Desiree

I dream Jasper’s in his bed crying for me. I try to comfort him, but he can’t feel my arms, doesn’t hear my words. I’m a ghost to him.

I wake up to the sound of Gio’s groan. I remember it’s Jasper’s birthday before I even open my eyes. It’s been four days since Junior kidnapped me and brought me here to take care of Gio. It feels like months. And I just want to be home right now, where I could cry into my pillow all day without seeing anyone.

Of course, I knew this day was coming. I knew it like a countdown to a massive breakdown for me. Weight crushes my chest. I feel two hundred years old as I ease out of bed.

I check Gio’s vitals and add more painkiller to his IV before I head to the shower.

The tears start while I’m in there and they just don’t stop. Not like full-on sobbing, more like a steady drip. A leaky faucet that won’t turn off.

Dammit.

I get out of the shower, dry off and get dressed in my Dicky scrubs—red today.

The tears just keep on running.

They drip the whole time I clean Gio’s wounds and putting fresh bandages on.

“Hey.” Junior’s standing in the doorway, holding my phone. He catches sight of the tears before I quickly brush them away. “You okay?”

“Yep,” I say with determination. Like I’m going to somehow make it true.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I grab my phone out of his hand, since I’m assuming he’s bringing it because I got a message. He still refuses to let me have it or use it without him watching my every move, but at least he checks my messages frequently and shows me as soon as something comes in.

“Text from your mom,” he tells me.

Fresh tears start because I already feel her sympathy, her support, her love. My mom is so connected to me and my emotions, it’s sometimes scary.

Sending you energy and healing light on this difficult day.

I snort-choke back a sob. Coming from my mom, that’s a real promise. In addition to nursing at the hospital, she also volunteers as an energy healer, going around giving reiki treatments to anyone who wants it. And she’s a powerful healer. Sometimes I swear she’s the one who saves the most lives at that place.

“Why is today difficult?” Junior asks.

“None of your business,” I snap, thrusting the phone back at him after sending my mom a heart emoji. “Let’s move him.” Every eight hours we roll Gio from his side, to his back, to his other side. Even though I could probably do it on my own, I get Junior to help, because Gio’s such a big guy.

We roll him over and he wakes and uses the bed pan, cursing in Italian the whole time. Junior answers in Italian, using calm, reassuring tones and Gio settles and closes his eyes once more.

“We should get you out of the house.” Junior’s looking at me like I’m going to crack. “You’re probably sick of being cooped up here. You definitely deserve a break. I’ll get Paolo to come stay with Gio, and I’ll take you anywhere that sounds good.”

My lips tremble. I seriously can’t take Junior being nice right now.

I would much rather have him be an asshole so I can get prickly and keep my shit together.

“Or Paolo can take you out, if you need a break from me.” He takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets.

My lip curls. “I’m not going anywhere with Paolo.”

Junior pulls out his phone and starts thumbing over the screen. “Where do you want to go?”

I shrug. “I’m really not in the mood, Junior.”

“No shit, doll. I’m not asking you on a date. I’m trying to figure out what would be...I don’t know, nourishing to you.” He makes a big gesture with his hands as he talks.

“Nourishing?”

“Nurturing—whatever the fuck the word is. What do you do to make yourself feel better? Go see a movie? How about exercise? I’ll take you to my gym up the street. You can take yoga or Zumba or whatever.”

I perk up a tiny bit over Zumba and he catches it. The Latin cardio dance class is my favorite form of exercise.

“You like that idea?” He scrolls on his phone. “There’s Zumba at 11:00 a.m.” I don’t know how he knew I wanted Zumba and not yoga. The man’s a mind reader.

It’s hard to imagine I could muster the energy to do a cardio class right now, though. “I don’t know,” I say.

He points at me, the scary-stern face on. “You’re going to Zumba. And what else? You like shopping? A little retail therapy?”

I snort. “Yeah right. With what money?”

“You can spend my money. That’ll be fun, no?” He tips his head to catch my eye.

A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Could be,” I admit.

Damn my turn-on with men spending money on me.

Damn Junior for showing up like a white knight when I’m at my weakest.

“Come on, I’ll take you to breakfast.”

Oh shit. Now it does feel like a date. And he’s spending money on me. Taking care of me.

