18

Carmine
Love isn’t what makes this world spin. Money does. Power does. Everything else is considered details. Everything else is insufficient.
At least, I thought so.
Until her lips met mine, and the entire fucking world stopped. That kiss is the only thing I’ve been able to think about. Watching her study was torturous. I wanted nothing more than to slam her against the shelf again and slide between her legs, showing her what life with me could be like.
I’ll give her pleasure.
I’ll give her pain.
I’ll give her everything she fucking craves.
Anything she wants. Whatever she asks for. I’ll give it to her.
If she thought I was intense before, if she thought I was possessive and controlling, I’m unhinged now. I’m addicted.
She won’t ever be able to escape me. I’ll hunt her down and bring her home if she tries to. She is meant to be at my side. A king needs a queen, and Delilah deserves the throne.
My cock has been stone since that heated, forbidden kiss in the library, and I know she must be in need too.
Delilah is in bed now, sleeping soundly, and I lean against the wall, arms crossed over my chest, thinking of how she hasn’t spoken to me since our kiss. And she went to bed without kissing me, breaking the contract we agreed upon.
I won’t be able to lie with her for a few hours. I have business I need to attend to, but I still want my kiss.
“Carmine.” Matias peeks his head into the room. “We’re ready.”
“Give me five minutes,” I say to him, never taking my eyes off Delilah.
He nods, closing the door to leave me alone with the woman who has taken over every aspect of my mind. I push off the wall and lean over her, my fingers brushing the hair out of her face.
“Delilah,” I whisper, wanting to wake her up gently. “Sweetling, wake up.” I brush my lips across her ear and kiss her cheek. Finally, she shifts and stretches her arms over her head.
“Carmine?” My name sounds drugged from how sleepily she is. “What’s wrong?”
“You forgot something,” I remind her, rolling her onto her back.
“What?”
“I want my goodnight kiss. You went to sleep without giving it to me, and I really want my fucking kiss,” I say, skimming the tip of my nose across hers. I want her lips again, before I must deal with the real world.
Her eyes widen, suddenly wide awake, and she sits up, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry. I was tired; I didn’t fall asleep to ignore it-”
I press my finger against her lips to silence her. “It’s okay. I need to go somewhere, Delilah. Before I go, I need you to kiss me goodnight.”
“Where are you going?”
“There’s work that needs to be done,” I say without context, not wanting to let her know. She already thinks so little of me. I don’t want to give her extra ammunition. I keep my voice easy and gentle, not wanting to cause her any panic. I want her to remain calm and sleepy-she’s beautiful like that.
“Carmine, what is it? What’s going on? Is it my father?”
I shake my head and kiss her forehead. “No, Sweetling. Your father is safe. Always. You have my word on that.”
“Then why do you need to leave in the middle of the night? Come to…” She swallows, unsure if she wants to finish her sentence. “Come to bed.” She scoots over and pats my side of the bed. “I promise I won’t leave in the morning. Is that what this is about? That I’ll leave?”
She sounds so damn sleepy, and it’s making me feel those things I don’t want to feel. I think any good I have inside me, anything worth saving will be only for Delilah.
What’s she doing to me? I can’t afford to get soft. I have too many enemies. My job consists of having my blood on my hands and wiping them clean as if the murder had never happened.
“No, Sweetling, no, and even if you did, you know I’d find you. You can’t get far.” I brush my knuckles down her hot, flushed cheeks, the pillowcase imprint indented into her skin, and I find it charming because she looks so at home. “Remember the kind of man I am. I have business I have to attend to,” I remind her, staring into her innocent emerald irises.
I wait for her to be repulsed, to fight me, but she places her hand on my cheek and leans forward.
“Then you’ll come to bed?” she asks, pressing a soft kiss against my lips. There’s no urgency or lust like there was in the library. It’s a long, tender peck, and I find myself being pulled into her, cupping the back of her head to apply more pressure.
I break the kiss, then press my forehead to hers before standing. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m a different man at night now, knowing she’s in my bed. “And then, I’ll come to bed.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Go on, lie back down.” I ease her back, fluffing the pillow under her head and bringing the blanket to her chin. “Rest. I’ll be in soon.”
“Be careful,” she mutters, eyes already falling shut. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.” Her whispered words come out slower, as if she’s losing the energy to speak.
“You’re wrong,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and hanging my head. My elbows are on my knees, and exhaustion settles in my bones. “I’m worse,” I correct her, but she doesn’t say anything in return. Her steady, even breaths tell me she’s fast asleep.
With one last look at the woman who I’m forcing to marry me, I stroll out of the room, closing the door as quietly as I can.
Victor is standing on the other side, his back against the wall, stoic and at attention.
“Nothing happens to her; do you understand me? If I come back and she’s injured, I’m going to kill you,” I warn him.
He doesn’t blink or flinch. Victor nods. “She’ll be safe, Mr. Milazzo.”
“She better be.” I don’t trust anyone else with her, not even my best men. I will only know she’s truly safe as long as she is by my side.
When I get to the end of the hall, Gianni, Ari, and Matias are waiting for me. They are my most trusted. They are my inner circle, but I try my best to care for anyone working for me.
“Where is he?” I ask, renewed energy coiling through my soul like a serpent.
“Here.” Gianni gestures with his chin toward the couch.
Nicky, Alex, and a few others surround me, men who are my runners, for the most part, delivering messages, figuring out trade spots, cleaning crew, etc.
I step into the living room and walk around the couch, surprised when I see a kid who can’t be older than nineteen.
“What the fuck is this?” I point to the teenager sitting on my couch, half beaten and pale. “I said I wanted insight. I wanted proof. This is not proof.”
“The kid is the proof,” Ari says, flipping a switchblade in his hand. “And we didn’t do that to him. We found him like that. He was on our way when we were was heading to the docks. He says he has intel to help us move in and stake that territory once and for all.”
I crouch and tilt my head, staring at the kid who has his arms wrapped around himself. His eyes are cast on the floor, and he won’t look at anyone. He’s soaking wet from the rain outside, quietly pelleting against the roof.
And he’s on my fucking couch.
Wet.
I’ll deal with it later.
“Do you know where you are?” I ask him, and he remains silent, still staring at the floor. “Look at me,” I bite, my patience wearing thin. “I said fucking look at me!”
Finally, he lifts his head. The whites of his eyes are red from the abuse he took before coming here. He’s shivering with goosebumps along his skin, and he rubs his hands up and down his arms. I snap my fingers. “Get him a blanket and start a fire.”
Nicky tosses the blanket over the kid’s shoulders, and the whoosh behind me with the heat tells me Ari has started the fire.