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“I protect you.” He grabbed me by the throat—not too hard, but still not soft—and shoved me against the mattress. “I nearly died for you.” He straddled me completely naked while I was still in my clothes. “I fuck you. I train you.” He glared. “And what do I have to show for it other than getting a gun pointed at my head and a spoiled, terrified little girl who would do anything, even putting me at risk—just to be set free?”
I frowned. “What?”
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Free from it all, from the fear, from the chaos—from the fucking jail cell you still refuse to leave.”
I trembled beneath him as he gripped my thighs and easily spread them apart. “I held you. I sang to you. I liked you in each moment you fought, so don’t stop fighting now. What do you want?”
A tear slid down my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, embarrassed to look at him.
“What. Do. You. Want?” He gripped my neck harder. “Me? A passport? Love? A family? To be free from your demons. What do you want?”
He let me breathe, let me stay still, let me keep my eyes closed as I thought it through.
I was still in that prison.
Still watching my brother get murdered.
Still facing death.
I was in a cycle that wouldn’t quit.
And then the door opened.
And he was there.
My devil in shining armor—Santino.
What did I want?
“My twin brother back,” I whispered.
“Impossible, try again.” His lips coaxed the bottom of my ear and slid down to my neck.
How was it possible for him to completely understand me? In a matter of minutes after getting shot.
I sighed. “I want to be free.”
“Free yourself, then,” he said. “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to do, and sometimes we find freedom where we least expect it.”
Another hot, burning tear slid down my cheek onto his pillowcase. I finally relaxed. I focused on the figure in my head.
I focused on him and snapped open my eyes. “Right now, I just want you.”
His mouth crashed against mine. I sank into that mattress; I sank into the deep dark waters of Santino Sinacore.
And for the first time since being in that prison.
I was finally free.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“If you think your boss is stupid, remember: you wouldn’t have a job if he was any smarter.” —John Gotti
Santino
Death never tasted so good—or felt so much like impending doom as our lips slid against one another, making smacking noises in the deafening silence of the room.
Each time my tongue caressed hers, I pushed her harder against the mattress, she clambered against me, her nails digging in like she needed to hold on to something. A loud moan escaped between my clenched teeth when I pulled back; her hands—both of them, were stroking my dick up and down, up and down, between our bodies.