It scares me how much I want to be taken care of. Especially by a wealthy, powerful man like Junior.

But that’s exactly why I need to keep the barriers up around my heart. Because I already fear I won’t be walking out of here with it intact.

“Should I change?” I ask dubiously, looking down at my scrubs.

He shrugs. “Not for me. Wear whatever makes you feel good, doll.”

Yeah, not scrubs. Scrubs are the world’s ugliest uniform ever. I grab a pair of jeans and fitted long-sleeved shirt and take them into the bathroom to change.

Not that Junior hasn’t already seen all of me.

But Gio hasn’t, and I don’t want him getting an eyeful if he comes back around.

Junior’s still on his phone when I come back out, but when he looks up, his eyes bug out a little. The emerald green shirt is sexy—I brought it on purpose to torture Junior. It hugs my breasts and opens in a V to show a little cleavage. The jeans are flattering too—they’re tight and hug my ass, but the denim has a little stretch to it, so they’re ultra-comfortable. I pull on a pair of boots and fluff my still-wet hair.

“Damn,” Junior says.

“What?”

He just shakes his head and mutters, “And I thought you were hot in scrubs.”

Okay, I might be starting to feel a little better, even though the heaviness still pushes at my chest.

I pack some gym clothes and we head down the stairs. “When is Paolo coming?” I ask.

“He’ll be here in time for Zumba. Gio will be all right for an hour while we go to breakfast.”

“You’re speaking with all your medical expertise?” I can’t help giving him a hard time. It’s like it’s a job I was born to do.

“I’d slap your ass, but I have a feeling today would be the day you’d deck me for it.”

I’m getting closer to smiling.

Junior

I force myself to work out at the gym, because Dio, if I watch Desiree shaking those hips in her yoga pants and tank during Zumba, I’m going to march in there, throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the locker room shower. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t be washing her hair in that shower.

I text Earl to find out the significance of the day for Desiree.

He replies right away—it’s the boy’s birthday.

Well, fuck.

I know how hard those dates are. Except my child is dead. And Desiree’s isn’t, he’s been stolen from her. I fire off another text to Earl putting more pressure on him to find her son. Hire every detective in town. Get them all on the case, I tell him. I want this kid found yesterday.

Cheering people up isn’t my strong suit, as evidenced by my wife’s mental state following Mia’s death.

I wait for her outside her class. Fuck if it isn’t still going and I do get an eyeful of those hips lighting the room on fire. The class runs over and I can’t move because I don’t want to miss a single second of it.

It’s worse knowing what she likes, because I start imagining forcing her to have sex in a thousand dirty ways. But she doesn’t want that.

Not anymore.

And the fantasy’s only hot if she’s actually into it.

The five minutes feel like fifty, but finally the class ends and she walks out, a towel around her neck. I don’t dare look at the way her breasts stretch that tank top or I’ll sprout a chub that everyone will see.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she tells me. “Meet you outside the locker room.”

I nod and watch her ass as she walks away. She’s not strutting—I still see the defeat in her posture—but she has all the right junk in the trunk.

Desiree is the full package. Smart, sassy, hot as hell. I wonder what went wrong with her marriage. The guy has to be a douche not to do everything he could to keep her.

Well, obviously he’s more than a douche. He’s a testa di cazzo. He stole their kid from her.

I shower and change and meet her outside the locker room. Her hair’s still wet, like she rushed to get out and meet me. It’s fucking freezing outside.

“Get back in there and dry your hair,” I tell her. “You’ll fucking freeze.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

I block her path. “Hey,” I make my voice sharp, like I’m coming down on one of my soldiers for disrespect.

She jerks a little, then slaps my chest. “Jesus, you are such an asshole. Do you seriously have to bully me every second of the day?”

I might feel bad, considering she’s having a shit day, but it’s good to see the spark back in her. I give her a hard stare until she rolls her eyes and turns around with a huff, marching back to the locker room.

When she comes back out, her hair is a dark, glossy curtain over her shoulders, framing her lovely face. She always has it back in a ponytail, so I’m momentarily struck by her model-worthy beauty.

I look at my phone. “No messages from Paolo. I’m taking you shopping.”

