All of my life, I thought that holding my ground meant fighting for it. In that moment, I realized something. Sometimes holding ground meant going with the flow, saving energy, so when the wave passed, I could go in a better direction.
We had come to terms in Rocco’s office, but we both knew there would be times that we’d have to draw lines outside of that room. This was one of those times. And he’d either call my bluff or he wouldn’t, but since I was committing my life to this man, proposition or not, and he could easily crush me, I had to be as term-oriented as he was. He seemed to like the control it gave him, and for a man who was always in control, I needed to learn to work around him in a way that he was familiar with.
After a tense stretch of time, he lowered his head, his nose skimming my neck. “Concordato,” he murmured against my overheated skin. Agreed upon. “I will choose my words wisely around you, Mariposa. They seem to cost me more than our agreement.”
I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the feel of his body so close to mine.
“Never…” he said, pressing his hips against my belly, giving me a taste of what was to come when I was ready. Even though I was nothing but skin and bones, he was still harder than me, and he made me feel...soft, feminine. “…think that I need to pay for a fuck. I never have. I never will. Come tomorrow, you’ll be the only one I’ll be fucking for good. Plans and dates and times can go to hell.” Then he said something in Italian against my pulse. Il tuo profumo mi fa impazzire. I think it had something to do with the way I smelled. He kept breathing me in, inhaling my skin like it was air. Sandalwood hung heavy between us.
I bit my lip, not wanting an embarrassing sound to escape from my mouth at how good he felt against me. My lower stomach clenched like a fist, and my entire body was damp, and not only from sweat.
“You taste as good as you smell.” He inhaled even harder, and then his tongue trailed from my neck to my heart and back up to my chin, stopping close to my mouth. “Say it, Mariposa.”
“Concordato,” I repeated. We both had to repeat the word during our meeting in order for Rocco to finalize the term and move on. He was keeping to those rules. I lowered my voice. “We were only talking. Just because Harrison said those words to me doesn’t mean I feel the same. I do love him, but like a brother.”
The neutral territory we stood on seemed to disappear beneath my feet, and we were back to opposite sides of the battle lines. As soon as the words I do love him came from my mouth, I felt the change in him immediately.
“You.” His tone was gruff and came against my skin like a hundred stones. “You’re my territory. I say who does and doesn’t come near it. I’m the only one who touches it.”
Territory. Like property. “Your property?” My eyes flashed up to meet his. He was right. He did own me, in a sense. He owned my loyalty, but I wouldn’t stand to be treated like some piece of land he could shit on whenever he wanted.
“My fucking property. My territory. You seem to forget that it was you who came to my table willingly. You hashed out the details. Set terms. You signed papers with your blood. We made a deal.”
I wanted to slam my fists against his chest, all of my anger contained there. “For all your wisdom,” I seethed, “you're not that smart. When you enter a bargain, it not only binds one but two. You might be my capo, but I own you, too, don’t I? I’m your territory, so you’re my property.”
We were still navigating the real word, the one outside of Rocco’s office filled with terms and legal papers, but we seemed to be circling around something personal I couldn’t figure out.
After a few minutes, he finally spoke. “I didn’t like what I saw. Or what I heard.”
There it was. The eddy that kept sucking us under. He didn’t like seeing Harrison and me together. Why? It made no sense. Capo had me, all of the parts of me he requested at the table. What difference did it make how Harrison felt or what he said to me? They were just words, unless I made them more. Still, it seemed to take a lot to get Capo to admit that.
“All you have to do is say that. Use all the words, Capo. I’ll understand. You don’t have to hurt me to get what you want.”
He watched me for a few intense seconds, and then he nodded once. “Concordato.” But his look didn’t cool. It turned into something else, and the maddening desire in me responded automatically when he did something with his hips, pressing even harder into me, so hard that I sucked in a breath and a noise that I’d never heard before slipped from my lips.
Fucka me, I bet he was going to be good in bed. He wouldn’t only touch me; he’d consume me. Still. There was hesitation. I wasn’t ready to go all the way with him. That severe craving would have to eat at me until every defense had been gnawed away.
Hands on my mouth so I won’t scream. Sweat. From him and me. Fingers. Nasty fingers. Disgusting. Wicked. Kindness. Owing.
Capo stopped touching me, and when I opened my eyes, his were on my face. Seeing right through me. I didn’t flinch from his knowing. I appreciated the fact that he seemed to understand without me having to speak the words again.
Please don’t hurt me.
He released my wrists, taking my hand in his—his hand practically engulfed mine—and started to lead me back toward his car.
The haze slipped a little after he put space between us, and his words from earlier made full entry into my mind. Come tomorrow, you’ll be the only one I’ll be fucking for good. Plans and dates and times can go to hell.
“We’re not supposed to get married until next weekend in New York,” I said, my voice the opposite of my body. Steady. A few seconds went by and he didn’t answer me. “Next weekend, Capo. What happened to next weekend?”
“Too long,” he said. “It’s happening tomorrow. I’ll talk to Rocco in the morning about changing the terms. We’ll get married in the evening.”
“The dress you spent a lot of money on! It won’t be ready.”
“Have Giada call the designer. Tell them I’ll pay triple to have it finished. If not, wear paper jeans.”
With that settled, I’d be a married woman the next day. Monday. Who gets married on a Monday? That thought flew right out of my head when the next one kicked it out.
I’d be married to Capo Macchiavello in less than twenty-four hours. A force of a man who had me right where he wanted me, locked down in his field for the rest of my life.
11
Capo
The air in City Hall was cool. It smelled of old papers, my cologne, and something that smelled a lot like love and loyalty, and if I was taking Mariposa’s ridiculous song into consideration, friendship. Three different reasons for a man to be standing in the same spot I was, waiting on a woman to commit her life to him.
I looked at Rocco and narrowed my eyes. He had a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face. He was all too curious as to why I was taking my bride today, and not on the original date planned.
Fuck dates.
It was a done deal; there was no reason to wait. The wedding in Italy needed time. Things had to be planned; it had to be meaningful for my grandfather. He deserved to see his grandson married. It was one of his worries. It should be put to rest before he left this world.