Fiero Capito must either be the most talented actor on the planet, the biggest manipulator known to womankind, or the sweetest thug in existence, but I have no clue which is true.
I don’t want to believe he can be decent, but ever since he kidnapped me and didn’t immediately brutalize me, my mind keeps subconsciously looking for signs he has a moral code. Just when I think he’s the worst man in the galaxy, he stands firm in his own beliefs and wrecks my assumptions.
What if this is just a ploy to tie me to him so that when Katherine returns from her trip, he can drag us back to Seppi?
Even though it’s a possibility, my heart immediately dismisses the idea.
Seppi would never let his brother treat me with such respect, even if it led to my demise.
I’ll just have to make sure Fiero and Katherine never meet. If they do, they’re bound to recognize one another.
I should just tell my sister to leave, but I can’t send her out into the world alone. I can’t ask her to leave while I stay, especially not after she’s finally settled down and planning for the future. I can’t steal her hope and expect her to be okay without me.
I won’t be okay without her.
Fiero nudges me again, yanking me out of my musings. I check the street sign and dig my thumb into his lower back a few inches away from the wound I reopened this morning.
“I thought nurses swore to do no harm or some shit like that?” he says with a tight smile of pain.
The mischievous glint in his eyes warns me to ignore his goading, but I can’t help it. The day has been way too confusing.
“That applies to patients, not husbands.”
The moment the word husband leaves my lips, gravity triples. Even though Mia Rivera is an alias, she’s been my identity for seven years. I built myself from scratch to become her. She is who I want to be.
Fiero Capito is her legal husband. She married a mafia man.
I married my ex-fiancé’s younger brother.
Yet as he strolls down the street with me tucked against his side, a sense of safety falls over me. It’s stupid. He’s the most dangerous man in sight, but I don’t push away from him.
I stay inside the bubble of protection he offers.
Better the enemy you know than the one you don’t, right?
“Say it again, mia moglie,” he demands.
My heart lurches and core throbs as he calls me his wife in Italian. I meet his eyes and lift a brow with as much contempt as I can muster and respond as though admonishing a child.
“No.”
His gaze drops to my lips. My nipples pebble. He glances at my chest and smirks. I follow his eyes.
Damn him. Damn this dress.
I need a bra.
He curls his arm tighter around me and teases his fingers along the inside of my arm, oh so close to brushing the outer swell of my breast.
When we turn onto a new block, a gust of wind slaps us in the face. I squeak as it catches my skirt.
Fiero’s reflexes are quicker than mine. He reaches across our fronts and pushes my skirt down before I flash the entire city, but his hand cupped over my sex sends humiliation and need thrumming through me. I stagger to a stop and meet his eyes.
The crowd parts and gives us a wide berth, one or two people giving us second glances. I can’t say I blame them. Fiero emanates lethality with his knowing eyes, sharp dress, and tattoos.
When he curls his fingers deeper between my legs, I shift my nails closer to his wound and harden my expression.
“Move. Your. Hand.”
When wicked delight tugs his lips upward, I realize I chose the wrong words.
He pinches my nipple between his knuckles and pushes the tip of his middle finger into my pussy, trapping my panties and skirt inside. I shudder and grab his wrist, dangerously close to an orgasm. The cotton fabric pulls tight over my clit. I worry there’ll be a visible wet patch when he moves his hand away.
“Stop. Let me go,” I demand, but my voice emerges breathy.
Another gust of wind hits us. A lock of hair escapes my updo and flits over his face.
He releases my nipple, tilts my chin up with his knuckle, and invades my mouth. The wet, hot glide of his tongue over mine coupled with his demanding lips and scratchy facial hair proves to be too many layers of sensations.
I hover on the cusp of release. He lifts his head and sends wicked promises with his eyes as he tugs the hem of my skirt down onto my thighs.
