Creed: Chapter 15

Utter bliss.

That’s the only way I can explain the past week.

We spent that first weekend tucked away, exploring and learning about each other.

Sophie told me about her family—her single mom, living with her grandparents, and the cousins she loves. She spoke about her cousins, not as their peer, but as someone who feels responsible for their well-being and happiness. The mothering instinct that exudes from Sophie isn’t lost on me, and every night, I dream of her pregnant, nursing one of our children, and the two of us together with a brood around us. She never speaks of her father, and I don’t push it. She’ll tell me when she is ready.

I told her about my family and privileged upbringing that was so different from hers; however, I keep it to only the legitimate parts of my family’s world. I know I have to come clean to her soon about the full truth about who and what the Santoros are. I know it’s selfish, and a total cunt move, that I haven’t told her already.

But I wanted to give her some time. Time—if I’m completely honest—that was to make her fall for me and realize who and what we are. Soulmates.

I know I can’t hold it back much longer without it blowing up like a landmine in my face, though. Because the longer I wait, the more it will seem like I’m hiding it from her. Which I am, yes, but…

I don’t want to distract or ruin the domesticated bliss and nice rhythm we have effortlessly created over the week, but I need to tell her soon. I promise myself I won’t keep putting it off.

This week has been heaven, even if it was busy. I stayed true to my promise of not being a distraction or hindrance to her goals—besides, I have a mountain of work myself.

During the day, she focuses on school and I focus on work, and the nights are ours together. Sometimes, she does schoolwork and I continue my work, but we do it together in my home office—me at my desk, her curled up on the sofa with her laptop.

I love her dedication to her schooling and her goals. When she told me she intended to get an education for a career that enabled her to help support her family, who had given her so much, I fell for her even more. I don’t agree that supporting her family is her responsibility, but I can appreciate her desire and commitment. Her love of family is everything to me.

Even her career choice is commendable, especially since I can tell it isn’t a career that’s her passion. When I pressed her about it, she admitted that things like boardroom domination and the world of investment aren’t her passion. Her dream job is more in the not-for-profit world, to help women break the cycle of poverty by helping to give them training, education, and whatever other supports they need to achieve housing and income stability. She immediately dismissed the dream because working in that sector isn’t known for its pay, and she’d never be able to help provide for her extended family.

I tried to get her to talk more about it and explore it, but she firmly shut the conversation down. It would’ve morphed into our first fight if I hadn’t relented, so I let it go temporarily.

So, the week has been pure bliss. Pure domesticated bliss. And I loved every second of it.

It will be hard when I head back to San Francisco; however, we’ll make it work, and I’ll come here every chance I can. I’m even toying with the idea of moving my headquarters to San Diego, something I’ve never contemplated because San Francisco is my home. But I’m willing to be wherever Sophie is.

Christ, I’m a lovesick bastard. I can already hear the taunting my brothers will give me, but I don’t give a fuck.

I smirk, mopping up the sweat on the back of my neck from my workout. Leaving my home gym, I walk down the hall toward my office and hear Sophie talking.

“Ollie,” she groans.

She’s speaking with her roommate, who Sophie hasn’t or won’t tell her anything about me. That fact sets me on edge, but I haven’t pressed it because I haven’t told anyone about the two of us, either. Andro knows because he’s here with me in San Diego, and I’m giving all my free time to Sophie. I’m not trying to hide Sophie from my family; however, right now, I want her all for myself. I’m becoming an obsessive, possessive bastard.

I also haven’t told my family yet because I need to get over the hurdle of telling her who my family is first. But it’s only been a week, and I rationalize every day that I have time to ease her into the idea.

I stop in the hallway, outside the office door, and shamelessly eavesdrop.

“Yes, Ollie, I swear he isn’t married… No, he’s not butt ugly. He’s actually hot as fuck…”

I grin, not only at her description of me, but at her swearing.

My sweet little angel rarely swears, unless I’m denying her orgasms and continuously bringing her to the brink, only to pull her back. Edging and orgasm denial makes my girl drenched and explode when I finally allow her to come.

My scalp still aches from her pulling on my hair this morning as I ate her out after bringing her to the brink six times. She had gripped my hair so tight as she sobbed her frustration and ground against my face, using my nose on her clit, so she could finally get off. She soaked my face as she came, and her screams echoed off the walls.

I squeeze the head of my instantly rock-hard dick as I remember and contemplate what I’ll do to her tonight.

“No, he’s not a serial killer…” I know she’s rolling her eyes based on her tone. “Well, I guess when I’m dead, then I’ll know for sure, won’t I?” she snarks, then laughs. “Is this all you want to talk about? Because if it is, then I gotta go… No, I warned you, Ollie…”

“Shut up.” She laughs again, and I love hearing her relaxed banter. Sophie doesn’t have many friends here, not that she lacks personality or anything. She’s like me, an introvert who focuses on quality relationships over quantity. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow. Bye, Pep-Rally. Like you a little.”

I know from Sophie that Ollie’s reply will be ‘Bye, Killjoy. Love you a lot.’

The rustling tells me Sophie has gotten off the sofa in the office, and I stay leaning against the wall just outside the door. When she exits the office, her eyes widen when she sees me.

