Chapter Twenty-eight

Celia

The restaurant is an exclusive steak and seafood one I’ve always wanted to try. When we walk through the door, we’re fawned over and I’m finding it hard to act like it’s not a big deal.

Once we’ve selected our dinner, Milos sets a new phone on the table. “How did you know?”

A tug of his lips. “You don’t really want to know how.”

“Because you’re still watching me.” I exhale as I think of it.

An eyebrow goes up. “Bingo.”

“Where are the cameras?”

That exhale of air that’s almost a laugh. “Everywhere. If you want to change anything in the condo, wall color, put in carpeting or something, it’s your home to do so.”

I blink at the change of subject. Obsession…me. If he’s obsessed with me maybe it will keep him from fucking another woman—I’ll take it, for now. “Thank you, but it’s beautiful. There isn’t a thing I would change. It’s so different than your last condo, light and airy while still being cozy.”

“It’s up to you, if you change your mind let me know. I thought it might keep you busy while your rescue is being finished.”

“It’s okay, I can wait. I’m wondering though, what exactly am I allowed to do while I’m not working at the rescue?”

An eyebrow goes up. “There are any number of things you are allowed to do. However, I have several charities that could benefit from your involvement.”

“Really?”

He chuckles. “I am crushed at how surprised you sound.”

I shrug, embarrassed. Not only for being surprised, but for not finding out until now. It was also one of the things I loved most about Milos, he didn’t brag about the good things he did—he just did them. “What charities are they?”

“The breast cancer charity my mother started, while she is involved of late she mentioned she is looking forward to you taking over. She hasn’t done a late-night event in some time. There is also a foundation that’s a catchall for everything from rent, bills, grocery assistance to paying for scholarships to better schools for recent immigrants. Then there is Safe Haven. At this time there are six safe houses for women and children who are survivors of trafficking. It can be time-consuming. My mother has also headed it but only part-time, and would appreciate it if someone else took it over altogether.”

“Wait, you started Safe Haven? I thought…” The foundation was huge, one of the largest, most all-encompassing sources of help for victims of trafficking. Milos founded it?

A casual lift of one broad shoulder. “I’m sure I do not need to know what you thought.”

“When did you start it?” For some reason I need to know.

Those eyes meet mine. “Four years ago.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. “I would be honored to take over running it.”

“Good.” One word, then our appetizers are placed in front of us.

That night we fall into bed in heightened need. My dress is pulled up, panties yanked down. Milos is barely out of his pants before he’s on his back, lowering me onto his cock. We’re both so greedy it’s only minutes until we hit our climax. I fall onto him, loving the strength of him beneath me.

“Do you have your own room here?” I wonder after I can finally find my tongue.

He stiffens. “No. I will if you want me to.”

I push up, shaking my head. “I don’t.”

He runs his hand over my cheek. “I come to bed late, don’t sleep long, and sometimes it feels like the calls never stop in the middle of the night. Sleeping in my own room was for you.”

Relief has me melting into him. I slide my lips over his. “I’d rather get two hours with you than eight all by myself. I want you here with me.”

“Then here is where I’ll be.”

Just like that, so easy.

His hand finds the zipper and he’s pushing my dress off me. “That was too fast. I think this time will last much longer.”

“You might be able to last longer, but I can’t.” I moan as his hands roam over my ass.

“Let’s find out.”

***

Celia

The next week and a half passes in a happy, sex-filled blur. We go out for dinner every night and to places like the Art Institute, the theater, and even the opera. I’m introduced to the mayor, senators, congressman, alderman, as well as several celebrities. Every time Milos gives my name proudly and calls me his wife. If the person mentions the wedding they thought hadn’t happened yet, Milos grins and says now that they met me, do they blame him for not being able to wait for a ceremony to call me his wife? The ceremony is for everyone else, our marriage was for us.

I can’t help glowing beneath his compliments over how well I handled myself and the people we met. His whispering how proud he was of me had me down on my knees for him, desperate to show him I could be even better—that I could be everything he needs and wants.

Over dinner we talk about everything, except the one thing I want him to—his business.

Things seem to have cooled down. There are less middle-of-the-night calls, and once there isn’t a single call for an entire day. At the same time he still needs to work for his legitimate business, and those hours are almost as long. It hurts he won’t talk to me about the things that keep him away from me.

