Bloodied Hands (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 1)

"Yes, Boss. I guess it didn't go well."

That was an understatement.

Fifteen

Ivory

After Matteo left, I tried to ignore Scar's presence in favor of cooking. When he realized he was making me uncomfortable, an audience I hadn't asked for, he'd excused himself to go give himself a tour of the house, muttering something about needing to be prepared and know where everything was located.

Bec

ause that wasn't ominous.

I set to rolling out the dough, letting myself smash it a little thinner than I normally might have for sticky buns. I needed the outlet, and I'd just use this batch to test out the flavor for this replication. I rolled them mindlessly, shoving them in the oven.

I never left my kitchen a mess. It was one of the few things that had stuck with me from culinary school and my subsequent days working in a restaurant. I rebelled nearly every other way, because if I wasn't an actual chef than who gave a poop? But with cleaning my kitchen, I was a neurotic.

So, when I went to flop into a chair at my breakfast nook, I knew I was shaken even before my trembling hands touched my face. I lost track of how long I sat there, lost track of everything around me. It wasn't until the doorbell rang that I jolted out of my stupor, glancing at it nervously. When I was about to stand, Scar appeared from the hallway and shook his head at me. I remembered that I wasn't allowed to answer my door and flopped back into my seat in a sort of empty frustration. I picked a point on my wall, staring at it in fascination when I found the slightest of cracks in the paint. "It's Mr. Bradley. Would you like me to open the door?" Scar asked lightly. I nodded at him, hearing Duke's voice the moment it opened.

"What the Hell are you still doing here?" he asked.

Scar grunted; the sound oddly devoid of inflection. While he might have looked like a hard man, he'd been nothing other than polite and even warm to me. He seemed oddly capable of anticipating and dealing with my moods, like I was more than a nuisance his boss ordered him to watch over until he finished playing with me.

"Christ, Ivory," Duke said, striding past me and pulling my oven open. He cursed, hunting for a potholder and dropping the sticky buns on the stove top with another curse. "What were those supposed to be?"

"Sticky buns," I whispered.

"Well, they're burnt buns now." I must have forgotten to set the timer. He came to stand in front of me, after the beep of my oven turning off filled the too quiet space. "You all right?" he asked, kneeling so that his face filled my vision. I nodded, smiling at him slightly. Duke's hands rested on my bare thighs just above my knees, feeling too warm against my cool skin. "You're freezing," he whispered.

"Ms. Torres, I'm afraid I have to suggest that Mr. Bellandi won't appreciate Mr. Bradley's hands on you," Scar input, raising a brow at me. I glanced down at Duke's hands, confusion settling over me.

"He's my friend," I said, and Scar sighed and nodded. His expression communicated that he still didn't believe it would be something that Matteo would tolerate, but in that moment I couldn't have cared. Duke didn't appear to either, instead taking to rubbing his rough, artist's hands over my cold skin to warm me up. "I'm fine," I reassured him.

"This really has you freaked out," he whispered. "Why don't you come stay with me?"

Scar's face pinched into annoyance, but I took care of it when I answered Duke. "I think I'm safer here. This isn't the guy you can protect me from."

"What the Hell has he got you wrapped up in?" Duke hissed, and my eyes darted over his shoulder to find Matteo standing in the doorway. I hadn't heard the door open, and Matteo held a key in his hand. A key to my house, I presumed, though how he'd gotten it was beyond me.

"Take your hands off her," Matteo ordered, and Duke stood up quickly, turning to face Matteo for the first time since high school, I realized. Duke's attractive features that lent toward the boy next door all grown up were no match for the savage beauty that was Matteo Bellandi. He still didn't have a suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows hastily, and a few splatters of red dotted the chest of his white shirt. He looked like a criminal which I was suspecting he was more and more with every day that passed. Ice-blue eyes glittered as he glared at Duke, sizing him up and finding him lacking.

"You don't get to come in here after twelve fucking years and put her in danger. She deserves better than you'll ever be able to give her, Bellandi," Duke hissed, all the vehemence he'd built up in the years of watching me fade into half a life wrapped up in that tone.

Matteo smirked at him, the blue eyes I loved to watch warm for me glittering hard and cruel gems. "You still haven't made a move, huh?" he asked Duke, who froze solid in front of me. I turned my head to look at Duke, wincing when his shoulders sagged. The reality of what I hadn't seen struck me when he turned a sad glance my way.

"You broke her. I keep waiting for her to be ready for a relationship, but it never fucking happens, because of what you did to her," he spat at Matteo, confirming the truth that shook me to my core. "I love her enough to wait. Even for twelve years."

"Duke?" I whispered, staring up at him. He turned to me, looking down at me with a grimace.

"This isn't how I wanted you to find out."

I backed away a step, just knowing I needed space. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have mattered?" he hissed. "You've always been so wrapped up in him, that you never even saw me."

I winced again, hating that he was angry at me when he hadn't bothered to be honest. "Don't," Matteo growled. "You do not get to upset her because you were too much of a coward to make a move."

"Matteo!" I gasped, hating that he would be so cruel in a moment that was probably critical to my ability to maintain a friendship with Duke.