Echo, p.29
Echo, page 29
That had been the beauty of the life here.
This house was not a home.
This oppressive prison was not what I had been longing after for nine years.
Turning, I looked up at a six-foot-six Cosa Nostra Enforcer who had become my home the moment I had first laid eyes on him. “Why did you bring me here?” Because now I truly saw and understood the veracity of my past and this life. “We cannot stay, and we can never come back.”
His chest rose and fell then his voice lowered with pure dominance. “Show me your room, Principessa.”
My heart suddenly began to race, my skin tingled and an ache throbbed low in belly. Biting my bottom lip, I did not question him.
I turned toward the stairs.
Then, with the heat and intoxicating musk of a Sicilian man at my back, I walked up the stairs and into my old bedroom.
Stopping in the middle of a space that once held all my childhood memories but now only held ones that involved the warrior in front of me, I turned to face the very man who had changed every single thing about my life.
Not taking his mesmerizing eyes off mine, he gave me another command. “Open the window.”
Undoing the old-fashioned latch, I pushed it open, and a warm Mediterranean breeze scented with lemon and olive trees touched my face.
Grasping my hips, his deep voice hovered just above my ear. “Do you remember?”
My eyes closed, and I inhaled him. “I will never forget.”
His huge hands skimmed down over the tops of my thighs. “I was standing in the courtyard when I heard a noise and glanced up. Open window, dark room, the silhouette of a woman with long hair. I didn’t know if I was looking at a ghost or an angel. Then you came down the stairs, and I knew.” He turned me to face him. “I was looking at a goddamn angel. A stunning, untouched, unsullied-by-my-world angel who blushed at me, and that was it.” He grasped the side of my neck. “You were mine.”
Every broken part of me came together as the hot Sicilian sun touched my back. “I was yours.”
His eyes turned to a shade of darkness that had nothing to do with his hands on me. “But I made a crucial mistake. One I’m not going to make again.”
“Erico,” I whispered.
He threaded his fingers into my hair and gripped tight. “I walked away from this villa without you, la mia Principessa.” His nostrils flared. “I never should’ve done that. Never.”
Tears welled. He was saying everything I wanted to hear, needed to hear, but I could not leave the still-open wound in my heart untouched. “That was not the only time you walked away from me.”
The tip of his chin was as precise as his movements when he handled his weapons. “Palermo was me thinking I was doing the right thing. Leaving you at the penthouse with Talerco was me doing what I had to until I got things sorted out with Caio.”
“And did you?” I had not asked. I had not wanted to, but suddenly, it occurred to me that the foolish bubble I had been isolating myself in on an old Southern Florida estate was only a luxury I could afford because of this man’s actions. I was still a Vincenzo who had married a Mantovani. No matter what my new identification said my name was, there were people in this world who knew what I was and what I looked like.
“Caio is Don, he paid the Vincenzo debt. Ademaro’s crew is gone, and the Mantovani famiglia’s got a new generation in place.”
“All within two weeks?”
“I’m done talking Cosa Nostra with you, bella.” His thumb stroked across my lower lip. “I’m here to right a wrong.” His intense stare on mine, he lowered his head and his voice. “I’m here to do it right this time.”
My heart pounding, the ache between my legs grew. “Do it right?” I barely whispered.
He brought his mouth to mine. “Fuck you in this bedroom. Erase every memory since that video call where you gave me tears.” His tongue swept across my lips. “Make you mine.” He whispered against my breath. “Walk away from this Sicilian country villa with la mia Principessa in my arms.”
“Kiss me,” I begged.
“Forgive me,” he countered.
Inhaling him, this moment, I stepped one last time into the past. “If you forgive me for everything I caused to happen to you and your brothers.”
Pulling back, he looked down at me with his hardened expression. “No. You’re never going there, you understand me? Never. Giancarlo should’ve been put down like a dog years before I took him out, and Ademaro was no better. Those were my mistakes. I own them. I fucked up.” His chest rose with a sharp inhale, then his voice became rough. “Forgive me. Ti prego perdonami.”
