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Matteo has always been the calmest between the three of us, making him the voice of reason when Salvatore and I go at it. We are fire and ice, polar opposites, but we love each other fiercely.
“Oh, I had a problem with it, but there was no stopping him.” Matteo shrugs his shoulders, walking around Salvatore and taking a seat on the other side of the table.
“You saw him and didn’t say anything?” My eyebrows raise in question, but I shouldn’t be surprised.
Matteo and I both have learned the hard way not to get between my brother and his prey for any reason. Salvatore Genovese always gets his man, or woman, in this case. Apparently, Matteo and I aren’t the only ones with this deep, burning desire to possess every part of her. I’m usually the one taking risks, but it seems no risk is too great for Salvatore if it means binding Celia to us for all eternity.
“Yes.” Matteo leans back in the chair. “I knew he had the drugs in the glove compartment for emergencies. It was only logical to assume he’d use them to stop her from running.”
“The two of you are fucking insane.” I roll my eyes at the two of them.
“Love you, too, brother.” Salvatore smirks before he sits up bolt-straight in his chair, his eyes laser-focused on something behind me.
Turning my head, I catch sight of Celia standing in the doorway. Her long, blonde hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a tight tank top matching the color of her crystal-blue eyes. Her legs are encased in a pair of tight-fitting pants, stretched around her curvy frame. My mouth waters as my mind conjures up images of her voluptuous body laid out before me, my brother commanding me to do all the filthy things he can imagine to her while Matteo watches.
I don’t need to look at my brother or friend to know that they desire her as much as I do.
Even after spending a few hours in her presence, I’m going out of my mind with need. I wonder if my brother and Matteo are feeling the same way. The want to claim her, protect her, and own her, all at the same time. We don’t know a thing about this girl. Where she came from. Who she really is. Who she’s working for. But right now, none of that matters, only the overwhelming need to claim her as ours. Ours. It has a certain ring to it.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Her hands twist in front of her as she looks around the room, anywhere but at the three of us.
“No,” all three of us say, our eyes focused on her.
“Okay…” her voice trails off as she bounces on the balls of her feet, nervous energy coursing through her body.
The three of us would probably do the same if we were standing.
Celia’s gaze flicks between us, and her lips part slightly as her tongue peeks out and wets her lower lip. To her, we must look like three hungry beasts, ready to devour her whole, and she’s right.
“I’m not a whore.” Her chin raises in defiance as she pulls out a chair at the end of the table and has a seat.
“Did any of us say that you were?”
I wince at the thought of treating her like every other woman I’ve been with over the years. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to come home and have someone waiting for me. A home-cooked meal made with love, just like when our parents were alive.
Our parents were the epitome of what I’d want if I settled down with someone. They loved each other deeply. It was clear to anyone that met them until the day they died. When my mother died from a heart attack a few years ago, I watched my father wither way to nothing, longing for the day that he could see his beloved again. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but my father couldn’t live without my mother. The doctors said it was heart failure, but Salvatore and I knew the truth. He died of a broken heart.
I’ve never lacked company, always having someone to call when I want a warm body or a companion for the night. I know what you’re thinking, but everyone benefits from this type of relationship. All the women I spend time with know upfront what they’re getting into, and when they decide they want something more, we part ways with no hard feelings.
“Who’s going to tell me why you drugged me and brought me…” She waves her hands in a sweeping motion about her head.
“This is our home.”
“Home,” she whispers, her head dropping to her chest.
That word means something to her. Maybe something she desires over everything else. A place to belong. A family to come home to.
“Yes. And now it’s your home, too.”
“And what if I don’t want it to be?”
Salvatore’s lip twitches, and his eyebrows raise. “Did you think leaving was an option?”
“So, I’m a prisoner?” She swallows hard, sitting up straighter in her chair.
“You’re not a prisoner here.” I turn toward my brother, our eyes locking in silent conversation.
Back off, asshole. You’re scaring her.
