Chapter Fourteen

Lore

I woke up confused and hurting, my mind fuzzy for a long moment until the memories started rushing back.

The anger at Renzo.

Going out.

Feeling crummy.

Hands grabbing me, pushing me, hitting me, searching me.

Then running home.

Renzo’s anger, then his softness, his gentleness.

My gaze slid to the side, seeing the stacks of cash still sitting on the dresser where Renzo had left them.

It was silly, but that kind of made me feel a little bit more than just an object in his bed. That he wanted to share his money with me. Like a real married couple.

Then after that, he’d climbed into bed with me and held me, fingers drifting over me. So sweet and gentle.

My heart thrummed at the memory as gossamer tendrils of hope spread across my chest. Fragile, but unmistakable.

I sat up in bed, letting out a little whimper as I used my hands, forgetting momentarily about the scratched palms.

Not a moment later, I heard footsteps on the stairs.

Longing had me imagining Renzo opening the door, and I was too lost in my own wants to realize the footsteps were too light to be him.

Until the door cracked open.

And there was, of all people, Cinna.

“Thought I heard you moving around,” she said, pushing the door open further, but not stepping in.

Reaching over, I flicked on the light, which made Cinna’s gorgeous face twist.

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“That bad, huh?” I asked, touching my fingertips to my throbbing cheek.

“That fucker,” she said, jaw tight as she shook her head. “Why were you alone?”

“What?” I asked, brows scrunching.

“Why wasn’t there a guard with you?”

“Should there have been?” I asked, confused. “Elian said I didn’t have to stay in the apartment.”

“Elian,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Not Renzo.”

It wasn’t a question.

But I answered anyway.

“Yeah.”

“You asked Elian, not Renzo.”

“Should I have asked Renzo?” I asked, worried that Elian might get in trouble for letting me leave if I wasn’t supposed to.

“Do you talk to Renzo?” she asked, moving in, but just to lean against the doorjamb.

“I… a little,” I said, not wanting to admit how little. And how pretty much the only time we spoke was when we were naked.

“God, these fucking men,” she hissed, bringing up her hands to rub at her eyes. “Don’t panic,” she said, looking at me again. “Elian and Rico are as close to Renzo as anyone can get. If Elian said it was how it was supposed to be, he’s right.”

“But you don’t think I should be out alone?” I asked, feeling like Cinna was someone who was going to give me the cold, hard truth. Even if I didn’t like what she had to say.

“I think that you’re not from around here,” she said. “You don’t know shit about this area. And you’re really young, really small, and really pretty.”

Maybe it shouldn’t have had so much impact, but her praise helped build up the rubble of my confidence. Because, well, if someone as gorgeous as she was thought I was pretty, then who was I to think otherwise?

“And no one around here, aside from us, knows who you are. So there was no guarantee that you’d be safe out there.”

“This isn’t Renzo’s fault.”

“Oh, Christ,” Cinna said snorting. “Don’t defend him.”

“You don’t seem to… like him much.”

“I love Renzo. Renzo gave me opportunities and more respect than any other men I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean the man doesn’t have flaws. He’s… he’s fucked all of this up,” she said, shaking her head at me.

“You didn’t want him to marry me.”

Cinna’s gaze landed on me, shrugging. “I’m not going to lie to you. I objected. Loudly and often. Couldn’t even drag my ass to that fucking church to see this shit go down.”

“Because I’m a Costa?” I asked, knowing I had to understand that prejudice. Lord knew my own family felt the same about the Lombardis.

“I mean, originally, yeah.”

“But not now?”

“Now, I’m more pissed at your family, to be honest. I mean, what the fuck were they thinking, letting you marry Renzo? Didn’t they want something better for you?”

“I… I agreed,” I said. “My family objected right up until we said our vows.”

“Why didn’t they lock you in a safe house somewhere then?”

“Because… because I wanted to.”

“You wanted to?” she asked, brows raising. “You wanted this life?”

“I… honestly, I have to admit that I expected it to be different.”

“Why?”

I don’t know why the confession spilled out of me then. When I’d kept it secret for so long.

“He saved me once,” I told her. “I’d come to check out the bookstore around here. And this group of guys were harassing me. Renzo saved me.”

“Oh, sweet Christ. You married Renzo because of some girlhood crush?” she asked, angling her head back, staring at the ceiling.

“I… I realize now how silly it was,” I admitted.

