five

C A R O L I N E

―――

FOR THE SECOND time in the short span we've been married, Elia knocks my freaking socks off with the sheer intensity of his kiss. Well, at least, that'd be the reaction if I was wearing socks.

One second, we're standing there, wallowing in our unspoken sadness, and in the next, he's fusing our mouths together until I can't distinguish my breath or heart from his.

It's like he's trying to eat me for dinner, to consume me the way someone might their last supper.

My soul temporarily leaves my body as his lips continue their assault, hands tangling in my hair; it orbits around us as we maneuver through the living room, stopping only once we've hit resistance at the wall by the grandiose staircase. He pushes his hips into my stomach, and I can feel him grow hard in time with his ragged breathing.

Jesus. His erection is thick and long and scorches me through my dress; I raise one leg as he reaches and grips my thigh, hooking it around his waist. My dress bunches at my waist, the new angle granting him better access to my core. The friction of him against my clit causes stars to dance across my vision.

I gasp, my mouth opening at the sensations awakening in my belly, and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue inside, swirling and tasting like I'm the most delicious delicacy he's ever had.

Our tongues war for dominance, twisting and pushing, fighting like two serpents. His free hand cradles my jaw as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss.

From this position, it feels like I can swallow him whole.

And a strange part of me, one I've never tapped into before, kind of wants to.

Finally, he breaks the kiss. I'm not expecting it, though, and find myself jerking forward, trying to chase his mouth. He grins at me, using the tip of his thumb to swipe some saliva that's collected at the corner of his lip. His chest heaves with each breath he takes, and his hand doesn't move from my thigh—like he's not quite finished.

My pussy tingles at the idea.

"I want you." His eyes darken, thunderstorms trapped in his gaze, and my entire body temperature rises. Goosebumps prickle along my skin as his hand on my thigh travels higher, cupping just below my ass, and squeezes hard. "So goddamn bad."

Sweeping my hands up his chest, I revel in the taut planes beneath his suit, gripping the edges of his lapels. I pull him close and lick the shell of his ear, whispering, "You shouldn't."

Close to the curve of my neck now, he eats up the distance, pressing his lips into my skin. A soft moan escapes my mouth even though I bite the inside of my cheek to keep it inside. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sucks just below my ear as if he's trying to rip the flesh from my body, making me shiver. "Just that you shouldn't want people you don't know everything about." My response is shaky, delayed, as he continues his assault.

Releasing me with a succulent pop, he bites down on the raised spot, definitively marking me. God, when my father sees that, he'll probably lose it—even if this man is my husband.

I'm not stupid enough to think my problems have ended.

If anything, I've just exacerbated them.

Elia's head straightens, eyes boring into mine. He drops my thigh, my shoe smacking against the marble floor and making my body vibrate. "Is there something you're trying to tell me, carina?"

"No."

His lips purse, eyes roaming over my face as he searches for answers I'm not willing to give.

I drag in a stuttered breath, trying to calm my racing heart. How many times does it need to break before it learns its lesson and stops yearning for things that can't be?

If I go into this and immediately forget why I've signed my freedom over under the guise of protection, it's all for nothing. I can't let this handsome face—no matter that he's sex on legs—distract me.

Disentangling my limbs from his, I duck beneath his arms and cross the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. Space, that's what we need right now. He gets in my personal bubble, and every bad thought I've ever had about his world and men dissipates into thin air.

He clears his throat, adjusting the collar of his shirt and unbuttoning his suit jacket. "Very well. I have a few things I need to attend to at work, so I regret that I'll be unable to join you for the majority of our honeymoon."

I shrug. "I knew what I was getting into."

We stand there for a few beats, silent, staring at each other. There's a fire dwindling in his gaze, asking me to rekindle it, but I refrain. Do not let him distract you.

"Caroline, I—"

"I'll be fine, Elia. I'm entirely capable of being left here by myself."

"I wouldn't think you're incapable." He frowns, eyebrows pulling inward. "I was just going to say, Benito will remain on duty, even after I'm gone. I never know how long I'll be, so, if for some reason you need to leave the house, just make sure you tell him so he can take you."

"Oh, that isn't necessary." Like I want his crony tailing me on every trip I make. "I'm fine walking."

"Walking?"

"That's what I said."

He reaches up and cups the back of his neck, rubbing a spot like he's trying to erase it from his body. I know the feeling. "Caroline, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you can't just go walking around town. Not without a security detail."

"Why not?"

"Why not? I thought you said you knew who I was."

"I do, but what does that have to do with me?"

Exhaling, his hand drops, and he just shakes his head. "Just...tell Benito when you need to go somewhere. He'll take you wherever."

"And if I don't? If I leave by myself?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he takes a few steps toward where I'm standing, until he's so close he has to turn his head all the way down to look at me. It makes me feel two-feet-tall. Vulnerable.

"You don't want the answer to that." His voice is harsh, strained, and my ears crave more. More loss of control, more desperation—I want him to unleash the beast I feel percolating beneath the surface of his skin, hiding out in his veins.

I want to push him the way I've been pushed, to see how long it takes him to break.

My soul salivates for his—wants it as a trophy. Proof that I'm not the broken girl my father always said I was; just a prize to tout around before exacting my revenge on the others.

"But I do." My eyes lock onto his, and I see the monster lurking there. It calls out to mine, but I ignore it because that isn't the game we're playing here. "What do I have to do to make you hurt me?"

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?"

I sigh softly, reaching out and smoothing my hands down the front of his suit, flicking my fingers over the belt buckle. My hand grazes the unmistakable bulge in his slacks that hasn't lessened since we pried our faces apart, and he inhales a sharp breath at the contact.

Men are so fucking easy.

