24. Chapter Twenty-Four

“I guess they didn’t have anything bigger?” Sophie muses, her gaze sweeping up the grandeur of the Vitelli estate. She’s wearing a straight face, but there’s humor dancing in her eyes.

I give a light-hearted shrug, “We make do.”

Her laughter peals out, clear and bright. There’s no hoarseness left in her voice, and the bruising around her neck is gone now too. It’s higher-pitched than usual, though. She’s nervous—not an affliction Sophie seems to suffer from often.

The front door opens, and Dante steps outside. He waits for us at the top of the wide stone porch as we climb the steps.

As we reach him, he greets me with claps to my back and then pulls Sophie into a too-long embrace.

“Nervous?” he inquires with a hint of mischief, releasing Sophie just before the urge to slug him becomes overwhelming.

“A little,” Sophie admits, then looks back at me. “Nico, are you sure they won’t mind me dropping by like this?”

“It’s their wedding anniversary, amore mio, you’re a surprise gift they’ll absolutely adore. Besides, we’ve been through way more awkward family introductions before haven’t we?”

Sophie’s smile widens, no doubt recalling my first visit to Harmony. “I’m sure this one will go a lot smoother than that.”

“We can certainly hope,” Dante looks skeptical. “Now, Sophie, I wouldn’t look Father straight in the eye, though. It triggers him when women do that.”

“Really?” Sophie’s smile disappears, her anxious gaze swinging to me. “Nico, you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“Dante is an ass. Ignore him.”

Then, unable to resist getting back at him, I say, “Speaking of, Dante, you should brace yourself for the dinner talk to shift to your bride-to-be and upcoming wedding. I just wonder what you’re going to do with all that red wine you’re hoarding.”

A shadow crosses Dante’s face before he masks it with a chuckle. “All disposed of, fratello. I can’t stand the taste anymore. The cellar’s now empty, and I’m planning to open up my palate to different options and blends.”

“That’s an interesting thought,” Sophie joins in, though the wine-centric humor is lost on her. “I should explore something other than my current wine preference.”

“Err, no, cara, you’re perfect just the way you are,” I give her a warm smile while shooting daggers at a darkly chuckling Dante. There won’t be any ‘exploring’ for Sophie beyond my body or mind.

Dante presses on, knowing he’s struck a nerve. “Surely, Nico, how harmless could a vineyard in the south of France be? I’m sure that would change your palate significantly. What do you say, Sophie? We can even bring Nico along.”

“Oh, I’d love that. Nico, we should do it,” Sophie says with enthusiasm, still seemingly unaware of the subtext. The idea of a holiday in the south of France doesn’t sound half bad, actually.

Dante gives her a look that’s both playful and a bit serious. “If you can find me a twin of yours, we’ll make it a double date, bella,” he smirks, then heads back inside, his shoulders tense.

Stronzo.

“Is it just me, or did Dante look like he was about to either smash something or shoot someone? You, maybe?”

I can’t help but chuckle, appreciating how quickly Sophie has come to read Dante’s true emotions behind his practiced smiles. “It was something I mentioned, cara. ‘Red wine’ is actually a euphemism for Adele.”

“Who’s Adelly?” she asks, her pronunciation slightly off.

“Adele,” I correct gently, with an Italian accent. “She’s a woman from Dante’s past.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Let’s just say it was a bad breakup a couple of years back. A very sore spot for Dante. The only sore spot he has, it seems.”

Sophie takes a moment, absorbing the information. “Oh, wow.”

I quickly add, “And before you get any ideas, don’t try to psychoanalyze Dante. He’s fucked six ways to Sunday.”

“But I’d simply be offering the tools,” she protests lightly. “It’s up to him to use them.”

“Sophie Vitelli—” Damn. “Sophie Kellan.” I quickly correct myself. I admit I might have been trying it out too often in my head.

Her raised eyebrows and slightly hesitant smile tell me she caught that. “Nico, what was that?”

