Bloodied Hands (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 1)

"She loves you," he sighed. "Always has. She's scared, but I have to believe she'll find a way around that.”

"I'll make sure she does," I said, reassuring him. I'd always envied the relationship Ivory had with her family. The way they loved each other and wanted what was best was admirable.

"Can I see her?" he asked. I nodded, stepping back to the door and watching as Scar opened it.

Ivory raced out, flinging herself into her uncle's arms. "Thank you!" she said, breaking my heart when she took solace in him. Solace from me.

"You call me if he hurts you, yeah?" Adam grunted; voice thick with emotion. Ivory backed up, staring up at him in confusion.

"Wh—what?" she stuttered.

"This is the safest place for you, honey. Adrian Ricci is no joke. You do what Matteo tells you," Adam grunted, wincing when she tugged fully from his grasp. "Love you," he murmured, turning and going for the driver's side of his car.

"Adam!" she yelled as he climbed in. "Adam!" she screamed when he started the car and inched down the driveway.

I stepped up behind her, wrapping arms around her waist and containing her when she lunged for the car with horror in her eyes.

My angel broke, crying while I held her in my arms and wished there'd been another way. That she'd let me ease her into it.

But it didn't matter.

We'd always end up with her living with me.

I couldn't regret it being sooner than I planned.

Twenty-Three

Ivory

Waking up trapped underneath Matteo's weight had become far too comfortable. Normally he woke up before me and stayed with me until I woke up. It was an unspoken thing between us, that he insisted on doing it so I could get my first quality rest in years. I didn't want to talk about it—didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Matteo was far too astute not to suspect there was a reason for my restless sleep.

Not when the reason felt so insignificant. Some women survived much worse. Some women dealt with the true trauma that came from horrific circumstances.

They were stronger than I was. Stronger than I would ever be.

So, when I woke up the next morning to the familiar press of his chest against my back and his leg draped over mine, I revolted against the feeling of comfort. Even with how angry I'd been yesterday, how broken I'd felt knowing he would completely disregard my wishes, I hadn't been strong enough to resist when he rolled me underneath him and made love to me.

At least that's what I would have called it, if Matteo was capable of love.

He wasn't. The day before had made that clearer than ever.

"It's time we talk about this," he grunted, pulling off me and rolling me to my back. My sleep camisole revealed more than it hid, and I brought my arms up to cover my silk covered breasts.

"Talk about what? That you've completely ignored what I want?"

"Ivory," he warned, and I blinked up at him with the most innocent expression I could muster.

"We're not doing this," I mumbled, rolling my eyes and moving to escape the bed.

Grabbing me around the waist, he shoved me down onto my back again, inserting himself between my legs and pinning my arms to the bed by my head when I struggled. "Whatever the fuck happened to you fucked you up. You thrash around in your sleep. You fucking beg for it to stop."

"Don't—" I warned, turning my head from side to side.

"I want to help you, and I can't do that if you don't tell me who to kill," he growled.

"Matteo—"

"Who, Ivory?"