“Silly. Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Don’t get me wrong, Renzo is that guy. The one who saves girls on the street. It’s part of his rules since he took over. We protect the girls around here as best we can. But it was wrong to mistake a moral code with a kind or lovable man.” She looked at me then, and I felt like she saw far too much. “But you do love him, don’t you?”

I wanted to say no.

But it felt good to have someone, anyone, to confess to.

And although I had nothing to actually back this up, I felt like I could trust Cinna not to share it with anyone else.

“Yeah.”

“What a choice,” she said, shaking her head.

“He’s not… cruel to me.”

“No,” she agreed. “But he’s never around, is he? And he doesn’t… he doesn’t know how to be a good husband, kid. He had a shitty-ass old man. Never dated anyone seriously in his life. He has no fucking idea how to be a partner to someone. Let alone someone who loves him.”

I didn’t know first-hand about Renzo Lombardi. But I’d heard through the grapevine that his father had been a monster. That didn’t surprise me. A lot of the Costa fathers had been awful too. My brothers and I had been the lucky ones, with a loving father who took amazing care of us even after our mom died.

“I’m just worried about you,” Cinna said. “Sitting here, no husband, no friends, no family, no… nothing.”

She got it.

She saw it all.

And, God, it felt so good to be seen.

“I don’t know. I think I might have a friend,” I said, giving her a slight smile as the split tugged at my lip, preventing me from letting it spread, or I might rip it open again.

“Who? Me?” Cinna said, letting out a short cough of a laugh. “You don’t want me as a friend.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can be a real asshole.”

“But you’re honest,” I said, shrugging. “I think maybe that might be a good thing for me to have while I… figure things out.”

“I am honest. To a fault a lot of the time,” she agreed.

“I think maybe you could use a friend too,” I said, sensing that someone with walls like hers would never feel comfortable enough really letting people in the organization in. Not even Dav. Though, that didn’t seem to be from lack of trying.

“I’m not a ‘go get a pedicure and brunch’ kind of woman.”

“Me either,” I agreed. “My feet are ticklish,” I added, getting a little laugh out of the severe woman.

“Fine,” Cinna said, nodding. “We can be friends.”

“Can I have your number then?” I asked, proud of how forward I was being. There was just something about Cinna that kind of reminded me, well, of the men in my family. Who were closed off and emotionally inarticulate as well. “In case I have any questions about, you know, the family or the neighborhood.”

“Sure,” she said, reaching for her own phone to take my number as I found mine. “I should probably, as his capo, suggest you ask your husband,” Cinna said. “But, well…” she went on, waving out.

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling good at having the number for someone in this organization in my phone. Even as my heart sank, realizing I didn’t have Renzo’s number.

“You want me to get you anything?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just going to take some acetaminophen and try to go back to sleep.”

“Alright. I’m downstairs if you need me,” she said, then was gone.

I didn’t, in fact, go back to sleep.

I just turned off the light, then tossed and turned, wondering where Renzo was.

Until, near the morning, I heard voices in the living room below. Cinna’s and a deeper rumble.

A few minutes later, I heard heavy footsteps making their way up the stairs.

He walked in then, heading right toward the bathroom, leaving the door open, so the light spilled into the bedroom.

I sat up as I heard the water click on.

I don’t know why, but I found myself climbing out of bed, and making my way to the doorway.

And there he was.

Renzo.

His shirt splattered with blood.

Gaze sliding upward, I saw more blood on his neck, his face, down his arms, and pouring off his fingertips under the tap.

I didn’t have to wonder whose blood it was.

Maybe I should have been horrified.

A normal woman likely would have.

But this was the life I was raised in.

It was often violent and brutal.

Without being able to rely on the law, justice had to be meted out by these men.

I knew what was going to happen the moment I gave Renzo a description of my attacker.

So it wasn’t horror or disgust moving through my system as I looked at the evidence of Renzo’s revenge. It was something a lot softer, sweeter.

I must have moved, because Renzo suddenly stiffened, looking over at me.

“Go back to bed, mouse,” he said, his gaze lingering on my bruise. “You don’t need to see this,” he added, whipping off his bloodied shirt, then turning his gaze away, trying to hide the blood on his face from me.

I didn’t go back into the room.

Instead, I turned to the linen cabinet, grabbing a washcloth, then moving next to him to wet it in the other sink before turning to him, and reaching out to force him to face me.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, shaking his head at me.