“Just a slip of the tongue, baby. You know English isn’t exactly my strong suit—”

“That is such bullshit, Nico.” She interjects with a vigorous shake of her head

“What? So, I jumble the languages occasionally. Sue me.” My grin is teasing.

Her reluctant smile and the rosy flush on her cheeks hint that perhaps she liked my slip more than she cares to admit.

“Anyway, now that you know my thoughts on the matter, what are you going to do about it? Run back to Harmony?”

She snorts, “I don’t think they’d take me back, Nico. The brothers are somehow convinced you walk on water or something.”

It seems Grease and I get along even better than Phoenix, whose jury is still out on me, depending on how I’m treating his daughter. “You’re right. The only person who’d eagerly rescue you from me is Cade.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. “Good thing he’s too busy wiping perps off the streets. Looks like I’m well and truly stuck with you, Nico.”

“I love the sound of that. So, come on, let’s go shock my parents.” I take Sophie’s hand and lead her through the marble foyer to the large living room where Vito and Antonella Vitelli are lounging on the sofa.

They form a striking pair, both with dark hair. Father’s is more heavily streaked with gray, while Mother’s dark bob looks like it’s been dusted or sprinkled with silver at her temples. Dante has joined them, and they are all laughing over something.

“Mother. Father.” I step in, pulling Sophie in behind me. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Both glance up, their expressions freezing in a mix of surprise and curiosity. Neither of them saw this coming. First, Sophie isn’t Alina De Luca, whom they thought I’d be marrying. Second, Sophie isn’t Italian.

Slowly Father stands, then he extends a courteous hand to help Mother to her feet.

I stand protectively behind Sophie, my hands gently encircling her upper arms. “This is Sophie Kellan, the love of my life.”

A hush falls over the room, their reactions unfolding in slow motion—their mouths drop open in unison while a tender gleam lights up in Mother’s eyes, her hand fluttering to her mouth.

Father regains his composure first, his eyes sharpening. “Kellan?” he asks, probably hoping if there’s an iota of Sicilian heritage.

Before I can open my mouth, Sophie steps forward, a determined poise to her stance. “Yes, Kellan, from San Diego County. Signor and Signora Vitelli, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, her voice slightly rushed but clear, erasing all doubts, and fruitless hopes, about her roots. “There,” she murmurs to me, “the awkward part’s done.”

Father’s expression toggles back to astonishment, mirroring his initial reaction.

“It’s truly an honor,” Mother interjects, gracefully breaking the brief stalemate. She moves towards us, her voice warm. “Amata figlia mia,” she says, embracing Sophie in a genuine, welcoming hug.

My beloved daughter.Wow. I expected Mother to be nice, but this? It’s clear she already loves Sophie. Father remains momentarily shell-shocked, but I’m confident he’ll come around. Because it might be written in the stars somewhere: a pact that makes it impossible for any Vitelli not to fall for Sophie Kellan at first sight.

Dinner winds down with my mother openly charmed by Sophie, and Dante seemingly unsettled. Despite his outward calm, I sense he hasn’t fully shaken off my earlier comment about the ensuing dinner conversation. Catching his eye, I silently tell him to relax. “Lighten up, fratellino,” I mouth.

His silent reply is a terse, “Fuck off.”

I stifle a laugh behind my wine glass.

“Nico?” Sophie’s voice, slightly breathless, pulls my attention her way.

“Sì, amore,” I lean toward her.

“Where’s the bathroom?” She whispers.

I cock my eyebrow, sending her a heated look. “Now?” My hand is under her dress, high on her thighs. My fingers were absently tracing the edges of her knife holster and just about stroking higher toward her crotch.

“Nico, don’t even get any ideas. I’m serious. I just need to go.”

“Sure baby,” I murmur, not believing her. “Down the hall, take a right, first door left. Hurry back.”

Sophie excuses herself with grace, leaving the dining room with a swift, purposeful stride.

