Gio
I don’t want to wake Marissa. Her face is so soft and innocent and she’s only had five hours of sleep. But she has to open at Milano’s, and I said I’d get her there.
Still, I don’t move. I just drink in the sight of her. I had the nightmare again. Woke in a cold sweat from the horror of seeing her with a gun at her head.
But she’s right here. In my bed. Safe and sound.
Where I want to keep her always. Where she belongs. I just have to figure out how to convince her of that.
I trail kisses along her hairline. “Wake up, angel. We have to get going.”
“Hmm? Mmm.” Her lids flutter, but she slips right back into slumber.
“I wish the fuck I could let you sleep, doll, but I promised you I’d get you to Milano’s on time.”
“Hmm?” She sits up at the word Milano’s. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Her smile is sweet and fucking gracious. I want to kiss her, but if I do, I’ll be holding her down and feasting between her legs for the next hour, and there’s no time for that.
“I’m sorry, bella. I hate to wake you.”
“No, it’s good.” She pushes a limp hand through her hair. “Thank you.”
I hand her the latte I paid the doorman to fetch and help her out of bed.
“Gio.” I love the way her voice is husky with sleep. “You’re so good to me. Thank you.”
“Get used to it, baby,” I tell her, giving her bare, beautiful ass a light slap when she stands. “I keep trying to spoil you. Are you ready to finally let me?”
She stops trying to step into her jeans and blinks at me. “Yes.”
I cup her chin and give her a light kiss. “Good girl.” I leave the room to keep from distracting her from getting dressed. When she emerges, we head downstairs together, my fingers laced through hers.
I like the way this feels. Being in charge of Marissa. Waking her up, getting her where she needs to be. I’ve never had someone to care for before. Never wanted that. That’s why I didn’t look for the wife and family deal.
But this-it feels so right. So good.
I drive her to Milano’s, trying to figure out how I can help. The girl works too hard. And I’m a bastard, because I want more of her time.
“So, Milano’s. What would it take for you to be able to quit?”
She sighs as she twists her hair on the top of her head with a scrunchie. “Mia growing up to help my aunt run it.”
I snort. “And Mia’s what? Eight years old?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head. “You gotta think outside the box, baby. You believe there’s only one way to end your servitude. It was like me thinking violence was the only way to handle your dickwad boss. I needed someone else’s perspective to see there are other options available. Maybe I could provide that for you.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Gio. I’ve been trying to find my way out of this jail for a long time. I love my grandparents. I owe them everything. And Milano’s is their only livelihood. They don’t own the building, so it’s not like they can sell and retire on the equity. The neighborhood’s gone to shit, so getting new customers or new investors has proven difficult. We don’t make enough to even pay someone else minimum wage. And my grandparents don’t have much social security because they barely paid into the system. Besides, we can’t shut down Milano’s, because it’s my aunt’s livelihood, too.”
“Your aunt could find another job and make just as much,” I remind her. “If you’re not even paying yourselves minimum wage, she’d actually do better somewhere else.
“That’s true. But she couldn’t set her own hours. Take off when she needs to.”
“Yeah, but her taking off means you have to cover her shift. So I’m not seeing that as a selling point to staying open.”
Marissa’s shoulders slump even more.
I reach over and squeeze her knee. “Don’t worry. There’s gonna be some other solution. We just gotta solve your grandparents’ retirement.”
“And convince them it’s time to retire-yes.”
It seems easy to me. I just offer to buy the business for way more than it’s worth. But if I understand correctly, Luigi-who we thought was a friend all these years-actually hates the Tacones. So the chance of me making this end happily is greatly diminished.
“I’ll work on it,” I tell her.
She shoots me a suspicious glance. “Please don’t do anything crazy without consulting me first? My grandparents are… set in their ways.”
“Is that code for your grandparents hate me?”
She winces. “Kind of.”
Fuck.
I gotta get this Tacone problem solved. If I want Marissa for keeps, I have to make peace with her grandparents. Otherwise, I may never convince her I’m worthy.
“You can just drop me in front,” she says, but I ignore her and park the SUV. I take her keys from her hand to unlock the doors and walk her in, checking the corners for intruders, then trailing her to the kitchen. When she takes the dishes of food out of the walk-in to place in the display case, I do the same.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you open the place,” I say, even though it seems pretty obvious.
Once more, she stops in place, and blinks back tears. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Hey.” I shake my head. “No more tears. I told you to get used to it. I have your back. I’m here for you. Capiche?”
She keeps blinking rapidly. “‘Kay,” she says softly. Then lets out a watery laugh. “You’re so unexpected, Gio.”
She finishes putting the food out and puts on a pot of coffee to brew, then unlocks the door to customers. I sit in the corner when a few older men come in-obviously regulars because they call her by name. She brings them out their food.
I read the newspaper without seeing it, still working on the problem of winning over Luigi.
Marissa appears in front of me with a steaming espresso and a slice of bacon, egg and cheese strata on a plate.
“Mmm.” I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her closer. “I like it when you serve me,” I murmur, low enough that no one else can hear.
“I like it when you make me,” she murmurs back, then slaps a hand over her mouth.
I flash her a knowing smile, remembering how I ordered her on her knees last night. How excited she got about giving me a blowjob. She does like to be owned by me. With just a little more trust between us, she’ll surrender to those desires completely, knowing I’ll never abuse the honor of being her owner and protector.
“You don’t have to blush when you tell me how you like it, angel,” I murmur, even lower, letting her know I understand we’re talking sex, here.
The blush spreads across her chest and up her neck. Her nipples protrude, visible even beneath her bra.
I squeeze her hip and release her before the other customers get curious. “What time are you off?”
She shakes her head. “My aunt promised to be back in time for me to be able to take a shower and get to Michelangelo’s for my shift.”
Damn. My girl works way too hard.
I have to get this figured out for her.