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“You’re staying here.”
“If you trust me enough to sell that story, then you trust me enough to go with you. I want to see what happens with my own eyes. I’m not some little princess who hasn’t seen the more violent side of the family. I can handle whatever I see.”
His eyes darken, stormy and hazy as he contemplates what I said. If he thinks he’s winning this battle, he has another think coming.
Chapter15
Lorenzo
I don’t respondto her demand, not because I plan to give in. It’s simply not the time. Strategy is all about doing the precise thing at the right time, and now is definitely not the time to have this conversation. Because, of course, I plan to win.
I walk over to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine, watching as Isabella pushes her food and glass off to the side, and settles her computer in front of her. Her eyes go side to side, and her fingers type this and that as she engulfs herself in the document. Now far too caught up in the story for me to have any kind of meaningful discussion about tomorrow.
Salvatore didn’t come right out and say it, but he has the mind of a strategist too. He gave me a way to allow Isabella, or Izzy as he knows her, to get an image and write a story based on the things we allow her to see. Not whatever she might see in the event that things do not go as planned.
Which with our family and theirs could turn into a bloodbath the likes that no one in this city has ever seen since the mobsters first set foot on its ground years and years ago. Allowing her to go means taking a chance that she could become a witness for the police not on our dime, or ruthlessly hunted by the De Rosas. Not that they don’t already want to get every bit of information out of her that they can, but right now, that’s all they want. If she sees one of their men commit a crime, especially murder, then her life the way she knows it is over.
Why the hell would she want to go when she can sit in the comfort of the penthouse and write a story like the one she did today? She had an image, she sat at the computer, got her flow down and away she went. Now she edits, and we’re done.
There is no reason for her to want to be there. At least none that I can think of that would justify putting her in danger, knowing that I can keep her away from it all. At the end of the day, she’s still a reporter. The only clearance I’ve gotten for her is the investigation I had done into her background. Hardly the level one clearance that Great-Uncle’s protocols would demand and that I should have ensured were in place far before bringing her here.
A good thing he went back to Italy with some of our family after the funeral; otherwise, I would never hear the end of it. Salvatore would be pushed into a corner, forcing him to force my hand. Great-Uncle’s methods may be rigid and at times feel like they’re too constricting, but they have managed to keep our family safe for a very long time, from those who would otherwise infiltrate the organization.
I would do well to heed his caution, at least until a formal clearance comes back. Then, we can let the world know that we’re a couple. Let Salvatore and Dominic know that Lucas Pellegrini’s long missing daughter is now among us and didn’t die at the hands of the enemy, as Great-Uncle thought at the time. Let Great-Uncle know what really happened all those years ago with Isabella’s dad and perhaps work to resolve a wrong. Hell, we have more wardens and judges in our pocket than not back home.
Isabella laughs softly, pulling me from my thoughts. Her eyes are bright and alive as they dance over the article she massages. “I’m really happy with this piece. In the past when I’ve written stories, it’s always been with an eye to discover something that others missed. Maybe I thought it was my right because of my past. But looking at these two together? You can feel the love, and after they read this, I hope the readers fall in love with Dominic and Emelia too,” she says.
Her eyes are moist as she looks at the page. I go behind her, my thoughts and doubts of a few moments ago all shedding away as I read the heartfelt story she’s written about my cousin and his future bride. “How can they not, Isabella? It’s beautiful.”
She squeezes my hand. “It’s too bad the readers can’t see the little things that I captured while I was in the store. You know, the soft glances between them. The way that his eyes danced as he watched her go from dress to dress.” She turns her face up to me. “I guess that wouldn’t tell the story we want people to see. There was one moment, though, when she found the exact dress and she did this little shimmy dance.” Isabella sighs. “I wish the pictures were on video, so the world could see it too.”
I try to hide my smile, picturing Emelia, the fearless woman who braved the brutality of two mafia families in her quest to free my little cousin, doing something called a little shimmy dance. I coax Isabella from her chair and pull her into my lap. I don’t yet know where this is going, but Isabella clearly has no ill will toward our family. Only a desire to seek truths. She knows the boundaries now, and I have confidence that she won’t cross any that we’ve agreed to.
“You can go tomorrow. But we’ll have Emelia get the pictures from the inside. You’ll ride with me. We’ll be parked outside of the wrought iron fences. Far enough away to keep the De Rosas from starting a bloodbath, and close enough to allow us to see everything with the use of glasses.”
She kisses my lips, and the sweetness of her wine wafts into the air. I push her hair out of the way and cradle her nape in my hands. “It’s not exactly like being there, but it’s far better than sitting in this castle in the sky while you’re gone.”
I stand up, lift her with me, and carry her to my bed. I have a feeling that it is always going to be this way with Isabella. She’s like a drug that I can’t seem to get enough of. Never have I craved the heat of a woman like I do with Isabella.
Her eyes are already hazy with desire as she sits on my bed, but when I pull my tie from my shirt and thread it through my fingers, walking closer to her, they widen. “Have you ever been restrained, Isabella?” I ask, standing between her legs on the side of the bed.
She shakes her head, while the little pulse on the side of her neck beats erratically. “Never,” she whispers.
I bend and kiss her lips. “Then we’ll go slow,” I tell her, catching the audible hitch of her breath. I stroke a finger down the column of her creamy throat, over her collarbone, and the nipple of one of her breasts. It strains against the material of her shirt as I stroke it.
“Lift your arms, Isabella.”
She does exactly as I ask, her eyes filled with that bedroom look I love. I take my time, unclipping the front of her lacy bra and listening to her breathing begin to change. Her peach- sized breasts are magnificently shaped, firm with nipples that beg to be caressed with a warm tongue. I lick the tip of each, already familiar with the vanilla things she likes, excited about the deep dark world of pleasure that I plan to teach.
I place my tie around her neck, letting it dangle over her breasts. “Lay back, on the pillow,” I tell her, stepping back so she can scoot up onto the bed. I kneel next to her on the bed, still fully clothed, kissing her lips. I make my way to her breasts, caressing each tip, rubbing them with the day’s scruff, and then caring for them with the fine silk of the tie.
Her eyes dilate as I continue the pattern. The warmth of my mouth, the roughness of my scruff scratching against her sensitive tips, and then the caressing and soothing feel of the silk. She softly moans the next time I do it, her hips raising in invitation as her body heats with the softly administered sensations of pain and pleasure.
But she’s not creating the rules we play by. I am…
I place my hands on both of her hips. “Stay still, or you’ll cause yourself unmerciful torture,” I tell her.
Isabella’s eyes grow wide, but there is no fear, just pure unadulterated lust. Her belly rises and falls with her growing desire as my fingers slip over her waistband and unzip her pants. She watches me peel her clothing from her skin, exposing the creamy hips and gazelle-like legs that will be wrapped around me by the end of the night.
