My cock is hard. Weeping. I take it into my fist, close my eyes, and give it a few pumps as my imagination goes back to that car.
Her gasps. The way she clenched her thighs around my ears. Her earthy juices dripping into my mouth and soaking my beard. I can still smell them now.
I wanted to fuck her until she forgot her own name, but I didn’t even let her touch me.
Why, you fucking fool?
Because the only thing she wanted from me was a release. A distraction from the bad news she’d received.
And I’m starting to realize I want a hell of a lot more.
I speed up, eager to get it done with and get her out of my head. I don’t want to drag this out.
This fucking need.
Cazzo. I haven’t been this bad over a girl since Sara. Even that feels like nothing in comparison to the fire blazing inside my chest.
I reach inside the pocket of my sweats and pull out a lacy piece of barely there fabric. Her ripped thong. What would she think if she saw me right now? Pressing my nose into her underwear while my balls tighten and my cock gets ready to blow? Would she get on her knees in front of me and beg for a taste?
My eyes squeeze shut, and I come on my stomach. The orgasm wrecks me, just like it always does when I’m thinking of her.
I prowl into the shower, eager to clear my damn head. The news about Garzolo’s succession plan was not what I’d been expecting when Gemma texted me to meet her.
I already knew he was a piece of shit, but this takes the cake. Does the man care about anything but his own damn hide?
When Gemma started questioning her marriage, I felt the kind of hope I haven’t felt in a long fucking time. I’m not a religious man, but in that moment, I swear I heard angels sing.
But then she walked it right back. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I was about to offer to get her out of New York on the next flight out, forgetting that it’s not my call to make. It’s Dem’s.
I send him a text, telling him to call me when he can, and then I drift in and out of sleep for the next few hours.
Dem calls around six am.
“Anything from Orrin?” he asks.
I haul my tired body out of bed and collapse in the wingback chair by the window. It’s snowing again. When will this shit end? The driveway is blanked in white.
“No, but I’ve got information from somewhere else.”
I recount what Gemma told me.
There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line. “This just got a lot more interesting.”
“Interesting? This is a clusterfuck.”
“Both can be true at the same time. Now it’s clear what both sides are getting out of this alliance.”
“Messero’s done pretty damn well for himself,” I mutter. A wife, control of another clan, and a long-term deal with us, brokered by Garzolo. “Fuck him. We should call off our deal. This is the kind of information they should have coughed up when we met.”
“Sounds like we still have five years left to deal with Garzolo. They would have told us eventually. Probably when the indictment goes out. Any sense of the potential timing on that?”
“No idea. I’ll talk to Orrin, see if he’s got anything. It might be imminent for all we know.”
“The balance of power has shifted. Our deal ensures we have a line to Messero, who’s now on track to become the most significant player in New York in five years.”
I fucking hate the sound of that. “If Gemma doesn’t marry him, his succession might fall through.”
There’s a drawn-out pause. “Is that what she’s thinking? Does she want to call off the wedding?”
I rub my forehead. “No. She’s confused, and she doesn’t fully understand her brother’s position in all of this. I think if Vince told her not to marry Rafaele, she’d try to get herself out of it, but if her brother actually doesn’t want the gig, and her father gets put behind bars with no clear successor, her family will fall into chaos. She doesn’t know what to do.”
And frankly, I don’t either. It’s like we’ve lit a spotlight on a corner of a chessboard, and most of the pieces are invisible.
“I’ll ask Vale to get in contact with Vince. See what she can find out,” Dem says.
“Good idea.”
“So Gemma told you all of this?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“It was a shock to her and Cleo. Gemma thought she’s marrying Rafaele to protect her family from some unknown threat. Garzolo misled her. When she realized he’s doing it for his own benefit, she was upset. She needed someone to talk to.”
There’s another long pause. “And out of everyone, she chose to talk to you?”
Apprehension slips inside my veins at the suspicion in his tone. “She did.”
“Ras, did something happen between you two?”
I should tell him the truth.
I want her.
I feel something for her.
She’s got a rope wrapped around my heart, and when she tugs on it, I can’t do anything but follow.
I can’t say any of those things.
The situation has gotten complicated, but one thing is clear. She’s still engaged to a man Dem does not want me making into our enemy.
He’ll tell me to keep my fucking distance. He’s my don, and I’ll have to obey him.
So I lie. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I lied to him. “Nothing happened.”
“All right,” he says, and from the way he says it, I can tell that he believes me. “Good work with all of this. If you hear more rumblings about the FBI and Garzolo, I want you to get out of there. We don’t know what timeline we’re working with, and there’s no need for us to get involved in any mess. It sounds like if Garzolo is taken out of commission, Messero will be capable of holding up their end of the deal, which is all we care about. In fact, I’m not sure if there’s any reason for you to stay there any longer.”
Ice spreads through my lungs.
No fucking way. I can’t leave now. “Let me stay and find out more. What if Messero is implicated in all of this? He might think he has the FBI in his pocket, but it wouldn’t be the first time a don has overplayed his hand.”
“All right. Let’s give it a bit more time,” he concedes.
Relief floods me. “I’ll call if anything new comes up.”
At breakfast, I find out that Pietra is taking Gemma and Cleo with her to their house in the Hamptons for the next two days.
I try to convince myself it’s a good thing, because it’ll give Gemma time to talk to her brother and process things, but there’s a pang of disappointment low inside my gut.
Right before they’re due to leave, Gemma finds me in the kitchen. The cook is prepping ingredients, but Gemma gives her a pointed look, and the woman quickly excuses herself to go outside for a cigarette.
I lean against the counter and drag my gaze over her form.
Tight leggings. A T-shirt with a wide neck that falls off one shoulder. A glimpse of a black sports bra beneath.
She’s not dressed to impress anyone, and yet she’s fucking gorgeous. I wasn’t lying when I called her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
I’m going half mad over her, and I don’t even know how she feels about me.