As the door closes behind her, my mother breaks the brief silence. “She’s quite the catch, Nico,” she nods approvingly.

“I couldn’t agree more, Mother,” I reply, my heart swelling with pride and something deeper, a profound sense of connection to Sophie that goes beyond words.

Dante grunts in agreement, but my father is silent. There’s something troubling him. He was too quiet all through dinner, a deep groove between his brows.

“What is it, Father?” I ask. Neither of us likes to beat around the bush.

“Kellan, was it?” he echoes with a cautious tone, and I nod in affirmation. “She seems like a good girl, Domenico.” It’s not a compliment. It’s a concern, weighing on him heavily—probably because she’s American.

Dante scoffs, but he covers it with a cough and looks away. I narrow my eyes at him until he once again keeps a straight face.

“Father, Sophie understands who I am and what I do,” I reassure him. “And did I mention she’s a therapist?

“She is?” He’s still bearing the look of slight confusion, no doubt wondering about its relevance is, until I add, “You were right Father. Self-awareness is indeed a virtue.”

My father’s eyes widen the moment he gets my meaning and I incline my head to confirm his suspicions. Suddenly his mouth quirks up in a small smile.

“Why the fuck is it that no one tells me anything anymore?” Father throws his hands up in exasperation, but his accusation is leveled at Dante.

Dante shrugs. “Don’t look at me. All intel goes to Don Vitelli here. I don’t make the rules, Father.”

My mother interrupts before my father can respond. “Domenico has brought home his girlfriend, carissimo, and I think it is quite generous of him to do that at this point. It’s way more than you told your family about us way back then.”

Mother was the only daughter of Tito Abruzzi, one of the prominent Dons of New York families and a bitter enemy of the Outfit. They’d been secretly seeing each other for months and by the time all hell broke loose, my mother was already pregnant with me.

I say to Father, “In any case, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Her background makes her uniquely suited to me… And most importantly, I trust her,” It comes out as easy as breathing now. “You should, too.”

“Her background?” Father asks, his expression caught between caution and curiosity.

I nod. “Sophie’s father is the president of the Reaper Druids—a motorcycle club in San Diego County.”

He looks at me, his expression blank like Dante’s had been outside earlier. It’s priceless, really. There aren’t many things that could catch my father off-guard.

And then, to my surprise, my mother laughs.

“What is it, Mother?” I ask.

She looks at my father, and he nods.

“The Reaper Druids approached your father last night, son,” she says.

“Scusa?” What the hell is Phoenix up to now?

My father clears his throat. “The club’s vice president delivered a package—one his president thought would be of particular interest to us. I wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time, but now, it all makes sense.”

“A package?” I have a feeling that ‘a package’ from the Reaper Druids could be anything from spare motorcycle parts to body parts.

“In the person of Raul Delgado,” my father says.

The head of the Mexican cartel that was supporting Romano in hopes of gaining some access to American turf. The Cartel that Maria, Victoria, and Sophie were promised to.

I fucking knew it.That twitch Phoenix got in his eye as Sophie relayed recent events to him when we went visiting last week meant something.

“How the hell did they find the man?” Dante sits forward in curiosity

“As I understand, a friend of the club caught Delgado and dragged him from Mexico into the States and right to the club’s doorstep. The president then all but gift-wrapped Delgado and delivered him here last night.

I laugh, shaking my head. Cade must be the club’s ‘friend.’ He, too, saw red when he heard that his adopted sister nearly got trafficked. I knew Cade was as gray as they come, but that was fucked up in the most admirable way.

Apparently, you can take the man out of the MC but you can’t take the outlaw out. A bit like my Sophie too.

“Sophie’s father is right about us wanting the Mexican,” I say to my father. “Delgado is a peace offering. Among other things…” This gift is the kind that only men in our world can appreciate.

