11. Nic

11

NIC

I ’d watched Bella for a moment before I entered the kitchen. The way she moved around the kitchen making coffee, looking out the window. The domesticity of the scene felt oddly comfortable, despite our circumstances. There’s an inexplicable draw to her that feels wrong even as it feels right.

As a made man in the Mafia, I'm no stranger to breaking rules. Hell, half my life revolves around skirting the law and living by our own code. But this, the growing desire I feel for Bella, is different. The fact that I can’t seem to control it is irritating. I'm a grown man, hardened by years in this brutal world. I shouldn't be affected like this by a mere girl.

My gaze traces the curve of her neck as she looks up at me. I want to kiss her there, to feel her pulse quicken under my lips. The urge to pull her close, to claim her mouth with mine, is almost overwhelming.

The wrongness I feel about this attraction has nothing to do with my father and how she belongs to him. Then again, there would be a sweet thrill to take something of his. The thought of my father getting his hands on her makes my stomach churn. She doesn’t deserve the depravity she’d endure from him.

The bigger reason this is wrong is because I’m a forty-year-old committed bachelor currently being hunted. Bella is smart, witty, and brave, but she’s also na?ve and so fucking young. It feels perverted to lust for a nineteen-year-old woman like a lovesick teenager.

I’m normally a man who takes what he wants with little thought. It’s odd to have a glimmer of conscience rearing up to chastise me for my carnal desires. But it’s there, and so despite the torturous difficulty, I start to pull away from this electric moment inches from her delicious looking lips.

I don’t get far when suddenly, Bella's lips are on mine. The shock of it jolts through me. All my carefully constructed arguments, my attempts at nobility, crumble in an instant. Immediately, my body turns to liquid fire, need coursing hard and fast through my veins. My arms wrap around her, pulling her close as I return the kiss with a hunger I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

Her lips are soft, sweet. Her body curves against mine like it’s molding to me. My hands roam her back, tangling in her hair as I deepen the kiss. She matches my intensity, her fingers gripping my shirt.

I back her up against the counter, lifting her onto it without breaking our connection. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I groan into her mouth. I have a moment to wonder if she’s not as innocent as I thought because her response doesn’t feel awkward or hesitant as I might expect. Then again, I’ve never been with a virgin. To be honest, I’ve never seen the appeal. Why would I want to be with a woman with whom I have to hold back out of concerns for hurting her? It seems like having sex with a virgin would be like driving with the parking brake on. No, thank you. When I fuck, I want to let go the reins of control. Sure, I always make sure the woman feels the pleasure as intensely as I do. I’m not completely selfish in bed. But I don’t want to have to worry that my touch, my sinking into a sweet, hot pussy requires holding back control.

My hands roam up to her tits, my palms rubbing over her hard nipples. Fucking hell, how I want to suck them. She moans, arching into me, and I begin to understand that like me, she’s a woman who gives in to sensation. She’s not thinking now. She’s feeling, leaning into pleasure.

The world narrows down to this moment, to the feel of Bella in my arms. I forget about my father, about the danger we're in, about all the reasons this is a bad idea. Nothing matters except the way she makes me feel—alive, electric, whole.

I trail kisses down her neck, reveling in the soft gasp she makes. Her skin is like silk under my lips. I want to worship every inch of her, to claim her as mine. The possessive thought should give me pause, but I'm too far gone to care.

I draw my hand down her body, sliding it between her denim-covered thighs. She flinches and her legs squeeze my hips. A sharp pain lances through my side. I wince, breaking the kiss with a hiss. Frustration bubbles up inside me. I want nothing more than to lose myself in Bella, to explore every inch of her, but my body reminds me that while I’m not dying from an infection, I’m still wounded.

“Oh… I’m sorry.” Bella’s eyes fill with concern, even guilt.

"Just a reminder that I'm not at full strength yet." The rush of excitement from moments ago still thrums through my veins, mingling with a deep-seated frustration. My dick screams in protest, urging me to pull Bella close again, to lose myself in her warmth. It’s nearly as painful as the hole in my side. But I force myself to take a step back, needing the physical distance to clear my head.

I look at Bella, her flushed cheeks, her slightly swollen lips. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, matching my own labored breathing. Her eyes are dark with desire, a look that sends a jolt of electricity through me.

A heady mix of exhilaration and guilt washes over me. Part of me revels in the knowledge that I can affect her this way, that she wants me as much as I want her. It's intoxicating, this raw connection between us.

But the guilt is there too, an insistent voice in the back of my mind. She's meant for my father, making this situation as twisted as his dark mind. More importantly, I'm supposed to be protecting her, not seducing her. That’s not to say I regret this moment because I don’t. But it is wrong.

The flush of desire slowly fades from her cheeks, replaced by a pallor that makes my stomach clench. Her eyes widen, and I can practically see the guilt flooding in.

“I’m sorry.” She slides off the counter. “I… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m supposed to marry?—”

I press my fingers over her lips, not wanting her to say the truth out loud. I don’t want to hear that she's my father’s bride.

I want to reassure her, to tell her that what we're feeling isn't wrong. But the words stick in my throat.

Instead, I reach out and gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger on her cheek. It's such a small gesture, but it feels incredibly intimate.

"Bella," I start, not sure what I'm going to say. How can I possibly make this less awkward, less wrong?

“I’m not like that.”

I’m not sure what she means.

“I’m not a cheater.”

