Echo, p.23
Echo, page 23
“Don’t do that to me again, Sancia.” Darkened green-and-gold eyes met mine. “I don’t know if you slipped and fell or took an intentional dive, but don’t fucking do that again. The bruises….” His nostrils flared with a sharp inhale as he glanced at a few small marks that had formed on my arms and legs before looking back at me with an even darker expression. “I can’t see this shit, bella. Not on you. Not ever again. You hear me?”
My mouth suddenly dry, I swallowed down shame. “I slipped. I am sorry.”
Tipping his chin, his gaze dropped to my toes, then slowly moved up the entire length of my body. “Close your eyes.”
My skin suddenly on fire, a burning sensation abruptly growing low in my belly, I did not want to do as he ordered. I did not want to stop looking at him at all. This moment, his hold on me, his eyes, it felt… fleeting.
As fleeting as the safety that I had once felt I had.
As transitory as a single moment in a car in Palermo.
As ephemeral as falling snow.
I did not want to lose this. “Please do not make me close my eyes right now.”
“Don’t.” Terse and full of warning, his deep voice cut through the word and my request. “Don’t look at me like that, Principessa.”
“How am I looking at you?”
“The same way you did when you were seventeen years old. I’m not a goddamn savior.”
“Tonight, you were.” Nine years ago, he was.
His voice growing thick and guttural, he repeated the sentiment as if saying it would make it true. “I am not your savior, Sancia. Don’t put me on a fucking pedestal.”
I did not know regular men. I did not even know my own father. I had lived my entire life in a Cosa Nostra bubble, and all of my experiences were colored with figurative and literal blood. Nothing had been what it had seemed, with one exception.
Him.
An Enforcer who had killed to protect me.
A SEAL who had gone over a cliff to save me.
If that did not warrant a pedestal, I did not know what did. “You were always my savior, Erico Mantovani.”
A low, threatening growl erupted from his chest. “I see it in your eyes. I know what you want.” His hold on me tightening, his fingers dug into my flesh. “It’s not happening.”
Remembering his kiss, the only one I had ever had, I stared at his lips.
“No,” he forcefully warned.
“I did not speak.”
“You didn’t have to. Tip your head back.”
If he could give me a no, I could give him one back. “No.”
“I’m barely hanging on to doing the right goddamn thing by you, so listen carefully, Principessa.” Raw emotion flared in his eyes. “Don’t fucking let me touch you.”
As daring, as naïvely as I had all those years ago, I reached for him.
But I did not take his wrist.
I was not giving him a piece of paper.
Placing my hand on the side of his neck, running my thumb over the edge of his unshaven jaw, I gave him our reality. “You are already touching me.”
His arms tensed. “Don’t make me hurt you, woman.”
He already was. “Kiss me,” I whispered.
It was instant.
His face transformed to hardened rage. “Like my brother kissed you? Is that what you want?” His voice lowered to a vicious snarl. “You want me to fuck you like him too?”
My hand, my heart, they froze, but my lips parted. “He—”
“Don’t,” he threatened. “Whatever the fuck you’re about to say, do not fucking say it.”
I had to say it. “You do not understand.” He needed to hear it. Then maybe he could let this anger go. Because that was how he was hurting me. His anger hurt. Knowing I caused it hurt. Having him pull me from a snowy death hurt. Seeing his face when I first opened my eyes hurt. Feeling all of these emotions I could not say, but could not contain—it hurt. The pain needed to stop, for both of us, but we were past apologies, and I knew no other way to erase the tainted past than to create a new picture to cover it.
“No, Principessa, you don’t understand.” The veins on his neck bulging, his shoulders a landscape of rigid muscles, he spat his next words at me. “I’m a goddamn killer.”
I did not dare move my hand. “I know what you are doing.”
Ignoring what I had said, trying to drown me in his anger, he threw more rage. “I’m Cosa Nostra. I’m Sicilian. I’m the fucking son of Enzo Mantovani. Do you know what that means?”
Not giving me a chance to answer, not pausing, not even taking a breath, his voice turned feral. “I don’t do this.”
I caressed his cheek.
“STOP.”
His chest heaving, his gaze glaring, water rained down over his anger and washed it from my soul.
“No.” I saw him. I understood it now. I felt the burn of his jealousy and the bright crimson hue of the anger he carried. “I see you.”
His roar was so loud, I shook in his arms. “You don’t fucking see shit. I don’t forget. I don’t forgive. YOU MARRIED MY GODDAMN BROTHER.”
I took his face with both hands.
His chest heaving, his eyes wild, he became the storm. “You touch me one more goddamn time, I will angry-fuck you. Then I’ll fuck you again and again until you’re dripping with my seed and your cunt’s so goddamn sore you can’t remember a fucking thing except my name.”
“Erico. Erico, Erico, Eri—”
His mouth slammed over mine.
Dropping my legs, tearing away from my lips, he ripped my panties off, shoved his boxers down, and put his hand between my legs.
Then, with gentle reverence and an unyielding expression of fury, his fingers slowly stroked me.
