When He Takes: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 2)

There’s a redhead wrapped around my husband.

Moments ago, she launched herself at him with a high-pitched squeal, and Nero caught her midair, wrapping his arms around her waist.

A sharp zing of anger shoots up my spine. Who is she? An old flame?

A dark-haired man walks up to them, a grim expression on his face. He stares at the two of them for a long moment before his gaze slides over to me. His eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen, and they pierce right through me, unraveling my thoughts before I can even form them.

It’s unsettling.

Who is he?

It feels like an eternity passes before the redhead untangles herself from Nero. “How?” she breathes.

Nero raises an eyebrow, gesturing toward the man. “Didn’t Rafe…”

The name hits me like a jolt of electricity.

This is Nero’s old boss. Rafaele.

The picture I had in my mind doesn’t match reality. I expected someone older. Someone who looks like a gangster.

But the man in front of me can’t be more than thirty, and he’s gorgeous. He could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company or a high-powered attorney if it wasn’t for the dark ink on his hands that spilled out from beneath his sleeves.

“Rafe!” The redhead turns on him, her expression aghast. “Are you kidding me?” She smacks her clutch against his arm. “How could you not tell me Nero’s back?”

“You got off the plane three hours ago. I planned to tell you tonight.”

“You could have told me over the phone while I was still in Italy!”

Rafaele shoots Nero a look I can’t quite read. A cry for help?

Nero clears his throat and gently turns the redhead back to face him with a hand on her shoulder. “Cleo, I didn’t give him any notice. It’s only been a few days.”

Cleo. Rafaele’s wife.

The woman Nero saved.

“A few days, huh?” She gives me a dismissive glance. “I see you’re having fun already.”

A bitter taste floods my mouth. She thinks I’m just a fling.

It’s funny how a single sentence can bring all my old insecurities rushing back. I wonder if Nero was as popular in New York as he was in Darkwater Hollow.

In my mind, I picture a long line of gorgeous, flawless women, just like the ones I saw at breakfast today, parading along a conveyor belt.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…

Nero takes my hand, intertwining our fingers, and squeezes tightly. “This is my wife.”

Cleo’s eyes widen, revealing the entire green iris in each one. “You have a wife? Are you—” She stops abruptly. When I glance at Nero, he’s giving her a frown.

Color creeps up her cheeks. She turns to me and swallows. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Sometimes, I speak before thinking.” She offers me her hand. “I’m Cleo Messero.”

“Blake,” I reply stiffly as we shake hands.

She bites her lip, sending Nero a sheepish look. “Foot-in-mouth syndrome.”

“I see nothing’s changed,” Nero retorts.

A smile tugs on her lips. “I just can’t believe this. You’re back, and you’re married. Where did you two meet?”

Nero swipes his thumb over the back of my hand. “A small town in Missouri.”

“I want to hear the full story. Can we have you over for dinner? When are you coming back to work?”

Rafaele puts his hand on Cleo’s shoulder. “He’s not working for me anymore. He’s working for Gino now.”

“What? Why?” Cleo crosses her arms over her chest, her brows knitting as she glares at her husband.

“It was Gino’s condition for moving forward peacefully.” Rafaele glances at the valet returning to the stand, ensuring he can’t overhear us. The drizzling rain keeps most passersby from lingering on the street.

Cleo’s eyes flare, and she shakes off Rafe’s hand with a flick of her shoulder. “That’s it. We’re going home. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” She turns to Nero. “What about Sandro? Did he come back with you? Oh my God, I can’t wait to see him.”

A painful pang hits my chest as Nero and Rafaele exchange a glance. The rain has seeped through the cardigan I’m wearing over my dress, and the cold is biting.

Cleo’s expression shifts with a mix of dread and denial. “Nero? Where is Sandro?”

I don’t think he realizes that he’s doing it, but Nero tugs me closer. My shoulder presses into his chest.

“He’s gone.”

Cleo’s face loses all color in an instant. She looks stricken. Her husband wraps his arm around her shoulders, and this time, she doesn’t shrug him off. A tear escapes her eye, runs down her cheek, falls from her chin, and splatters against the surface of her leather boot.

I wonder if she and Sandro were close. Nero told me Sandro was a driver for Rafaele, so perhaps he was Cleo’s driver too. That would explain her devastation. My heart aches with pity as she sniffles and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“How?” she asks.

“He was protecting me,” I say softly. “He saved my life.”

“Come on,” Rafaele murmurs, pulling his wife against him. “We’ll talk at home.”

Nero signals to the valet to bring Rafaele’s car around. As we say our goodbyes, Cleo hugs Nero again, whispering something in his ear. I catch her lips forming the words.

I’m sorry.

The penthouse is dark and cold when we step through the front doors half an hour later. I’m desperate to get out of my damp clothes.

I should be happy Nero agreed to go through with Vita and Gino’s plan. That was my goal for the evening, and I achieved it.

But I’m not happy. Far from it.

For the first half of the ride home, I was consumed with memories of Sandro. The way he’d looked at me when he’d realized what was about to happen. The moment of his death. The damn unfairness of it all.

But that’s not the only thing dragging me into this dark place.