She doesn’t want to like it, but I can tell she does. I know she’s been scraping by. A woman like her deserves to be spoiled.

We’re not close to any big malls, but I take her to an area of my suburb with the fancy shops and find a spot to park on the street. I should probably call in one of the guys to stand as bodyguard, because Vlad could be anywhere, but I don’t think I’ve been followed, and I don’t see anything suspicious.

“You have three thousand dollars to spend in fifty minutes. You don’t get to keep any money you don’t spend, and everything you buy has to be for yourself.”

She stops and turns rounded eyes on me, lips parting.

I want to kiss them.

Fuck.

What’s wrong with me?

It’s one thing to want to fuck a girl. But kissing? I haven’t kissed a woman since Marne. Not one.

I don’t know—it’s too intimate. Or too emotional. It’s just not something I ever want to do.

But yeah, I want to kiss her. Right fucking now.

“Are you serious?” she croaks.

Serious about claiming that mouth, yeah.

I flash a wad of cash. “I’m gonna follow you around like your goddamn sugar daddy. Let’s see how fast you can spend my money.”

She starts walking, her silky hair swinging behind her. She tosses a look over her shoulder at me and I’m thrilled to see a playful light in her eyes. Mission accomplished. “Is there a bonus involved if I spend it before the fifty minutes are up?”

I shrug, noncommittal. “There might be other stipulations.”

Merde. I didn’t mean to start throwing sexual innuendos out, especially ones that make her sound like a whore, but she seems to like it, tossing her hair again with a smirk as she struts off.

She beelines it for a jewelry store and I smile. Clever girl. She knows she could spend the whole amount in one stop there. I’m all for it, if that’s what she wants, but I also think she could use some practical shit, like a new pair of boots or a jacket. I glance around at the shops, to take in what they have. There’s a boutique shoe store, and a couple clothing places.

I saunter after her into the jewelry store where she’s already leaning over the glass cases. There’s light in her face again, which eases the tension in my chest. She steals a glance over her shoulder at me, like she’s making sure I’m not tricking her or making fun.

I lift my chin and raise my brows as if to say, “are you going to do it or not?”

She has a smile as she turns back to the case. She tries on a bunch of rings. I watch for a while to see what she likes, then walk around the store and look myself. There’s a beautiful pink gem, emerald cut, set in 18K gold. It costs a little over two grand. I ask the woman behind the counter to bring it over to Desiree to see if she likes it.

She looks over at me in surprise when it arrives, then slips it on her finger and stares at it. “What is this gemstone?” she asks the attendant.

“Morganite. It’s a cousin to emerald and aquamarine. It looks good on you.”

“It does,” I agree. I don’t know why I picked it for her—it’s not like she’s a baby pink kind of woman. Maybe because it’s both unique and stunning—like her.

Desiree looks from her finger to me, back to the attendant. “I’ll take it.” Her shoulders are thrown back, chin high.

I love her decisiveness. I pull out my wad of cash and count out 23 hundred dollar bills. “Does it fit? Do we need to get it sized for you?”

She twists it around her right ring finger. “It fits perfect.”

I wink at her.

Cristo—have I ever winked in my life? I seriously doubt it. I’m not the winking type. That would be Stefano, my slick-talking youngest brother.

The clerk gives me my change, slips an empty ring box in a bag with the receipt, and hands it to us. “Enjoy.”

“Seven hundred to go,” I murmur to Desiree as we leave. “You like shoes?”

“I love shoes.” There’s color in her cheeks as we walk out—not a blush, just a flush of excitement. Desiree is definitely thriving on the retail therapy. Good. I may lack many qualities—manners, kindness, hands unsullied by blood, heart darkened by violence and pain, but I do have money. I’m not stupid enough to think I can buy her, but at least this one day I can give her something.

Desiree

I should be ashamed of myself.

I am ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t be getting turned on by a mobster buying me a giant rock for my finger.

It’s my kid’s birthday, he’s spending it somewhere without me. Hopefully he’s happy and safe and comfortable with his dad. Abe was never a bad dad. Never mean, or abusive or even too neglecting. I’m sure Jasper is safe and warm and fed. I imagine he’s going to kindergarten somewhere—I sure hope he’s in school, anyway.