My breath caught, my body came alive, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the backs of my legs, lifted me up and pushed me against the cold tile wall. Pressing the head of his hard length to my entrance, an Enforcer stared at me without mercy.
Then he shoved into me with one brutal thrust.
Huge and thick and long, his shocking invasion robbed my breath, and I cried out as pain ripped through my core.
Pitiless and unforgiving, he pulled back and thrust again, and I took it.
Willingly.
I did not want his forgiveness. Not until he drove his anger out and made room for it.
Greedy, selfish, I begged. “Harder.”
His eyes darkened, then he did exactly as he had promised.
He angry-fucked me.
In and out, over and over, until he shoved in deep and every muscle in his body went rigid as his ferocious roar filled the room and echoed off the tile walls.
Hot seed forcefully pumped into me.
Tears fell, water fell, his chest heaved, then without ever pulling out, he was thrusting again.
His expression ruthless, he rhythmically drove into me again and again. “Do you remember him now?”
Gripping the back of his neck, staring into gold-and-green eyes, my heart beating for every color inked on his skin, I spoke the truest words I knew. “I have always been yours.”
Releasing one of my legs to grip my throat, he brought his lips to mine. “Only mine.”
“Only yours,” I promised.
His tongue drove into my mouth like his thick length drove into my body, and he kissed me hard and deep, but I felt it.
With his seed inside me and his claim staked, his anger had shifted, and his movements had become more fluid.
Grinding his hips into mine, releasing one of my legs and wrapping it around his waist, exquisitely rubbing tight circles over my most sensitive spot with his thumb—he was no longer moving against me. He was moving for me.
The moan crawled up my throat, and my body truly opened for him.
Groaning into my mouth and pulsing deep inside me, his huge hands grasped the back of my thighs. His fingers dug into my soft flesh, and he pulled me tight against his body.
Without breaking the kiss, without his hard length leaving me, he shoved the water off with his elbow and walked us into the bedroom.
Cupping the back of my head, he laid me on the bed and came down on top of me.
Dripping water over my sensitized skin, he deepened the kiss and his thrust.
Moaning, I shivered, and he abruptly pulled back.
Staring down at me, he searched my eyes.
Reaching up, I grasped his face with both hands. “Please, do not stop.”
With a harsh inhale, he shook his head and pulled the comforter over us. “Not stopping. Pill?”
Aching for more of his deep thrusts, I threaded my fingers into his wet hair. “Scusassi?”
Briefly closing his eyes, he inhaled. Then his fierce gaze met mine again. “Are you on any birth control?”
Oh. “No.”
“You want kids?”
I did not have to think about it. “Yes.”
“Good.” His hard length pulsed inside me, and he grabbed the front of my wet lace bra and yanked it down. “I’m coming inside you again.” Palming one exposed breast and capturing my nipple in the crease between his thumb and fingers, he kneaded the sensitive bud as his long fingers stretched across to tease my other nipple.
My core flooded with desire, and my legs lifted to let him in deeper.
Grinding his hips as if he already knew what my body needed, he caressed my breasts, and I watched him in awe.
The color of his touch, the movement of his muscles, his tan, inked hand on the pale flesh of my body, he was already a work of art, but I wanted to paint him.
I wanted a life with him.
Beyond this cabin.
Beyond this storm.
I looked up at him, and his gaze, heated and fierce, was already waiting.
“Erico,” I whispered.
His hand wrapped dominantly around my throat, and he dragged his thumb over my bottom lip. “Only like this, only when I’m inside you, do you call me that. Understand?”
Desire and need pulsed painfully in my core. “Yes.”
Thrusting once, he watched me. “You ready to come?”
I was ready to never lose him again. “I do not want to miss any more life with you.”
Grasping the backs of my knees and pushing my legs up and out, he adjusted his angle and drove into me hard and fast.
My back arched off the mattress, my lips parted with a strangled cry, and I saw stars—brilliant, luminous stars. “Erico.”
Before I could catch my breath or my reason, he did it again, hitting a spot I never knew existed.
Leaning his huge body over me, rotating his hips, he brought his lips to mine and drove into me again. “Come, bella.” He ground against the spot.
The shockwave started in my core and exploded to every nerve ending in my body.
I shattered, I shook, I cried, and I pulsed and pulsed until I did not think I would ever be able to move again.
Then he increased the speed of his thrusts before going still right at that very spot deep inside me as he let go of his own release.
Hot, forceful bursts struck my womb, and I was shattering all over again.
By the time he gently eased out of me and I felt the rush of his seed between my thighs, my eyes were closing.
Gathering me in his arms and pulling me against the strength of his hard body, he gave me an order I could not help but follow. “Sleep, la mia Principessa.”
Echo
Dawn broke, and my cell vibrated for a second time.
For a second time, I ignored it.
Asleep on my arm, her thick hair tangled, la mia Principessa was so damn beautiful I didn’t want to move. Looking more at peace than I’d ever seen her, but also looking so damn vulnerable, she made me want to shoot every asshole who’d ever fucked with her.
Inhaling her soft scent, my cock hard as hell, I relived every second I’d been inside her.
My phone stopped vibrating, then immediately started again.