Another thing I can’t stop stressing over is the way sex is different. He hasn’t spanked me at all, no rough fucking. I’m the one who instigated the three blow jobs I’ve given him and he hasn’t even taken me from behind.

Once I pled for him to fuck my ass. It lasted for almost an hour as he prepared me slow and sweet, bringing me to orgasm three times before he slowly fucked my ass with his cock. The way I knew he would, he brought me to climax while he was inside me there, then finished inside my cunt. “For seeding you,” he whispered low.

Every time he touched me, he was sweet and gentle. I loved it, but there were times I missed his hand in my hair, the sting of his hand slapping my ass, the way he used me for his pleasure. I’m deeply ashamed I want him to call me a slut again.

Which is why I don’t dare say a word—I’m too embarrassed. All I can do is wonder if I’m satisfying him, giving him what he needs. And deep down, what I need too.

Maybe it’s why I’m in a bad mood, when I wake up without him. I’ve gotten spoiled waking up in his arms. I love how we end the night with sex and wake up with it, sometimes in bed, sometimes in the shower, but every morning we woke up together we had sex. Even if he left me to sleep, he didn’t just leave me. This morning, waking up to find out he did cuts at me.

There’s a text waiting, he’ll be out all day for business. Dinner at seven and a gallery showing at eight thirty. Instantly, I’m annoyed. I don’t want to go out. I want to stay home, wearing one of his shirts, eat too much pasta in front of the television then go to bed early.

I don’t respond to his text, deciding to go for a long soak. When I’m done I wrap myself in a robe and go into the kitchen to find something to eat. The housekeeper who comes in daily is an amazing cook who keeps the fridge stocked.

After I eat I go back into the closet, not interested in getting dressed but aware I can’t walk around in my robe. Then I decide why not and don’t bother getting dressed.

When Milos texts an hour before he’s due to come home, it’s with the question if I’m almost ready. I ignore it. Fifteen minutes later my phone rings.

“What?”

A beat that pulses with displeasure. “What’s with the attitude, Celia?”

Him using my name stings. Then I’m annoyed all over again. “We never do what I want. You never ask me, do you want to get dressed up fancy and go out? You just assume. I don’t want to go out tonight. I’m not in the mood—”

“A mood is definitely—”

“Fuck you. It’s always what you want. What you decide. You still won’t talk to me about your business. Still keep me in one corner, never letting me out. I’m tired of it.” Why the fuck am I yelling? I don’t even recognize myself. Embarrassed, I end the call. What the hell is the matter with me?

I get a text, I assume it’s from Milos but it’s the dressmaker. My final fitting appointment is tomorrow—the ceremony is three days from today. Is that why I’m freaking out? No, that doesn’t make any sense. We’re already married, I also completely forgot about it until the text reminded me. Which is kind of crazy in itself—who forgets their wedding?

Great, we’ve made so much progress and I go and screw it up by being a freaking brat for no reason even I understand. I stomp into the bedroom to get ready by way of an apology.

***

Milos

Fucking hell. I tell Danil to stop off at Tony Sabatini’s bookstore. In the time it takes to get there, I wonder if it’s time. If I dare. The last few weeks have been amazing, a few times I even came close as we lay wrapped around each other in bed. I’m not sure what is holding me back, her or me.

I enter through the back. The door down to his office is guarded by a longtime soldier who recognizes me and opens the door marked storage. I’m down the stairs to the office where the bookie business Tony operates is run.

Most of the area that runs the length of the building is set up with four desks where the men take bets. The door to Tony’s office opens, but it isn’t Tony, it’s Luca.

“Hey, come on in.” He steps back to let me in.

I go in, hesitant. “Your father is unavailable?”

“Pop retired, remember?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot.” I go to stand.

“Have a seat, let me get you a scotch, you look like you need it.” Luca is up pouring, leaving me to feel rude if I refuse.

“Thanks, I apologize for intruding.”

Luca leans back. “You weren’t. Compared to what I did in Vegas, this can get a little boring. It’s a good boring though. I don’t mind. Problem with Celia?”

Sipping deep on the whiskey, I give a slight nod. “Always of my own making though.”

He doesn’t say a word, just waits.

