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Addy is pregnant. This changes every fucking thing. Half-sister or not.
“Dante? Please say something.”
My gaze meets hers again, and I roll us over, pinning her beneath me. My lips crash down on hers in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp of surprise.
I pour everything I’m feeling into the kiss—the possessiveness, the need, the overwhelming urge to protect and claim. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting, exploring, demanding. Addy responds with equal fervor, her hands sliding up my back, nails digging into my skin.
When we break apart, both panting, I growl against her neck, “Tesoro, there’s nothing left to say. You’re carrying my child.” I punctuate the words with a nip to her pulse point, feeling her shiver.
“So?”
I pull back slightly, bracing myself on my forearms to look down at her.
“So what?”
Addy bites her lip, a gesture that never fails to drive me wild. “Does it mean you’re excited?”
“Baby, I’ll burn the whole fucking world to the ground to keep you happy and safe. Both of you.”
Later, even after she’s finally drifted off to an exhausted sleep, my hand continues to splay on her belly.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticks eerily loud in the room, which, except for Addy’s rhythmic breathing and an occasional soft snore, is silent as a graveyard. It’s too quiet for me to sleep. I eye my discarded earbuds scattered on the carpet near the door, but I don’t bother to grab them. I know I couldn’t sleep if I tried. There’s too much swirling through my head.
I check the time again. It’s nine in the morning, although you can’t tell from the windowless state of this fucking dungeon. Nico should be back from Paris. I imagine he’d be grief-stricken. But he doesn’t even know the half of it. Yet.
It’s going to be carnage today.
Addy will be livid when she finds out why she won’t be allowed to return to Boston. I can see Benjamin O’Shea and the rest of the Mob foaming at the mouth, declaring another war. And Orlando De Luca? Well, the man might as well start plotting my accidental demise.
Addy makes a soft mewling sound and burrows closer, drawing me out of my dark thoughts.
I take a moment to drink her in again. She’s on her belly, her face turned toward me. The chandelier’s light catches gold highlights in the wavy mass of red hair splayed across the pillow. I run a blunt fingertip along the smattering of freckles across her cheekbones, her full lips, slightly parted, still swollen from my kisses, and then I turn her over gently because I need to see all of her.
I lightly trace the thin pink line between her full breasts, and then my finger drifts lower to my favorite spot, the sensitive, jagged scar on her hip. The reason she has that sexy hitch in her step, one she tries her damnedest to mask.
She’ll probably think I’m a fucking creep if she knew how hard I get just watching her walk.
I trace the curve of her thighs with my finger, seeing the drying evidence of her juices and my cum smeared all over her skin. We were at it until she fell asleep half an hour ago.
And I want her again.
But instead of spreading her thighs and sinking into her slippery warmth, I plant a soft kiss on her forehead and make myself slide off the bed and get dressed.
I need to see Nico, and Addy needs to rest. She could possibly do with some space too. I’ve never been anything but gentle with her, and last night was a small departure from what she’s known with me.
She needs to see the bruises and handprints on her porcelain skin and decide that she’s okay with it happening from time to time.
She needs to get used to the fact she’s just been shoved into the plunge she couldn’t take two years ago. And ultimately, her life in Boston, her job at the DA’s office, her blog, everything she used to be, is over.
So, with one last look, I head out of the room, heading toward the conference room where a pissed-off Nico will be nursing a scotch. It’s almost uncanny how well I can predict my brother’s thoughts and actions. I know Nico will be in the room, jet-lagged and exhausted yet unable to sleep. He’ll be bent over the laptop, studying the CCTV feeds and police reports from last night and trying to piece together what the fuck happened.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dante
The scent of leather-bound books and old paper greets me like an old friend as soon as I push open the heavy double doors of the Vitelli conference room. Bookshelves of rich mahogany line the walls, and a large fireplace crackles in the background.
A long, polished woodgrain conference table, designed to seat twelve, forms the centerpiece of the room. Built into its surface are secure laptops—our sole connection to the outside world. A dozen high-back, black leather chairs surround the table, each assigned to a specific capo.