“Sempre,” I whispered.
His mouth slammed over mine, and he picked me up.
Delving his tongue deep as I wrapped my arms around his neck, he stepped back to the bed and sat. My legs straddled his thighs. His rough hands shoved my dress up. I pushed his shirt up, and he yanked my panties aside. Devouring me with a kiss, he unzipped his pants.
Then he abruptly pulled back and gripped my hip and his thick shaft as he stared into my eyes.
That was when I saw it.
Something I had crucially missed in a darkened cabin on a mountain.
Three letters, all the same, in elaborate script, tattooed on his chest right over his heart. With angel wings above them, and the silhouette of two guns crossing their barrels over the whole design as if in protection, it was beautiful.
“Erico,” I whispered, touching the three letters, my letters, as tears welled. “When—”
“Sancia Sophafina Santoro, you’ve been with me since that night in Palermo.” Lifting me by the waist with one hand, he stoked the head of his hard length through my desire once, twice….
Then he shoved all the way into me with one thrust. “Mia per sempre.”
Need, desire, and belonging like I had never known—it all exploded into a thousand shades of an Enforcer’s love.
“Sì, sì.” I was his. Forever.
Echo
My steps froze, I went SEAL still and I fucking stared.
Sitting on the floor with her new art supplies strewn all around her, her knees up, her face covered in tears, she was staring down at something she was clutching in her hands.
For a half a beat, I didn’t know if I was looking at the past or my future.
I remembered every damn second I’d had with her, and this was one of them. I was on a plane, she was crying in her bedroom, and I’d had to stare at her from three thousand miles away, not being able to do a damn thing to stop her tears. A sick part of me hadn’t wanted to.
Still didn’t.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on, but like this?
She took my fucking breath.
Vulnerable, real, still fucking pure enough to feel sadness.
Mine.
All fucking mine.
From her painted toes to her tangled hair, from a brazen Principessa to an innocent submissive, every damn side of her was mine. She had been since the day I first saw her.
All the shit in between, I’d had to compartmentalize and let go. Because if I thought about it, I’d start shooting more Cosa Nostra stronzos, and she’d asked me not to kill any more assholes unless absolutely necessary. Like a fucking pussy, I’d given her that. La mia Principessa.
Still not noticing I was in the doorway, she dropped more tears, but then she swiped at her face, and I saw what she was holding.
Fuck.
Expression locked, I stepped into the bedroom.
Eyes swollen, nose red, she looked up.
“You went through my shit,” I accused.
“I am sorry.”
Doing a quick mental inventory of what else I’d moved into this old house, I calculated. “Are you?”
“You kept it,” she whispered, holding up the drawing she’d given me all those years ago.
Yeah, I’d fucking kept it. That drawing was my talisman. I didn’t know how, because it’d gotten soaked in the damn ocean, but that drawing had survived a plane crash. I’d survived that plane crash. Shit, I’d survived seven years as a SEAL. The paper itself was a hell of lot worse for the wear—tattered, creased, and parts of it smeared, but her art was still there.
I tipped my chin.
She stared at me for a few seconds, like she always did when she was trying to read me. Then she looked down at her drawing. “What happened to it?”
Life. “It got wet.”
Bringing the worn paper to her face, she fucking inhaled. “It smells like you and the ocean.”
My cock got hard. “Yeah? What do I smell like?”
She looked up. “In one word or lots of words?”
Jesus, I wanted her. “The latter.”
She gave me her slow nod as she folded the paper. “Besides the soap you use and the heat of your musk on your skin, you smell like midnight in a courtyard very far away from here.” Her voice dipped. “Mysterious, elusive… forbidden.” Her eyes closed. “You smell dangerous.” She inhaled deep. “Like the metal from your guns and the leather on your wrist. Like sandalwood and charcoal. Like—” she abruptly stopped.
“Like what?” I demanded.
