Tormented Diamonds (Marchesi Empire Book 3), page 7
It’s like I’m a prisoner all over again. I understand Gianni’s fear and the need for extra precaution, but he has to understand my need to breathe. There has to be a middle ground.
“Don’t I get a say in—?”
“Understood,” Owen says, avoiding my eyes with a curt nod. I cut him an accusatory glare, which he deflects by staring down at his wrist. “Wow, it is late. I should go.”
“Your watch is on the other arm, genius.”
He shoots me a tight smile which I answer with a middle finger.
After the door closes behind him, Gianni and I engage in a battle of wills, stretching a tense beat of uncomfortable silence into several awkward seconds. I shuffle from foot to foot, convinced we’ll be standing here when the sun comes up, when he lets out a weary sigh.
“I’m not trying to control you, Doc. I’m just doing everything in my power to keep you safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He closes his eyes, his posture slumping. “I’d become … something else.”
He doesn’t have to say the words. I know this man on every level. I know every twist of his thorny vines. Even the ones he tries to hide.
“Gianni, listen to me…” I take a half-step closer, craving the solace of his arms, but not daring to touch. He’s pulled too far inward. I can throw a lifeline, but he has to be the one to grab it. “No matter what happens to me or to us, you will never be your father. I don’t care that you share blood or who raised you. Even at your darkest, you’re nothing like that man.”
“My butterfly,” he murmurs, reaching out to stroke a lock of my hair. “You see me how you want to see me, not how I am, and that’s precisely why I can’t lose you. You keep me grounded. You keep the man stronger than the monster.”
“You give yourself too little credit.”
“And you, too much freedom.”
“You’re punishing me for calling Owen?”
“Not for calling Owen, cara mia. I’m angry because willfully ignoring instructions and going rogue at this stage could get you killed.”
“Did you really have to use that word?” I grumble.
A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he pulls me to him. I inhale sharply, absorbing the moment, the calmness, and him. “Just promise me you’ll always keep your phone on you.”
“Why?” Tilting my head back, I gaze up at him. “Does it have a listening device implanted in it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I raise an eyebrow. “GPS?”
“No, I don’t need one.” I have no clue what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m too exhausted to question it. “I just need the peace of mind of knowing you can do exactly what you did tonight in the event of an emergency. I’ll raise every level of hell to get to you, but it may not always be in time. That’s why you have two backups.”
I feel my face fall.
Right. Two backups…
Owen and Anton.
One who just risked everything to come clean…
And one who may very well be pulling the biggest con of all.
Chapter Eight
BECCA
Ichew my cheek, debating on whether I should say anything. But after everything that’s happened tonight, I can’t leave this idling on the back burner. “I met your sister.”
His flat stare makes me feel like a lone gazelle being watched on an open field. “Good to know Sera finally made her usual fashionably late entrance.”
“You never told me you had a sister.”
“You never asked.”
I grit my teeth. This is going great. Trying to have a deep conversation with this man is like trying to catch running water. “She’s nice.”
“She is. That’s why I’m fairly certain she’s adopted.”
“Gianni!”
He arches an eyebrow. “What? You met the source of the Marchesi gene pool. ‘Nice’ isn’t part of our DNA.”
Okay, that lead-in went completely left of center.
“I, uh, also met Cathalina Damiano,” I hedge.
“Is that right?” At my cautious nod, Gianni pulls back, a veil falling over his eyes. “And what did the princess of New Haven have to say?”
“Nothing I didn’t expect. She seemed congenial enough, in a plastic, silver-spoon-up-her-ass kind of way. She offered to bury a hatchet I never swung, so that was a little odd.”
“I’m not surprised. The whole Damiano family takes their social cues from The Bronx Zoo.”
I let out a nervous laugh and swallow the baseball-size lump in my throat. “But that wasn’t what set me on edge. She said something about Anton.”
He tenses. “What about him?”
“She said that La Cosa Nostra is a man’s world, and women have to look out for each other because no one else is going to do it. Then she told me to watch out for Anton.”
“I trust my underboss, Doc.”
“That’s what I told her. To which she said, ‘so did Marcello.’”
His impassive stare hardens. “Did she say anything else?”
I think back to our awkward encounter. “No.” But then, I remember her strange comment as we stared at the herd of mob bosses. “Wait, yeah, kind of. It’s probably nothing.”
“Let me decide that.”
I groan, his mood shift making me regret I brought it up. “When she first said none of the men were going to look out for us, I asked her if that included her father, and she said, ‘especially my father.’”
I wait for a reaction, or some kind of follow-up. Instead, his hold on me tightens, and the next thing I know, I’m flush against his chest. “Becca, do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then believe me when I tell you Anton can be trusted, and Cat is being a shit stirrer.”
I try to let it go, but a diabolical mix of untamed jealousy and unease drags my insecurities to the forefront. “Why would she bother if you two weren’t involved?”
“Because she’s a spoiled mafia princess who doesn’t like to share the spotlight.”
“That's some serious high school mentality.”
A slow, lethal smile curves his lips. “Some people never evolved. Not all of us are highly educated doctors with incredibly luscious … brains.”
