a bit, sniffing his neck, then tentatively pressing a kiss to the skin, making a rumble move through him.

“That’s for girls in bars,” I decided, feeling like I had a fairly good argument. “Not your wife,” I added, my fingers getting bold, teasing across his chest, exploring him in a way I knew I never would feel comfortable doing if I wasn’t still buzzing from the alcohol.

“You’re making this hard,” he said.

Oh, it was getting hard alright.

And that was the point.

“Lore,” he grumbled as I wiggled a bit on his lap.

Feeling bolder than I’d ever been before, I found myself reaching for his hand, taking it with mine, then sliding it down the front of my pants, pressing his fingers against where I was aching for his touch.

“Fuck,” he growled, finding me already wet and aching for him.

His finger slid up, teasing around my clit, as his other hand worked my button and zipper free, giving him more room to explore as he teased my clit, as his fingers slipped down and inside of me.

A throaty moan escaped me as my hips started rocking against his palm, my body crying out for more.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured against my ear, making my walls tighten around his fingers as they thrust.

“Please,” I begged, my body burning with need.

“I’m working on it, mouse,” he said, sounding amused as he pressed my clit a little harder.

“No,” I whimpered, too far gone to think about what I was saying. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he said.

“No,” I whined again, rocking harder against his touch, but it wasn’t giving me what I needed. “I need…”

“I know what you need,” he said, teeth nipping my ear. “Just relax.”

Ugh.

Why couldn’t he understand?

“No, I need you… here,” I said, pressing my hand against his, pushing his fingers in deeper.

That seemed to get his attention.

That rumbling sound I was beginning to love so much moved through him again.

“I told you we—“

“Please,” I cut him off, my voice rough with need. “Please,” I said again, smaller, sweeter.

Whatever was left of his control snapped.

His hand slid out of my pants as he pushed me to stand in front of him, then reached for the waistbands of my pants and panties, and yanked them down, waiting for me to step out of my shoes, then them, before sinking his fingers into my hips, and pulling me back down on his lap, this time straddling him.

“You need my cock that bad?” he asked, his hand going to his waistband, undoing his button and zipper, then reaching inside to free his cock.

Hard.

Straining.

So thick it almost looked painful.

“Yes,” I whispered, that ache inside intensifying just thinking of his hardness inside of me.

“Then come here and take it,” he demanded, holding his cock at the base, then urging me closer.

There was a moment of uncertainty. But then he was rubbing the head of his cock between my lips, tapping my clit, then moving back down, pressing against me, just waiting for me to take him in.

“Come on,” he urged, fingers tightening on my hip. “Let me watch you take me in,” he demanded.

My body moved on instinct then, lowering down onto him, feeling him slide in, deliciously thick, pressing so deep it almost ached, this position changing the sensation entirely.

Renzo rumbled, his head falling back on the chair. “You look so fucking good taking it all,” he said, rocking his hips up into me until the need to move was so overpowering that I overcame any uncertainty, and listened to my body until I found the motion that felt best.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured as I rode him, reaching for the hem of my shirt, and pulling it up and off. My bra went next. And then his hands were on me, teasing, twisting, rolling, as my movements got faster, more desperate. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, burying his face between my breasts, taking a deep breath. “You feel so fucking good riding me.”

His lips were on me next. Sucking. Licking. Teeth grazing.

“That’s it,” he said, teasing my other nipple, then lifting his head as my moans got louder and louder, as my fingers dug into his arms. “Make yourself come around my cock,” he demanded, starting to thrust up into me a little harder.

The orgasm started to crest, making me cry out his name as the waves crashed through me over and over.

“Fuck,” Renzo groaned. “Fuck, that feels good,” he said, thrusting through it, then suddenly yanking me back and off of him, the loss of him a pang I didn’t quite understand as he came, the heat of his release spilling across my stomach and thigh.

I leaned forward, burying my face in his neck, not wanting this moment to end so quickly as it always seemed to. Just wanting to stay close with him for as long as he would allow me.

I was surprised how, after a short hesitation, his hands started to move over me. Drifting gently up and down my spine, over my hips, back up, massaging the back of my neck, then sifting into my hair. Before, finally, starting to rub little circles across my scalp.

“Keep making noises like that,” he said, making me aware of the little mewling sounds escaping me, “and I’m gonna have to fuck you again,” he said.

Like a warning.

But I kind of wanted it as a promise.

Because I was pretty sure I could never get enough of Renzo Lombardi fucking me.

The stupid alcohol still coursing through my bloodstream, though, had other ideas. And it wasn’t long before I started to drift in and out of consciousness, lulled by his soft touch, the warm strength of him below me, and his heartbeat against me.

“Let’s get you to bed, mouse,” he murmured, seeming to talk to himself, though, as his arms went around me, then he got to his feet.

My legs went around him, wrapping his lower back as he turned and walked through the apartment, then up the stairs.

“Gotta stop making such a mess of you,” he murmured what felt like forever later, teasing me out of a light sleep, to find him leaning over me, then wiping a warm washcloth over my belly and thigh.

“I don’t mind the mess,” I heard myself saying, words slow and thick with the vodka and sleep.

That little growling sound answered my words, though, and I had a feeling he liked what I had to say before he moved and disappeared into the bathroom.

I was out cold before the door even closed.