“It would seem so,” my father nods slowly, a satisfied expression on his face. Phoenix has just managed to put any concerns my father and uncles might ever have about Sophie to rest—and have some sort of understanding between us. A man looking out for his daughter. An astute businessman. And a stamp of approval if I ever saw one.

I’m suddenly hungry for dessert. After being away for the past two days on business, I’ve spent the entire dinner thinking that Sophie would look so much better on the table than the food. And speaking of, she’s been gone for ages.

I push back from the table and stand, “Scusatemi, per favore,” I drop my napkin and then follow the path Sophie had taken to the nearest bathroom on the main floor, ignoring the glint in my mother’s eyes.

“Sophie?” I knock on the oak bathroom door.

“On my way out.” The moment she opens the door, I step in, pushing her back inside.

“What are you—” she tries to say.

“Get naked. Now.” I’m already taking my jacket off.

“We’re in your parents’ home, Nico!” she protests with a particular lack of conviction in her tone.

I shrug. “Why did you take so long if you didn’t want me to come looking for you?”

The buckle in my holster broke. She lifts her dress to show me.

I take the opportunity to bunch it at her waist. “Shame,” I murmur without a hint of empathy while the flimsy white lace of her panties snaps between my hands.

“Nico! They’re less than fifty yards away.” She’s staring at the bulge in my pants and subtly biting her lip. Yeah, she’s just as ravenous.

“There were people fucking out in the open at your father’s ‘house.’ I think this is modest in comparison.”

She laughs. “You do know my father doesn’t actually live at the clubhouse. right?”

“Not interested in talking about your father right now.” I bury my face in the fragrant skin of her neck.

“You’re the one who brought him up,” she tilts her head back to give me more access, then moans as my fingers trail up her thigh and into her slick folds.

“I’ve missed you so much, Nico.”

“I know,” I grab hold of her and lift her up onto the marble vanity, drop to my knees, then shove her thighs open. I pause for just a moment, taking in the sight of her glistening slit. I breathe her in; her scent is soft and feminine, and it makes my mouth water.

And then I delve in like a man starving, parting her lips with my thumbs and licking her slippery folds from bottom to top, right up to her clit. When I flick my tongue over it, she gasps and threads her fingers through my hair.

“My God, Nico.”

I flick her clit again and again, and when her gasps turn to quiet whimpers, I slide a finger into her, gliding against her G-spot.

Her fingers curl, and she gets louder, but she stifles them as best she can against her shoulder.

This just got even more interesting.

“Quiet, fiammetta.” I lean away just long enough to meet her eyes to let her know I’m serious. I want to see how she’ll react when all that tension building in her body has nowhere to go, no way to escape through moans and cries.

I delve back in, working her over with two fingers while I wrap my lips around her clit and suck.

She opens her mouth but slams it shut before any sounds can escape, and then she clenches her teeth together like she’s fighting it back.

I finger her faster and flick my tongue back and forth across her clit, over and over again. My cock is so hard it hurts, but it’s worth it to see the flush in her cheeks spread lower, right down to her cleavage. Her fingers grip harder, pulling on my hair now, even as her palms press me closer, urging me onward.

I finger-fuck her faster. Harder.

She squeezes her eyes shut as tiny, desperate sounds climb up her throat, barely escaping. She’s close.

She slams a hand on the vanity as her thighs begin to shake “Oh God. Ah, Nico. Fuck!” A cry escapes her, but she covers her mouth with her other hand.

I suck her clit into my mouth once again as I turn to short, quick strokes inside her, keeping in near-constant contact with her G-spot. I feel the moment the orgasm tears through her.

She throws her head back as her pussy clamps down hard around my finger, and her hips writhe and jolt through her near-silent orgasm as a burst of wetness coats my hand.

The moment her orgasm subsides, I stand up and grab hold of the bunched hem of her dress as I go. I don’t want part of her; I want all of her. Naked. Exposed. Mine.

But as I tug her dress up over her bra-clad breasts, I catch sight of something that wasn’t there three days ago. I yank the dress off her the rest of the way and unclasp the front hook of her bra.

