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Chapter Thirteen
JULIAN
It’s been hell.
Absolute hell as Rosie has walked around my house wearing next to nothing. I’d sent my staff out for some clothes, all designer, all according to her tastes but she is refusing to wear them saying that she should feel comfortable while she’s here.
I’ve been working from home to keep an eye on her, one of the perks of being the boss of my own firm and the head of a crime organization, but she’s been nothing but a distraction. One the first day, I’d walked into her ‘greeting the sun’ wearing nothing but one of my workout vests and a pair of my boxers stretched across her ass as she’d moved from one pose to another. When she noticed me and moved into a more upright position, all I could think about was how I could see her nipples poking through the thin fabric of my vest. None of which was helped by the fact that I’d listened to her come the night before in my fucking bed. Or that I’d come, only moments after before making myself take a cold shower.
The second day, after another repeat of her nightly orgasm and my new cold shower routine, she decided to swim all day. This time she accepted one of the swimsuits my team had picked out for her but that didn’t really help matters much as she wandered around my home wearing the smallest white bikini known to man. I could practically trace the shape of her areola; the triangles of the top were that tiny. Don’t even get me started on the bottoms. I stayed indoors all day, hiding out in my office like some scared child as I worked on cases and tried to schedule a meeting with the elusive Lev Volkov. Unfortunately, Rosie seemed to catch me every time I emerged to grab some food or to stretch my legs. It was like she was waiting outside my door just so she could wander past in her almost naked glory.
Today she’s in my kitchen, cooking up a storm wearing nothing but one of my dress shirts. I almost had a heart attack when I saw her, buttons partially undone with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows with cake batter smeared near her tits. Her messy blonde hair was piled up on top of her head, held in place with a chopstick she’d pulled from one of my drawers. She laughed when I’d turned on my heel and walked straight back out of the kitchen, that crazy witch was fucking with me and I was torn between enjoying the push and pull and wanting to put my foot down. It was ridiculous feeling like a horny teenage boy in my own house. Plus, I was getting fucking sick of cold showers and desperate hand jobs.
Settling back at my desk, I reply to an email from Lev requesting that I meet with Alexi and Anoushka, his oldest children instead as he is currently out of the country. Frustrated, I reply, adding a comment about how I hope this isn’t an indication of a disruption or issue with our trade routes that I should be aware of. All professionally worded of course.
Hours later Elijah storms into my home office, his dark eyes burning as he slaps his hands down on my desk, leans in and glares at me. “There’s a dead Queen in your kitchen making banana muffins, care to explain?”
Fuck. Elijah. He’d been busy investigating potential culprits behind the St Mary’s fire, while also sending his men out to dig around The Cartel a little. Our trade routes for White Rabbit were also being re-established and we were introducing a pill form. It had been all hands-on deck and he’d been my representative, while I worked from home. The others probably assumed that the Queen of Hearts had injured me somehow when I’d taken her out. Let them think that. Let them assume I was hiding away licking my wounds, because that was when they would get arrogant and slip up.
With all of that, as well as trying to maintain my public persona, I hadn’t managed to tell him about Rosie yet. A part of me also recognized that I might have been avoiding it too, because I knew he’d hold a grudge about the poisoning thing. Eli the man would admire her, Creed, my bodyguard and Left Hand would hate her for beating him.
I sit back in my chair and offer up a small smile. “I wondered what smells so amazing.”
I liked banana muffins, I wondered if she’d bring some here later. When she made carrot cake yesterday evening, she knocked on my door while it was still warm. Say what you like about the killer Queen, her baking skills were unmatched. It made me think of my mother’s cooking, taking me back to the only good bits of my childhood. I’d never been a skilled chef, it was ‘women’s work’ according to my father. But whenever he was away for business or working late, we’d send the staff home and prepare dinner together. I remember one night, I’d found a radio in one of the cupboards, tidied away by the cook most likely, and I’d brought it out. We’d danced as we washed and peeled potatoes, laughed as she’d added butter and cream and I’d mashed them and when we finally sat down to eat at the kitchen island, I’d felt more at peace than I had in a while. I knew it couldn’t last. It never did. We never danced in the kitchen together again after that night.
“Jules!” Elijah hisses, bringing me out of the memories threatening to drown me. “Why aren’t you taking this more seriously? The woman who wants you dead is living in your house? Walking around half-naked?”
He rubs his face with his hand, letting out a frustrated groan before throwing himself down on my sofa. I had wondered if he’d say anything about her lack of clothing. It’s not like we were fucking, not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind a million times already. Especially at night when I could hear her pleasuring herself. I’m convinced she called out my name as she came last night.