I roll my eyes, fighting my smile and losing miserably. “You entertain yourself, don’t you?”
“I have to.” Lowering his mouth, he traces the tip of his tongue along my carotid artery. “After eight weeks of battling my intellectual and infuriatingly sexy psychiatrist across a coffee table, nothing else seems to measure up.”
“You’re trying to distract me again.”
“Is it working?”
Yes, for a moment I forget about pinging phones, questionable underbosses, and pushy mob princesses who don’t understand boundaries. I let myself disappear in the scent of his skin and the feel of his mouth. But all too soon, Anton’s words from the car ride home seep inside my bubble and destroy it.
“Gianni?”
“Hmmm?”
“What made you become Torch?” His lips still, the muscles in his back pulling taut. A sizzle of warning tears through me, but fuck it. I’ve already thrown a rock at a hungry bear. Picking it up won’t make the attack any less gentle. So, I hurl another. “What happened in your past that made you so obsessed with fire?”
“This is New Jersey, not Providence, Dr. Brennan. The psychoanalysis is over.”
“I’m not asking as your psychiatrist.”
“Then who’s asking?”
“Your wife. The one who gave up everything for you—my job, my life, my identity. The least you could do is share pieces of your past with me.”
His eyebrows knit together, confliction clouding his eyes. For half a heartbeat, I think he might cave, then his walls slam down. “Maybe later,” he says, sliding his hands from my hips to my legs. One moment I’m standing in confrontation, and the next, I’m airborne with my legs curled around his waist.
“What are you doing?”
He gives me a wicked smile. “Make-up sex.” He meets my eyes before claiming my mouth in a kiss that burns hotter than the fire he covets.
Our tongues duel as he walks up the stairs and carries me into our bedroom. However, instead of tumbling onto the mattress, he continues into the bathroom. The moment we cross the threshold, he lowers me to my feet, stepping away just long enough to turn the water on in the shower. Within seconds, steam swallows the room, leaving only the hazy image of his outline. But I don’t need to see him to understand him. If anything, the obscurity adds another layer to the battle for control that lies at the cornerstone of who we are.
He slips my glasses from my face, and I hear the soft clink of them being placed on the sink behind me before feeling his hands at my back. “How much do you like this dress?”
“I hate it.”
“Good answer.” Bunching the fabric in each hand, he pulls, ripping the zipper open. The material slips off my shoulders and pools at my feet. I’ve been with this man long enough to know his kinks, so I wait for him to rip off my panties. Instead, he steps back into a cloud of steam, leaving me with only the sound of dangling buckles and pinging buttons before returning with his hard, firm, and very naked body on full display. Diving a hand in my hair, he walks me backward toward the shower.
It only takes a couple steps for my body to become completely soaked by the huge rainfall showerhead embedded in the ceiling. As my feet shuffle, I glance down at my panties. “Gianni, you forgot something…” I lift my chin only to be met with a diabolical grin.
“No, I didn’t.” He crushes his mouth onto mine for a hard, devouring kiss, and then the hand in my hair drops to my neck, taking a punishing grip before spinning me around and shoving me against the tile. “You like teasing me, Doc?”
My heart leaps into my throat. “What?”
“I came home to find you all but on another man’s lap,” he murmurs hotly against my ear. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Mrs. Marchesi? Perhaps trying to provoke a reaction?”
Again, what?
I was doing no such thing. Owen was barely touching my wrist. We were talking about him, for God’s sake. Why would his mood flip such a complete one-eighty after…
Oh.
My adrenaline spikes as I realize what he’s doing has nothing to do with reality. Gianni needs an outlet from the chaos of the day, as well as the lingering guilt about Henry. A violent man only knows absolution through violence but needs a consensual, safe outlet. With role-play, he can do it without fear of going over the line.
He needs this, and it emboldens me knowing I’m the only one who can give it to him.
“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin and sinking into my part. “Does that make you angry?”
“Angry?” His low laugh makes me shiver. “Oh, cara mia, angry isn’t the word for what you’ve made me. I’m a powerful man who expects his toys to stay in the fucking box when he’s not around to play with them.”
“Then maybe you should play with them more often.”
The hair on his chin scrapes my cheek. “Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a fact. This is a marriage of convenience, not choice.”
“You belong to me,” he growls, kicking my legs apart. “Let anyone else near you again, and they’ll die … slowly and painfully.”
“Is that a threat?” I quip, throwing his words back at him with a daring side-eye.
“No, it’s a fact,” he says, mirroring my response. “You’re mine, beloved, a word you seem confused by the definition.” I hear a rattling sound to my left, but I can’t discern what he’s doing since my head is turned right. “It’s a simple four-letter word that implies ownership. You know what else has four letters and makes disobedient toys learn their place?” I try to shake my head, but it’s being held immobile by an iron grip. “Pain. Deny.”
I freeze, my act slipping. Maybe I misread the situation. Maybe asking him about Torch tripped some wire in his head, sparking a flame that I’ve fanned. I’ve always accused him of having multiple personalities. What if this is one I haven’t seen?