There’s a tattoo on her chest. The vine across her left ribs now winds its way upward between her breasts and ends in a black and red rose. This rose is neither entirely natural nor metallic-looking, but an artistic composition of both. It’s different from the rest of the moonflowers.

I graze my fingers up the vine and over the rose gently, careful because the ink is clearly fresh, the skin around it reddened.

There’s a meaning behind the new tattoo, but what? Why now?

When I look down at her, she bites her lips, looking momentarily uncomfortable.

“My flowers are people, Nico,” she says.

I nod, but I’m not sure I’m following.

“Each one represents a person who’s been in my life.” She points to the small moonflowers on the climbing vine, then hovers over the relatively large rose, pausing again, golden eyes meeting mine. “This one is you,” she lays her palm over the fresh tattoo…. right in the middle of her sternum.

My own heart clenches, not painfully but in a way that sends a rush of something even more potent than blatant arousal coursing through my veins. I feel electrified, sparked up like never before. I don’t just want Sophie; I need her. Right fucking now.

I unzip and shove my pants down with lightning speed. I’ve got my eyes on the tattoo as I line up my cock and drive in, hard and deep from the first thrust because there’s no god damned way I’ve got ‘slow and gentle’ in me right now.

She’s marked me on her body permanently. It’s like a brand, a claim on her. She’s all fucking mine, it says to me.

She smothers her cry against my shoulder, and then she wraps her legs around my hips. I want to kiss her, claim her lips like I’m claiming her pussy, but I can’t look away from that rose.

After a moment, as if needing to see me, Sophie leans back and supports herself with her hands on the vanity. I force my gaze off her tattoo and look up at her as I withdraw and slam back in. The look in her golden eyes matches the tattoo on her breast. I’m yours, they say.

It sends the tingling at the base of my spine into overdrive. I thrust harder.

Deeper.

Faster.

Her jaw is clenched tight, but even so, moans are slipping out, louder with each passing moment. I want to tell her to stop fighting them, to moan, to scream, to let the whole fucking world hear that she’s mine. But I lunge forward instead, taking her mouth. I push past the seam of her lips, knowing she can taste herself on my tongue.

She grabs onto my shoulders, her fingers curled, her nails digging into my skin.

It isn’t long—a minute, maybe two—when I can feel her hovering on the edge, so close, right there.

I slip my hand between us and rub her clit, once, twice.

She cries out in ecstasy, the noise strangled by her own effort and muffled by my mouth, as her pussy convulses around my cock.

“Christ. Fuck,” I curse as my balls draw up, and my climax shoots out in white-hot bolts of current that travel all the way down to my fucking toes.

She feels so good, so slick, so fucking tight.

I rest my forehead against hers as the current gives way to aftershocks and my pounding heartbeat begins to slow.

“Oh my God,” she pants as realization dawns on her. “Do you think they suspect we were—”

“Fuck yes.”

“Nico!”

I shrug, not seeing the point of lying.

“What will they think?” Her tone is a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

“That their son is madly in love with you,” I say, then kiss her forehead, nose, and lips because every part of this woman is all mine. “You’re fine, baby. You’re practically a saint among us. They’ve committed much worse crimes than you, trust me.”

She scoffs, “Great. And that should help me face your parents at the table with a straight face.”

“Mm-hmm,” I deadpan. “While their son’s cum drips out of you, no less.”

“Oh my God, Nico Vitelli!” she blushes a deep shade of red. “You’re so awful.”

I chuckle, bending to kiss her heated cheeks. “Now you look like the definition of caught in the act. You’ll fit right in.”

I’m sure she’ll have that on replay in her head all through dessert. How she can still blush so much despite where and how she grew up is beyond me, but I’m here for it.

“You’re so going to pay for this, Nico,” Sophie warns, shaking her head.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it, fiammetta.”

I lead her back to the table, thinking I must be the luckiest son of a bitch alive.