My panties remain just inside my entrance, but when I shift to fix them, he captures my wrist, kisses my knuckle, and weaves his fingers through mine. With one hand at the small of his back and the other trapped in his grip at my waist, I have no choice but to let the fabric slowly slip out of me as I walk. His heated glances as he guides me through the streets keep my lust at a low simmer, so when I finally get my bearings again, wariness filters through me. I straighten my spine and clench my fingers around his as he directs me through the front door of my apartment building.
My senses heighten as adrenaline courses through my veins. He crowds me into the back corner of the elevator and leads me down the hall to my apartment without hesitation. I scan the area and swallow my apprehension, praying Katherine didn’t come home early.
He unlocks and opens my door as though he’s done it a million times, but before I can step inside, he scoops me off my feet and carries me over the threshold. I cling to the front of his shirt and stare at his chin in disbelief. There’s no way this ruthless mafia monster believes in old superstitions. He did not just lift me as though I weigh nothing and cradle me against his chest as he stepped into my apartment.
He kicks the door shut with his heel, toes his shoes off on the mat, and sets me on the kitchen counter. I shiver as the cold seeps into my skirt. He drops to one knee, slips off my ballet slippers, and tucks them into the shoe rack before rearranging them to make room for his own. I grab the edge of the counter and squeeze so hard my fingers ache as I realize he correctly deciphers which shoes are mine and which are my sister’s.
But then again, Katherine and I have always had different styles. Or rather, she has style and I don’t.
Before I can jump down from the counter, he pushes my knees apart, wedges his hips between them, and pulls my ass forward. With his massive hands kneading my butt and his hard cock rubbing my pussy through our clothes, I bite back a whimper as need roars through me.
My thighs quiver and arms ache as I flatten my palms against his chest and push.
“My room is over there,” I say with a nod of my head.
I do not want to have sex in any of the common areas. It’s too risky, and I refuse to disrespect my sister like that.
“I know, mia caramellina. We’ll spend lots of time in your bed, but first,” he leans over and grabs the note on the corner of the counter, “what is this?”
Tension coils through me before I force my muscles to relax. I meet his stare and respond as though he’s an idiot.
“It’s a note,” I challenge.
He wraps his long fingers around my throat and pulls my face toward his as he leans down.
“Did you fuck her?”
I blink and wait for his words to make sense.
“Does she fuck you?”
I blink again. Once more.
When understanding strikes, laughter bursts from my chest.
“Are you jealous of my roommate? You know she’s a woman, right?”
He digs his fingertips into my jugular and growls as he grinds his cock harder against me.
“Gender doesn’t matter. If she touches what’s mine, I’ll kill her. Capisci?”
I ignore the thrill racing down my spine and pinch the gash on his arm.
“Wow, so, you’re just that insecure?”
His eyes darken. Fear skitters over my skin. Lust pools in my core.
He devours my mouth as though he’ll die without a taste of my tonsils. I jerk and cry out when he tugs my panties aside and buries three fingers into my pussy.
It hurts. I need more.
He swallows my cries and sets a brutal rhythm, curling his fingers with each inward thrust and attacking my clit with his thumb.
Milliseconds before I explode, he pushes me flat onto my back, pins me down by my throat, and throws my legs over his shoulders. The wet glide of his tongue over my folds as his fingers continue their stroking is too much.
I jackknife as an orgasm rips through me. He works me harder. Faster. I can’t breathe.
He peels my clit hood back with his thumb and flicks the tip of his tongue over my exposed bundle of nerves.
My scream bounces off the ceiling and walls as he ruthlessly forces my body into a second release.
Sweaty and dazed, I unclench my thighs from around his head and try to pull his face away by fisting his hair. He looks up my body at me and smirks.
“I don’t think I have anything to be insecure about, mia caramellina,” he murmurs against my drenched pussy.
Aftershocks shoot through my abdomen, but I glare at him. He nuzzles his nose against my clit and licks around his invading fingers as I flutter around them.
“But just in case…”
“What?” I ask before my brain can catch up.
He rises and slips his digits out of my pussy. My juices coat his chin and shine on his fingers as he works his trousers open.
“Your girlfriend can’t give you this, can she?”
