Carmine's POV
"Is she okay?" Matias asks, blowing cigar smoke into the air in the cigar room.
I fold the contract and slip it into my back pocket, ignoring the cigar and heading straight for the whiskey in the crystal decanter.
This woman has a hold on me I can't shake. The moment she stepped into my home, confronted me, I was drawn to her bravery, an audacity most men wouldn't dare.
Strong-willed, sassy, reluctant… annoyingly beautiful. She makes me feel things I've spent my life avoiding. Things I've numbed myself against because feeling is dangerous for men like me.
I sip whiskey, burn chasing the heat her presence ignites inside me.
When she choked, something unrecognizable stirred in me, fear. I was afraid she might die before I even had a chance to see what life with her could be. Her face red, tears in her eyes, clawing at her throat… I'd never been helpless like that before.
And yet, when I finally steadied myself and saved her, anger surged next. How could she be so reckless? How had she lived this long without someone looking out for her? Her father hadn't. But I would. She wouldn't have to sacrifice for anyone ever again, not even willingly to me.
"I sent Marie to her quarters and had the broccoli cleaned up," Ari says, snatching a book from the shelf.
"Thank you," I reply, finally finding my voice.
"I don't think I've ever seen you like this, Carmine," Matias adds, cigar smoke curling into the air.
I stare out the window, knuckles tightening around the glass. "I'm not like anything," I mutter, gruff even to myself.
"I know you want a child, but dare I say," Ari leans forward, smirking, "you like her."
Matias chuckles, smoke trailing from his lips.
"I don't like her. Men like me don't like anything. Or anyone."
"Right. Right. The Devil isn't allowed to want for himself?"
"It's business."
"So… I can ask her out?" Ari tests the waters, and I imagine him with her. She'd be happier with someone like him, if I cared about her happiness.
I know who I am. My brothers are soft; they haven't earned the weight of our name yet. Delilah likes a challenge. She wants resistance. She wants me.
"I'll take her out, brother. Show her a nice time. Don't worry, I won't put my baby in her unless she asks."
Rage explodes. Glass shatters against the wall. Twice today. Has it only been a day since Delilah came into my life? Already, I feel my control slipping.
I storm forward, grabbing Ari by the collar. "You won't fucking touch her, Ari."
"Why not?"
I push him against the bookshelf. "You only want her for business. What if I want more? What if I saw her in your shirt, those mile-long legs… on my bed?"
I strike him. Knuckles connect. Blood flows, but he still smirks. Matias tackles me, trying to hold me back. Hair falling into my face, knuckles burning, heart hammering, I'm far from done.
I break free and lunge again. Matias restrains me just in time. Ari sits up, wiping blood with a torn page from a book, smirk intact.
"Talk about her like that again and I'll fucking kill you, Ari," I warn.
"All this to prove a point?" Ari asks, spitting blood. "You won't let anyone touch her, yet you say it's business? She's more than business, Carmine. She unhinges you."
"I've known her a day."
"As if that matters," he scoffs, grabbing the whiskey decanter and swinging the door open. "I'm getting ice. Don't interrupt me."
Matias shoves me. "Figure it out. The last thing we need is you losing control over a woman. She'll be a target, you, too."
"You think I don't know that?"
"No. You've got something worth taking, Carmine. Don't underestimate it."
Matias leaves. I'm alone, staring at the chaos I caused.
"Damn it," I hiss, kicking a fallen book. My brothers are right. I'm unhinged.
I climb the stairs to my wing. My room is empty. Not in bed, not in the bathroom. I let out a slow breath, hanging my head against the sink. Knuckles throbbing, I shower to wash off the fire in me.
The scars on my chest, shoulders, back, and abdomen remind me: I am forged, hardened. My father tried to carve me into something obedient. I survived. I rose. And now… Delilah has the power to unravel me.
It took years to build the strength not to flinch, not to scream, but eventually, I did. Now, the marks on my body show my weakness.
A gasp behind me makes me turn. My pants are undone. Delilah sees the monster she's tied to.
Nothing but death can separate us now.
I slam the door in her face and punch the wall with my injured hand. My reflection mocks me, but I ignore it, stepping out of my pants and into the shower. Hot water rushes over me, coating my skin. The spray beats against me, rinsing the blood from my knuckles into a light pink stream down the drain.
Apologies are for people who feel regret. I don't. Ari provoked me. I won't apologize.
My life would be simpler if I let her go home, let her live without me darkening her every step. But I can't. I won't. Her experiences, her body, her heart, will belong to me.
After the shower, I dry myself, wrap a towel around my waist, and open the bedroom door.
She's still standing there, arms crossed, eyes tracing me like she's both annoyed and assessing. I grip the doorframe. "Look all you like," I say.
Her cheeks pink, she steps away. She notices my scars but doesn't ask about them. Good. They're mine to reveal, if ever.
"Sit down," she says, pointing to the bed.
"Since you asked so nicely," I reply, brushing past her. I sit, towel clinging, leaving nothing to the imagination but what's most intimate.
She gasps, flustered, taking my injured hand and pressing a frozen bag of peas to my knuckles. "You act like you've never seen a man naked, Delilah. You don't have to play coy."
She doesn't meet my gaze, focusing on my hand instead. Carefully, she cleans my cuts, applying alcohol. I hiss.
"Really?" she teases. "Big bad Carmine Milazzo can handle gunshots, but can't take a little disinfectant?"
"It's different," I bristle.
Her humor is there, thin but undeniable. She dabs ointment across my knuckles, wraps them, and presses the icepack back into place. Every movement is deliberate, gentle. Nothing she does could hurt me.
"Thank you," I say quietly, eyes locking with hers. Time slows. The room stills. My hand twitches closer, leaning just an inch toward her lips—enough to tease, not enough to betray my restraint.
Her gaze drifts, then she scrambles up. "Make sure your cuts don't get infected," she warns, moving toward the bathroom.
I'm faster. I grab the door before she can shut it. In a flash, I'm holding her, tugging her hair lightly to force her to look at me.
"Have you ever seen a man naked before, Delilah?"
"Yes," she says, offended.
"Have you ever touched a man? Been fucked?" I pin her against the wall, shoving my knee between her legs. The towel clings desperately. "Ever come on another man's cock?"
"You're foul. None of your business," she snaps, lips inches from mine.
"One hand drifts to her waist, clutches her hip. "It's my business. Everything about you is mine now."
"No," she whispers. "Never been with anyone."
My cock tightens beneath the towel. I snap my eyes open, trailing a finger over her hip bone. "Your first time will be with a man like me."
"Only when I'm ready," she dares. Good. She sets the terms. That will never change.
I repeat softly, "Only when you're ready. I swear."
Her gaze drops, tugging at my shirt. "And how do I know you won't bring other women to bed?"
With a growl, I wrap my hand around her nape. "I take agreements seriously. I'm not an idiot. I know what I want. I take what I want, Delilah. No other woman will lie in our bed while you do."
I'll sleep tonight knowing she'll be mine first, and mine last. I don't care who it takes to make that a reality.