But he sure as hell never bought me anything. He was a split it down the middle kind of guy right from the beginning. And once we got married, I always paid our bills, even when I was working my ass off to get through nursing school. He worked construction and spent his money on beer, and pot and eating out at greasy restaurants with his buddies.

Well.

Ashamed or not, it’s a fact. My panties got damp when Junior pulled out that roll of money and spent over two grand on this ring. It feels heavy on my finger, catches the light when I swing my arms as I walk.

I’m feeling pretty damn loved right now. Oh God—not loved, loved. But yeah. Whatever. I may reject the word but the feeling’s the same.

I head into the shoe store and browse around, totally conscious of Junior trailing behind me, watching my every move. They have a bunch of fancy shoes I would never wear. Well, I might wear them if I had a reason, but since my life consists of work, Zumba and home, I’m not interested in six-inch fashion heels.

Like in the jewelry store, Junior circles around the shop on his own trajectory and shows up at my side holding a nice leather boot. I already have a pair of boots—I’m wearing them—so I didn’t even look at them. I drop my gaze to my own boots. Worn out. Fake leather. The style that came out three seasons ago.

“I’d like to try these in a seven,” I tell the clerk.

She nods and heads off to the back room.

“So what? Now you’re my personal shopper?” I should really act more grateful. Somehow, it’s more fun pushing back at Junior, though.

As usual, he appears vaguely amused by my attitude, and just shrugs.

I try the boots on. They fit perfectly—totally comfortable. Three hundred fifty dollar price tag, not that it matters. Junior’s buying.

“Well?” I demand.

“What so now you want my opinion?” The start of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.

“You are the personal shopper, aren’t you?”

He full-on grins. “I’d take you shopping any day.”

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not like it’s roses and chocolate sweet. But it kind of is.

I mean, don’t guys hate shopping? Especially if it means the woman’s spending all his money? And it’s not like I’m being appreciative or nice or anything. It’s not like he’s getting anything out of this. Or does he think he is? I shoot him a suspicious look and his grin widens. Grows more feral.

Well shit. That should worry me, but instead it sets off butterflies of excitement in my belly.

“I’ll take these,” I tell the saleswoman. “Do you have them in brown as well?”

“I sure do!” she chirps and heads to the back room. She must work on commission.

“There,” I tell Junior, who is looking through a rack of leather jackets. “All done, with time to spare.”

Junior holds up a leather shearling jacket with black faux fur collar and cuffs. I never would’ve picked it out, but I try it on. It’s comfortable and warm and ten times nicer than my current jacket. It costs $1029.

“I used up my budget already,” I remind him.

“And this one, for when it’s not as cold.” Junior passes me a thinner, buttery leather slim cropped affair with a belt. It, too, is very comfortable and fashionable. And this puppy’s four hundred bucks.

The saleswoman shows up, thrilled that I’m still shopping. “That looks so good on you,” she gushes.

Junior waits until she toddles away, bringing my boots to the counter to murmur, “It does.” He steps into my space and adjusts the collar, staring down at me with black eyes. “You like them? They’re yours.”

I lick my lips. “Why are you doing this?”

“To cheer you up. Is it working?”

I nod. “Yeah, actually. It is. Thanks.”

He tilts his head down and for one second I think he’s going to kiss me—and I’m not sure I’m into it, especially in a boutique, but he just leans his forehead against mine. “I don’t like to see you cry,” he murmurs.

My breath catches. I give his chest a very half-hearted push. More of a nudge really. “I didn’t know you did nice.”

He pulls away and I’m disappointed to see his mask’s back in place, like I just reminded him to be an asshole. “You’re right. I don’t.” No smile at all as he turns and walks to the counter, pulling out his money.

Damn. Why’d I have to be such a bitch?

Junior

I should’ve given her a higher spending limit. I didn’t realize she’d try to bust it all in one stop, but I don’t mind seeing that ring flashing on her finger and knowing I put it there. Pretending I marked her with it, claimed her as mine.

She heads toward the car, but I make a negative sound in my throat. “Time’s not up.”

“Yeah, but I spent the limit.”

I tip my head toward a clothing boutique. I’m an asshole, but I really want to see her changing clothes. Dressing up. Modeling shit. It’s stupid, but a total turn on for me. I love the idea of a woman dressing for her man. Twirling around and asking if she looks good, knowing damn well she does.