I shatter into tiny particles and soar up into the stratosphere as he fills me with one savage, overwhelming thrust. Shaking and gasping, I blink tears from my eyes and meet his dilated pupils.
“Can she?” he asks.
I shake my head, more out of confusion than in answer. I don’t remember what we’re discussing.
He pounds into me, hitting the same sensitive spot deep inside me with each thrust. It hurts too much to come again, but I’m close. So close. Too close.
He shifts his grip to my nape and pulls me up to his chest. I instinctively hook my arms around his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist. His massive cock shifts inside me, hitting new organs and scrambling my brain.
He stalks around the counter and drapes me over the arm of the couch. With my hips higher than my shoulders, his tip jabs my cervix. I yelp and bring my knees to his chest, trying to kick him away, but his grip on my hips holds me exactly where he wants me.
“Can your roommate fuck you like this?”
His words make no sense. My roommate is my biological sister. I’m not a lesbian. He took my virginity.
I shove my knees against him. He growls and surges into me so hard my breasts almost pop out of my dress. I grab the cushions and try to wriggle away from his brutal invasions, but he tightens his grip on my hips and quickens his pace.
My right nipple slips free of my neckline. The lewd slap of flesh against flesh rings in my ears.
“Answer me, Mia. Can anyone else fuck you so good?”
For an insane moment, I want to hear him say my real name, but he yanks my ass higher and hits impossibly deeper.
It’s too much.
“No! Only you. You’re the only one,” I sob.
“Who do you belong to?” he demands.
“You,” I breathe as the pressure in my womb grows to catastrophic levels.
“Say my name, Mia.”
I shake my head. I can’t.
He props his forearm on the back of the couch, fists my hair, and twists his wrist, demanding my attention.
“C’mon, mia caramellina. I know you know my name. Say it.”
Amidst the storm of desire, a small, horrified voice cries out in denial. Is this it? Is this how he reveals his trap? Is this when he strikes and leaves me a broken shell of myself?
He licks my jaw, nips my bottom lip, and resumes thrusting his hips, the new angle just as intense as the last.
“I know you read our marriage license. Say my name, Mia. Tell me you belong to me,” he murmurs against my temple.
Years’ worth of fury rises from my depths. I can’t call out the name of my ex’s brother, even if he is the only one to bring me to such heights. Even if he isn’t lying to me. Even if he’s my only protector.
He pulls back just enough to study my eyes.
“Mio Dio, you’re too fucking gorgeous,” he snarls.
Like a feral beast, he consumes my mouth and dominates my body, fucking into me so hard we scoot across the couch. My hair escapes the tie and gets caught under my shoulders.
He doesn’t stop when my neck cranks backward, my hair pulling taut and lifting my chin.
With stinging nips, he trails down my throat and braces his forearm under my ass, freeing his other hand and pulling my breasts out of my top. A pathetic keening sound fills the air. My throat hurts. He angles his hips and drags his tip over my G-spot and hits my cervix with every thrust.
I explode.
He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t pause.
My toes cramp, but it’s nothing compared to the clenching of my core. I can’t breathe. Everything contracts harder, sending me into another realm of wonderfully horrible pleasure pain.
“Mine,” he snarls.
With three vicious thrusts, he buries himself impossibly deeper and finds his release. His shaft pulses inside me. Warmth floods my center. I convulse into another orgasm.
Sweat stings my eyes. Sawdust fills my mouth. Cotton stuffs my head. Acid burns in my lungs.
When my core finally relaxes, I sob and fight for freedom. Wordless panic floods my system, the last few days catching up with me at full force.
Without his ropes constraining my limbs or a blindfold over my eyes, and in the apartment I share with my sister, his rough claiming is too much. His ring on my finger and the possessive glint in his eyes are too real.
I need out. Now.
I shove his face with both hands and kick his chest. He grunts and stumbles backward, his still spurting cock slipping out of my pussy. I roll off the couch and scramble toward the door, using the coffee table to find my feet and lunging forward.
