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“Fuck!” he shouted as he came. The sound was deafening in the small room, or maybe it was because of the blood thundering through my veins.
The force of my climax threw my head down into the sheets. My arms went limp as wave after wave rocked my body from top to bottom. I jerked up and down in quick succession, my eyes shut as his big, stiff cock filled me more than anything had ever.
“Fuck, yeah!” Cesare growled, holding himself inside of me for one more endless moment. And then he eased back, leaving me breathless again. Because suddenly, I felt empty, like something was missing. But before I could process the loss, he took me in his arms, rolling me on top of him as he collapsed at my side.
He stroked my hair and held me to him, and it went a long way toward curing the sense of loss I’d felt when he pulled out.
Soon, my cheek rested against his powerful chest as my breathing slowed. He stroked my hair and I wanted to stay there in his arms forever.
There were literally a thousand things I could have said to him.
About how good he’d made me feel. About how amazing it had been to not be in control. About how much I wanted to do that again.
But then an absurd thought hit me, and I bolted upright on the bed. “I wonder if they tried to deliver the Chinese food.”
Cesare chuckled and pulled me back down onto his chest. “I heard a knocking on the door at one point in the kitchen, but I had an appetite for other things.”
“Me too,” I said as I relaxed against him. “I’ll make sure they get a big tip.”
“Good.”
My strength left me as I snuggled against him. I was all but purring as he stroked me. This body heat, his hard muscles, his arms wrapped around me—it was all perfect. Too perfect. A wave of drowsiness washed over me. But I couldn’t fall asleep. I hadn’t even given him anything to eat. We hadn’t talked. This wasn’t how I’d planned for this evening to go.
But I wasn’t disappointed that it had. So I let him stroke my skin and my hair while my eyelids drooped. And when sleep beckoned again, I didn’t fight it. Falling asleep in his strong arms seemed like the most comforting thing ever.
I felt cherished.
I felt safe.
MATTEO
Five daysafter my chance meeting with Maggie Owens-Roselli, I hadn’t forgotten a thing about it.
Quite the opposite.
I dissected those few minutes we spent together in that bar. I analyzed her words. Her attitude. The tone of her voice. I went over every single thing I could remember, again and again.
Clearly, she had a lot of money. She was also well-connected, which was why she had been able to find out so much about me and my friends.
The first question on my mind was why she would bother warning me off. Maybe she didn’t want us to upset the status quo. Maybe she was still a do-gooder at heart. After all, she had opened a domestic violence shelter for women. But it just didn’t add up for me.
This woman was the head of a mob family. She could spend millions on a charity, but it wasn’t going to change the fact that she had the means and the resources to take all three of us out. She could have put a hit out on us, and we wouldn’t even get a chance to hear about that out on the street. No one would warn us—I was sure of that. It was difficult for anyone to catch wind of a hit, especially if the organization had ordered it. In other words, it would’ve been easy for her to get rid of Cesare, Leonardo and me if she thought we were going to cause too much trouble. So why had she gone through the trouble of talking to me? Three bullets would have taken care of the problem we posed, once and for all. Then we would’ve been out of her admittedly pretty hair.
I did appreciate Cesare’s determination to carry on, however. It showed his complete lack of fear and his big, brass balls. Sadly, though, my friend didn’t have any answers. He just wanted to plunge into danger head-on. I had no problem taking risks, but I wasn’t Cesare. I needed to know as much as I could about a situation that affected me. I needed to know what Maggie’s motives actually were.
Finding her office wasn’t what you’d call difficult. That woman was hiding in plain sight. Under the cloak of the philanthropist. The boss’s office was in the Upper East Side. Spotting her building, I was somewhat surprised. It was a four-story structure situated next to the House of Angels, a home for abused women and children. The sign on the side of the building read:
“Maggie Owens-Roselli - Shelter Manager”
Those two words made me change my mind about the size of that structure. If she was a do-gooder, she apparently wasn’t above seeing her name really fucking large on the side of the building. From what I’d learned, Maggie hadn’t ever known her biological father, Emilio Roselli, nor his asshole son, her stepbrother. But the apple apparently hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
I walked through the open entrance of Maggie’s workplace, not the shelter. I had a thousand questions about Maggie’s organization, not her charitable work.
I thought about how I wanted to play it as I took an elevator up to the fourth floor. Anger was not going to resolve much. It was just going to complicate an already strange situation. Yes, I did have a lot to discuss with that woman, but barging in there yelling would not avail me at all. Plus, it wasn’t my way. Cesare often got quieter—scarily quiet sometimes—when he was upset. Of the three of us, Leonardo was the only one who regularly flew off the handle, but he was still young. He’d gain more control when he was our age. Maybe.
Stepping out of that elevator and into a wide hallway, I saw a couple of guys strutting away from me. A much bigger man was gesturing to them, standing near the far wall. Our eyes met, and he kept eye contact and gestured them away. Man, that guy was large… nearly as tall as Cesare with a similarly bulked up physique. The main difference was the stranger’s clean-shaven face.
“What in thehellareyoudoing here?”
