17. Nic

17

NIC

I wonder if I’m dreaming. This morning, Bella kissed me and tilted my world off its access. She trusted me enough to tell me she had a phone, and I responded in anger, demeaning her. She heard details of my father’s depravity and tried to escape. So how the fuck am I here with her hand on my cock asking me to let her jerk me off? This can’t be real.

Yet the ache in my dick suggests it is real. Deep inside, I feel like I need to take care of this issue myself. I shouldn’t have even touched her. But something about her… I’m powerless. I hate it. I want to fight against it.

Her fingers squeeze, and fucking hell, my dick screams out with need.

“Fuck,” I groan again, giving in to this ill-advised activity. It’s not that I don’t want her. Because I do. I want to sink into that hot, wet pussy of hers. When I felt it contract around my finger, my dick screamed out about that too. But I’m stronger than my dick. I’m not a man who lets his libido get the best of him. Or at least I wasn’t. I want to do right by Bella. Except for Gia and her kids, I’ve never felt so protective.

“Show me what you like.” She squeezes again.

I shove the sweatpants down my hips, my dick springing free, red, engorged, and pissed off.

“Wrap your hand around it and stroke,” I growl, angry at my inability to stop this. I fucking need it like I need my next breath.

She does as I direct. Her warm hand encases my dick and slowly moves. I arch back, a mixture of heaven and torture cracking through my system.

“Faster,” I instruct through gritted teeth.

Her pace picks up, but it’s not enough. “Tighter… faster.” My hips move, bucking up, fucking her hand. I do not understand why I feel like I might die. Her touch feels so raw… real… electric. I’ve had my fair share of women. Fucking has always been satisfying even if it was just quick, efficient release. Like scratching an itch. Then it was done. Forgotten.

This… with Bella… it’s fucking with my mind. Her presence fills more than just physical space. Her genuine care when I was injured, her quick wit in our literary debates, the way she challenges me… it's all tangled together.

My chest tightens when she looks up at me with those questioning gray eyes, seeking approval. I realize that the physical sensations are intense, but it's the emotional resonance that threatens to overwhelm me. It’s like she’s tethered to my very being.

“Can I lick it?”

I groan as torturous need ratchets up. “Jesus…”

She must decide I’m answering in the affirmative as she leans over. Her long hair cascades down. Her tits sway. Her tongue laves over my tip, and holy hell… I come completely apart.

“Fuck… Bella…” I want to save her the embarrassment of having my cum spray in her face, but it’s too late. I buck up, cum blasting out.

She lets out a small squeal but doesn’t let up. Her hand continues to stroke me, milk me, as my release goes on and on. Her eyes are fascinated as she watches me come. As my dick shrinks again, she wipes her face with her hand and then tastes my cum. And fucking hell, my dick twitches again at witnessing her taste me.

It takes me a minute to recover, at least physically. Mentally, I’m a mess. I want to claim this woman in every way possible, and that scares the shit out of me. I’m already vulnerable caring for Gia and the kids. I can’t open myself up to more.

“Let me get a towel.” I jump out of bed, yanking my sweats up and practically sprinting to the bathroom, feeling like a pussy as I run from Bella, the kind, sweet, innocent woman who’s gotten a grip on my soul. She’s dangerous to me and doesn’t even know it.

I give myself a minute to clean up and then return with a towel. She’s lying naked in bed, looking sated and pleased with herself. She is so goddamn beautiful. My chest squeezes hard, and I realize that I’m in big, big trouble.

“Sorry about the mess.” I hand her the towel.

“Why? Isn’t that how this works?” She speaks so matter-of-factly as she wipes her face and chest clean of my cum.

“Yes, but I don’t know if you were expecting that.”

She rolls her eyes as she tosses the towel back to me. “Just because I haven’t done it, doesn’t mean I don’t know how it all works.”

I sit on the bed, unable to leave her even though I feel like I should. I did my part. I gave her an orgasm. Now it’s time to put distance between us.

She tilts her head. “I also know how sex is really supposed to go. Why didn’t you?—”

“That’s a step that shouldn’t be taken under the influence of desire.” I can’t believe I’m saying that. But at this moment, with Bella, I believe it. When she gives up her virginity, it should be to a man who deserves it and the decision should be made before things get hot and heavy.

She rolls her eyes. “Men can be so weird around sex.”

“How many men have you talked to about sex?” I’ll kill them all.

“Just when I was in high school and what Ava has told me. And Mom, although she made it sound gross.”

I’m completely intrigued. “Did you find it gross?”

“Nope.” She stretches out that long, curvaceous body of hers and my dick takes notice. “I liked it. Did you?”

“The evidence is all over that towel.” I lie down next to her. She snuggles against me, and it feels nice. She yawns. We lie together in the quiet, and a few minutes later, she’s asleep.