He tackles me before I reach the kitchen. Spinning us in midair and taking the brunt of our fall, he knocks into the barstool so hard it falls toward us instead of away. I grunt as the leg lands straight across my unprotected belly, Fiero’s thick arms trapping mine against my chest. He curses and rolls us onto our sides, shielding and caging me with his massive body.
I break. Sobs wrack my chest. I can’t stop fighting. He grunts as I jam my heels into his shins. I claw at his arms and buck and twist, but his hold never wavers.
When he remains immovable, futility washes over me and I slump to the ground, my limbs flopping like a rag doll. I suck down unsteady breaths, waiting for logic to return, but there’s no oxygen in the room. He rubs his thumb over my arm, tugs me tighter against him, and rests his chin on the top of my head, cocooning me in rock-hard muscle.
As I slowly regain bits and pieces of myself, I realize the depths of my scars. I’ll never fit myself back together again. The monster at my back will forever hold pieces of me in his fist. I’ll always be waiting for him to crush them.
With my first full breath in what feels like a decade, I rebuild my defenses brick by brick until my body feels like my own again. Time passes, but I don’t know how long we lie on the floor with our clothes askew and his big, hard body wrapped around mine. When I finally regain my senses, I admonish my inner self for enjoying his grip on me.
I tell myself his hold is stifling, but my body refuses to move. More minutes pass as I gather my protective shield.
After an uneven breath, I dig my nails into my palms and stiffen my spine.
“I don’t know why I did that. It won’t happen again. Let me go,” I say.
He tucks one arm tighter around my midsection and tilts my chin up with his knuckles. I swallow as he pulls his head back a little and angles his face down to mine. My core liquifies.
“Mia, you’re—”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off, not wanting to talk while his seed drips from my pussy.
“No, you’re not, and that’s okay, but listen to me, mia caramellina.”
When I try to brush him off, he pinches my chin and pulls me tighter against him.
“I want to infect every part of your life, but this was too fast. I’m sorry. I won’t fuck you in the living room again until you’re ready.”
How in the hell did he know that was the catalyst for my mental break?
“But I can’t keep my hands off you for long. I’ll take you to and from work and give you every freedom I can during the day, but you’ll be in my bed every night. Capisci?”
Part of me wants to believe him, but I scoff and shake my head, needing to push him as far away as possible.
“Did you really just use the word freedom? That’s rich coming from you.”
He sighs and releases my chin. With a few smooth moves, he tucks himself away, fixes my clothes, and lifts me off the floor. I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to put my hands on him, and scowl when he sits me on the counter again.
Disgust and perverse delight war within me. My skirt does little to buffer how drenched my panties are. It’s gross. The counter needs to be sanitized now.
But I’m not ready to add another argument into the mix, so I sit with my arms crossed over my chest and a scowl on my face.
He pours a glass of water and hands it to me before pulling out his phone and leaning his hip beside my knee. I ignore the way my body wants to lean toward him and focus on drinking the water.
A knock on the door startles me, but after checking the peephole, Fiero opens the door and accepts my bag from the courier. With a pointed look, he demands I stay on the counter as he takes it to my bedroom. I swallow and eye the front door. He’s testing me.
I roll the empty glass between my palms and stare at the door handle until he returns. He takes the glass, refills it, and gives it back to me without a word.
A few minutes later, food delivery knocks on the door. I don’t move even when Fiero leaves the vestibule wide open as he pays and walks the delivery man back to the elevator. My stomach clenches at his cordial mannerisms. I set the glass down, grab the edge of the counter, and white-knuckle the laminate when the mess between my legs squishes.
He feeds me with one hip propped on the counter as I sit on the chilly surface, then boxes up the food, shuts it in the fridge, and cradles me to his chest. I grind my teeth, aggravating my headache as he sets me on my feet in the bathroom and strips me naked. After turning on the shower and testing the temperature, he guides me inside but leaves the curtain and door open as he stalks down the hall. I sigh and step under the spray.
