Page 109 of Carnal

Zings fly through my body. "What you sound like when I punish you."

18

Pina

Several Months Later

"Shit!"Tristano mutters.

"What's wrong?" I ask, waking up and sitting up in bed. I glance at the clock. It's almost two in the morning.

He scrubs his face and rises. "I have to go."

My pulse creeps up. "Where?"

"Don't ask," he replies, then goes into the closet.

I get out of bed and follow him. He pulls a pair of designer jeans off the shelf. Over the last few months, Tristano's kept more and more things at my main place and the one in Manhattan. I cleared out a few drawers at each condo for him. It's rare we're apart at night except for when he's handling work issues. I accuse, "You're going to the club, aren't you?"

Tristano's face hardens. He glances at the ceiling then at me, staying quiet.

His silence tells me everything. My chest tightens. Anger builds, and I cross my arms.

"Don't look at me like that. You know I have no choice," he claims.

I turn and leave the closet, snapping over my shoulder, "Have fun with all the skanks."

He follows me. "Seriously?"

My insides quiver. I hate the thought of Tristano being at the club without me. The Marinos have kept my ban in place. I trust Tristano in every aspect of our relationship, yet every time he has to go to the club, all I can envision are the women who are probably hitting on him. He says he does his job and leaves, but it still doesn't eliminate my jealous episodes. I reply, "It's two in the morning."

"I'm getting tired of having to defend myself for things I haven't done," he declares.

My gut flips. The rational side of me knows it's not fair. However, I've not figured out how to accept our situation. And the longer we continue to hide our relationship, the more it seems to eat at me.

Yet, I can't seem to agree to tell Dante. It's creating more issues between us. Several times, Tristano's given me deadlines. They always come and go. We fight it out—it usually leads to some heavy makeup sex—and then things are back to normal for a few weeks.

My frustration gets the best of me. I crawl into bed, tuck the covers under my chin, and hug the pillow. Then I mutter, "Have a nice night."

"Stop acting like this," he demands.

"Go do whatever it is you have to do. I'm going to sleep," I fire off and shut my eyes.

Tense silence fills the air. Tristano finally states, "Fine. Be that way. Papà sent his driver over to make sure you're safe. He'll be standing guard in the living room, so make sure you're decent when you leave the bedroom." The sound of the door shutting hits my ears.

I fight the urge to crawl out of bed and race after him with the itch to hold my ground. Instead of falling asleep, I toss and turn the remainder of the night.

Before the sun rises, I work out in my building's private gym. I shower, get ready, and arrive at the office before six. As much as I try not to look at my phone, I can't help checking to see if Tristano's reached out.

I stay past five, after the other staff members have left. All day I was distracted, which didn't help my production. I go to the conference room, spread my folders over the table, and get lost in my work.

"There you are," Dante's voice booms.

I jump and spin in my chair.

Tristano follows his brother, sitting on my right. Dante sits on my left.

The flutters that ignite whenever Tristano's in the room erupt. It feels like it's been forever since I saw or spoke with him even though it was only yesterday. But the flutters are also mixed with nerves. It happens anytime Dante or his other brothers are around. I try to appear confident, asking, "Why are you two here?"

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