She lifts her brows, but I can tell she likes it. A lot of women get turned on seeing money splashed around. I guess on a biological level, it shows the man’s a good provider or some shit. All I know is throwing money down in front of a woman makes good foreplay. Not that I’m trying to get laid.

The boutique is all designer jeans—shelves and shelves of them with a few racks of designer tees in the middle of the store.

A young salesperson—the only one in the small shop—bustles over. “Can I help you find the perfect pair of jeans?”

Desiree throws a glance my way.

“Yes,” I answer for her.

“Great, do you mind if I measure you?” The salesperson—who looks nineteen, and very serious about her jeans, whips out a measuring tape.

“Sure.” Desiree pulls off her jacket and lifts her arms to get measured.

The salesperson fires off a series of questions about her preferences as she traipses about the shop, pulling a half dozen pairs of jeans from the shelves. “Let’s start with these. Let me show you to the dressing room.” She looks at me. “Do you want to go back with her?”

Fuck, yeah, I want to go back with her.

I give a solemn nod and palm a hundred dollar bill from my pocket. She leads us back and opens a curtain to a large changing room. Clearly we’re the only ones in the shop, which suits me just fine.

As she leaves, I slip her the money and murmur, “Hundred bucks if you give us some time alone.”

She tucks the money in her pocket. “You got it. Make a mess and you buy it.” She arches a brow.

Cute. She has enough attitude to understudy Desiree.

I head into the dressing room where Desiree is already stripping off her boots, all business. She clearly didn’t catch my exchange with the saleswoman.

I settle in one of the seats to watch the show.

“She didn’t ask me if I wanted you to come back here,” Desiree complains, stripping off her jeans.

“You did,” I tell her. I know it’s true by the confident way she undresses and struts over to pick up a pair of jeans to try on.

My mouth goes dry, dick gets hard as stone as I watch her try on a pair of jeans that hugs her ass.

“What do you think?” She turns around, looking critically in the mirror. Pretending she doesn’t know she looks like a million bucks.

“We’ll take them,” I say, voice rough.

Her nipples get hard when she hears the desire in my voice and she shoots me a seductive look from under her lashes.

Beautiful woman.

She tries on another pair of jeans. They are equally magnificent. The third pair doesn’t fit right. When she pulls them off, I get up from my seat, advancing with the stalking quality of a predator.

She goes still, watching me. Waiting for it.

I grasp her waist. “Get up there.” I help her climb up to stand on the bench against the long wall of the dressing room.

“What are you doing?” She sounds breathless.

I push her ass back until it hits the wall, then pull the gusset of her panties aside, lower my head and taste her.

She jerks and cries out. I reach up and cover her mouth with one hand and yank her panties down and off with the other. She bucks her hips, gripping my arm for stability. Her open lips press against my palm, warm and soft.

I open her labia with my thumb and forefinger and trace around the inside, laving her clit, diddling it with the tip of my tongue, suctioning my lips over it and sucking.

She bites at my hand, moaning against it, her hot breath turning wet and steamy as she writhes under my tongue.

I don’t stop torturing her. I lick and flick and work her swollen clit. I penetrate her with my stiffened tongue. She grips me by the hair and yanks me against her, pushing her sopping folds into my mouth. I shove two fingers inside her and she screams against my hand, which I clamp around her jaw even tighter. I’m being rough, but I know she likes it. Her body responds to me every fucking time, like it was made for me.

And right now, I’m going to make sure she comes faster than a freight train. Because she needs the release.

And damn, if I don’t want to be the guy who gives it to her.

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

I curl my fingers inside her, trying to find her G-spot.

Bingo!

Her knees buckle and she cries out against my palm, pelvis jerking uncontrollably. I pump my fingers in and out. When I flick my tongue against her clit at the same time, she sobs and tears at my hair with one hand, her other hand grabbing my wrist to shove my fingers deeper. Her nails dig into my skin.

I pump a few times more to show her who’s in control, then shove deep and give her a break long enough for her to come.