“I have asked her to put some clothes on…”
“You asked her? For fuck’s sake Julian. That banshee would cut your throat in your sleep if she could and you’re trying to be polite to her?” Elijah scowls at me like I don’t understand the position I’m in. I do. I just can’t do anything about it. “That harridan stabbed me in the fucking neck. Stabbed. Me. Tell her to put some damn clothes on before I bundle her up in that ugly ass rug you have in the guest room.”
“I think she’s having fun being here.” I shrug. “Yeah that rug is a little…bold.”
I heard her singing in the shower this morning and it shouldn’t, but it made my house feel a little less empty. A little less lonely. I get glimpses into what our life should have been, if we had been different people and I’m clutching on to it, desperately savoring the moments even though I know they’re toxic, rotting me from the inside out.
“Having fun? Having fucking fun? This isn’t a slumber party! Someone wants you both dead and I’m almost inclined to let them kill you. Maybe then you’ll see some fucking sense.” He puts his boots up on my table with a thud, an indicator that he’s really pissed off with me because he knows how much it annoys me. He also knows I won’t do anything about it. Yet.
Throwing his head back, he stares up at my ceiling, neck tattoos on full display as his long hair falls back. “And how have you only now noticed the fucking rug, man?”
I cough, trying to hide my face behind my hand. “I may be staying in the guest room…”
“You ‘may be’ staying in the guest bedroom, in your own house?” Eli laughs, and then lights a cigarette. Taking a long pull, he exhales slowly, before pointing it in my direction. “You are so royally fucked, my friend.”
The timer for the oven interrupts us, followed by Rosie cursing. Thinking she must have burnt her muffins or touched something hot, I stand. Eli laughs again and I stay where I am, awkwardly pretending to stretch my legs.
Logically, if I let her leave my house now, then she would pose an even bigger risk since she’d gotten a glimpse into my personal life. She’d probably catalogued every way to break in already.
Glancing out of the window, and into the gardens, I notice that my rose bushes are just beginning to bloom and I make a note to show Rosie later. Her garden had always been filled with roses, her mother creating beautiful bouquets and centerpieces out of them for Family events. She’d even brought my mother some one year, for her birthday. Pale yellow roses mixed in with lilacs and baby’s breath. Innocence, sincerity and purity. I remembered thinking, ‘how delicate…’ as my father had thrown them into the fire, joking about how they were only grown to cover the stench of the dead bodies buried at the Gambino house. He’d suspected for a long time that Vincent was using Rosie to carry out his dirty work, often commenting on how she had no friends, and was too perfect. The only perfect people in the world were cold blooded killers, that’s what he’d spit when he was half a bottle of whiskey down. One day, when Rosie trusts me a little more, I’ll ask her about it. About how many corpses sat under the soil of her beloved mother’s garden and how many she’d killed herself. I wouldn’t ask if she felt remorse, because I knew she didn’t.
“The pair of you deserve to ruin each other,” Elijah grumbles, blowing smoke rings up to my ceiling, grunting every time he glances at me.
“Knock, knock! I bring baked goods and great company!” a cheery voice calls as Elijah makes a disapproving noise and glowers at me, his scar crumpling slightly as he frowns.
She practically dances into the room, like some sort of baking fairy, with a plate of still steaming muffins. I never thought I’d see Rosie Gambino looking like a domestic goddess, but here she is with her blonde hair still pinned up with that solitary chopstick, which Eli eyes wearily, my shirt and bare feet. There’s a flour smudge on her flushed cheek as she comes to stand next to me, and as she places the plate down bending across my desk to offer them to Elijah, she gives me a glimpse of everything. It’s like my body freezes and I don’t know what to say or where to look as the air is sucked out of my lungs violently.
Her glistening pink pussy is presented to me, as she reaches across, her ass so fucking bitable as she practically shoves it in my face. She’s wet. She wants me. And I want to bury my face between her folds, devouring her until she begged for mercy. When I was satisfied, and only then, I’d spank her, turning each cheek a bright, furious red for her insubordination.
Glancing over her shoulder at me, Rosie winks. She’s playing with me again and I’m so close to snapping. Does she actually want me to fuck her on the desk? Because I will, Eli be damned. He can have a muffin and a show.
With a coy smile, she leaves and closes the door behind her. I swallow, suddenly able to breathe again and run a hand through my hair, maybe this was a stupid decision. Elijah is right, I’m in too deep and the worst thing about it is how aware I am of the whole situation. Rosie was like an addiction. She was like tooth decay, ruining everything at the root and yet…I hesitated to remove the tooth despite the pain.
Elijah coughs as he stubs out his smoke, bringing me back to the room. “She just showed you her cookies, didn’t she?”
I ignore his little baking joke and the way his eyes glint mischievously. “Yep.”
He shakes his head. “No panties?”
The word gets lodged in my throat. “Nope.”
Laughing he peels the paper wrapper off a muffin and takes a huge bite, before wagging a finger at me. “She’ll be the death of you…”
I know.
I know.
