12

Ari is sitting up, his back against the shelf and he rips a page out of a book to use as a napkin to wipe the blood from his lip.
“Talk about her like that again and I’ll fucking kill you, Ari.” I pull myself away from Matias and rub a hand over my mouth while Ari chuckles.
“I’m right,” he says, red saliva dripping from his chin. “You like her.”
“All this to prove a point?” I stretch my fingers as the ache spreads across my knuckles.
He stands and spits blood onto the floor. His lip is split open, and he has a bruise across his cheek. “Yes, all this to prove a point. You won’t let anyone else touch her, but you say she’s only business? Transactions don’t have feelings, Carmine. If she makes you feel this unhinged, she isn’t business. She’s more.”
“I’ve known her a day.”
“As if that matters,” he scoffs, snagging the decanter full of whiskey as he swings open the door to leave. “I’m going to get some ice and get drunk. Don’t interrupt me,” he announces, keeping the door wide open.
“You need to get your head on straight.” Matias shoves me with his shoulder. “Whatever this girl is to you, figure it the fuck out. The last thing we need with our Romano issue is you losing your mind over a woman. You can’t afford to even look like you have a weakness.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“No,” he says, a little too honest for my liking, and my eyes turn to slits as I look at him. “I think some of the power has gone to your head, and now you have something worth taking, Carmine. Do you get that? This woman will be your wife, the mother of your child, and she will be a target. Your child will too. This situation doesn’t only complicate things for you, but all of us.” Matias exits the room next, and I’m left alone in the cigar room, staring at the destruction I’ve caused.
“Damn it,” I hiss, kicking one of the fallen books across the floor. “What’s gotten into me?” My brothers are right. I am quickly becoming unhinged.
It’s time to fix that.
I leave the cigar room, climbing up the steps to the hallway that leads to my wing. When I open the door to my room, it’s empty. She isn’t in bed, and after I check the bathroom, she isn’t there either.
Needing a break from her presence, I see having the room to myself as a victory. Exhaling, I fall against the sink’s counter and hang my head, the cuts on my knuckles burning. Cracking my neck, I push myself away, turn on the shower, then undress.
The scars on my chest, abdomen, shoulders and back reveal themselves. The twins didn’t have to deal with our father’s abuse. I killed him before he could do the same to them. Every morning, every night, my father would want me to learn how to become a real man…the lesson carved into me with a knife.
The day I stopped crying was the day he was no longer able to inflict pain on me.
It took years to build up the strength to not flinch, to not make a sound, to not scream, but eventually, I did. Now, I bear the marks that show my weakness.
Someone gasps behind me,
and without a word, I turn around. My pants are undone, and I let Delilah see the monster she’s tied to.
Nothing but death can separate us now.
Without blinking, I slam the door in her face, and punch the wall with my injured hand. My reflection mocks me, and without giving it another glance, I step out of my pants and head to the shower.
I toss my head back, letting the hot spray rush over me, coating my flesh. Spinning around, the water’s pressure beats against me. Chin to chest, I watch the water turn a light pink from washing off the blood from my knuckles.
I won’t apologize to Ari. He provoked me on purpose. Apologies are for people who feel regret and recognize what they’ve done wrong-I don’t fall into either category.
My life would have one less complication if I released her and let her go home, let her live the rest of her life without me-another shadow darkening her every step.
I press my palms against the wall. The water rushes down my back, and all I can think of is her fucking someone else, having someone else’s child. I can’t let that happen.
I won’t allow it to happen.
Her experiences are mine.
I need to accept that now. I’m not the same man I was this morning before she walked into my home. This man that I have become is confused, trigger-happy, and restless.
A new normal I’ll have to get used to with her around.
After washing, I turn off the water and grab a towel from the built-in shelves. I wrap it around my waist after drying myself and open the door to the bedroom.
She’s still standing there, looking pissed-off. Her hand is on her hip, but her eyes trail down my body slowly.
I grip the top of the doorframe and lean forward. “Look all you like, Sweetling. After today, it’s all yours.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and she steps away. Her attention moves to the scars, but she looks away and doesn’t ask about them.
Good. It’s none of her business. If I want to share it, I will.
