Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

With Carly living at her mom’s, Magda has dinner served later. It allows her and Gabriel to work late. Charlie won’t last that long, so I cook him spaghetti bolognaise and serve it with a salad in the kitchen. We unpack his clothes Gabriel’s men brought over from Kris’ and explore his new gadgets, which include a PlayStation and a stack of games, courtesy of Gabriel. He’s settled for the night when Gabriel comes home after nine. Dinner is not until ten. He’ll work another hour in his office. The gift clutched behind my back, I knock on his door.

His deep voice is laced with impatience. “Come in.”

Uncertainly, I pause in the doorframe. He looks stressed and busy. I’m disturbing him.

Leaning back in his chair, he works his tie loose with one hand and holds the other out to me. “Come here.”

I walk around his desk and stop next to him.

He stretches his neck to look around me. “What do you have behind your back?”

“A gift.”

“A gift?”

“For you,” I say shyly. He’s going to think it’s a silly idea.

“For me,” he parrots. Warmth fills his eyes and then appreciation as he trails his gaze slowly over me. He pats his knee. “Then you better come over here and give it to me.”

One more step puts me between his legs as he opens them to accommodate me. With his hands on my hips, he lifts me onto his lap, making me straddle him. The dress rides up over my thighs, exposing my underwear. I still have my hands clutched behind my back, so he can’t let go of my waist without risking my balance, but he stares at the triangle between my legs as if he wishes to touch it with every fiber of his being.

“That’s a real pretty gift,” he muses. “I can’t wait to open it.”

The knowledge of how much he wants me fills my core with heat and my heart with a deeper kind of warmth. I bring the present from behind my back. “This is what you need to open.”

A smile tugs at his lips as he lets go of me with one hand to take the gift. “What’s the occasion?”

I cup his face, feeling the roughness of his beard between my palms, and kiss his lips. “Happy birthday. I’m…” It’s hard for me to say this, but I have to get it off my chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I put our lives in danger. I should’ve spoken to you, trusted you, but––”

“Shh.” He stills me with a kiss. “There’s nothing to forgive.” His expression becomes pained. “No more of this talk, understand?”

I nod.

He holds up the gift. “You want me to open this now?”

“Whenever you like.”

“Grab the armrest. I don’t want you to fall.”

When I do as he’s instructed, he tears the paper away and holds the book up to read the title. “Baby names.”

“I didn’t know what to get you. You have pretty much everything, so I thought you could choose his name.”

In our kind of families mothers name their babies. It’s an unwritten and unbreakable rule. Their reasoning is that as long as they suffer the pain of childbirth, the choice is their privilege and right. The pain of childbirth has always been a foolproof bargaining chip, and the details thereof is an argument men aren’t prepared to take on.

Gabriel swallows hard. He stares at me with a piercing gaze. “You’ll let me?”

“It’s not a real gift, but––”

The book falls onto his desk, and his arms come around me. “You’ll really let me?”

“If you’re fine with it.”

“Valentina…” He presses our foreheads together. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I was hoping.”

“Thank you.” He gives me the gentlest of kisses, his trimmed beard scraping my skin. “It’s a beautiful and unselfish gift.”

“Do you have any ideas, yet?”

His lips tilt in one corner. “You’re not supposed to say until the baby is born.”

“I’ll never be able to wait that long!”

He nips my bottom lip. “Looks like you dug yourself a very deep hole, but don’t worry, you have five months to conquer your curiosity.”

“You’re evil.”

The smile vanishes, and his expression turns serious. “Yes, I am, but no matter what I am, you’re mine.”

Before he can say more gloomy things, I kiss him again, running my fingertips over the rough ridges of his scars. He’s my darkness and my love, and he has no idea how truly I am his.

Gabriel

My men inform me of my wife’s run-in with Agatha Murray. It’s accidental, or I would’ve picked up a call to or from Agatha’s number on Valentina’s phone. Yes, I’m a creep. I check my wife’s calls, but it’s as much for her protection as my peace of mind. Our business is dangerous. Even if most men play by the rules and only a crazy idiot will lay a finger on my wife, there are always the nutcases who would cross the line. Besides, she’s still a forced wife, one I keep on a tight leash of pleasure and threats, and I prefer to be prudent when a mob family member like Agatha suddenly walks onto the stage.