Page 50 of Bianchi

When he speaks, there's a hint of hesitation in his voice. “They provided us with the name and address of the person who called it in. I sent Daniele to check it out today.”

My eyes grow wide and I blow out a breath. “What did they say?” Oh God, what if they’re dead too? Desperation coats my words as they rush from my lips. “Did he find them?”

Standing in nothing but his slacks, with his buckle undone, Romeo holds his hand out for me. I go to him without question. He cups my face with a large, warm palm, his thumb stroking the curve of my cheek in a gesture that is far too intimate and caring. There’s an emotion swirling in the depths of his inky-blue eyes that I can’t quite name. I don’t know how we got here, to a place where being affectionate with each other was normal.

“He found him.” He pauses and I’m glad he does because his next words are like a punch to the face. “She didn’t kill herself, Aurora.”

Air rushes past my lips and my legs give way, but Romeo’s right there, banding a strong arm around my waist, pinning me to his chest. Instinctively, I wrap myself around him, burying my face in the thick column of his throat. “What exactly did they say?” I murmur softly.

Romeo sits us on the edge of the bed, dropping his hands to my thighs and smoothing the exposed skin. “There was a man on the bridge that night with a woman that matched your mother’s description. They couldn’t see his face but said he held a gun and forced her to climb over the railings.”

A sob gets lodged in my throat. She must have been terrified. “They—they made her jump?” My voice sounds foreign on my own ears.

Sincerity coats his words when he confirms, “I’m so sorry, Aurora. It looks that way.”

How could a person be so cruel?

On edge and with so many emotions vying for first place, I try to climb out of Romeo’s lap, but he only tightens his grip. Tears tumble down my cheeks, falling with abandon onto his smooth inked skin and my nails dig into his biceps as each sob hammers home the reality. I’m furious with myself for showing any weakness and grief-stricken that my mom was forced to end her own life. But somewhere in the depths of my soul, I also feel a sense of relief that I was right. That I knew her.

Where do I go from here? How do I get justice for my mom when I don’t know this world? Will Romeo help me or am I on my own in trying to figure this out?

Each unspoken question falls away unanswered. I might not know what happens now, but I do know that I won’t rest until the person responsible for my mom’s death is found. Inhaling deeply, I thrust out my chest and force my emotions down. I don’t want to be dragged into the darkness again, not yet.

Romeo swipes his thumb over my cheeks, and I suck in a shaky breath, blowing it out as I shift my gaze to the space between us. I’m hyperaware of the way I’m straddling him and the gentleness he’s shown when we both know that he shouldn’t.

A heaviness hangs in the air when our heated eyes meet. It’s filled with a need that’s always present whenever we’re together. He hasn’t touched me since the day I attacked him, and I would be remiss if I didn’t admit to missing the feel of his hands on my body. Hell, I’ve missed the way he fills me, but most of all, I miss the way he devours me afterward, like I’m his favorite meal.

My eyes flare a fraction before I blink rapidly to clear the surprise from them. How has this happened? How has Romeo Bianchi come to mean something to me?

I see nothing but heat and a hint of compassion in his expression. He doesn’t realize how deeply he’s rooted himself into my soul. God, he’s given me a reason to want to wake up each morning, and that is far more dangerous than anything he could have threatened to do.

I want to tell him how much I care for him, but the fear of rejection holds me back. Instead, we move in sync, doing the one thing we’re best at. Romeo drags his thumb under the hem of my bathrobe, pushing the fabric further up my thigh. I move my hands up his arms, smoothing them over his shoulders and into the hair at the nape of his neck.

In the blink of an eye, our mouths crash together, teeth clashing and tongues tangling. In one smooth movement, Romeo slides a hand around my throat, holding onto my thigh with the other as he flips our positions so that my back is pressed into the mattress and he’s hovering above me.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead on mine, dragging his hand down the center of my chest before undoing the knot of my robe. “Tell me what you want, Aurora.” His voice is throaty and authoritative, sending a ripple of need racing down my spine.

“I want you. I need you, Rome,” I plead.

Romeo rocks his hips into me, lifting my thigh higher on his waist to grant him greater access. I throw my head back, pushing my chest out and exposing the expanse of my throat.

I pull him into me and cup his face, ghosting my lips over his as I try to tell him how I feel without saying the words. Silently pleading with him to feel the same way.

He pulls away, searching my eyes, and for a moment, I’m afraid I’ve given away too much. The intensity of his gaze bores into me and I look away, needing him not to see any more than I’ve already shown him for one night.

I need to feel him.

To feel something good, in the midst of all of this heartache and pain.

My hands make light work of pushing his slacks and underwear down. Romeo kicks them off and they land with a dull thud on the carpeted floor.

Wrapping my fingers around his cock, I drag my hand up and down the length of him. Air hisses through his clenched teeth when I swipe my thumb over the pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“Be careful, Aurora. Or this will be over much sooner than you’d like,” he grinds out.

Dusting kisses over his jaw, I breathe, “I just want to feel you inside of me, filling me to perfection.”

My words must set off something inside him because he pulls away, turns me on my side, and positions his body behind mine. Lifting my leg, he runs the tip of his cock through my slit, coating his head in my juices before slowly easing inside. Muffled groans fall from my lips and into the comforter. My body stretches around him, welcoming the intrusion. Why does he feel so good inside of me?

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