I throw the whiskey in one gulp. “She wants me to discuss business with her. I don’t and now she’s mad. I would do anything to protect her from this world. I have done things she’ll never know. I would do them all again.” I shake my head as I squeeze my eyes shut. “I fucked up and didn’t protect her properly. Someone out to kill me put a gun to her head. She knew I’d trade my life for hers without hesitation—wouldn’t let me do it. Celia killed a man, for me. Blood all over her small, delicate hands. I never wanted that for her.”

Luca studies me. “Pop… at the beginning of me meeting him and getting to know him, I admitted I had no love for my mother. She saddled me with a fucker for a ‘father’ when I could have had Tony. The woman was a fucking basket case, tried to commit suicide after my uncle died when I was a kid. Then just drank her days away until cancer destroyed her. As she lay dying she could have given me Tony, by that time I had no relationship except business with my supposed father.”

I was always curious about how Luca only came to find out Tony was his real father two years ago.

His smile is nothing more than a small tug of his lips. “Most men who felt they were done wrong by an ex would have exploited my resentment to make themselves look even better. Tony, ever Tony, he didn’t. He tells me that to say you would die for your children—for anyone, it’s bullshit. Dying might be scary, but it’s easy. Nothing easier than letting go and slipping away. It’s the living every day, getting up and making it from one minute, one hour to the next—that is love.”

Those years without Celia, come back to me. Waiting was hell. The hours crawled by and every day felt like two. If I hadn’t known I would have her in the end, I’m not sure how I would have gotten through the day.

“I gotta tell you when he said it, I might have heard him, but I didn’t get it. Until I was hanging from a fucking rafter with a dead eye bleeding out. Nothing in the world would have been easier than to let go. It wasn’t an option. All the pain was chump change to the payout of Bella waiting for me. Having her every day, and to find out she’s pregnant with twins…” He shakes his head as he smiles.

I hadn’t heard about the twins.

“Celia wants you to live for her, to live with her. It doesn’t matter how young she is, she’s no weakling, she has fire. She was raised to be the wife of mafia. It didn’t matter Carlo said he never meant for her to marry into la familia. The way his mother raised her was mafia. Protecting her isn’t protecting her, it’s shutting her out. I know from experience running a city is so fucking consuming, you have nothing left for her if you don’t let her in.”

I admit my fear. “I don’t want her to see the ugly part of what I do. Of what I am. Once she did it, saw the ugly part—that our family and me used to be into trafficking and the look on her face... I never want to see it again. What if she sees something in me again and it pushes her away from me?”

“She saw it and you’re together now. She’s already seen all of you. It hasn’t made her love you any less. That’s a part of loving. Seeing all the dark and dirty and loving anyway. She has that for you. She is that for you. You don’t get what you deserve in life, you get what you fight for. Celia is fighting for you. Do you really want to keep fighting her?”

***

Celia

I’m curled into the couch in a black velvet wrap dress. I don’t hear the front door, I feel Milo’s eyes on me. “I’m sorry.” I push the words out.

He takes off his jacket, tossing it onto the sofa. Then begins undoing his cuff links. “Take off your dress.”

I sit up wondering what’s happening…is it sex? It doesn’t feel like it. But I don’t argue. As he begins tugging down his tie, I unbutton where the wrap part is fastened and let it fall to the ground.

“Now your bra.” Deft fingers unbutton his shirt faster than I ever have.

Allowing the bra to fall to the floor, I wait, watching with hungry eyes as his bare chest—

“Arms out.” He’s right in front of me now.

Obediently, I hold them out. Taking off his shirt, he slides it over me, careful with my arms. Then he’s in front of me, using the ends to tug me close.

“I’m sorry too. You don’t want to go out, we won’t go out. I need you to talk to me. Use your words, saying something other than fuck you would be good. What have I told you, over and over, Celia?” The words are low, with a hint of roughness to them I don’t understand.

“Good girls get what they want. But I thought I was being good by doing what you wanted,” I try to explain.

An eyebrow lifts. “Do you really think I want to spend the evening at the symphony when I could have you in my arms and bed all night? As much as that’s what I would prefer, I was trying to show you that isn’t all you are to me.”

“Oh.” I exhale. Do not fucking cry.