The moment I stop thrusting, she shudders and releases, her inner walls tightening around my fingers. She rises up on her tiptoes, squeezes her inner thighs together around my wrist. I keep lapping at her clit through her entire climax until she stumbles forward, and I have to catch her waist to keep her from falling. I slide my fingers out and help her down. I turn to sit on the bench and pull her onto my lap, palming her still pulsing pussy.

She moans and leans her head back on my shoulder. “Jesus, Junior.”

I stroke her sopping folds like I’m soothing her pussy back to normal. “How do you feel now, doll?”

“Better,” she murmurs. Her body is heavy on mine, like she’s completely relaxed. “I hated being quiet, though.” Her laugh is husky, and it makes my aching dick throb even more. “I’m in the camp of if I didn’t scream, it didn’t count.”

I slap her pussy and her two thighs jerk together. “Didn’t count?” I growl. I slap her wet folds again. “You need me to make it count?”

“Can we go back to your place?” Her voice rasps from the strangle-screaming. “Please?”

Fuck if I could deny her anything right now. Especially considering the state of my cock.

“So you can scream at the top of your lungs, baby?”

She gives another one of those husky laughs. “Yeah.”

I lift her off my lap so fast she giggles and I slap her ass. “Ten seconds to get dressed,” I bark.

She grabs her panties and hops around, putting them on.

I pick up the three pairs of jeans she hasn’t tried on yet, plus the two that we know fit her. “I’m gonna pay for these. And I’m still counting.” I put a little warning note in my voice for the last part and she grins, shoving her foot into her jeans.

“Right behind you, boss man.”

Fuck, I am so lost for this girl.

Desiree

Getting off without full-on penetration feels like cheating. I don’t think I’d be happy as a lesbian because I really feel like I need the big cock. Of course, they make awesome dildos for that, so maybe I’d be fine.

All I know is I didn’t get enough of Junior Tacone back in that clothing store, and I need to feel complete.

He drives back fast—screechy tires fast—and gets rid of Paolo. And then he grabs me outside Gio’s room as soon as I finish repacking his wounds and refreshing the IV.

He shoves me up against the wall, pinning my wrists beside my head. His lips descend on mine, crushing my mouth. His teeth scrape my lips, tongue invades. All the while, he grinds his impressive erection against my belly.

I wrap one leg around his waist to angle him into the notch where he needs to be.

He curses in Italian and pulls my other leg up, then carries me into his bedroom.

I work open the button on the trousers of his thousand dollar suit and slide my hand down to grip his cock. It’s long and hard and jerks in my palm. I drop to my knees while he frees his erection from his boxer briefs.

I’m wet just thinking about giving him pleasure. I part my lips and lift my gaze to his so I can watch his face the moment I take him into my mouth.

His eyes are dark as night and a muscle jerks in his face as I engulf the head, swirling my tongue underneath. He tunnels his fingers into my hair, grips it tight. I indulge in the fantasy of being forced.

I owe the mafia money and Junior’s making me pay this way.

I take him deep into my throat, then pull back and bob my head over the head a few times. I repeat it, gripping the base of his cock hard to make it lengthen down the back of my throat. I firmly cup and lift his balls, then stroke them downward a few times as I suck. Then I massage the taint, stroking from back to front.

Junior’s breath turns ragged, his fist tightens in my hair. Pre-cum swirls in my mouth, mixing with my saliva to make a super-lube. I give his cock a moment to cool off and pump my hand over it as I suck his balls, lick along the line from the back of his testicles to his taint.

“You’re fucking killing me,” Junior rasps, his grip on my hair too tight. “I wanna come in your mouth so bad.”

“So do,” I tell him, positioning my lips over his cock again, but he holds my hair and pulls back.

“No, no, no, no. I need to fuck you, doll. I need to fuck you so hard you forget your name.”

No arguments here.

He releases my hair and pulls me to stand by my elbow. “Bend over the bed.” He slaps my ass as I turn to comply. He reaches under me to work the button on my jeans and I help him shove them down my hips. I hear the rip of a condom wrapper and then he shoves into me without preamble.

I cry out in pleasure.

This.

Yes.

Exactly what I need.

“Yes,” I’m babbling right away. “Please, Junior, so good.”

He grips my nape and plows in hard, slamming against my ass, his balls swinging against my clit.

