Page 94 of Capo

“Make sure his family is safe,” I growl. “Provide for them.” I point at two of the men. “You and you, come with me. Ivan, call my other fucking pilot and tell him to get his ass to the airplane now.”

“Yes, sir! He’s gonna need a co-pilot.”

“I’ll fucking co-pilot this ride,” I snarl. “Get to it! And put people on finding whoever did this to Emmett and finish these people off!”

The feeling of urgency tears at me. In the car I phone the village, the two numbers I have, but there’s no answer. Panic climbs up and down my chest as the plane starts moving along the tarmac. They’ll slaughter her. They’ll make sure she suffers for the connection she has with me. They’ll burn the village to the ground along with every last member of my extended family.

I connect with the able-bodied men from Bietini and get them to drop what they’re doing and head home on the double. They’ll be there way ahead of me and whatever plays out, plays out. No matter what happens, it’ll be over when I get there, but I can’t sit on my ass in San Francisco either. I gotta go.

After three hours in the air, I get the message that it’s been handled. Everyone is all right, including ‘the blonde Signorina’.

“Do we turn around, sir?” asks the pilot.

I think for a moment, then I shake my head. I need to see her with my own eyes. I need to put my hands on her. I need to know that she’ll cope. My fucking shit is damaging her, and the fear that it’s beyond repair itches in me. There’s a reason I haven’t brought her home yet, even though I could have done that a couple of days ago.

It’s not the basement. It’s not the restoration of the house.

I simply don’t know what to do with this woman. I don’t know where to go from here. It’s pathetic. It’s not like me. Still, it’s the ugly truth.

It’s fucking far, flying to Sicily. I’ve done this journey plenty and I’m used to it. The little village has been my sole source of peace and quiet over the years. There’s good food, the pace is slow, and the nights are quiet. Today, though, it seems to take forever. The sun rises over Paris, with the Eiffel Tower as a dark silhouette. When we land, we’ve fast forwarded into the next day.

My phone finally reconnects and I have dozens of missed phone calls. Most of them from Chloe. A few from other numbers I don’t know. The text messages come popping, flickering over the screen. They calm me somewhat. The men are lingering in the village. A house has been burnt to the ground. No one is hurt. I’ll rebuild it of course. This is my shit that struck these people. I won’t let them suffer more than they already have. If there’s something I’ve come to appreciate, in a brutal crash course this last week, it’s having roots, somewhere to land where you don’t have to play a role.

There are people everywhere. I step out of the car in the middle of the square and wave for a man to come to me, asking for the blonde Signorina. At home, he says.

I walk. It’s not far. Tension rises in me. I could have called her back once my phone connected, but I didn’t want to hear her voice. I need to see her.

The old, chipped wooden door once painted blue, the color now faded by the harsh sun, is unlocked and I slam it open.

Chloe stands in the kitchen, wearing a flowery little dress that ends mid-thigh. Alessandra crouches before an open cupboard, her back to me. Both spin around when they hear me. Chloe’s mouth falls open and she widens her eyes. I gesture for the other girl to disappear.

“Out!”

She twitches and flees out the door without a word. Chloe stands as if glued to the spot. I kick the door shut and stalk toward her, then I grab her hips and lift her up on the counter, crashing my lips to hers as I mold her body to mine.

“Mine,” I growl.

Chloe

The sucking feeling in my stomach when Luciano Salvatore barges into the little cottage almost makes me double over. I jump when he growls for Alessandra to leave, gasp when he slams the door closed, and then it’s just us. I’m transfixed by his heated gaze as he strides toward me.

I’m still high on adrenaline from yesterday and haven’t slept even one minute. I took long walks in the dark. The lights were on in most houses and I counted many insomniacs last night. My insides itch and I’m filled with restless energy that has had no release.

Luciano doesn’t waste a second, he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t ask permission. Crushing me to him, wedging his body between my thighs, he claims my mouth as his hands grab my hips, slide to my ass and press me against him. His cock grows hard, making sparks of desperate need shoot through me.

“Mine,” he growls, almost like an animal. The back of my head hits the cupboard, but I barely feel it.

“Yes,” I gasp and tear at his shirt, pulling it up over his head, and oh my God, he’s beautiful. He’s strong, totally biteable, filled with danger and heat.

His hands slide up to my waist, grabbing the fabric of my dress and pulling at it. “Get out of this, or I’ll tear it.”

A whimper escapes me as heat rushes to the pit of my belly, to between my legs where his cock presses insistently against my pussy through the obstacle of too much fabric. I lift my butt slightly and clutch the hem of my dress, pulling it up over my head in one move, tossing it on the counter next to me. Goosebumps race across my thighs as he slides his hands along them, a deep rumble in his chest.

“Oh my God,” I gasp.

“Oh, you’re gonna pray, girl.” He takes a step back and in the next moment he’s pulled off my panties. I slam my thighs together on pure instinct. Luciano tsks and pushes them apart. I can only draw shallow breaths as his hands stroke the insides of my thighs, his touch soft, teasing, all the way up to my pussy. My stomach clenches when he caresses along my nether lips, parting them. “Oh, you’re wet, you bad girl.”

The only sound that escapes me is an incoherent mewl when he falls to his knees and puts his mouth to my already aching flesh. He licks along my slick seam, pushing his tongue inside, then replaces it with a finger as his tongue progresses up to my clit, flicking it, circling, rough, demanding, unrelenting.

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