“Shh,” I demanded, lifting my hands, careful to pinch the washcloth with my fingers, so my palms didn’t hurt, then reaching to start wiping the blood off of Renzo’s face.

He was uncomfortable at first, his whole body almost vibrating with tension. But as I gently wiped at his skin, he started to relax, even soften, as he looked at me.

I wiped off his face, then his neck, and his arms, before leaving the washcloth in the sink under the running water to clean most of the blood off.

“Thank you,” I said, watching as confusion moved across his stupidly handsome features.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, voice small, but rough. “You should be blaming me,” he added.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because everyone in this neighborhood should know you’re off-limits.”

“This kind of thing happens,” I said, shrugging. “Even if most people know who I am, there would be others who wouldn’t.”

“It will never happen again,” Renzo said, his words a vow.

“I believe you,” I said, voice soft.

“This is worse,” he told me, his hand raising, the knuckles raw, and gently teasing his fingers over my cheek.

“It will probably be even worse in the morning,” I said.

I’d seen my brothers after many fights in the past. It always looked worse the day after, or even several days after.

To that, Renzo’s lips curved up.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you could lie to me about it,” he suggested as his fingers drifted down to my neck, resting for a moment, before sliding backward, teasing over my scalp the way he knew I liked.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” I said, voice soft as his touch started to stoke the flare of desire.

“Good,” he said, his gaze going heated as my breathing got more shallow and uneven. “Keep making noises like that, mouse, and I’m gonna forget that you’re hurt,” he said, his rough voice making a shiver course through me.

“I’m not that hurt,” I said, swaying toward him.

That rumbling sound I loved so much moved through Renzo as his arm wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him, his head ducking, his lips on my neck.

Desire soared through my system, making me sensitive and aching as Renzo’s hands moved over me. Sliding down my back, over my ass, up my sides as his lips moved across my throat, then up the other side of my neck.

He reached for my pants, unfastening my jeans, then dragging them and my panties down, waiting for me to step out of them.

Then he was suddenly pressing me back against the sink cabinet, and dropping to his knees in front of me.

Spreading my thighs, his tongue started to move up my cleft, teasing my clit with soft precision, making my hips rock against him as he worked me.

My soft moans filled the bathroom as he drove me closer and closer to that edge.

But before the pleasure could wash over me, he was moving away, reaching for me, and turning me to face the mirror.

“Have you been taking your pills, mouse?” he asked, voice a velvety caress as he unfastened his pants, freed his cock, then slid it between my thighs, rocking against me.

“Y… yes,” I whimpered.

“Good girl,” he murmured, turning my belly liquid as his cock slid back, then surged inside of me. “Fuck,” he groaned when he was buried deep. “Look how much you like my cock,” he murmured, looking at my face in the mirror.

My head was tipped back, my lips parted, and my eyes heavy-lidded.

His hand gripped my hips then, holding on as he started to fuck me.

Hard and fast as his free hand slipped between my thighs, working my clit as he thrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, thrusting harder, getting close. “Are you going to come for me?” he asked, lips pressing into my neck from behind. My moan was the only answer I could offer him.

“That’s it, baby,” he hissed. “Squeeze my cock,” he said as the orgasm started, a tensing, then a flutter as the pleasure coursed through me. “Fuck,” he groaned, fucking me harder. “I’m going to come inside your sweet fucking pussy,” he told me, the words making my walls flutter once again, undoing him, making his face press into my hair as he thrust into me, then planted deep, coming with a soft curse.

He stayed deep inside of me for a long time after, his face still pressed into my hair, breathing me in as we both waited for our bodies to come back down.

His head lifted, his gaze finding mine in the mirror.

There was something deep and unreadable in his eyes that had my heart squeezing.

But before I could try to understand it, his head ducked, then watched what he was doing as he slowly slid out of me, letting out a rumble at… something.

“You’re going to need to get cleaned up, mouse,” he said as he turned to walk to the shower stall, reaching to turn it on.

I didn’t understand his meaning.

Until I felt a hot trickle from between my thighs.

“Come on,” he said, voice soft, but tired, and I turned to find him already naked, climbing in the shower niche himself.

I moved across the room, reaching to remove my shirt, then bra, trying not to cover myself as his gaze slid over me, then climbing inside.

Then I got to stand there as Renzo pushed me under the water… and started to wash me.

Then let me rinse as he washed himself.

Wordlessly, he shut off the water, handed me a towel, then got his own.

And we made our way to bed.

All the while, I thought things had finally, finally changed.