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What’s worse? I thought about her all damn day. Grew angrier with each passing second. She makes me want to bend her over my knee and spank her into submission. But with her, I can’t. Why? I fear I would like it. But that would be my red-blooded male desire—not love. And I don’t need her ever feeling like this could be love.
Did her mentioning Damian nearly make me call to have him taken out? Yes. But I don’t need her thinking it mattered to me that much or that her words hold any power over me. Because they don’t.
He doesn’t have any chance of getting into her life. I would shut that down before he ever got the opportunity to do such a thing.
By the time I’m home, it is nearing midnight. Stepping inside, I smell the dinner I had my chef make and leave in the oven for me, but I see not one broken dish. However, I do see the empty-as-all-fuck cupboards and more.
My staff had to place an order for new dishes, and that embarrasses me.No oneembarrasses me. Preparing to turn on my heels and finally unleash my wrath on this maddening brat, I’m stopped by her presence in the doorway. She leans against it in barely-there lingerie.
I do all I can to not choke on my own tongue. Her breasts are full, her pink nipples peeking through the white fabric. Her pussy is shaved, those lips begging to be stretched and brutalized by my thick, long, and angry-looking cock.
I may hate her. Loathe her. Even want to wrap my hands around her throat both in the throes of passion and in an act of rage, but I am a man, and she is all woman. A goddamn sexual creature sculpted by the gods. She will never know I think that though. I refuse to let her know.
“Welcome home,husband,” she hisses out the title.
“You’re a spoiled fucking brat, and I won’t let you act like that in my home.”
She saunters toward me with a sly smirk plastered on her face. “Don’t you meanourhome? You married me, made me move here, filled the closet with clothes I didn’t want. Stocked the bathroom with items you knew I’d need. Wouldn’t this be our home, husband dearest?”
My hands clench at my sides, because I want to rip her apart. I want to take each inch of her and redden her skin with spankings, bites, lashes from my whips.
“This is your home, but I have a staff. A staff who had to pick up after you and order new items. I pegged you for a defiant woman, but an entitled asshole with no regards for others—that, I didn’t think you would be.”
There is something that changes in her eyes. She looks as though she may feel some sort of guilt. She doesn't have a soft spot for me, but my staff seems to matter, because she’s filled with instant, obvious regret.
“You have men here watching me. I don’t need your henchmen breathing down my neck and reporting everything to you.”
“So, you dressed like a whore after breaking my things and disrupting my staff… for what? Some cock?”
Once again, I am met with a sharp slap, the sting lingering as my face stays turned to the side.
“I wore this for myself. Make no mistake, Nico Dante Valiente. I will never do anything for anyone but myself again. I married you to escape my father, not to become someone else’s doormat.” She steps up to me, and I slowly turn my head back to its original place and bore holes into her eyes with mine. I match her flames with just as much fuel.“You talked about war, and I will gladly bring it to your doorstep. Don’t ever call me a whore again.” She leaves, a gust of wind in her wake.
“Goddammit, Emelia!” I holler, my skin crawling and heating instantly.
“Fuck you, Nico!”
I’m on her in an instant. Grabbing her elbow, I spin her fast, and her expression matches mine, two lions facing off.
“You will respect me. And tomorrow,wife,” I mock her back, “you will be getting a tracker put in you, and if you fight that or pull a stunt like today, I won’t stop at that. You belong to me now.”
I expect her to fight, but to my surprise, she doesn’t. Instead, she yanks her arm from me, and she leaves. I make no mistake though. I saw the indignation in her eyes.
She may have walked away from me today, but tomorrow, she will put up a fight. I will have to deal with that then. I already have a war to fight with the world outside these doors. I don’t need to worry about the war in my home until the problems arise, and I know this vixen will have many she plans to bring to the table.
My phone rings as I move back toward the kitchen to find my dinner. I take it out of my pocket, my appetite suddenly lost. “What?” I holler into the mouthpiece.
“Sorry, sir. There been an incident at the club. One of the girls was attacked, and two of our guards were gunned down.”
“Fuck.” I’m already fucking agitated, and now I have to go to the club and handle business. No rest for the wicked, and no sleep for the reaper. “On my way.” I end the call, ready to make my next one.
Knowing Emelia’s security are in the apartment just a few floors down, I call for them to come back up here. Next, I call for my car to be pulled around outside, and without another word, I leave. I don’t miss Emelia watching me from her place on the couch as I go. She doesn’t need to know where I’m going, and I don’t plan to start telling her now.
I call Giulio, knowing he’s the one most likely holding the gunmen captive if they were caught, as my driver gets me there as fast as possible.
“Did you get the men?” I ask, looking out at the Seattle nightlife.
“One. The other two got away. We have ears and eyes out for them now.”
