“You have to feed this girl, she’s wasting away.” Mamma pinches Stella’s cheek, and despite the faint wince, she seems happy too. Happier than I’ve seen her since she moved in with me.
Dio, that sounds like we’re together. Since I took her hostage, I amend.Fantastico, I’m having internal arguments on the status of our relationship now.
My hand closes around Stella’s, and I tow her down the hall and up the stairs to my old bedroom. It’s not in fact my old bedroom, as this beautiful house is a far cry from the little shithole we grew up in. But when I bought Mamma this home, she recreated it to the most elaborate degree. Every single detail of my childhood bedroom came to life in this new version. She said it gave her something to do, a way to remember the past.
I pause at the door, wary to let Stella in on this intimate detail of my life. The closer we get the harder it will be for us to let go. I’m fully aware that bringing her up here was my idea because I’m not only a monster but also a masochist.
“So are we going in or what?” Stella peeks over my shoulder, her chin brushing my shirt.
I force my hand to turn the knob and reveal my childhood.
Two twin beds line the back wall, my side of the room covered in posters of Italiancalcio—soccer legends Totti, Maldini, and Del Piero. I nearly choke as my gaze lands on the framed picture by my bed. Shit. I’d almost forgotten that was there. I’d already had to remove all traces of Vinny in the penthouse. I race to the nightstand and pretend to bump into it, knocking the frame over. Instead of picking it up, I shove it underneath the bed. “Oops, I’ll pick that up later,” I say lamely.
But Stella barely notices. Her eyes are fixed on the desk in the corner, the one covered in my art.
“You drew these, didn’t you?” She picks up a few of the scattered pages.
“A long time ago.”
“They’re beautiful.” She steps closer, admiring the old charcoal sketches.
It’s almost painful for me to look at them. They bring back too many old memories of when we first came to New York without a dime. Of watching Ma struggle to make ends meet, of being forced to color with charcoal because it was the only thing I could get my hands on, of being the new kid who spoke broken English and the son of a man the other kids called a gangster. And the things I was forced to do as a result ….
Stella’s eyes meet mine as if she senses the raging turmoil I’ve fought so hard to hide behind the icy mask. No one can touch Luca Valentino. Never again.
Except for this woman.
One look and those walls crumble.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice is too soft.She’stoo soft, too perfect to be with me. But I’m a selfishbastardo,and I can’t stay away from her.
“Nothing,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
The worn paper she holds slips from her grasp as she closes in on me. Her hand lifts to my cheek, and her soft thumb caresses my bristly jaw. Beneath her touch, it loosens, softens until I’m seconds away from spilling words that would ruin us.
“Why did you bring me up here if it was only going to upset you?” The fine line between her brow puckers.
“Because I’m a sucker for punishment I guess.”
“What did you want to show me?”
All my dark, broken pieces. I shake my head, trying to force her gentle touch free, but it only tightens. Her fingers curl under my jaw, and she frames my face with both hands now. I breathe her in. I can’t get enough.
“I just had to get you away from Mamma,” I finally force out, “before she falls even more in love with you.”
She pauses, nibbling on her lower lip. “Right, and we can’t have that since this is only a temporary arrangement.”
“Precisely,” I bite out.
Her hands linger on my face, eyes scrutinizing as if she could pry the truth from my dark soul. “Kiss me,” she breathes against my lips.
It’s so far from what I expected her to say that my mouth moves on autopilot. I claim her lips, like they’re my only hope of salvation. But unlike by the pond, I take my time, tasting, exploring, nibbling. Last time was fueled by lust and a raging desire to possess her.
Now I just want to revel in her touch, in her taste. My fingers weave through the soft hair at her nape, fisting the dark locks. I deepen the kiss, tilting her head so I can take all of her. Her hands slide down my chest and settle around my waist. Her thumbs dip beneath the waistband of my jeans and remain there, perfectly tucked in.
Much too soon, she pulls away, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to keep her locked in my arms and never let go. “Now that was a kiss,” she whispers, a heart-stopping smile on those swollen lips. “And I didn’t even have to beg.”
A laugh spills out, shaking my shoulders. I’m certain no one has gotten so many lighthearted chuckles out of me in years. “Stop gloating.”
