Page 38 of The Killer Cupcake
She pressed her back against the door as he pounded on it. The Wolf threatened to break it down. His threats were raw with desperation as he begged to fight with her, to reason with her, to make her understand his twisted logic. But gradually his voice faded, and all the memories crashed over her like a tsunami.
Ely and that damn war he insisted on joining, which took him from her, Carmelo’s fault. Her father's death, his father's death, the bloody cycle of vengeance that defined their world, their shared fault. That car hit Sandy in the street, and the way Carmelo had screamed in anguished tears when he’d picked up their broken daughter from the asphalt, saying it was his fault. The madness that had consumed him that day gave the Wolf complete control. The boy she loved died when his daughter’s skull was cracked and she bled in his arms. The poor driver of that car was tortured for weeks before the Wolf finally showed mercy and killed him with a hammer. And his and Maria’s kids were cast from his heart. Nicolas never recovered from losing his father’s love. He treated him in the same way Cosimo treated Matteo. It drove her and Maria into a friendship as they tried to protect the children from the Wolf. Their life was never the same after that moment.Hewas never the same. No matter how hard she loved or forgave him.
She stripped off the clinging dress and wrapped herself in a silk robe, then sat on the edge of the bed and let the memories slam into her consciousness. She got up and turned on the transistor radio, pulling up the antenna to get the news broadcast from New York. From the lake, she heard him listening to the baseball game at Yankee Stadium. She let it play, and God granted her wish after several news bites; the truth was laid bare. The broadcaster announced her death and the investigation. It was real. It was true. She was dead.
The Wolf started again, kicking at the door. Eventually, he forced the cabin door open—Aunt Janey had taught her that locks only worked if men allowed them to. But the door held. She could see him in her mind. He paced the small space like a caged predator, giving her an endless list of justifications for what he'd done, switching frantically between Italian and English as his control fractured completely—threatening the world if she refused to forgive and accept their condemned fate.
She watched him fall apart and said nothing, her mind working with the cold calculation that was her birthright. She had to pull this back from the brink. She remembered what Aunt Janey had taught her about managing dangerous men. She remembered her mother's marriage to her father and the calm in Brenda that often tamed the beast in Daddy. Carmelo wasn't in control, though he desperately believed he was. She was his strength and his weakness, his anchor and his destruction.
And she would have to fix this catastrophe to save them both. Or go down in flames with him, but save their child.
Though it killed something vital inside her to suppress the volcanic rage burning in her chest, she did it anyway. She stood and opened the door. He turned around with madness in his eyes. She opened her arms to the Wolf, knowing precisely what he needed to hear, what he needed to feel.
He was on her in an instant, holding her too tight, his robust frame shaking as he kissed her face and whispered false promises of change, of better days, of a future that didn't exist.
"Shhh..." she whispered against his ear, her voice soft as silk. "Stop talking. Just let me hold you."
Carmelo did as she commanded, and wept with relief to be forgiven. She held him close, stroking his hair as if he were a child, a mother comforting him. And she held back her fury, banking it like coals that would burn hotter for being contained.
For now.
But the Elliott women never forgot. And they never, ever gave in.
CHAPTER 17
THE WOLF, THE MAN, HER PLAN
Kathy turned over, her slight movement waking Carmelo immediately. She felt his touch, his hand sliding beneath the sheet, gently tracing from her hip toward her pelvis. She shut her eyes tightly, determined to ignore him. Twice already since their argument, he'd tried to seduce her or initiate intimacy, and each time she'd firmly told him no. She’d warned him that if he persisted, he’d have to leave her bed.
Yet, here he was, reaching for her pussy again.
“Stop, Melo,” she whispered, and shifted away. He moved with her, pressing his lips softly against her shoulder. His hand eased downward again, but she kept her thighs firmly closed. Rebuffed, his hand slid upward over her belly with a slow caress.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Just go to sleep," Kathy responded firmly, her voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who'd fought too many battles in one night.
His hand found her breast beneath the silk robe, making her roll her eyes behind closed lids—irritated yet helplessly conflicted. He always wielded their physical connection as his most devastating weapon, knowing exactly how it could shatterher carefully constructed defenses. Tonight, though, she was determined not to let him win so easily.
He had hurt their family, Sandy, and he wasn’t sorry. Not sorry enough.
She turned abruptly to confront him, but the moment her face aligned with his, his mouth captured hers. He moved with swiftness to put her beneath him before she could protest. Kathy's hand shot to his throat, applying just enough pressure to break the kiss and freeze him in place. Her nails pierced his jugular, and her gaze blazed with defiance.
He paused, breathing hard against her lips, though his powerful thighs had already pushed between hers, forcing her legs to part. She could feel the head of his erection, hard and insistent, positioned at her entrance—so close that the slightest movement of her hips would grant him access to what he craved most.
She held perfectly still.
His dark eyes met hers in a silent communication that was part plea, part command—that familiar combination of vulnerability and dominance that had always been her undoing.
They remained frozen in their intimate standoff, locked in a battle of wills that neither wanted to lose. The air between them crackled with tension, with unspoken words, with the weight of everything that had shattered between them tonight.
Finally, inevitably, her resolve cracked. Carmelo felt the exact moment of her surrender when her lower body responded, and she moved to give him access. He released a low groan and surged forward. She took him inch by inch, his cock slipping deep, her body welcomed him with reluctant acceptance. He filled her completely, each inch a claim, a promise, a punishment.
His mouth found the sensitive curve of her neck and collarbone as he pinned her wrists above her head, hismovements becoming more urgent, more desperate. Each thrust spoke of his fear of losing her, his need to possess her so completely that she could never leave him again—even as she lay beneath him plotting exactly that.
A wave of overwhelming despair crashed over her—for her daughter, for her family who believed she was dead, for the impossible situation Carmelo had trapped them both in. Without warning, Kathy burst into tears that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
Carmelo froze, alarmed. He looked down at her, crumbling emotionally beneath him, and something in him broke.
