14. Evelyn

The gash under Jenkins"s eye is small, but it"s getting puffier with every passing second. Alessandro looks like a madman, his hands boasting a red hue that I can only assume is somebody"s blood. The way he"s talking leads me to believe it"s not his.

Still, I"m exhausted and have no intention of leading him into Anita"s apartment complex.

"It"s okay, Alessandro. The guy was just some street kid looking to give the people who looked a little too nice for the neighborhood some trouble. The punishment you"re thinking of isn"t worthy of the crime. You should shower and burn everything you two are wearing."

Lorenzo puts his hands up. "The only blood I have to worry about is still inside me. Besides, I like these pants. She"s right about you, though, Less. I"ll take care of it."

Alessandro doesn"t have a shy bone in his body, stripping down to his boxers before heading upstairs. The barely audible gasp from Jenkins only makes it to my ear, forcing me to turn and see what draws his shock. A long, jagged scar in the shape of an aloe leaf runs from the top of his spine down and to the left side of his ribs. It"s a deep pink color, but it doesn"t have the ugliness of built-up scar tissue around it. My heart stills when I see it.

Lorenzo gathers the pile of clothes. He doesn"t say anything to us as he walks through the kitchen. A door lets him into the small back yard, already equipped with an oil drum that he tosses the items into before setting them ablaze. The sun is setting, and my mind is all over the place.

"Um, maybe you should head home, Jenkins. I think I"m safe for now. Go check on Dad and the kids. I know Ma is probably losing her shit."

Jenkins chuckles to himself. "In another life, Zena Rossi would have joined the fight. Now, she"s Nan and Ma. I can do that and be right back here in the morning. Would you like me to bring anything else to you from the house?"

"No. I have enough. More than enough."

"Very well, see you tomorrow, Evelyn." Jenkins heads out just as Lorenzo comes back inside. The scent of fire trails behind him, with soot and remnants of smoke covering his hands.

Before I can say anything to Lorenzo, he holds a hand up to stop me. "Don"t ask me about his scars, Evelyn. Yes, I know where they came from, and no, I can"t tell you anything more than that. He"s the only one who can tell you that story. Make sure you eat."

Lorenzo opens the fridge to see remnants of my Sunday dinner that didn"t make it into the delivery truck. He makes quick work of the food and leaves me alone with my thoughts. I pull out my phone to call Anita. She assures me that she"s fine and no one"s bothering her. After another round of apologies, I end the call to make another one.

"Evelyn, I"m happy you"re okay," my father says, picking up the phone on the first ring.

"I thought you or Ma would have called to check on me, at least." My tone is laced with sarcasm, but I do want them to appear to care about me.

"Where"s Jenkins?" my father asks.

"He"s on his way back to you guys."

"And you"re home safe?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Well, there you go, Evelyn. I sent Jenkins with you."

My face scrunches as if he doesn"t remember the details of what happened. "No, you grabbed Ma and the kids and took off. Alessandro rehired Jenkins to my detail to get me out of the middle of a gunfight."

"Evelyn!" he snarls. "The phones, dammit."

"Fuck," I sigh. "I"m sorry. Look, I just called to make sure you guys were okay. How are Roman and Courtney taking it?"

"They"re fine, spoke to their mother and are eating an entire pie by themselves. I was really looking forward to your cooking."

"Next Sunday, Dad. Is there anything I can do for you guys, for the family?" I ask him.

"Nothing I"d like to talk about over the phone. If something specific comes up that you can handle, I"ll get word to Alessandro. I"ve gotta go, Evelyn. Get some rest."

The call ends abruptly. I don"t know why I"m expecting a level of care and concern that my family refuses to give. I follow Lorenzo"s lead, distracting myself from feeling out of place in my family by focusing on feeding the man who actively works to protect me.

When I bring food upstairs to Alessandro, sounds of him grunting and hitting something emerge from the other side of the door. Hesitation consumes me, but I fight through my apprehension to knock, and to my surprise, he answers. A loose pair of shorts cover some of my favorite parts of him, but remnants of the day are still evident on his hands.

The red stains soak into the lines of his hands, his fingers. He takes a step back to let me inside the room. The black walls and dark oak furniture make it more cave-like than bedroom-like. Soft yellow lighting in the corners of the room eliminates shadows, but more importantly, the space isn"t crowded by a bunch of pieces.

A large king-sized bed sits against the wall, facing the hallway that leads into the bathroom. There"s a nightstand holding his phone and other items, a chair in one corner, similar to the one in the basement playroom that faces the bed. I wonder how much he likes to watch. The rest of the space is empty outside of a punching bag that"s hanging by a chain in the corner.

Alessandro takes the warm plate of food, devouring it in minutes as I absorb the energy of his room. He can"t help but exude power with every movement. It draws me to the corner where the punching bag hangs, running my hand over the worn leather. It"s especially bare in two spots. The first is just above my eye level and the second is right in the middle along the side.

"The bridge of the nose and the liver." His voice sounds so much louder in here, especially when there"s nothing to fill the silence.

"What?" I ask, turning around to see him putting the plate down on the nightstand. He stands beside me, shoulders round, muscles bulging, pulsating veins like he"s been juiced up to attack.