A week ago, she was just my father's young bride-to-be. Now, lying here beside me, she's become something else entirely. Something dangerous to my carefully constructed walls. Something I should give up for both our sakes. If I were any sort of man, I’d be the one sneaking away.

Instead, I continue to lie beside her. Memories of her gentle hands tending my wound, her voice reading Jane Austen, the way she stood up to me even when afraid, flash through my mind.

Her hand rests on my chest, right over my heart. The trust in that simple gesture hits hard. She chose to stay, to believe in me despite the evidence that says she should doubt me.

I know I should keep my distance, but lying here, surrounded by her warmth, I have to accept that it's already too late for that.

Any chance at a happy life for her now rests with my ability to keep her safe. To do that, I need to plan my father’s demise. It’s all so fucking Shakespearean. Or maybe Shakespeare just wrote about real life. Sons have killed fathers throughout history, often for power. Hell knows, I’ve thought about it a lot. But I’m not going to kill my father for power. I’m doing it to protect people I care about.

I wonder what Gia would think of Bella, and vice versa. They’re not that far apart in age. They’d probably be friends. Well, that’s if Bella stayed with me. But I’ve offered her freedom, and I have to give her that, if that’s what she wants.

I disentangle from Bella, careful not to wake her. I pad into the kitchen, my body still humming from Bella's touch. I make a cup of coffee, using the moment to focus on the task at hand—keeping us safe and bringing my father down.

I go through the kitchen drawers, finding a notepad and a pen. With my coffee, I drop into a chair at the kitchen table ready to make a plan.

First item: Weapons. The gun I took off our would-be killer won't be enough. I'll need more firepower to face my father's men. Below that, I write " contacts " and list guys who owe me favors and might be willing to cross the old man.

My pen hovers over " safe houses ." Can't use any of our family properties. They'll be watched. Maybe that place in Jersey… I jot down the address, then scratch it out. Too obvious.

The list grows. New burner phones, clean car, cash reserves, fake IDs. Each item represents another layer of protection between us and my father's reach. Between Bella and the fate he had planned for her.

There’s a comfort in this that reorients me from the discombobulation I feel around Bella. This is what I know—strategy, contingencies, calculating odds. Not… whatever happened back there in the bedroom.

I turn to a new page and draw a line down the middle of the page. Left side: Immediate Needs . Right side: Long-Term Moves . Under “ Immediate ,” I write " Gia " and underline it twice. Getting her and the twins somewhere safe has to happen before I move against my father. For this, I’ll need Max. The memory of his hesitation to return to New York to look out for her bothers me again. Maybe I should set up additional security through other channels. Someone even my father doesn't know about.

My sister's faced enough trauma already. Those kids deserve better than living under constant threat. But Max made the same vow to protect her that I did. I can’t worry about what his hesitation meant. I have to trust him to protect her while I work on getting rid of my father.

I also add the burner phones and car to the immediate list. Long term, I need a plan to lure my father to his death. That I need to think about more. I can’t just walk into the house or his office and kill him. If he’s trying to kill me, I’d likely never make it. I need to orchestrate a situation.

I think about the deal with Vincenzo Rinella. It seems clear that my father sent me to get Bella to set up the hit on me and blame Rinella. But what about Bella? Was she just the excuse to get me to Chicago? I close my eyes, knowing the truth. If Bella died with me, so be it. If not, she’d become a part of his menagerie of women. I grip the pen tighter, rage building at the idea of his using Bella for his sick sexual needs and then selling her to his friends.

My father would get me out of the way and a new toy to play with. But he’d also get access to Rinella’s shipping business out of Chicago and the shipping route between Lake Michigan and Lake Erie to smuggle their goods. If my father is blaming Rinella, then Rinella has a reason for revenge against my father. Maybe this is my ticket to take him down. Rinella isn’t as respected as he thinks he is, but D’Amatos are, and Bella is related to them through her sister. And the Outfit won’t stand for an outsider to come in making demands.

I blow out a breath because I can’t put my faith in people I don’t know. Will the D’Amatos protect Bella? I have no clue. Will they help Rinella or see a better deal with my father? I don’t know that either.

I look up from my planning notes as Bella enters the kitchen. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and she's wrapped herself in one of the cabin's oversized sweaters. My body responds instantly to the memory of her coming apart from my touch, her determination to learn what pleased me.

Heat floods my system, and I shift in my chair, trying to focus on the tactical problems in front of me instead of how much I want to pull her back to bed.

But there's uncertainty in her expression now. She hovers in the doorway like she's unsure of her welcome, and something in my chest tightens. I'm not used to caring what anyone thinks of me—except maybe Gia—but Bella's tentative look makes me want to smooth away whatever doubts are troubling her. God, I hope it’s not our physical encounter.

