12

My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts, and Liam stopped eating as I pulled it out. It was Igor. I leaned back in my chair and answered the call.
Igor, what can I do for you ?
The Polish have joined arms with your wife’s brother.
I looked at Fiona and, knowing my silent command went to pluck Aofie out of her chair. I waited until they both were out of earshot before continuing the conversation.
What ? The Polish hate the Italians. No fucking way. Where did you get this news from ?
I could hear his teeth grinding. They’re declaring war on you.
I snorted. On me ? Even if he were to join forces with the Polish, they’d still be nothing. I could crush them like a fucking bug.
You spared him. This happened because you fucking spared him.
My jaw ticked at the disrespect. I suggest you watch your mouth when you speak to me. I spared him for my wife. It wasn’t a moment of weakness or a lapse in judgment but out of respect for my wife.
Elena tensed up next to me and looked cautiously between Liam and me.
That was first of all. Second of all, let him gather his forces. It’s nothing I can’t handle. I still have my connection with the Cartel. We could obliterate them both in the blink of an eye.
When can you meet ?
Tomorrow morning. Let me call Suarez and bring him up to speed.
I’ll be at your doorstep at seven. He insisted.
I hung up and tossed my phone on the table. I rubbed my face roughly and closed my eyes for a moment.
What is it, cousin ? Liam asked in our language.
The Polish are joining forces with Enzo. They’re declaring war on us.
What did you expect ? Elena muttered.
Your brother’s a fucking pussy. I don’t expect anything from him. I told her honestly. Your father was a great man, a true leader, and Don. Your brother is a goddamn disgrace to the Morelli name.
I hope he kills you. She spat.
Standing up, she tossed her napkin on her plate and stomped away.
Liam whistled lowly, and I sighed in exasperation. I see your marriage is going well.
Exceedingly, I answered dryly.
If he’s attacking you, what does Igor want from you ?
The only reason the Polish joined forces with Enzo is because they want Igor out of the way. They think if they kill me, they’ll be able to kill him.
What are you going to do ? He asked.
I shook my head. I don’t know. He’s her brother, and I don’t want to kill him.
But ? He drawled.
But if it comes down to it, I will.
**
I called Suarez for backup, and he agreed to come down next week to plot our defense and devise a plan. I spent the entire night in my study, making calls and ensuring we had enough men and weapons for the upcoming war with Enzo and the Polish.
Liam stayed with me until we finished and spent the night in the guest room. It was late, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t shut up and stay quiet. It ran with a million scenarios. War is war, and there will always be casualties, but I hated seeing any of my men dead.
I couldn’t fucking stand it, knowing that they died protecting me or protecting my family. I was known for my reputation, and my men considered it an honor to work under my command, but that didn’t lessen the blow.
I pulled out a cigarette and cursed when I saw it was the last one in the box. I lit it and tucked it between my lips. I knew Elena would fight me every chance she got, and she’d hate me for ruining her wedding day and kidnapping her, but I didn’t know just how much of her tantrums I could take.
You’d think that after the mind-blowing orgasm I gave her, she’d calm down and drop her bad attitude, but if possible, it got worse. I exhaled and closed my eyes as I recalled the sexy image of how she looked pinned beneath me.
What a fucking sight she was with her hair fanned out across her pillows and how entrapping she was with her pretty pink lips parted as she offered me the sexiest sounds known to man.
Unfortunately, she had cum so fast that I didn’t cherish it and didn’t get a chance to nestle down between her legs and ravish the sweet offering she gave me.
She tasted so fucking sweet, and I groaned at the thought. I only got a small teaser, a small lick, and I desired more. I wanted her to drown me in her orgasm and to feel the sweetness of her orgasm flood my throat.
I pulled out my gun, brought it up to my nose, and loved that it still smelt like her ; heavenly. She tasted of sweet pleasures and wicked desires.
03
Elena
I don’t know if it was because my period was coming or I just had a craving, but I desperately needed a good and overtly filled Nutella bomboloni. My stomach growled loudly at the thought of the cinnamon sugar-coated and chocolate-filled dessert.
Goddamn. I wanted one…or four. I could just go downstairs and make them. He did say he redid the kitchen for me, but maybe he had taken it back because of what I said last night. I wasn’t a violent person, honestly, but when it came to my family, I evidently was overprotective.
I didn’t want Enzo to die, and I don’t think I wanted Oisin to die, either. I had blurted it out in anger, but I couldn’t take it back. It felt pathetic to be this conflicted over a man who ruined my wedding, kidnapped me, and has me living in his house against my will.
I felt like crying. I think I was crying. God, just how pathetic was I going to be ? I couldn’t just wallow in my self-pity. It was bumming me out and draining to keep reminding myself of my situation. Wiping my tears, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash up.
It was early, so they’d all be sleeping, and I’d be quick in the kitchen. I got dressed, put my hair in a ponytail, and snuck out of my room. The lights were on, and I wondered if they woke up early or kept them on at night.
I went down the stairs and heard the rumble of voices and shouts. The closer I got, the louder the voices got, making me curious about who was awake. I followed the voices outside to the patio, and maybe ten men, including Oisin and Liam, were sitting outside.
They were either arguing or just talking loudly while smoking and drinking coffee. Their backs were to me, but then Oisin caught me staring and stood up. I closed the door and hurried back inside. He caught my arm and tugged me fast and hard against his chest.
Good morning, mo ghra amhain. He rasped, cradling my cheek. You’re usually up early when you want to bake something. What is my wife craving ?
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He claimed that he knew me, but this…this confirmed that he honestly did know me. It was…endearing and flattering, and I think a piece of me liked this.
I felt flustered and almost forgot that he had even asked me a question. He didn’t look arrogant as he waited for my reply. He just stood there, breathtaking, dangerous, and patient.
Bombolini. I sounded out of breath.
He hummed and traced my lips with the pad of his thumb. I trembled pitifully under his touch.
I’ve never had them before. Will you save me one ?
Yes.
He kissed my forehead and sighed as he lingered there for a moment longer. Then, finally, he pulled away too fast and gave me a small smile before heading back outside.
What the hell was that ?
What the hell is wrong with me ?
Shaking my head, I attempted to shake away the entire encounter and whatever he made me feel, but it felt useless as I wandered to the kitchen in a dazy haze. It was like walking on clouds, so light and effortless, and I wished someone would smack some sense into me.
I needed to waste my time in the kitchen, so I didn’t think about anything else. Nothing cleared my mind like being in a kitchen did. Despite the process, measurements, and perfection I needed to cook and bake, it didn’t feel that overwhelming.
It made me feel peaceful and calm. It was like this silent therapy that I did every time I felt stressed out. Lately, I wasn’t just stressed out, but I felt like my mind was going to fucking explode. It was like a coping mechanism.
I think loving the kitchen has been rooted in me since I was a little girl. I was six years old when my nonna taught me how to make cannolis. I remember barely being able to see over the counter when my father would pick me up and set me on top.
He’d pinch my cheeks and ruffle my hair, and I’d swat his hands away. I remember the sound of my nonna singing as she taught me always to add love to every ingredient.
That it made and tasted entirely different when I had clear intentions to cook and feed my family. I used to think it was crazy because love wasn’t an ingredient, but she was so stern about it that I believed it.
I could feel tears falling down my face as I recalled all those memories with her. I missed her very much. When I could be in the kitchen by myself without her help, she’d sit and watch me. I’d offer her a spoon now and then and ask her to taste it.