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If he hadn’t already gone soft, he would have anyway. His fear that his erection wouldn’t go away had been ridiculous all along. There were much worse things to be afraid of.
Alina rose from the bed. “Let me get something to help you clean up.”
Shame filled him as the feeling of his own stickiness registered. He had cum all over his pelvic area when he’d first heard someone say they loved him.
His mind was all messed up, and reality didn’t help. He tried to take the damp washcloth from her when she returned, but Alina jerked it away from him. “I’ll do it. I won’t touch you.”
He wanted to protest. He wanted to leave immediately, to return to Ivankov and the death that waited for him.
A part of him also wished she would break her word and touch him again.
Alina was careful, though, as she brought the washcloth to his skin. Her fingers never brushed him. Soon he was clean.
Her scent was all over him from when he’d touched her, lain on top of her. He could also smell Giovanni from the sheets below. The combination had allowed him to relax enough to do the one thing he’d never thought he’d want to do.
Closing his eyes, he remembered Alina’s voice talking him through touching himself, and he wanted to climax again. Not to the point that the thought made him hard, but he knew he wouldn’t be running off to Ivankov; not that day.
Alina returned the washcloth to the bathroom, and he rose from the bed to get dressed. If she was disappointed, she didn’t say anything.
When they left Giovanni’s bedroom, the worst person who could see them doing so was there in the hallway. Luka had never cared for Antonio Di Salvo. The man’s smile wasn’t honest, and his eyes held a type of calculation that made Luka nervous.
Antonio’s eyebrow lifted as he paused outside of the room. His annoying laugh followed. “Fuck, I knew you were a perv for Giovanni. Does he know you were spying on him or rubbing his dirty underwear over your face or whatever you were doing?”
Luka moved in front of Alina as he edged them toward the stairs.
Antonio’s smile tightened as his eyes flicked to her. “This is the Russian girl Giovanni said you were bringing?” He held a hand out toward her. “I’m Antonio Di Salvo.”
She hesitated, then slowly held out her own. “Alina Lipin.” A small gasp escaped her when he brought her hand up to his lips, and his smile widened.
Luka hated Antonio’s smile so much.
Alina jerked her hand back, shifting behind Luka.
“I know who you are,” Antonio said. “Do you?”
There was something in the man’s tone that made Luka want to stab him. He always wanted to stab him. Giovanni would be sad about it, though.
Alina stared down at her shoes. “I’m here with Luka,” she said.
Luka thought the heat in his body could only come from the tingling. This new type of heat centered in his chest, at least, instead of below. Getting an erection around Antonio felt like asking the man to cut it off. Giovanni’s half brother hated Luka more than Luka hated him.
“It’s like that, is it?” Antonio murmured. “Well, as long as you know he’s already in love with Giovanni.” He turned toward the stairs. “Come on. Nera has made something delicious, I’m sure.” He didn’t wait for them to follow.
Luka didn’t bother to deny how he felt about Giovanni. That would require too many words, too much explanation.
Alina moved ahead of him, and he trailed her to the kitchen area.
Since Nera had come to the Di Salvo estate, the kitchen was always bustling in the mornings. Luka had wondered if Alina would want to cook with her, but he decided what had happened at the diner was still too fresh in her mind. The Balakin men had taken something else from her, and he wished it was possible to kill someone all over again.
Alina stayed close to his side, though not so close that she brushed against him. Luka was the one to hand her one of Nera’s croissants. Alina didn’t speak, even to thank him, and he missed the sound of her voice.
He’d never thought of Alina as shy, not when she talked a mile a minute about anything and everything. No one had ever talked to him half as much. Most of the time, he was ignored, especially among the Bratva. They only knew he was a killer. He often blended into the shadows.
Which was something Alina seemed to be attempting to do. It was as if she didn’t want the Di Salvos to see her.
It didn’t help that Nera couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. She tried to be subtle about it, but her gaze lingered a little too long.
“Noticed it, have you?” Antonio asked her, his smile too smug. He leaned on the kitchen island next to where Nera was cutting up strawberries. Luka didn’t know how Giovanni’s wife had realized it, but he liked her strawberry tarts best. Antonio let out a small laugh. “I should have known. My new little sis stares at Giovanni more than anyone. Enzo had to remind me about the connection when I complained about having to take care of the Bratva pet assassin’s girl.”