I open my legs wider, arch my back to receive him. It feels so good. Pleasure and satisfaction rocket through me, even though I haven’t reached orgasm yet. My body sings, celebrating this new position, this moment. This man.

I cry out and moan and beg as he takes me fast and hard.

“You keep up that noise, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

“Don’t stop,” I cry out. “I mean, come! Please, give it to me. Give it to me harder. Now.”

I sound like the sluttiest porn character and I really don’t care. All I know is I’m getting exactly what I need in this moment.

And it feels incredible.

“Fanculo, fanculo, fanculo, fuck!” Junior roars and slams deep into me. I swear I feel the heat of his cum, even though the condom.

I come too, ripples of pleasure rolling through my body as I milk his cock for all it’s worth.

“Yes, Junior, yes.” I’m still babbling.

Junior eases out and I float away, into the blessed space of no thought.

I return to reality when he cleans me with a washcloth and rubs my ass.

“You okay, baby?” The stern don is gone, replaced by the very human, very gentle side of Junior. It’s a side I doubt he shows many, and I feel honored that he’s shown it to me so many times today.

I roll to my side and sit up. My face feels hot. I push my hair out of my eyes. Junior hands me a bottle of water. “You’re the hottest fucking woman on the planet, you know that?”

I flush, drinking from the water bottle. “Thank you.”

He smiles and puts a knuckle under my chin to lift my gaze. “You thanking me for the best sex I’ve had in years? Okay, I’ll take it.”

“Not for that. Well, yes for that, but just thank you.” I find the courage to look him in the eye. “For today. For helping me forget.”

“Forget what, baby?” he asks softly.

My eyes get wet, but it’s okay. I don’t feel sad anymore. Just wrung out. “Today’s my little boy’s birthday,” I say, my throat squeezing. “And he’s with his dad somewhere. And I don’t know where.” My voice wavers and breaks on the last word.

“Oh, baby.” He pulls me up from the bed and into his arms, pulling up my panties and jeans while he holds me. It’s a simple gesture, but I’ve never felt so taken care of in my life. At least not by a man. With Abe, I had to be his mama, not that he accepted anything I had to offer. But he certainly never gave. Never took care of me, even after I gave birth to his son. Never did me any favors.

I bury my face in Junior’s chest and he rubs my back, cups the back of my neck, kisses my hair.

“I’m sorry, doll. I really am.”

“So that’s where my money goes. I’ve hired a private investigator to find them, but it’s really expensive. And so far, my ex has kept under the radar.”

“You’re gonna find them.” Junior’s voice has a ring of conviction and I want so badly to believe him. “You will,” he says firmly, like he knows I’m unsure. “And when you do, I’ll be happy to take care of your ex for you.”

My stomach knots and I push him away. “Junior, no.”

He holds his palms up. “Well, if you ever need me to take care of him or anyone—you know I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

I shake my head, fresh tears wetting my eyes, but this time they’re not for me. At least I don’t think they are. They’re for him. For me because I can’t have a man like him. It’s not normal to suggest violence as a solution to every problem. And I don’t think he even wants to be that man anymore. I don’t think it’s the real him. “Junior...”

“Yeah?”

“No.” I try to keep the condemnation out of my voice, but don’t quite succeed. When I see him flinch, I rush on. “I appreciate the offer, I really do. It’s amazing to know I have someone like you in my corner.” I reach out to touch his arm. “But I’m not down with the violence. And honestly? I don’t think that’s really you. I don’t believe that’s who you want to be. I mean, you told me you want out.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly looking ten years older. “Yeah. Well. It’s who I am, Desiree. I may hate it, but I can’t change what is. And if I’m going to use violence for anything, it’s sure as hell gonna be to help the woman I care about.”

I don’t think he meant to be so revealing, because he shoots a semi-alarmed glance at me, like he can’t believe he said that.

The woman I care about.

The words hit me straight in the chest. The arrow pierces, but it spreads warmth through my chest. It also scares the shit out of me.

We’re not doing “care about” here. We were doing rough sex. I can’t care about Junior Tacone. At least, I don’t want to. There’s no long term future for me with a mobster.

It must read it in my face, because he stands up, giving me his back.

The arrow lodged in my chest turns leaden.

But then a terrible thud sounds from Gio’s room and Junior and I both go running out of the room.