He takes my hand and rubs the first spot. "If you"re going to hit somebody in the face, it"s best to go to the center of the nose. It"s an immediate blinding sensation. Some people can take punches better than others."

"And what about this spot?" I ask him, touching the worn leather on the side of the bag.

"Liver, spleen, kidney. It doesn"t matter how big the other person is, if you punch or kick anyone in that spot, the body immediately curls inside itself to protect your vital organs. It"s painful and gives you enough time to do whatever else you have planned for the person."

"Like tying them up?" I ask. Flashes of him holding the razor send goosebumps running up and down my body. My nipples harden at the mental image of him cutting into someone. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Mio dolce, have you been taught how to throw a punch?"

"No, but I"ve been in a fight or two as a kid."

He grunts with the corner of his lip turned up. "Not quite the same. For someone like you, you"re small, so use that to your advantage. You want to inflict the most amount of pain to give yourself enough time to pull a weapon or get away. Make a fist. Don"t tuck your thumb in your palm or you"ll break it."

I do as he tells me.

"Spread your feet apart and lead with your hips. Don"t pull back or wind up because then the person you"re fighting is going to duck out of the way. Go ahead, throw a jab."

I punch directly in front of me, hitting the bag with a pathetic thud.

"Don"t be discouraged. It"s not going to be a powerful sound. You don"t hear the heavy bag and chain dangling in a real fight, Evelyn. You want to hear the sound of bones breaking, which is a lot easier than throwing your weight at the heavy bag. Just so you know, to add weight to your punches, try holding something like a roll of quarters in the palm of your hand. Small enough to ball your fist around, it makes every punch feel like you"re swinging a fucking mallet. Try it again."

I do, and this time with his direction, I hit a bit harder, the sound of the bag echoes louder, and I feel like I can do some damage. We go like this for a few minutes, and before long, I"m out of my shirt and ready to spar against him.

He sees it in my eyes and obliges, holding his hand out to the area in front of the bag.

"You can throw punches at full force if you want," he says confidently.

I make the first mistake, pulling back my right arm as if it"s going to get more power before I launch my fist directly into his chest. Alessandro smirks as he dodges the blow, whipping around me and slapping my ass.

Thwack!

It stings so good, but I don"t want to be distracted.

"That guy pulled a knife on Jenkins, and somehow, I knew he wasn"t going to be able to use it as well as you used that razor." I"m attempting to bob and weave, but every punch I throw is blocked or swatted away.

In return for every missed punch, I get a resounding slap on the ass. My eyes trace the outline of his body, so I decide to do something unexpected. My leg comes up, using the top of my foot to kick him in the thigh. He reacts too late, and I land a triumphant hit. While he"s shifting to the side of the kick, I throw an uppercut to the left side of his exposed torso.

"Very good, mio dolce." He growls like a lion proud of his lioness. "Come here."

He hooks his index finger under my chin, pulling me in close. Alessandro levels a kiss on me that ignites every feeling I"ve been fighting during this fight session. He strips me out of my clothes between kisses and carries me over to the bed where I see a switchblade next to his phone.

"Did you use that today? Or just the razor?" I ask him, panting as he peppers my body with kisses that snake their way down to my pussy.

Alessandro pulls up to look at what I"m talking about. The knife is all black, smooth, and cold to the touch as he keeps the blade folded in. He hoists my legs over his shoulders, down on his knees with the knife in his hand.

"You liked the handcuffs too," he says more to himself than to me.

"I did."

"Don"t move. Remember our word, mio dolce."

"Fermare." I whisper the word to let him know I remember our word very clearly.

He opens the knife, letting the back of the blade"s tip barely scrape the space between my breasts. I shudder and swallow.

"You"re getting wet, mio dolce. Interesting. We"ll explore more soon enough, but for now, I need to taste you." Alessandro uses his mastery of the blade to swing it around in his hand. It moves around his fingers like liquid as he holds it by the tip and flings it into the corner.

The knife plunges into the punching bag, dead center to the worn out spot that would be the center of someone"s face. When I feel the softness of his tongue slipping between my folds, the entire day crashes over me in a wave of trembling bliss.

Alessandro suckles on my clit just enough to get me to come before he stands between my legs, his cock jutting out and ready. I"m ready to inhale every inch, but that"s not what he wants. He rubs the tip of his head against my entrance for a few swipes before sinking himself inside my walls. Fuck me, he"s thick, stretching me out. My pussy is desperate to hold him there forever.

It"s rough, fast, and has every part of my body ready to burst with pleasure. Alessandro, anchoring his feet to the floor, gains enough leverage to slide in and out of me at a furious pace. The sounds of our grunts and our skin slapping against one another fill the silent void in the room. Every moan is a plea for more. More dick, more strokes, more Alessandro.

I want him. I need him. I can"t stand to be without him, and I"m more determined than ever to make sure I remain his wife after this treaty business is done. He belongs to me.

"Tell me you"re mine," I murmur, thinking I"m the only person who can hear it.

Alessandro leans over me, making sure our eyes lock, licks my lips, and tells me, "I"m yours, mio dolce."