His chuckle skims up my tummy. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Pasta in marinara sauce, I don’t know if I want chicken parmigiana or meatballs though,” I rush to tell him.

A nod. “Okay, and do you want to eat at the table or in front of the television?”

“Television, please. There’s a new series I want to watch.”

He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’m going to place an order and have it delivered. When it gets here we’ll eat on the couch in front of the television. For now I’m going to change.”

As he walks away, I sigh. Fuck. How long before I break down and tell him I love him? And what will he say when I do?

While we’re waiting for dinner, he gets a call. “One minute,” he says as he goes into his office.

I’m smiling over him, ordering both spaghetti and meatballs and chicken parmigiana. His order is for linguini and clams. I spread everything out on the coffee table.

He walks in just when I give up and am sitting down. “Everything okay?”

His jaw clenches tight as he sits down. Ignoring the food, his elbows go down on his knees. Clasping his hands together, he stares down at them. “I don’t like talking about what I do with you. It’s dirty and dark and you are pure and light. I don’t want it getting on you. I wanted my home to be separate from work. Not to touch you and our children. I would have given every dime I have for you to have never even held a gun, let alone fired one and killed someone with it. Seeing you with a gun to your head…”

Setting down my plate, I press a finger to his lips as I lean into him. “I hated the mafia life. I didn’t want anything to do with it. There was nothing anyone could have told me to make me accept it. It had to be as ugly and violent and terrifying as being beaten and almost raped and left for dead on a country road in the middle of nowhere to accept it didn’t matter what I wanted; deep down, this life is a part of who I am. The Outfit or Bratva, a rose by any other name is still the same. I tried being normal, a civilian fighting against it, and I hated it. I might be light to you, I will always try to give you the light you need, but you putting me in the dark is taking you away from me. It’s you who makes me happy enough to be light.”

The sigh that comes out of him is heavy. “All right. You win.”

I press my lips to his. “We win.”

His kiss is gentle, a seal of our agreement. He talks about the phone call. The truck delivering a shipment of weed to his brothers in Philadelphia had slid off the highway in the rain and needed someone to help him immediately, before Highway Patrol stopped to see if they could do anything.

While we eat we watch the show, but it isn’t as good as I hoped, so once we’re done Milos hands me the remote to let me find something else. We agree on a movie. Milos settles into the corner of the couch.

He catches me staring. “What?”

I bite my lip, worried it will sound clingy.

A rough hand wraps around my hair. “Use your words, kotyonok.”

“I want to watch the movie in your lap—”

Before I can finish, I’m in his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around me. “This work for you?”

I snuggle into him, inhaling deeply. “Perfect.”

The movie isn’t any better, it doesn’t keep our attention. Halfway through when I’ve yawned for the second time, the hand over my stomach slips down, covering my aching core.

“You watching the movie, baby?” he whispers in my ear.

Shaking my head, I lift my hips, welcoming his touch.

“I can smell your cunt wet for me.” I moan at the way his fingers tease me over my panties. Then the panties are gone, leaving me sighing in relief.

He slides down to lie flat on his back, leaving me sitting on his lower stomach. Grasping my hips, he lifts me up over him. I think he’s going to put me on his cock but he lowers me over his face. “Ride my face like you ride my cock.”

Scared of suffocating him or something, I try to stay up on my knees, but Milos won’t let me. His hands slide under my ass, opening me wider, bringing me further down on him. I give up, allowing him to control me. It never matters if I’m on top, Milos is always in control. I welcome it, glory in it.

I hit my climax in minutes as he works his tongue over my clit and his fingers inside me. Only Milos isn’t done, not even close. This time he cruelly uses his teeth over my sensitive clit as those fingers move from inside my dripping core, into my tight ass. I shatter as I fight for air, trying not to go under. Those fingers don’t leave my ass as he sends his tongue deep then sucks on my inner lips. He’s nowhere near my clit when three fingers fuck me and send me crashing into a climax so intense I shatter with a scream.

His fingers never stop moving in my ass, forcing my orgasm to extend to a point I feel like I’m breaking apart. Please, I’m begging him to stop. It’s too intense, please, no more. But Milos fucks my ass harder, faster and fuck him no, no I lose the fight and my whole body shudders as I fall over him. Sinking into the blackness.