Shaking her head, she stood. “I will put this back.” Wearing one of those white see-through nightgown dress things that drove me to fucking insanity, she made a tactical mistake.
She floated past me within arm’s reach.
My palm wrapped around her throat, and I stopped her. “You know what you’re going to do?” Bending down to her ear, I lowered my voice to the tone of dominance she always responded to. “You’re going to finish that sentence.”
With a sharp inhale, she closed her eyes. “I do not think I will.”
Bullshit. “You’re leaning into me, your pulse is hammering under my hand, and I can smell your desire.” I knew this woman like I knew the trigger on my M4. “You’re going to answer me.”
She straightened her posture. “How did the drawing get wet?”
“It went for a swim in the ocean off the coast of the Madeira Islands.” I stepped into her. “Finish your sentence.”
Her eyes popped open, and she looked up at me. “Madeira? By Portugal?”
“Yes.” I shoved one strap of her nightgown off her shoulder.
“Why were you swimming there?”
“I didn’t say I was swimming.” I flicked the other strap off.
The nightgown fell to her feet, and she shivered. “What were you doing?”
“What were you going to say?” I sucked the tender flesh below her ear.
Her nipples hard, her thighs pressed together, she held firm. “You first.”
Gesù Cristo, this Principessa had my number. “My plane crashed.”
“Bedda Matri!” Gasping, her hands started skimming all over my arms and chest as if that shit had just happened and I’d just crawled out of the fucking fuselage. “Are you okay? Why did the plane crash? When, how did this happen?” Her eyes welling, her voice caught then she sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh dear God. This is why you hate flying.”
Fuck, I needed to be inside her if I was going to have this conversation.
Yanking my shirt off one-handed, I picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.
Landing on her back, she quickly scrambled to her knees, but she didn’t close her legs. “Erico, you cannot—”
“You want to talk about it?” Unbuckling my belt, I stepped out of my pants and kicked off my boots. “Then this is how we’re gonna talk about it.”
Her gaze dropped to my hard cock, and she bit her lip. “This is coercion.”
I stroked myself. “This is me looking at your wet cunt.” And not having to think about flying.
“You cannot solve everything with sex.”
I wasn’t solving shit except making her come. “Don’t mistake what I’m about to do to that tight cunt of yours as a solution.” Gripping myself hard, I leveled her with an unmistakable look. “This is possession.”
Heat flushed across her cheeks, and her nipples got even tighter. “You do not own me.”
The fuck I didn’t. “Tra il dire e il fare c’è di mezzo il mare.”
“An ocean lies between what is said and what is done,” she repeated in English.
“Spread your legs, Principessa, and I’ll show you exactly how I own you.”
Unconsciously licking her bottom lip where I always touched her, she opened her thighs and leaned back. “This is still coercion.”
Climbing over her and holding my weight off her with one arm, I stroked the head of my cock through her slick heat. “I have never, nor will I ever, force you. You hear me, woman?”
A tear slid down her cheek as she grasped my biceps. “I know. I am sorry.” Another tear escaped.
Fuck. “Don’t apologize.” Swiping at her cheek with my thumb, I kissed her forehead. “Just understand that I need to be inside you right now.”
“I understand.” She pressed her lips to mine. “I want you inside me right now. I need to feel you too.”
That was all I needed to hear.
Slow, inch by torturous inch, I pushed into my woman.
Her back arched, her tears fell, and I fucking told her. “Nine years ago. It happened the day I was coming back to you. That was why I was late getting to you at Santoro’s in Palermo. Giancarlo had someone rig the plane. He knew I wasn’t going to let him marry you. We lost an engine and crashed into the ocean just short of the runway. The pilot’s quick thinking saved our lives, but the drawing was in my pocket and it got wet.”
“Erico,” she openly wept.
“Right fucking here, Principessa.” Pulling out halfway, I thrust back in deep. “We’re not going to discuss this again, but know that not even a damn plane crash is going to keep me from you again. Understand?”
