Scarred Regrets (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 5)

62

SCAR

“Absolutely not,” I warned, the tone of my voice allowing no argument from any normal person who valued their life. Irina was not a normal person, her fear of me severely lacking despite the way I fucked her every night.

She trusted me not to hurt her, not to overstep the power she’d willingly given me and the way that she allowed me to debase her.

I’d never thought about calling a woman a slut before in my life, but something about my connection with Irina left no boundary untouched. I could praise her. I could degrade her.

She’d beg me for more and know that nothing that happened between us during sex extended beyond it. We both needed it filthy.

We craved it hot and hard.

“Excuse me?” Irina asked, something in her green eyes sparkling with defiance. The sight of it nearly drove me to my knees, the desire to show her just how much I loved it when she challenged me washing over me like a flood.

That strength of hers, after nearly losing her to the trauma she’d sustained, was the greatest aphrodisiac I’d ever known. The fact that the same woman who challenged me so viciously was the girl who’d kneel at my feet and lick her pussy off my cock if I so much as snapped my fingers only heightened it.

Nobody in this world commanded Irina Ryan.

Nobody except me.

“You heard me, Butterfly. It’s too dangerous,” I said, shaking my head again and crossing my arms over my chest.

“I have to go back sometime,” she said, raising her brow at me.

“Sometime will be after Darragh is fucking dead,” I told her, crossing the living area in our suite to stand in front of her. Everything in her tensed, readying herself for the fight she knew was coming if she didn’t back down and tame the defiance she wound herself up for.

Irina could be sweet and submissive, but she could also be a demon sent straight from the pits of Hell to make me question my sanity for how much I loved it.

There was no in between.

“I’m going,” she said, cocking a hip out to the side. She was already dressed for the office in a pencil skirt, wrapped snugly around her hips, a fitted blouse covering her torso, and with her trademark red lipstick painted on her mouth.

The color would forever remind me of Darragh’s note, but Irina didn’t need to know that. I wouldn’t allow him to steal something else from her, especially something that was so clearly a part of her identity.

“I’d like to see you try,” I said, chuckling darkly at the incredulous expression that crossed her face. I would physically stop her from leaving the Bellandi Estate if need be.

“Paolo De Luca,” she hissed.

“If you so much as try to leave this house today, I will tie you to our bed,” I said, unable to resist the pleasure that claimed me with my full name on her lips. Nobody else called me that name, the ghost of a boy I’d long thought dead coming back to life with her.

It made me hate her name, hate that she shared a name with the woman who had been responsible for my sister’s death.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she gasped, staring at me with her lips parted in shock.

“I wouldn’t dare spend the day between your legs? I think we both know I would,” I said, stepping closer to her. I raised a hand, reaching out to touch her face.

She slapped my touch away, the smack echoing through the room as I tilted my head to stare at her. “You do not get to fucking touch me right now,” she growled. “I am not your property. You will not tell me how to live my life outside of this room,” she said, gesturing to the bedroom door at our side.

I knew part of my hesitation to allow her to go to work was the fact that I hadn’t dressed her, that I hadn’t given my input on the mask she wore that day. In time, she’d understand.

My dominance wasn’t limited to our bedroom.

I’d own her everywhere.

I took her by the wrist, tugging her closer to me as my intentions became crystal clear in that moment of clarity. Irina and I both knew she was mine, but the rest of the world didn’t yet.

“Alright, Butterfly. You want to go back to work?” I asked, watching as she tilted her head to the side. She saw the trap, knew she’d walked right into a snare that I would never let her escape. “You can go back in a couple of days, but there will be conditions.”

She heaved a sigh of relief, the woman who lived to compromise rising to the surface. Negotiations were her strong suit, and she undoubtedly believed she could maneuver her way into a better deal.

But there was no negotiating with my terms.

“Calix and another guard of my choosing will accompany you everywhere you go outside of this house,” I said, making her purse her lips. Even she couldn’t deny the need for security of some kind, and she’d gotten used to being around her cousin. The second man was a wildcard she hadn’t predicted, but only the beginning of my terms.

“Okay,” she agreed, even though I could tell she wanted to fight me on even that.

“You will be home by five o’clock at night without fail. No exceptions. I will determine what you wear every day, and your entire itinerary of meetings will be approved by me ahead of time,” I said, nearly laughing at the rage that crossed her features. If I hadn’t meant every word, I might have given into the urge.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she scoffed. She stepped back, raising her hands between us as if they could protect her from the kind of man she’d accepted as hers.

But now that she had, there was no turning back. This was her future.

To be mine, until death do us part.

“I’m not some kind of doll that you can play dress up with,” she snarled.

“No, you’re not,” I said, taking another step toward her and intruding on her space. It was more than I had wanted to push her, more than I should have considering the look of caution that crossed her face. “Which brings me to my last term. The next time you leave this house, you will do so with my ring on your finger and my name attached to yours. The next time you leave this house, Irina Ryan will no longer exist.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. “What are you—”

“You’re going to be my wife,” I told her, reaching forward to cup her face. She allowed the touch, a million thoughts crossing her eyes as she lifted that stunned gaze up to mine.

“And if I say no?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Rage raised within me, threatening to boil over at the mere thought that she might not agree to be my wife.

That she might not want me in that way.

“Then I guess you won’t leave this house,” I said, putting space between us as I stepped back. Her body followed me, leaning forward as if it needed more of my touch. “It's your choice, Butterfly,” I added, reminding myself that I couldn’t just carry her to the altar and force her to say the words.

Having a father for a judge meant she’d get an annulment with just one phone call.

She had to agree to marry me.

“That was quite possibly the least romantic proposal I’ve ever seen,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You really couldn’t do any better than that?”

“What?” I asked, shock crossing my face.

“Generally speaking, you should tell the woman you want to marry that you love her before you tell her she’s going to be your fucking wife, you asshat,” she said, laughter bubbling up her throat. “I told you I loved you over a month ago. What’s the hold up?”

“You want me to tell you I love you?” I asked, a smile tipping my lips up despite my best intention to keep a straight face.

“Of course I want you to tell me you love me! Are you dense?”

“I thought you already knew how I feel about you,” I said, stepping toward her. Her hands raised to touch my chest, resting against the fabric of my shirt in that way that made me crave them on my skin. It was such a juxtaposition to the man I’d been before Irina.