What have I gotten myself into?
I’ve drowned myself in so many “what ifs” that I don’t notice the pressure at first… But then he pushes another button, and a full blast of pulsating water slams mercilessly against my lace-covered clit.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I struggle to close my legs, but the son of a bitch surges forward and traps me in a tight hold between his chest and the tile, his knees keeping mine apart.
I drop a mouthful of curses, damning him to hell when the water assault pauses long enough for me to catch my breath. I don’t let my guard down. I know him too well. A decision proven wise when another button sends water jetting out of the handheld showerhead again, this time, in forceful, intermittent streams. Just when I’m on the edge of an orgasm, he presses another button, and it slips away. By the fifth time, I’m ready to rip it out of his hand and stab him with it.
Now I know why he left my panties on—to torture me.
“Gianni,” I wail, dangerously close to begging. “Damn, you…”
“Feel that frustration, beloved?” he murmurs behind me. “That rage coursing through your veins at being taunted by the one thing you desire most…? It’s maddening, isn’t it?” He puts the water on full blast again, this time grinding the handheld shower head into my clit.
My eyes roll back into my head. I’m losing my mind. Lights are flashing behind my eyes, my body is writhing against the wall, revolting at being left so raw and taut.
“All this can be over, Becca. All you have to do is beg for my forgiveness.”
Yes. Say yes.
“No.”
He tuts his disapproval. “Wrong choice again.” Moving my thong aside, he sinks two fingers inside me while switching the showerhead back to pulse. Just when I’m about to come, he stills them both.
I let out a scream in frustration. “Fine! I’m sorry!”
“And what are you sorry for?”
I grit my teeth. “For marrying a sadistic prick…” I jolt as a third finger slams inside me. “I mean, for trying to make you jealous.”
“And?”
“And for letting Owen touch me.”
“And?”
“And for not being a good toy. I’m yours, my don.”
Those last two words turn his cock to steel.
“Goddamn right, you are,” he rasps. Slipping the water nozzle under my panties, he presses it directly onto my clit while pumping his fingers in and out of me.
That’s all it takes. Lightning strikes, and I explode like a crack of thunder. Somewhere between gasping for breath and fighting my way through my post-orgasmic fog, I feel my panties being ripped off, and my chin being turned.
“Becca?” Gianni says, placing a soft kiss on my lips as his palm cradles my stomach.
“Hmmm?”
“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Good. Because I’m about to fuck you like I hate you.” The shower blurs as Gianni spins me around, my spine smacking against the wall as he grabs the back of my knee and pulls my leg up. There’s no warning as he drives into me, the restraint he’s held onto evaporating.
I dig my nails in his back, able to do nothing but be the calm to his storm. His thrusts turn savage as he settles his hand on my throat. Only this time, he squeezes … harder and harder until the line of trust between us thins as shallow as my breathing. I fall victim to instinct, panic and fear pulling my hands from his back to claw at my neck.
“Trust me, cara mia,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Give in to me.”
There’s something in his eyes that calms my fighting.
Something I haven’t seen before.
Something I’m deathly afraid to put a name to.
I’m fully aware one extra millimeter of pressure could kill me, but I’m not afraid. He said he’d never hurt me, and I believe him. With Gianni, I’ve learned violence can be a punishment or a power play. The difference lies in the hand wielding it.
So, I do the one thing that only weeks ago would’ve been unthinkable.
I put my life in a man’s hands.
And then, just when my vision blurs, and the darkness rushes in from all edges, I come. It’s volcanic and powerful, and by the time I’ve stopped convulsing, I don’t know if I’m passed out or dead. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Gianni roaring out my name, his voice hoarse as he spills inside me.
Then everything goes black.
I awake naked and in bed, a blanket draped over me. At first, I think I’m alone, but then, I feel the light touch of a hand stroking my hair. I bite my lip, debating on what to say when I hear Gianni’s low voice whisper across my back.
“You and your invasive fucking questions…” he says, his breath uneven and heavy. “Nine weeks ago, Johnny Malone would’ve baited his tempting psychiatrist into some sexually charged banter and led her down a tangent riddled with innuendos and half-truths. But that’s not us anymore. We’re different, and I don’t think even you could fix what’s wrong in my head.”
My heart flutters when I feel his fingers trail down my spine, his lips dusting the back of my neck. I fight the urge to move, knowing this raw moment is only being offered at the expense of my “consciousness.” The moment he knows I’m awake, it’ll all evaporate, and his shell will harden. So, I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady, praying he continues.
“You asked me about becoming Torch, about what made me obsessed with fire.” I feel him stiffen behind me. “The answer is loss, Doc…excruciating, soul-changing loss. The kind of pain you never want to feel again. The kind you’ll do anything…be anything to avoid. So, I promised myself at a young age I’d never let myself care about anything again. I built walls around my demons and fueled them with hate. Then, I met you”—a soft laugh blows across my back—“stubborn, frustrating, determined, perfect, you. You were my downfall. As much as I fought it, I knew you’d be the one to tear them down. Now, here we are, battling the same monsters… All because I let myself love you.”
