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But I can’t.
Her delicate breaths fill my ears, and the warmth of her body seeps into my skin. The triumph I felt earlier at having lured her into the tower fades, tempered by something bitter.
My first taste of freedom was with Capello’s daughter. I could have taken up Officer McMurphy’s offer. She clearly wanted to see me in an environment outside the prison. I could have bent one of the female bar staff over the table to bust my first out-of-jail nut.
Hell, any of the women I used to bang would have been a better choice.
Now, the memory of this woman will be ingrained in my psyche until the day I die.
Fucking Emberly was like inhaling clean air after spending half a decade breathing the stench of confinement. I need to get the hell out and replace her with someone else before I become addicted.
When I was encased in that sweet cunt, I forgot she was the daughter of the man I didn’t get the chance to eviscerate. I was powerful, happy, free. And she was a beautiful woman who took everything I gave her and demanded more.
It took everything I had to remember my goal, but nothing has ever felt so damn good.
Even spooning her and inhaling her sweet cinnamon scent feels like getting decades of birthday and Christmas gifts I never knew I needed.
I need to leave. Now.
Once her breathing evens, I slide out from behind her and ease off the mattress. She mumbles something and I still, waiting to see if she’ll open her eyes. I shake off that thought. It doesn’t matter. I have her exactly where I want.
Emberly Kay will never leave this room alive.
After tucking myself back into my pants and slipping on my shirt, I pick up my jacket off the marble tiles and walk to the door.
Benito stands at the top of the stairwell with his gaze fixed on the screen of his phone. His head snaps up to give me a disapproving glare.
“Did you have to fuck her?” he asks.
“Shhh!” I ease the door shut and turn the key. “She’s sleeping.”
With a scowl, my brother slips the phone into his pocket. “What are you doing?”
I walk past him down the stairs. “You should be happy I didn’t abduct her as planned.”
“But the sex?”
“What difference does it make?”
“She’s the same age as Cesare,” he says.
“What’s wrong with a ten-year age difference?” I ask. “Women mature faster than men.”
He sighs. “And they’re unpredictable enough without them getting emotionally involved. When she realizes you used sex to lure her into her new prison, she’ll become less terrified and more belligerent.”
I open the door and walk down the hallway, passing Great-grandfather Paolo’s portrait. He’s grinning in a white fedora with a lit cigar between his teeth. Back in the twenties, he was the coolest, meanest motherfucker who owned the entire state of New Alderney.
“Roman?” Benito prods, bringing my attention back to his complaint.
“Then we’ll forge her signature.” I turn toward my old bedroom.
“That won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Without her fingerprints all over the document, no one will believe she signed over hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of assets.”
I want to tell him to relax, but he adds, “Tommy Galliano is next in line for Capello’s estate. In his place, I’d contest those documents and prove to a judge that she’d been tortured. I’d even have the papers checked for minute traces of blood.”