My mind shuts off as I move through my normal shower routine, and for a moment, I pretend it was all a dream, but when a massive, dangerous mafia man darkens the bathroom doorway, the illusion shatters.
I ignore him as best as I can, even when he joins me in the shower. He crowds the space, so I finish and stand in the corner. With nothing else to do, I can’t help but watch him as he cleans himself. It’s sexy as fuck. I hate him for being so attractive.
He turns off the water and dries me head to toe before using the same towel on himself. I lotion myself while he’s distracted and dress in the clothes he brought from my room before he can stop me. The disappointment in his gaze fills me with yearning, but I pick up my brush and set to work on my hair while it’s wet.
He tugs his underwear onto his hips but drapes the rest of his clothes over his arm and leads me to my room. As I plug in my phone to charge, he shuts the door and hangs his trousers and shirt on my rolling clothes rack.
I don’t fight other than to glare at him when he pulls me down onto the bed, but he lies on his back, pulls me against his side, and demands I sleep with a terse word.
I wake alone and disoriented in my bed. Delicious smells pull me toward the kitchen, but I trip on my sheets and land on the floor with a graceless thud.
A masculine curse and heavy footfalls clear the fog from my brain. Fiero’s broad frame fills the doorway.
I’ve never seen the shirt stretched over his chest or the jeans hugging his waist. Embarrassment streaks through me as I realize how dumb I must look. He squats and frames my face in his hands.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I think so,” I croak.
I ache inside and out, but telling him will only stroke his ego, so I shift to a sitting position and push his hands away. He picks me up as though I weigh nothing and sits me on the bed. Before I can rise, he places a hand on my shoulder.
The pinching of my bladder demands attention now, so I huff and gesture to the bathroom. He carries me the few steps and leaves the door cracked behind him.
Not sure how to handle his courtesies, I take care of business and shuffle back into my room. I can’t recall ever feeling so stiff, even after years of all-nighters and endless shifts.
Several sets of masculine clothes hang next to mine on my clothing rack. A second charger sits beside mine on the bedside table. Four more pillows crowd the bed.
He moved in while I slept. I blink and turn as he saunters down the hall toward me. The tray in his hand—which I’ve never seen before—nearly overflows with pancakes, fresh fruit, sausage, and bacon.
“Did you cook?”
My voice sounds like I chain-smoked for a few decades, so I clear my throat and step out of his way.
“You slept for sixteen hours, but I figured you needed it, so I didn’t wake you. C’mon, mia caramellina, let me feed you before I send you off to work,” he says as he places the tray on the bedside table.
I check the time and date on my phone and sure enough, it’s eleven o’clock Tuesday morning, which means he pulled me into bed around six yesterday evening. I rub a hand over my face and make sure I didn’t miss a text from Katherine before he tugs me onto his lap on the bed.
Too discombobulated to push him away, I let him feed me and pamper me through a new morning routine, not even balking when he braids my hair with deft fingers and applies new moleskin on my feet. When he slips my shoes onto my feet and ties them while I sit on the bed, I sigh at his ridiculousness and accept my fate when he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the front door.
“Wait. I need to write a reply to my roommate,” I say.
He hesitates before lowering my feet to the floor. My fingers tremble as I write, but after a few sappy words, I add some doodles and sign off on the bottom with a much sweeter endearment than usual. Fiero’s eyes darken. My heart leaps into my throat, but when he grabs my nape and devours my mouth, I realize it’s from jealousy and not because he deciphered my hidden message to my sister.
He pulls away with a curse and ushers me out the door.
When he throws his arm over my shoulders and laces our fingers together, his wedding band clinks against mine.
He keeps me plastered to his side all the way to the glass doors of the emergency room, then after demanding I wait for him before heading home after my shift, he kisses me and walks away, leaving me breathless and needy.
I turn and walk into work like I have countless times, even though nothing in my life is the same.
If I’m jumpy throughout my shift, I tell myself it’s because I know the mafia man I treated plans to come back for me, not because Fiero isn’t by my side.
I don’t miss or crave my husband. At all.
I’m such a bad fucking liar.
