Scowling, I stalk from my family’s private plane onto the tarmac in San Francisco.
The last place I want to be.
I’m supposed to be in San Diego, implementing my plans to reacquaint myself with my angel.
Instead, my eldest brother, Massimo, called me home for vague reasons. I came fearing that our father’s health had taken a severe and sudden nosedive.
Our father has bronchiectasis—where the airways have widened, causing excess mucus build-up and making the person more prone to infections. Most people with the disease live a normal life expectancy; however, for some reason, Papà isn’t responding to treatment. He has another lung infection and looked like hell a few days ago, so my worry isn’t unfounded.
Massimo’s armored, black Rolls Royce waits for us on the tarmac. Andro climbs into the passenger seat beside Gabriele, who is driving. I climb into the back, and Massimo fills a good portion of the back seat with his broad frame. With my width as well, our shoulders almost touch.
Mass looks how he always does—like the Don he’s been groomed to be—powerful and dangerous in an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit. Today’s is a green so dark it’s almost black, with a white button-down, dark tie, and Berluti Oxfords. His hair is as polished as the rest of him, with the sides cut shorter and the slight waves on top styled back. His dark brown eyes silently assess me and my scowl.
“Gabe, my man, good to see you,” Andro says in a chirpy voice as he drops his fist on top of Gabriele’s. Andro is hungover as fuck, but his motto is always ‘fake it until you make it.’ He twists in the seat, grinning at Massimo. “Looking good, cugino.” Cousin. His blue eyes flick to me. “My other cousin is in quite the pissy-pants mood, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“Dick,” I mutter, leveling my scowl at Andro, which makes the bastard laugh and turn in his seat to chat with Gabriele as he drives us from the airport.
Gabriele is Massimo’s head bodyguard. His inky black hair is pushed back, and the scar from his ear down his neck is visible, as are the scars on his hands as he grips the wheel. He’s the only person Massimo trusts to protect his back as much as he trusts Vito. And as Massimo’s best friend, Gabriele is also considered family.
Massimo continues assessing me. “Why the bitchiness about coming home early?”
Bitchy doesn’t even come close to what I’m feeling.
Irritated and irate—irrationally so—more like it. I had plans to hunt down my obsession later. My angel, Sophie Demeanus. I was going to give her the day to return to her dorm, thinking she was free, but I had plans for her tonight.
Plans that are now derailed and on hold indefinitely until I can get my ass back to San Diego. The real estate development project will absorb me, especially as we get it up and running. My team is ready to go on all project fronts—administration, planning and development, construction, design, and environmental considerations. However, the initial start-up always requires more of my direct oversight. It’s a lot to manage, along with the operation of our businesses—hotels, restaurants, clubs—and the other real estate and construction projects on the go. I had been looking forward to the two days I had in San Diego, so I could use that time to focus on my angel and to better acquaint us with each other before the mayhem began.
“I had plans.” I clench my jaw but make myself relax as my brother regards me. “You were vague as shit on the phone, Mass. Why did you call me home? Is it Papà?”
He looks like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar: guilty as hell. “There’s a dinner tonight.”
“Oh, fuck no.” I glare at him furiously. “You did not summon me home for one of Mamma’s match-making dinners, you motherfucker.”
“If Vito and I are suffering through it, you can bet your ass you are, too.” Massimo’s smile is smug, and he adjusts the front panel of his suit jacket.
Andro turns around and bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Damn, I’m so glad my side of the family is only in the upper ranks and not the Don-ship line.” Massimo scowls at our cousin, who just grins back at him and says in a serious tone, “With great power comes great responsibility.”
“Asshole,” Massimo grumbles.
But Andro isn’t wrong; there is a built-in pressure to produce heirs for our line. Mamma has been on her boys for years to get our asses to the altar and start giving her grandbabies. Thankfully, our father hasn’t forced us to marry for alliance purposes, which is common in our world, especially for the heir. The only thing that saves us is that our parents had married because of love.
With Papà’s health declining, Mamma has become a bit manic about at least one of her sons marrying before the inevitable happens. It is heartbreaking, not only because we’ll lose our father before any of us are ready, but also because our parents’ love is deep, devoted, and true. If there’s such a thing as soulmates, our parents have found theirs in each other.
Pushing my gloomy thoughts of the future away, I glare out the window.
I was torn away from Sophie for what promised to be an unbearable meal, where either I or one of my brothers was essentially being pimped out. My only saving grace is I know it likely wouldn’t be me in the crosshairs tonight. We all know that whoever Mamma has invited—both the woman, who is probably a little greedy wench of a girl, and her parents—will look to get their claws into Massimo as the heir.
As the corporate world brother, I wouldn’t be the first choice, nor would Vito, unless the woman was a bit unhinged, just like him.
With Massimo nearly certainly in the spotlight tonight, I’m double-pissed I was pulled away from my plans with Sophie.
Plans that involved her in my bed again, riding me hard like she had this morning as her perky tits bounced, bending her over the kitchen island, wrapping her dark hair in my fist and making her scream, as well as impaling her tight pussy on my cock over and over as I pinned her against the window. I had plans of reddening her ass, having her come on my face, painting her tongue with my cum, and seeing if she would come from only nipple play.
And I want to see if that feeling of home happened again as I’m sheathed deep inside her and as she slept in my arms in my bed.
The thoughts of all my plans for my sweet little angel—who, underneath, is a dirty, naughty siren just for me—are making my cock harden, and an erection is the last thing I need. I focus on my anger, which cuts the edge.
“Fuck, Creed, you look like you have murder on your mind.” Massimo eyes me closely, then flashes another smug grin. “Those must have been quite the plans I disrupted.”
Andro twists in his seat again, but my glowering glare makes him shut his mouth.
Andro doesn’t know any details about last night; he only suspects I got laid. He doesn’t know that I took Sophie home, into my bed, and slept with her all night—things that have never happened with any woman before her. He and Massimo would shit themselves, and they’d know that Sophie is the real deal for me.
I never believed in love at first sight, but fuck me, I don’t even know the woman yet, but I can easily see Sophie by my side for life, big and round with my baby. I want six of them with her. I want that smile and laugh she gifted me last night.
And I am the first man to make her come, and, goddammit, I’m determined I’ll be the last.
Fuck a duck. I’m a goner.
I stroke my chin, hiding my smile. Yep, I was a goner, and I don’t even give a shit.
Sophie Demeanus is my goal. And as soon as I can convince my angel that our souls are two halves—how the jagged edges of each of us fit together perfectly as one—she’ll be Sophie Santoro.
