Cellie's POV

Rrrring. Rrrring.

I let out a lethargic groan, my head pounding furiously as I rolled over on a bed softer, larger and more comfortable than I remembered mine to be.

Rrrring. Rrrring.

That incessant ringing of a cell phone nearby was practically blasting my ears to bits. I felt around for my phone, wanting to answer it, but my hand came to rest on a hard, naked chest. I froze, my thoughts and heartbeat coming to a standstill, only to start again even more ferociously as my head swam with memories from last night while I tried to place why I was in bed with someone else, a man from the look of things.

I splayed my fingers and coasted down the chest. Too smooth and broad to be Kevin, my on again, off again boyfriend I usually hooked up with when I needed my fix.

RRRRING. RRINGGG. RRR—

The annoying ringing was cut short by a pissed off voice demanding in a heavy accent, "What is it?"

My eyes flew open, my heart stilling at the deep, husky voice that was unfamiliar until yesterday. Last night, to be precise.

Hot humiliation and ice cold fear warred in my chest, my heart sinking into my stomach as the memories came crashing down.

No. No. No.

I could already hear the words, the accusation. You filthy slut. Dirty whore. Your own stepbrother you only just met. How did this happen?

I sat up in the bed, clutching the sheets to my chest, my heart beating my lungs to death and pumping dread and horror into my veins. This can't be happening.

Blinking rapidly, I saw my clothes in a heap by the door, my undies strewn on the chair, my shoes lying in one corner of the room. I desperately tried to remember what happened last night that had led to me in bed with my new stepbrother, Demetrio DeLeon, the don of the entire Italian mafia and most dangerous man in Chicago.

My mother was getting married to his father, Manuel DeLeon, the retired godfather of the city. She had invited me for the little get together Manuel was throwing to celebrate their union. As usual, Penelope, my mother, and I had gotten into an argument about what I was wearing and why I wasn't even trying to fit in with the crowd, and I had drunk myself silly to drown her incessant tittering.

Worthless. Piece of shit. Mistake.

The accusations were piling up on top of me, squeezing my heart of everything I had in me. I could hear his voice, feel his lips, his hands and teeth as he repeated those dreaded words over and over again. The used condoms on the floor sealed the deal for me.

Anxiety racked my bones. A scream climbed up my throat. Sickness churned in my stomach and I swallowed down bile as I wrapped the sheets around myself, rocking back and forth as the reality of this situation dawned on me.

Whore. Whore. Whore.

I need to get out of here.

Demetrio was still talking about God knows what on the phone and my common sense kicked in, deciding that now was the perfect time to make my escape if I wanted to leave unscathed. I stepped out of the bed, almost tripping over myself, thanks to my blurry, tear-stained vision, and managed to put my clothes on.

"Stop right there."

The voice commanded, thick and deep and demanding. I swallowed, every cell in my body fighting against the sheer common sense to obey. But there's not a single man alive that will tell me what to do and the most dangerous man in the city isn't going to change that.

I was going to leave him right there, however the sound of a gun cocked in my direction stopped me in my tracks.

"Turn around."

I did. Slowly. Grudgingly. But only because there was a gun aimed at my head.

Demetrio DeLeon was too good-looking for his own good but the darkness in his eyes ruined it for me. How on earth did I end up in bed with a man like him? From past experience, I knew better than to mess with men in the mafia but somehow, the reasons had blurred in my head last night.

He was lying in bed, silk white sheets twisted around him. My face paled at the recent scratches on his body, his heavily mussed hair, the lipstick marks on the corner of his lips, his body. My cheeks burned as I remembered the feel of his naked skin against mine, his rough hands cupping my body.

"Who the fuck are you?"

I blinked, hurt and annoyance eating at my chest, softening my retort because he was currently armed and dangerous. I had heard a lot of rumours about the don. Most people agreed that he was a little too trigger happy and the last thing I needed right now was my murder on his bloody hands.

"Cellie. Cellie Bianchi."

The blank look in his eyes sparked with annoyance at my last name. That makes two of us.

"Fuck!" He cussed angrily, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked up at the ceiling and blew out a frustrated breath. He looked at me again, his jaw clenched. Tension and unease coiled tight between us like a tight spring.

"Pack your shit and leave," he muttered, tossing his gun on the nightstand and folding his large arms as he stared at me with unsettling grey eyes.

I rolled my eyes because that's exactly what I was trying to do before he chose to acknowledge my existence. I could still feel his irritated stare burning my back before I shut the door firmly behind me, hoping to put this day and this experience far behind me.

I had no such luck, because the first person I ran into as soon as I left the room was a disgruntled Penelope. Her eyes widened at my rumpled and haphazard state and I watched as she squinted at me, registering my messed up hair, rumpled clothes and the direction I was coming from.

"You bitch!" She snarled, grabbing my arm and yanking me into an enclosure in the wall. "I took a big risk getting you involved in this family and I won't have you ruining everything for me before I have even officially married Manuel."

A panic attack was clawing its way up my throat but I swallowed it down and schooled my expression because from experience, I knew to always, always plead the fifth.

"Let go of me. I did nothing wrong."

Nothing that she knows of, anyway.

Her fingers dug into my skin as she pulled me in and sniffed at me, her face pinching into a scowl. "Don't lie to me. You're just a whore. Always was, always have been. Of course you'd jump right into the bed of the first man you find."

It occurred to me that she didn't know who I had slept with. She probably didn't believe her own words. I could see why she was overreacting this way when she used to look the other way when it came to matters concerning me. Managing to score a man like Manuel DeLeon after years of barely scraping by was a damn near impossible feat. She had the opportunity to live in the lap of luxury from this marriage with him, of course she wouldn't want anyone to ruin it.

"Look, mama, I didn't do anything, I promise. I just got drunk last night and had one of the servants find me a room. I just woke up and I'm incredibly hungover and I'll appreciate if you can hound me about your false suspicions some other time."

Her hold on me slackened, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, proving my theory correct. She didn't know a damn thing and was just suspecting the worst about me.

"I'm not your mama," she spat acidly as her last jab before she walked away.

My shoulders slumped and I exhaled another breath I didn't even know I had been holding, and I found my way out of the dreaded mansion.