Those copper streaks in her brown irises get me every time. My favorite thing about this penthouse is the cream-colored marble floors with rich bronze and copper swirls, just like her bronze-hued skin and the copper streaks in her eyes. It’s like the universe was preparing me for her.

“How much did you overhear?” She leans her shoulder against the doorway opposite from me. Her curvy hip in her stretchy jeans juts out with her stance.

I reach out and rub her hip, needing to touch her. “Close to the end where you assured her I’m not married or a serial killer. And you told her I was hot as fuck.” Both my hands grip her hips, and I tug her to me, loving how her breath stutters and her eyes dilate.

She wets her full lips. “You’re not, are you?”

“What? A serial killer? If I was, do you think I’d tell you, angel?” She swats my chest, and I smile. “I’m neither a serial killer, nor am I married.”

She chews her bottom lip, and I lean forward, tugging it free and suck on it. “This is mine to chew, angel.”

My actions and words don’t give me the response I was hoping for—a shiver and her obvious worry easing.

She pulls back from me, serious and searching my face. “Maybe you live common-law with someone?” she presses, her eyes darting between mine. “A girlfriend back in San Francisco. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I resist the urge to stiffen because I don’t want her to misunderstand or doubt our relationship. “There’s no one but you.”

She sags and rests her head against my chest, her cheek pressing over my heart. “I still expect the other shoe to drop, you know? Like this is too good to be true.”

Cupping her head, I hold it to my chest. “Do you feel and hear that, angel? That heart beats only for you.”

She snorts. “I’m not a physiology major, but I know that’s not how it works.”

But the emotion in her voice tells me my statement affected her.

The phone ringing interrupts my next thought. I pull my phone out from my sweatpants, glancing at it and seeing it’s my father “I have to take this,” I murmur. “It’s my father calling.”

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. “I’ll start dinner.”

“No. You work on your schoolwork; I’ll take care of dinner.”

“Mr. Santoro,” she walks backward from me, exaggeratedly swaying her curvy hips, “you’re going to turn me into a spoiled princess.”

“I’ll live my life spoiling you every day and worshipping you as a queen, angel,” I vow.

Her shock morphs into a smile of happiness, then she shyly turns away and goes down the hall. I answer my phone and step into my office, not bothering to close the door. “How are you, Papá?”

I put him on speakerphone, pulling out a contract that my COO sent me for a new tenant in one of our buildings.

“I’ve had better days, figlio.”

I straighten up, hearing the strain in his voice. His coughing follows. The mucus buildup in his lungs from his bronchiectasis is worsening. The doctors are trying every treatment they can, but he still isn’t responding, and he isn’t a candidate for surgery. It’s only a matter of time.

“You still have the lung infection?” I guess. “It’s getting worse?”

“Yes, they switched me to IV antibiotics now.”

“Do you need me to come home?”

“No, no. Your work in San Diego is important. Your old man lying in bed hooked up to an IV isn’t what you need to see, and there’s not much you can do,” he says gruffly. “There’s been a meeting for the ‘Ndrangheta called, though. I wanted to double-check about the plane.”

I flick a look at the open door.

“Massimo is going in my place,” he continues. “I really need to transfer power to him and make him Don soon.”

I glance again at the open door and curse myself for putting the call on the speaker; however, he rarely mentions any mafia-related business when speaking with me. The hallway is silent, though. I pick up my phone and take it off speaker, just in case.

“You know Massimo will fight you, tooth and nail, Papá.”

It’s not that Massimo will resist becoming Don; he’s been groomed his entire life for the position, and he passed the trails our father put him through. However, he’ll never want to take it over while our father still breathes. That would be disrespectful in Massimo’s mind and signal the inevitable end we all know is coming but refuse to accept or envision life without Tommaso Santoro.

‘I know he’ll fight me, but it’s time.’ He pauses as he coughs and wheezes, slowly catching his breath again. “Regardless, Massimo will be leaving for Catanzaro on Tuesday afternoon.”

“I’m home early Monday. The crew will have over twenty-four hours between flights, which will be fine. Vito is working with Zio Marco for security?”

“Si.”

“Do you need anything from me? I can come and stay at the house.”

“Your mother would love that.’ He laughs. ‘But be prepared for a parade of potential wives if you do.”

The alarm for my private elevator starts ringing, and I frown. That would go off if someone tried to come up without authorization.

Concerned for Sophie, even though I know she’s safe and secure with me in the penthouse, I leave my office to go to her, opening the app on my phone to view the security cameras. No one is inside the elevator or trying to access it from the lobby or the parking garage.

No one is trying to get up here…

However, the alarm will ring if someone tries to get out without the code, too.

A sinking feeling hits my gut, and I sprint down the hallway toward the foyer and elevator.

Sophie is at the elevator doors, trying to punch in a code to disable the lock; however, I haven’t shared it with her yet. Thank fuck.

When she spins around to stare at me with wide eyes filled with fear and pain, the floor feels like it has opened up to form a giant chasm between us.

She overheard the part of the conversation on the speakerphone.

Fuck.

“Papá, I need to go. I’ll call you later.”

I hang up without taking my eyes off the angel of my dreams, the woman who holds my heart and is my soulmate.

And know I’m about to lose her.