‘It’s nothimI care about. It’syou,’ she said, her tone direct and unafraid. ‘And what this might do to you. He’s your brother, Vito, and it’s obvious you’re conflicted about this.’
I dropped her arms as if I’d been burned. How could she know that? Did trusting her, wanting her too much, allow her to see into my soul?
I let out a harsh laugh, the raw sound scraping my throat.
‘He will not be my brother for much longer,’ I said, knowing the time had come to kill the naïveté I had always found so captivating. I had believed I should shield Mia from the darkest aspects of my life. But why should I when she was a part of my world now?
I gripped her chin and lifted her gaze to mine so she could see what lurked inside me.
‘This is who I am, Mia. And I am not ashamed of that. Love me if you want, but don’t seek to change me.’
There could be no soft feelings, no sentimental attachments, not for a man like me, or it would leave me vulnerable. As I had once been as a boy. Before my father had found me—and shown me the only way to survive in this world was to be ruthless, to remain invulnerable, to be ready to kill your demons, whoever they were.
‘Please, Vito, don’t do this. For me.’ She covered her belly where our baby grew. ‘For us. The feud might never end. And it will hurt you, too.’
Tears shimmered in her eyes. I stared at her. Did she have any idea what she was asking of me? Of course she didn’t. But if she loved me, it was time she learned to accept all of me.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I countered. ‘I killed my first man when I was ten years old, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. The man you think you are in love with died a long time ago, because I killed him when he was still a boy.’
A cloud passed over the sun as tears dripped over her lids to roll down her cheeks. But this time, I refused to scoop them up or pander to the weakness in me which made me want to stop them.
I expected her to be horrified, but to my shock, she pressed her palm to my cheek, the acceptance in her gaze staggering me. But also making that hollow empty ache in my stomach swell and the lump of dread become sharp and jagged.
‘Who did you kill?’ she asked.
‘My stepfather, Andrea Grimaldi.’ I spat the words out.
I could still feel the weight of the gun my father had pressed into my palm, the heavy silencer making it difficult for my small hands to keep the barrel level. I could still hear his toneless whisper echoing in my head.
‘Take the revenge you deserve, for your mother, for yourself.’
I could still see my stepfather’s panicked expression, the sweat streaking through the blood from the beating my father’s men had already administered. But the smell of his fear always changed into my mother’s fear and mine through all the years of my childhood. So when I heard the quiet pop as I pressed the trigger and the muffled thump as his big body hit the ground, his lifeless eyes staring back at me as the metallic smell of blood mixed with the damp scent of dirty concrete, I refused to be ashamed of what that boy had done.
‘The man who beat you and your mother?’ she whispered, drawing me out of memory. I tensed but could not deny it. ‘I would never judge you for that, Vito.’
‘Really?’ I sneered. I grasped her hand to pull it away from my face. I didn’t need her forgiveness. I didn’t want it. ‘He was unarmed, and I shot him through the heart. And I will never regret it.’
‘I don’t care. You said yourself he was a monster, and you were just a child, abrutalisedchild,’ she replied, her fierce defence of that terrified boy only disturbing me more. ‘Please don’t shut me out, Vito,’ she said, but when she reached for me again, I grabbed her wrist to stop her touching me, to stop her caressing me.
Dragging her into my arms, I ground my lips against hers, to silence her, to stop her pleas, to control that empty ache inside me that I had never quite been able to kill, no matter how many times I made her come.
‘This is all I want from you,’ I said, stripping the sheet from her.
I palmed her naked curves, kneading the soft flesh, pinching those responsive nipples until they hardened. But instead of stopping me, instead of being shocked or horrified, she moaned into my mouth—and the hunger that never ceased consumed me again.
I grasped her arm and dragged her to the bed, then knelt between her legs. I clasped her hips, brought her to my mouth to devour the slick folds already wet for me. All I wanted now was to drive her into a frenzy—and finally regain the control I had lost weeks ago.
She bucked beneath me, sinking her fingers into my hair. I caressed the mound of her pregnancy—brutally aware of the changes my child had brought to her body—as I feasted on the plump nub of her clitoris and worked her tight flesh with my fingers.
She sobbed, panted, then cried out my name, contracting around my fingers as the brutal orgasm powered through her.
‘This is all I need from you,’ I said as I rose above her, willing it to be true, my voice raw with desperation.
She didn’t object as I flipped her over, dragged her to her knees, then positioned her on all fours so I could drive into her from behind. I plunged deep in one heavy thrust—determined to claim her, conquer her and silence my fears.
But as she tightened around me, her staggered sobs matching my brutal grunts, her eager acceptance of me had the last of my control shattering. I rode the devastating wave, digging in, rocking back, again and again, ruthlessly caressing the place deep inside her I knew would trigger another orgasm.
She massaged my aching length, her body responding to me with the same fierce passion as always, holding nothing back.