Nodding through tears, she gripped my arms tighter. “Yes.”
“Let it go,” I commanded.
Inhaling, bringing her legs up, she gave me her honesty. “I do not know how to do that right now.”
“Then feel me fuck you, bella.” I sank my tongue into her sweet mouth and kissed her. Then I did exactly that.
I fucked my woman.
Hard, deep, slow, fast, I stroked her clit, I hit her G-spot, and I fucked her good until her tight cunt constricted so hard around me, I saw goddamn stars.
Roaring with my release as her aftershocks squeezed my cock, I filled her womb.
Then I held her there.
Capturing her legs behind her knees, pushing her thighs up, I ground into her hips and fucking stilled.
Her cheeks flushed, heat on her forehead, she tangled her fingers in my hair and smiled up at me. “I know what you are doing.”
Damn fucking straight. “You better.” We’d talked about this. I wanted her swollen with my kid. I wanted the whole fucking world to know she was mine, but since I couldn’t tell a damn soul who she was or what we were, this was it. Her, me, and the family I wanted. We both wanted.
First generation Markos.
Pulling my hips back a couple inches, I thrust deep one more time. “You feel me?”
“I feel you,” she whispered.
“Good.” Slow, careful, I released her legs and pulled out, then rolled to my back.
Curling into me, her hair even more tangled, smelling like sex and me, she wrapped her arm over my chest and sighed contentedly as she traced her initials inked over my heart.
Then she pulled a Principessa on me. “You do have a lot of guns, though.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I knew it. “How many did you move around to get at the damn drawing?”
“I do not like guns. I did not touch them.”
Expression deadlocked, I looked down at her.
Her face turned beet red, and she fessed up. “I mean, I did not pick them up. I just had to… shuffle a few.” Her tone went to this side of contrite. “I saw the folded paper, and I was curious.”
She was always fucking curious. Usually about my cock, which I didn’t have a problem with. But this? “Don’t touch my guns again.” Now I was going to have to wipe her prints from them, and that shit would destroy the whole purpose of why I kept what I did.
“Maybe I want to learn how to shoot.”
Fuck no. “Then I’ll get you your own damn piece.” I wouldn’t.
Staring up at me, she frowned. “You are lying.”
Of course I was. “You’re right.”
She blinked.
“You’re not getting a fucking gun, you’re not going to shoot guns, and you’re not going to touch my shit again. Understood?”
“You cannot tell me what to do.”
Fuck this.
I moved.
Rolling her to her back, shoving her thighs apart with my knee, I drove into her tight cunt that was still full of my seed. “Not open for discussion,” I warned.
Her head fell back, her lips parted, and she made the sound that drove me over the edge.
My thumb went to her clit, and I thrust twice, hitting her deep. “You gonna touch my guns again?”
“Yes,” she moaned. “If I want to.”
I pulled out.
Her small hands frantically reaching for me, her face twisted with shock. “No. No, no, no. Erico.”
My cock hard as fuck, dripping with her desire and my previous release, pulsed painfully when she said my name. Ignoring it, I leveled her with a look. “You don’t touch the fucking evidence.”
She stilled. “Evidence?”
“You heard me.”
She sat up. “Yes, I heard. But I do not understand.” My seed started to leak from her cunt.
Resisting the urge to shove it back in, I gave her only what she needed to know. “Prints. Insurance policies. Evidence.” I’d never kept any of the guns I’d used. I destroyed anything that could incriminate me, always. But weapons other assholes had used and were stupid enough to leave their fingerprints on? Those I’d fucking collected. That was my insurance policy.
Her lush lips forming an O, she put her hand over her cunt as she quickly closed her legs. “I-I need to use the restroom.”
My nostril flared. “Move your hand.”
“Erico.” Her face flushed. “Please.”
“Tell me you’re not going to touch my shit again, and you can you use the bathroom.” After I fucked her a second time and filled that sweet cunt even more.
