The floor? Even with the nice carpet, that option doesn’t seem particularly inviting.
I glance around. There’s an ottoman by the window, not exactly large, but big enough for me to fit. I walk over to the bed, snatch a pillow and the duvet, and carry them to the ottoman. “I’ll sleep here.”
“Suit yourself,” he says calmly as he begins to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to go shower.”
I watch him disappear behind one of the doors. He’s playing it very cool today. If I want to get on his nerves, I’m going to have to figure out exactly what makes him angry.
While he’s in the shower, I explore the rest of the room.
There’s a huge walk-in closet with freestanding cabinetry in the center and two armchairs. On one side of the closet are Rafaele’s clothes, and the other side is sparsely filled with what I realize are some of my clothes from home. He must have asked Mamma to pack me a bag at some point, and of course she packed my least favorite outfits.
I wander back into the bedroom. I find a black credit card with my new name on it on one of the nightstands.
Cleo Messero.
God, this is so weird.
I run my thumb over the raised letters. I’ll have to put this thing to use soon to buy clothes I actually want to wear.
The bathroom door swings open.
I turn in time to see Rafaele come out in a pair of black boxer briefs, his hair tousled and wet. A choked sound escapes the back of my throat at the sight of all that tattooed skin.
Holy shit.
He’s covered in ink from his collarbone down to the waistband of his boxers.
And he’s fit. Eight-pack abs, well-defined chest, and broad, muscled shoulders. My eyes follow the V that disappears behind his waistband along with his ink. A wave of heat crashes through me.
Slowly, I lift my gaze back to his face. There’s a challenge in his eyes. Is he trying to play dirty? I realize my jaw is hanging open, and I quickly close it. Fuck. I need to keep my poker face around him.
He walks toward the closet, giving me a view of his muscular back and the intricate snake tattoo on it. He looks even more lethal without his clothes on. I can’t stop staring at the way his body moves, confident and powerful, like a predator.
He returns with another duvet in his arms and dumps it on the bed. “This Friday, I’m taking you out for dinner.”
My gaze lingers on that damn V. “I’ll pass.”
“It’s not a request.”
I blink at him, struggling to formulate a sentence that doesn’t end with me drooling on myself. I must be tired. It’s been an exhausting twenty-four hours.
“Okay, whatever,” I mumble.
It’s not until I’m in my pajamas and lying on the hard ottoman in the darkness that the haze induced by his naked body lifts. I rub my eyes and let out a sigh. I can’t let my insides turn to mush every time he comes out of a shower. Now that he’s seen my less-than-ideal reaction, he’s going to keep doing it.
I stare at the star-speckled sky outside the window and try to ignore the sound of Rafaele’s deep breaths from where he’s lying in his comfortable bed. The bastard’s already asleep.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily to me, so I stay up for a while longer and slowly piece together my plan.
CHAPTER 14
RAFAELE
“Conor’s going to make a full recovery,” Nero says when I meet him the next afternoon for lunch at one of my restaurants in Yonkers.
I spent the morning driving up to Albany to go over the books with a capo I’ve got there. My territory sprawls from Westchester County all the way through Upstate New York, but I’ve also got a number of restaurants scattered throughout Manhattan, as well as a club in Harlem. It’s a lot of area to cover, and I like to see my capos face-to-face frequently, so I’m often on the road.
“Good. What did he want to do with Joshua?”
Nero shrugs. “Nothing. Told me he’s going to send him to live with his mother in Chicago for a few months until he cools down.”
“Joshua kidnapped him and nearly killed him.”
“He’s his son.”
He’s an idiot, and a dangerous one at that. “He’s making a mistake. Son or not, Joshua needs to be put down.”
“How many times do I have to remind you not everyone thinks like you, Rafe?”
“You don’t need to remind me of anything. I already know most people lack all semblance of rationality.”
Nero chuckles. “Good thing you’ve got enough for all of us.”
I shake my head, feeling a lick of annoyance at Conor’s shortsightedness. “Tell Conor the next time Joshua steps out of line—and he will step out of line again—we won’t give him a choice. His son used up his one strike.”
“Noted,” Nero says. “I’ll make sure he gets the message. How was your meeting with Mad Dog?”
“Mad Dog’s numbers were fine.” Our income from Albany has been dropping over the last six months, and I’ve been working on figuring out why. “But he lost a few of his regulars recently. I told him to go talk to them and politely invite them back.” Mad Dog runs a popular gambling den and has been one of my top earners.
Nero shakes his head. “There’s nowhere else to go gamble that kind of money up there.”
“I have a feeling that’s no longer the case.”
A waiter comes around with a bottle of wine and fills our glasses.
“You think it’s Ferraro?” Nero asks once he leaves.
“Possibly. It’s more likely Bratva. They’ve been getting more and more bold in the recent weeks.” I spread a napkin over my lap. “I want you to ask around. Have you made progress on setting up that dinner with Ferraro?”
“I’m waiting on Big Joe to give me a few dates.” Nero eyes the caprese salad on the table and spears some onto his fork. “What about your wife? Did you manage to pacify her?”
I drag my tongue over my teeth. Cleo was still asleep on the ottoman when I left, her copper curls splayed across her pillow. I spent a few minutes studying her flawlessly smooth skin and the elegant arc of her throat before I left. Elena’s words from yesterday were on my mind as I walked out the front door. “Don’t hurt her.”
Don’t hurt her? Well, if I needed any additional confirmation that my sister thinks I’m a monster, that was it. I have no plans to hurt my wife, but I do have extensive plans on how to make her writhe in pleasure. If only she’d stop being so fucking stubborn.
My hunger for her is occupying a significant part of my mind, but it no longer feels as overwhelming as it did in the church. Now that she’s mine, it’s only a matter of time before she realizes resisting me is futile.
“I gave her a cell phone and a credit card. As long as she obeys the rules that are in place to keep her safe, she can do as she likes.”
“That’s a good sta—”
The door of the restaurant flies open.