Seeing her again had been like a punch to the gut. She’d been beautiful, even in my decade old memories, but somehow, she was even more stunning standing in front of me, all grown up with no remaining trace of the youth she’d been at sixteen. All that sleek chestnut hair that I knew shone auburn when the light hit the strands just right hung down to her narrow little waist in layers, bisecting her where her lithe body tapered out to the hips that seemed to defy the odds. The Portuguese side of her heritage somehow packed all the right curves onto her slight frame, like her body just couldn't decide if it wanted to be slim or curvy. Her mother's French influence had given her the beautiful ivory skin that was her namesake, that generous dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones only drawing attention to her sea-green eyes.
Any of the little details that comprised Ivory would have been enough to make her memorable, but it was the thick, lush lips that had haunted my life for over ten years. Whether she wore them relaxed or pillowed, spread into a blinding smile, or wrapped around my cock while she drove me wild with her innocence, I could never get the image of them out of my head.
By the time Donatello returned to my office, I'd sat down in my chair and started tapping my pen against the desk idly in my impatience. It wasn't characteristic of me; distractions weren't something I allowed in my life.
It was too dangerous when one wrong move was the difference between life and death, not just for me but for the people who counted on me.
Donatello took a seat on the other side of the desk, quirking an eyebrow up at me. He'd never actually met Ivory, couldn't have had the opportunity when I'd refused to bring her around my family for her own safety.
But he knew of her—had seen her. Even then, he'd been one of the two confidants who knew just how obsessed I'd been with my angel.
"How long will you be entertaining Miss Torres this time around?" His amusement faded for something close to disappointment. He knew as well as I had that I'd broken her when I ended things the way I did. Back then, I had to rely on he and Lino to make sure she was coping.
Healing.
Moving on.
All the things I'd never been able to do.
I knew that he'd be disappointed in me if I forced her to experience that all over again just for a few quick fucks. I stared back at him in response, and that disappointment faded and replaced with a pleased grin. "Right."
"I'll be needing an appointment on Jeweler's Row. I want something custom and quick." I picked up my pen, finishing the paperwork on my desk with a quick flourish of my signature before handing it off to Donatello to send out with a messenger.
"I'll make the arrangements." His eyes crinkled in the corners with his bright smile, and I shook my head even as my own lips tipped up slightly.
"Nothing but the best," I reiterated, and he nodded in a wordless representation that it didn't need to be said. He stood to leave me to my work, undoubtedly having plenty of his own to do now that he needed to run twelve years’ worth of data on Ivory and find me the best jeweler in Chicago who could work on my tight schedule.
"I'm proud of you, son," he said, his voice cracking with the emotional weight of the bond that held tight between us. My father hadn't been a loving man, had tolerated no one loving me. That hadn't been enough to stop Donatello from showing me rare moments of affection when I earned them.
Lino saved me from having to respond when he shoved the door open and burst into the room. He was literally the only person who got away with it, but even being who he was my hand twitched toward the pistol in the top drawer of my desk. "Heard you saw Ivory?" he asked, plopping his ass down into the seat that Donatello vacated.
I pinched the bridge of my nose between two fingers and released a sigh. "For fuck's sake, she just left fifteen minutes ago."
"What can I say? Your guard has a big mouth. He was all excited that he'd finally laid eyes on the Ivory Torres. Nervous wreck about it too, worried she's going to demand his head or some shit." He leaned forward in his chair, stripping off his own suit jacket and making himself comfortable.
Shit. He was in for the long haul.
"Why would he be worried about that? Did he touch her?" Even I wasn't immune to the menace in my voice, something I rarely noticed. It happened too frequently to give a shit, but when Ivory was threatened, well, that was a different story.
"Nah, just told her she looked like every other bimbo you bang. Before he realized who she was, anyway."
My fists clenched beneath the desk, and I swallowed loudly. "He said what?"
"Shit, man. I thought you'd closed that door a long time ago," Lino whispered, seeming to finally alert himself to the dark energy pulsing around me.
"She came back to me. That's my sign she’s mine, so I'm taking her." I shrugged, turning my attention to where Donatello watched our exchange with a mixture of horror and amusement. "Who's at the gate today?"
"Christian," he answered hesitantly.
"Right, tell Ryker to make it very clear to Christian exactly what happens when someone runs his mouth to my woman. I want him alive, but I want him to know what the consequences are for calling her a whore."
"Woah, I think you're overreacting—" Lino objected, and I turned my glare his way. "How could he have known, Matteo? You spent twelve years looking for her twin to warm your bed."
"Does it look like I give a fuck?" I hissed, turning back to the spreadsheet waiting for me on my computer. I needed to run through the numbers from the last shipment, and I needed Lino to update me on the latest numbers from the businesses, and I needed it done before I went to inspect the cleanliness of the new brothel my men had sampled.
I might run escort, but I only ran the best of the best. Women who made six figures a year and would be free to retire young and live a good life if they were smart.
For the first time since I'd taken over, a voice questioned me.