I couldn’t ignore it a third time, but fuck, I wanted to.
Resigned, I reached out and grabbed it off the nightstand.
As I held the phone to my ear, she shifted.
“What?” I answered as quietly as possible.
Conlon chuckled. “What’s wrong with your voice? Did I catch you mid—”
“Finish that sentence and you’re a dead man.” She breathed in deep and curled closer to me, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I’m fucking sleeping. Do you have him?”
“Right. And here, all this time, I didn’t think you were actually human. Or slept.”
“Conlon,” I warned, moving my hand down her back and feeling her soft skin, wondering how the fuck I’d fallen asleep in the first place with her next to me like this. I’d never slept with a woman. Now I couldn’t imagine ever sleeping without her.
“Right, right.” Shifting gears, Conlon sighed. “Okay, I’ve got what you want.” He hesitated. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
That got my attention. “He better be breathing.” I needed him alive.
“He is, but he’s not talking.”
“He’s not supposed to.” Not to Conlon. “Where are you?”
“Right. Manhattan, but let me rephrase. He’s only saying two words—repeatedly—in the form of a frantic question.”
Gesù Cristo. “Out with it, Conlon. What the fuck is he asking?”
“Where’s Sancia?”
My muscles tensed, her body stilled, and I looked down.
Dark doe eyes stared up at me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t seeing my angel. Or a woman who was only mine. I was staring at a Principessa who’d married a Don, and wondering what the fuck she’d been doing on a Cosa Nostra estate for nine goddamn years.
Jealous rage flooded my veins. “We’re coming in.” Pulling my arm out from under her, I got out of bed.
“Bad idea. New York’s flooded with Vincenzo’s men. Delta and Whiskey are transporting him now to a safe house upstate with a private airstrip. My advice? We bring him down to headquarters in Miami.”
Where every AES prick would find out my business? “No.” It was bad enough I already had him, Delta, Whiskey, Alpha, Romeo and November in on this. Checking the security panel before walking into the living room, I looked out at the lake. Still not frozen. “Take him to my place.” I glanced at my watch and did a quick calculation, adding in two refuel stops and the drive from MacElheran’s place to mine. “Be there by fifteen hundred hours.”
“You sure you want to do that?”
The storm had dumped another foot of snow overnight. “You sure you want to question me?” At this point, I’d have to dig my way into the fucking boathouse.
“Right,” he drawled. “Your place it is.”
“Make sure you’re not followed,” I warned.
“Copy, and I’ll keep your flight plan off the radar. You’re welcome. Anything else while I’m stacking favors?”
“A vehicle waiting at MacElheran’s, and fuck off. The last time I was in a chopper with you behind the controls was worth a hundred fucking favors.”
“At least I can pilot a bird.”
“If that’s what you call trying to kill us. Fifteen hundred hours. Don’t be late.” I hung up.
“We are leaving?”
I turned.
Wearing my long-sleeve thermal that hung to her knees, legs bare, a pair of my socks from my go bag on her feet, hair disheveled, she studied me.
Expression locked, I didn’t give her an in.
Slowly, she nodded. “You are angry again.”
I remembered the shit I’d said to her father nine years ago.
Mantovanis don’t bleed. Anger runs through our veins.
“Your clothes should be dry.” Striding past her, I headed for the bedroom to grab my own damn clothes. “Get dressed.”
Sancia
His anger was back.
I had hoped it was the phone call, but it was not.
He had not touched me.
He had showered alone.
He had avoided me in the bathroom.
He had tersely instructed me to wait in the cabin while he got the plane ready.
Then he had come back up, and instead of carrying me, he had told me to walk in the path his previous footsteps had made.
He did not even lift me up into the seaplane.
He had opened the door and stood behind me while I climbed in myself.
That had been several hours and two fuel stops ago.
I did not understand his anger or his silence, and at first, I did not want to disturb his concentration as he flew the plane, so I had said nothing.
But then the nauseating twist of resignation and my own resentment had started to set in.
I should have known it could not last.
I should not have hoped, nor expected, that he would be different from all the other men in my life who had kept secrets and did what they were going to do no matter what.
I should not have still been hoping for him to speak to me, to open up to me. It had been almost eight hours since we left, and he still was not talking as he expertly brought the seaplane down and landed on a grass airstrip.
Taxiing to a hangar that was three times the size of the boathouse he had parked in at the cabin, he angled the plane in front the of metal building, but he did not pull it inside.
Shutting the engine down, he took off his headset and scanned the land around us, but there was no one else here.
“Wait,” he ordered, speaking to me for the first time in hours as he grabbed his bag and his big gun and stepped out of the plane.
Striding around the propeller in front, he hopped onto the float on my side and opened the door.
In that moment, I hated how handsome he was.
I also hated how a hot, humid breeze blew into the cabin and brought with it his scent, because even though I was sore, even though I was upset, a need pulsed deep in my belly.
I had no words for what he had done to me, to my body last night. But I did know, even before he had asked me if I remembered him, what he had been trying to do to my mind, and it had worked.
I had not thought of his brother once.
And I would not.
Not ever again.