Pinching his eyes closed, his hips shift forward into my palm, and I squeeze, ignoring the moisture slickening my thighs. Elia Montalto might be the king of King's Trace, but he's no match for me.

Like every other man before him, a quick stroke of his dick sends him into a frenzy, making my task here so much simpler.

He'll never even see it coming.

Just as that thought flashes in my mind, Elia jerks back, breaking the connection. He moves, trapping my body between his and the counter. His hand curls around my throat, the pressure of his fingertips a startling contrast to how it felt having my father's on me last week.

It's light, just enough to prove his authority. Not like he wants to hurt me, but a warning that he absolutely could.

"I don't think my pain is the kind you'll recover from." Dropping his hand and yanking away as if I've burned him, he turns on his heel and marches to the front door. "And I don't know what game you're trying to play, but I should warn you: I don't lose. Ever. Now, stay here while I'm gone, and we can talk logistics when I return. Don't leave this place unless Benito is in attendance. I don't think I need to inform you that people rarely cross Montalto men and live."

The door closes behind him, the sound echoing against the tall ceilings in this loveless castle, and pleasure floods my heart at his parting remarks.

That's exactly what I'm counting on.

―――

I'm not exactly a stranger to having someone tail me when I travel; as a senator's daughter, it comes with the territory. But it's an entirely different feeling when it's not your father following you, and instead, a beefy bald man who looks like he could crush me with one thumb. At least he let Liv tag along.

Benito—who keeps insisting I call him Benny—drives me to Locust Grove, stopping at the curb of the last house in the neighborhood. And even though it's only been forty-eight hours since I last stepped foot inside, it feels like an entire lifetime.

It doesn't help that Elia hasn't been home since the afternoon we got married; Benito won't tell me where exactly he went, just that he'd be home whenever he finished the job. Of course, if I'd known his version of "protection" meant hiring a babysitter, I wouldn't have bothered with the union at all.

He did, at least, send Luca over with groceries and a few evening gowns, for the occasions in which we might need to make an appearance. I tossed them to the back of the walk-in closet I'd made my own in the guest bedroom and clung to Luca's arm, vying for information on what Elia's been up to.

Unsurprisingly, he gave very little information, too busy trying to resume our long-dead and much-regretted relationship. His parting piece was to inform me that my father was still trying to negotiate his freedom or find a way to rip mine away. And that he had flown to Las Vegas for business meetings—which meant, temporarily, my house would be free of the scumbag.

When we've packed all the items in my bedroom into as few boxes as possible, Benito helps us load them into the car. Liv leans against the sedan, folding her arms across her chest and fiddling with the zipper on her raincoat. She won't meet my eyes, and it's starting to grate on my nerves.

"What's up?" I ask, coming around with my last box. Setting it gently on the ground, I stand beside her, mimicking her pose.

She runs a hand through her curls. "Nothing, really. I just hate all of this for you."

"You hate that I'm married and moving out of my parents' house? Come on, Liv, you moved out at seventeen and married your career right out of college."

After graduation, she secured a small business loan from her father, a lawyer for Stonemore's Minority Business Development Agency, and opened up her own marketing firm. Now, Liv offers services to residents in King's Trace and our surrounding areas trying to make their mark on the world.

It was an immediate success, propelled partly by her parents' influence and connections around town. The hours are grueling even a year later, but she seems entirely satisfied with the results. Jupiter Media flourishes, priding itself on its creativity and black leadership.

"It's not that I'm upset about it." She swipes a finger beneath her eye, flicking away dried mascara. "When do you get to live your life, though? I thought you were gonna open up your bakery finally. Cater to the tweaked-out tourists of King's Trace."

That was before my father stole my startup money; before he used it in bad investments. Before the mafia got involved and my name was thrown in as collateral—as payment.

I laugh, bumping her shoulder with mine, ignoring the pain radiating in my chest. "That's still the dream. There have just been a few... hiccups along the way. But trust me when I say, Elia Montalto will not be a problem."

"I don't think he'll be anything but a problem, but I'll reserve judgment for now. Let's go get you unpacked and then drink until we're belligerent. Three-day-weekend, and all."

"Wait. Why? It's the middle of May; there isn't a holiday for another week."

"I know." She winks, pushing off the car. "I took tomorrow off because I'd planned on being hungover, anyway. You don't want me to look like a liar to my employees, do you?"

"Liv, you're the boss. Who cares what they think?"

"A good boss trying to set a good example. Most of my underlings are interns, they need to see a thriving work ethic, or they're gonna start asking me to pay them."

My stomach sinks as she climbs in the backseat of the car, ready to leave. There's still something inside I've yet to get, and if I don't do it now, I miss my chance.

Benito rounds the trunk and gestures to the box at my feet. "Done with this?"

Nodding, my gaze drifts to the large, red front door of my childhood home, my body moving of its own accord before I have a chance to stop it.

Inside, I pad across the hardwood floors to the double doors leading into my father's office. Glancing around to make sure my mother and sister haven't returned yet, I push the doors open and close them gently behind me, inhaling the deep, musky scent in the air. Dusty bookshelves line the walls, and ostentatious cherry furniture takes up the floor space, making it look like the den of a man with something to prove.

I walk to the desk and unlock the combination to the bottom drawer. When we came here, I hadn't planned on taking this, but now that we're about to leave, I don't want to go without it. Upstairs, I pocketed my knife and the ankle sheath I sometimes wear when it doesn't fit in the band of my underwear—useful in a pinch, but this is the ultimate betrayal. His only defense.

The pistol is heavy in my palm, the metal cold and scintillating in the dim sunlight pouring in from the window. My fingers mold around the barrel like the weapon was made for my hands.

I stand and tuck it into the back of my jeans; it digs into my skin as I exit the house, an uncomfortable reminder of the life I'm trying to avenge.