“Sit down, please.” She points to the bed.
I let go of the doorframe and stalk forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”
I brush by her and sit down, the towel parting enough to show everything but my cock.
She gasps, flustered, takes my injured hand and places a frozen bag of peas on my knuckles.
“You act as if you’ve never seen a man naked, Delilah. You don’t have to play coy with me,” I say, enjoying the softness of her touch as she presses the bag against my hand.
She doesn’t say anything. Delilah won’t even look at me. Instead, she examines my knuckles and grabs the first aid kit. She sits out on the bed.
“What happened?” she asks, cleaning the wound with alcohol.
I hiss when it begins to burn.
“Really?” She lifts a brow at me. “Big bad Carmine Milazzo can handle gunshot wounds, but he can’t handle a little disinfectant?”
“It’s different,” I say, bristling at her criticism.
“Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t hide her humor well. Her lips are tightly rolled against one another, but the smile is still there. Lifting my hand, she peeks up at me through her dark lashes and blows cool air over the cuts and bruises.
I hold my breath, staring at her with wonderment.
“Better?” she asks, before dabbing more ointment across my knuckles.
I nod without saying anything. I don’t trust my voice.
No one has ever taken care of me before. I’m not sure I like it.
She wraps my hand in a bandage and places the icepack on it again, every movement gentle and careful, as if not wanting to hurt me more.
Nothing she could do to me could hurt.
“Thank you,” I say honestly, our eyes meeting in a heated embrace.
Time seems to slow, and the air in the room stills, making it hard to breathe. I lean forward just an inch to make her wonder if I will kiss her.
I’m won’t, but I want to.
I won’t break my word or the contract. The ball is in her court.
Her gaze drifts from my lips to my chest and to my cock, then she scrambles from the bed. “You need to be more careful. Make sure your cuts don’t get infected.”
She tries to run into the bathroom, but I’m there in a flash, grabbing the door before she can shut it.
I kick it open, take her in my arms, and force her to look at me by tugging on the thick of her hair. “Have you ever seen a man naked before, Delilah?”
“Yes,” she says, as if she’s offended.
I drag her hand across my chest, and a dark purr builds inside me. “Have you ever touched a man? Have you ever been fucked?” I pin her against the wall and hold her hands above her head, shoving my knee between her legs. The towel around my waist holds on for dear life. “Have you ever orgasmed on another man’s cock?”
“You’re foul. And that’s none of your business,” she seethes, our lips mere centimeters apart.
One hand drifts to her waist and clutches her hip. “It’s my business. Everything about you is my business now, Delilah.”
“No,” she whispers. “No, I’ve never been with anyone.”
An unstable breath floats between us, and I realize it’s from me. My cock hardens beneath the towel, my lust climbing to new heights. I shut my eyes, trying to calm down.
“How unfortunate,” I mutter, snapping my eyes back open while trailing my finger over her hip bone. “Your first time will be with a man like me.”
I back away, not bothering to hide how she affects me. I want her to know.
“Only when I’m ready.” She dares me to say otherwise, but I would never.
It’s important that when we have sex, she want me so much, she’ll beg for me, plead for me to ease the ache I’ve created. That she makes the first move is an essential aspect of the agreement that I will never change.
I’ll die holding to that agreement.
“Only when you’re ready,” I repeat softly, the nerves in her voice loosening the tight string managing my arousal. “I swear it.”
“How do I know you mean it?” She pulls at the hem of my shirt she’s still wearing, her gaze locked on the floor.
I don’t like that. I want her attention on me. I know our relationship is unconventional, but it is one I want to build. I have a lot to learn, and I will for her.
“And how do I know you won’t bring other women to bed? I’m supposed to trust that you only want me. We just met-”
With a growl, I wrap my hand around her nape. “I take my agreements seriously. I am not a fucking twenty-something-year-old idiot who doesn’t know what he wants. I don’t take time to make decisions. I know what I want. I take what I want, Delilah. No other woman will warm our bed for as long as you lie in it.”
I’ll sleep well tonight in that bed, knowing I’ll be her first, and I don’t care whom I’ll have to kill for me to be her last.