I set down my pen, giving her my full attention. "You okay?"

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” She sounds defensive.

"I just want to make sure you don't regret what happened."

She crosses her arms, lifting her chin. "I initiated it, remember? Or are you the one with regrets?"

“No regret on my end.” Is that what’s worrying her?

It takes a moment, but then she seems to relax and comes to sit at the table. “What are you doing?”

“Planning what happens next.” I decide she might be able to help me. "Tell me about your father's operation. What do you know about his business?"

Bella's face scrunches up in that adorable way that makes me want to kiss her. "You know women aren't allowed anywhere near business discussions."

"But you must have overheard something. A conversation, a phone call?" I press.

She shakes her head. "No. I know my place." The resignation in her tone bothers me a lot. This sheltered existence, acting like they’re protecting their women when they’re actually controlling them, is what my father and men like him want. I think of Gia, how our father tried to clip her wings too. At least she had me looking out for her. Who did Bella have?

“So you don’t stand up to your father like you do to me.” I try to make my tone light, like I’m amused by her bravado with me.

She gives a hollow laugh. "Back home, I knew my role. Stay quiet, stay pretty, wait to be traded to the highest bidder."

"But you wanted to come to New York," I say, remembering her earlier comments about adventure.

"I wanted to escape." Her gray eyes meet mine. "After Ava left, I was the next girl in line my father could use as a business commodity. I don’t love that idea, but I saw it as a way to get out from under him."

The irony of her trading from her asshole father to my demented father isn’t lost on me. And I understand it. She had to know she’d still be under someone’s control. She'd been so desperate to escape her father's control that she'd been eager to marry my father, not knowing it was far worse than what she was leaving.

The calculation in her strategy impresses me, even as it saddens me. She's more like me than I realized. Watching, waiting, playing the long game. Only difference is she did it to survive, while I did it to take power.

I lean back in my chair, studying her. "You really thought life with my father would be better?"

Her fingers trace patterns on the wooden table. "I heard the rumors about him. The missing wives. His… appetites."

"But you didn't believe them?"

"I thought they were exaggerated. You know how stories get twisted in our world." She meets my gaze. "Especially among the made men. A lot of times, their reputations aren’t anywhere as bad as they say. They do it so people are afraid.”

She’s not wrong, but I shake my head at her naivety. "My father isn't like yours, Bella. The stories about him? They're worse than what people say."

She sighs. "I figured if I played my part, was the perfect, obedient wife, he'd leave me alone. I'd get to explore New York, maybe take classes, see shows." She gives a bitter laugh. "Stupid, right?"

"Not stupid. Just sheltered." I reach across the table, taking her hand. "My father doesn't reward good behavior. He sees it as a weakness to exploit."

She pulls her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I thought living in New York would give me freedom. That's all I wanted, to get away from Chicago, from being under constant watch."

"And you thought marrying my father was your ticket to freedom?" I can't keep the edge from my voice.

"What choice did I have?" Her eyes flash. "It was either marry your father or wait for the next arrangement. At least with his being older, I thought…" She stops, looking away.

"You thought he'd be too old to hurt you? Or he’d die soon.”

She shrugs.

"And now?"

"And now I hope you'll keep your promise." Her gray eyes hold mine, a mix of challenge and vulnerability that guts me.

"What promise?" Though I know what she means. I know the deal I made with her when I asked her to stay.

"Not to deliver me to Gino." She says my father's name like it's poison. "You said I'd be free to choose what I want once he's dead."

The raw hope in her voice makes my chest tight. Here she sits, trusting me with not just her body but her future. This level of faith from her should unsettle me. And I suppose it does. Mostly, though, I want to be worthy of it. I want to be her hero.

"I meant what I said. You won't be going anywhere near my father. Not while I'm breathing."

She gives me a wan smile, but doubt still shadows her expression.

I lean forward, my hands clasped on the kitchen table. "Nothing's changed about my plans. My father dies. That was always the endgame, even before he tried to have me killed."

Bella's gray eyes search mine. "And after?"

"After, you'll have options. You can return to your father in Chicago if you want, though it sounds like you don’t want that. Maybe your sister and the D'Amatos will take you in…" I want to tell her to stay with me, that I could protect her and give her freedom, but the words catch in my throat. I don’t want to say these next words at all, but somehow, I manage it. "Or I could help you disappear completely. Set you up somewhere new, away from all this."

Her face falls slightly. "You'd help me escape this life?"

"Yeah." The word tastes bitter. "New identity, new location, enough money to start fresh. Whatever you need."

I can picture it too clearly, Bella living a normal life somewhere, maybe going to college, finding someone who isn't tainted by our world. The image shouldn't bother me, but I fucking hate it.

"That's… generous of you.”

That’s me. A fucking saint.