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Fuck the contract.
Getting Sybil to sign the damn thing had been a hassle, but now I want to rip it apart. It’s a steady reminder that there was no other way to keep her close because she hated me so much. I wanted her towantthis—me, the baby, a life together.
Because I want that more than anything. The yearning is only more potent after seeing her easily conversing with my father. I could see plain as day that he was charmed by her. And who wouldn’t be? Sybil is fire and sweetness and too damn irresistible.
She thinks the contract has made me protective of her. She’s wrong. How can I tell her how much I need her without scaring her off or starting yet another fight?
I take too long to speak. Before I can decide what to say, she pulls out of my grasp with a deep sigh and returns to cleaning up dinner. I watch the curve of her hips, eyes following as she pulls her hair over one shoulder to reveal the low cut in the back of her blouse that bares much of her back. Even limping to the kitchen table, she looks good.
“La mia bella tentatrice,”I murmur to myself.
Sybil looks at me sharply, cheeks warming. “I didn’t appreciate all the Italian with your father, by the way. I don’t know what I missed, and that bothers me. And why couldn’t I ask about—“ Sybil cuts off with a huff and looks down at my half-empty wine glass in her hand. “He said Lorenze Gatto did something to your mother. Is that why he hates the Gattos so much? Lorenze killed her?”
My heart pinches painfully. Damn her for not letting this go.
I walk to her and remove the glass from her hand, resigned that she will only continue being curious if I don’t answer. Perhaps if she knows, she’ll understand my father’s thirst for revenge—and my own.
“He did,” I whisper. “The Gattos had her for weeks before that. They took her to retaliate for some small thing. Wanted to use her to force my father into signing away valuable Attolini business assets. And he did. Whatever they wanted for her, my father was ready to give them. But Lorenze wanted to make a statement instead. So he sent her back—“ I shut my eyes. “In pieces. Slowly.”
“Oh my God. Nico, that’s….”
She wraps her arms around me tightly. I rest my chin on her head, bristling at the unwelcome memories. I usually keep them close to remind myself what I’ve lost and why I must be The Undertaker. But right now, I don’t want to be violent. I just want this vulnerability with Sybil here and now. She’s on her tiptoes with her face pressed against my neck. Holding her in my arms like this is both calming and arousing.
I want more of this. More of her. I can’t wait to follow through on my father’s second requirement. I want to make this clear to her here and now.
“It’s not because of the contract.”
She pulls back to blink up at me, clearly confused by the change of topic. “What?”
“I’m not protecting you because of the stupid fucking contract, Sybil. That was never the case. Just say the word, and I’ll have the entire thing nulled and void.”
Her beautiful eyes widen fractionally, worry pooling in them. “But...but my family, you said they’d be safe, and—God, Nico, the baby—“
I kiss her once, quickly, before cupping her angelic face in my hands. “Ourbaby. Yours and mine. We would raise it together. Your family would still have protection, but I don’t want a transactional contract. I just want you in my life. I fuckingneedyou, Sybil, and I will give you everything and anything you want. I’ll always keep you safe. Just let me keep you,il mio crudele tesorina.”
I feel raw, waiting for her answer. She’s still wide-eyed as she considers me. One of her hands lifts, and her finger brushes softly against the initials tattooed behind my ear. My cock responds even to that slight touch.
“I don’t know if I can believe you actually want to keep me, Nico,” she says softly. “I mean, I’m the woman who accidentally helped destroy your family. I’m a mess. And I think I’m supposed to be scared of you, but…I already feel safest when I’m with you.”
“Give me an answer,” I murmur, kissing her cheek.
“Nico, be realistic. We make each other too damn mad.”
I kiss her again and pull her tighter against me, relishing the feel of her bare back against my fingertips. My stiffness presses against her front, and I hear her sharp little intake of breath. “I like being mad. I don’t want to go without it.”
Or without you.
She breathes out a soft moan when my fingers slip beneath her shirt to pinch one perfect nipple. “Maybe I like being mad at you, too. God, you love to antagonize me.”
“You torment me,” I growl, kneading her breasts and pushing her back toward the dining table.
Sybil gasps when her rear presses against it. “On the table? Again?”
“Everywhere. Fucking everywhere, Sybil. Just take off this damn shirt before I rip it.”
She laughs and kisses me again. I’m heated and rock hard, ready to follow through on my threat toward her blouse. Before I can, a gunshot splits the air and glass shatters.
My instincts kick in. I hit the deck immediately, taking Sybil with me. The air seems to ring. For a stretch of five seconds that feels far longer, I keep her pinned to the floor. My heart crashes against my ribs as my hands search her for any sign of injury—blood or glass or bullet.