Anger surges through me, not at Bella, but at my father and the whole fucked up situation. Bella deserves so much better than to be trapped in a loveless marriage to a cruel old man. Especially since she seems to be taking the whole thing seriously. She probably envisions a marriage partnership. Being the queen of the castle. Of being the perfect Mafia wife. I admire her commitment. It says something about her that despite how fucked up our world is, that it doesn’t allow her to pursue her own life, she’s determined to make the best of her situation.

My father, of course, won’t give a shit about her. Oh, he’ll enjoy fucking her virgin pussy. He’ll enjoy watching his friends fuck her. But he won’t see her as a person, as a young, vibrant woman full of life. He’ll use her up and discard her like he's done to so many others.

The regret I feel is overwhelming. Not for kissing her, but for the pain I see in her eyes now. I've added to her burden, given her one more thing to feel guilty about.

“Don’t worry about that,” I say. “He won’t know.” Guilt now washes through me because I’m talking about delivering her to my father and keeping this thing between us a secret. For a moment, I try to work out a way I can protect her from him, but I don’t see how. It’s not like Gia, who I set up with a job and home that allow her to be away from him as much as possible. Bella will be his wife.

The other option is to not deliver her, but then I have to consider what he’ll do to Gia and the kids.

She sucks in a breath. “Excuse me.” She rushes out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair because I can’t see my way through this. I'm not equipped for this. Give me a gun and a target, and I know exactly what to do. But emotions? Complicated feelings? I'm completely out of my depth.

I give my head a shake, like that will rid my brain of the problem. But even as I try to redirect my thoughts, I can't shake the memory of Bella in my arms. The way she felt, the way she looked at me. It awakened something inside me.

I stand at the window, staring out at the swirling snow. The flakes are coming down thick and fast now, blanketing the world in white. It's beautiful, in a way, but I can't appreciate it.

The isolation that seemed like a blessing earlier now feels like a curse. We're trapped here, cut off from the world. And while that might keep us safe from whoever's after us, it also leaves us vulnerable. No way to get help if we need it. No way to find out what's going on back in New York.

I lean my forehead against the cool glass, trying to think. I need to contact Max. He's our only lifeline right now, the only person I trust to have our backs. I’ve already checked the house and there’s no phone. Although I’d be an idiot to use it. Anyone watching Max might be able to trace the call back to here.

I need to get a burner phone, but the weather makes that impossible at the moment. Frustration grows. We're running out of options and time. The longer we stay silent, the more danger Gia could be in back home.

But the phone isn’t our only concern. The surprise snowstorm is strong enough, coming down hard enough, that I have to consider we’ll be here for a time. I need to make sure we're prepared.

I start by taking inventory of our supplies. The pantry is decently stocked with non-perishables, canned goods, pasta, and rice. It's not gourmet, but it'll keep us fed. I check the fridge, but except for some beer and condiments, it’s empty. There’s a bottle of vodka in the freezer. I have half a mind to start drinking it.

Next, I need to make sure we’re prepared for a power outage. If the power goes out, we'll need a way to stay warm. I search the closet in the kitchen and find a heavy coat that looks like it might fit me. It's not exactly stylish, but it'll do the job.

I glance out the window at the swirling snow. The idea of going outside isn't appealing, but I need to see if there's a generator or a woodpile somewhere on the property. I pull on the coat and open the door to a gust of snow that hits me like a slap in the face. I trudge through the calf-deep snow, circling the cabin, scanning for a generator or woodpile.

I hope to find a generator, as I don’t want to build a fire. The smoke would give away that someone is in the cabin, a cabin that is supposed to be empty. There are several mounds that suggest heat pumps and maybe a generator, but I can’t be sure and I’m freezing my ass off. My feet are getting wet, and considering I just spent several days in a fever delirium, I’m not wanting to return to that.

I return to the back door and see a bin. Opening it, I find it filled with chopped wood. It will have to do. I grab a few logs, deciding I’ll bring some inside by the fireplace just in case.

I shake off the snow as I enter the cabin, stamping my shoes to rid them of the clinging white powder. The warmth inside envelops me, but my relief is short-lived as I spot Bella.

She’s standing in the kitchen, her eyes wide and afraid.

“What’s wrong?” I quickly scan the area, cursing myself for not having my gun on me. Did someone break in?

"I thought… I thought you'd left," she whispers.

What the fuck? “No.” I hold up the wood. “Just getting some wood in case the power goes out.” I tilt my head to study her. Why would she think I’d leave her alone?

She bites her lip, clearly struggling with something. "After what happened… the kiss… I thought maybe you regretted it."

I sigh. "I don't regret it, Bella. But I understand if you do. We don’t need to think about it or talk about it, okay?"

“I… I don’t regret it, but…” She doesn’t finish the thought. My ego likes that she doesn’t regret the kiss, but it’s annoying that her unsaid words are likely guilt due to her arrangement with my father.

“If you hadn’t done it, I would have,” I say with an edge of annoyance. “That kiss was inevitable.”

She stares at me with that wide-eyed innocence. Again, I think about how my father is going to ruin her. She thinks the kiss was wrong, but my delivering her to my father, that is wrong, and I can’t be a part of it.

The answer to the problem is there. Has been there for years. But I’ve always pushed it aside knowing it could bring me and Gia more problems than it would solve. Right now, though, it’s the only solution for us all. I need to kill my father.