Something unpleasant churns inside my belly, like an agitated snake eager to escape its enclosure.

The more I try to untangle my feelings for Nero, the less I like what I find.

It bothers me that Cleo thought I was some random date Nero picked up within a few days of coming home, as if that’s exactly what he would do.

It bothers me to question how many women he’s taken to that same restaurant before me.

It even bothers me to remember how Cleo hugged Nero, how comfortable she was touching him—my husband. I know she’s married, but that hasn’t stopped Nero before, has it? What if they have a history? What if he slept with her?

Damn it all to hell. Why do I care? Why am I jealous?

I don’t love him anymore. I don’t want him anymore.

I don’t.

“You haven’t said a word since we got into the car,” Nero says from somewhere behind me.

I kick my shoes off, leave my purse on the credenza in the lobby, and pad toward my room. “I’m tired.”

“Is that what this is?” he asks, following me into my bedroom. I should tell him to get out, but I don’t.

Instead, I hide inside the walk-in closet, shutting the door behind me to keep him out while I change.

I tie my damp hair into a bun and slip into a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.

There’s an angry buzz beneath my skin.

The question bursts out of me before I can swallow it down. “Do you have a history with her?”

“With who?” he asks from the other side of the door.

“Cleo.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause.

“Does it matter? I thought we were just friends.” His tone carries a hint of amusement.

Does he think this is funny?

I jerk the door open.

His palms are anchored on the doorjamb, and he leans forward, bringing us nearly nose to nose. “Do friends get jealous of each other?”

“I’m not jealous,” I grind out, even as the thought of him being with someone else makes my lungs shrivel up.

Now that I’ve had him, I don’t want anyone else to have him, even if I’m determined to never sleep with him again.

You really expect him to be celibate?

Nero’s gaze drops to my lips. “You saw another woman embrace me and you practically turned green.”

“How could you know what color I turned if you had your eyes glued to her?”

“She’s just a friend. She’s never been more than a friend. If she had been, I wouldn’t be standing here, because Rafe would have murdered me by now. He’s like me, Blake. He goes crazy when someone touches what’s his.”

I push past him and move to the kitchen.

I need a glass of water, an Advil, and a good night’s sleep. That should be enough to get these crazy thoughts out of my head so I can calm down.

Nero must sense I want to be alone, because he retreats to his own bedroom instead of following me. There’s a stupid ache in my chest, something that can’t possibly be disappointment. It’s not like I wanted him to follow me. It’s not like I need his reassurance.

But when he reappears a minute later, while I’m on my second glass of water, I feel a traitorous flutter—a flutter that shouldn’t be there, damn it.

He’s changed out of his suit, and now we’re in matching gray sweatpants.

Only he’s not wearing a shirt.

I can’t resist letting my gaze slide down his sculpted torso as he approaches. A pent-up breath escapes past my lips.

Why is he doing this?

He backs me against the kitchen counter, caging me in with his arms.

Heat fans through my body. I’m still attracted to him. I want to leave marks on him. I want to carve my name into his skin. It’s ridiculous, because I plan to run away from him, but possessiveness still burns deep inside my belly.

He leans his head down, getting to my eye level. “What do I have to do to make you stop being angry with me?”

“Didn’t we talk about it at dinner? I already said I’m done being angry with you. We’re good.”

He tilts his head. “You call this good? For the love of God, don’t bring up that friends bullshit again. I can’t stand it.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to stop denying that there’s still something here. Something that’s worth fighting for. I was willing to die for you, Sunshine. Do you really think I’m just going to give up on us after I got a second chance to make you mine?”

A shiver rolls down my spine.

No, no. No. I can’t let him get under my skin.

“I’ll never be yours again, Nero. What we had before is gone.”

He shakes his head. “You’re wrong. I think you still want me, you just don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

Humiliation tears through me, because it’s true.

I don’t understand myself anymore. How can I want him after everything he’s done?

After all the lies and the hurt?

I twist in his arms, turning so that my back is to his front. So that I don’t have to stare into his eyes and feel as if he’s seeing straight into my soul.

He presses up against me, and he’s as hard as a rock.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice is weaker than it should be.

His breath grazes my neck, and his lips brush against my ear, sending shivers cascading over my skin. I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the moan that threatens to spill out of me.

“You have to let me touch you,” he murmurs. “We have to be a united front, remember? How will we convince anyone we’re happily married if you pull away every time I try to kiss you?”

His hand snakes around my throat, and he turns my head until our lips are a whisper apart. A few seconds of us breathing in the same air pass.

It’s pure temptation. Now, I know what a drug addict feels like when she just can’t resist her next hit.

My mouth parts.

It’s all the invitation he needs.

His lips crash onto mine, his tongue invading, fighting, conquering. The world around us blanks out. There’s nothing but him and me, and we’re swept up in a tornado of lust and bad decisions.

His grip on my throat loosens as he turns me to face him and presses me against the counter. I can feel his cock twitch through the fabric of his sweats.

I moan into his mouth.

I shouldn’t like this. It shouldn’t feel like coming home.

And yet it does.

We kiss each other like we’re the last two people left on this entire planet. Like if we stop, the world will end.

His palms slide down my sides and wrap around to cup my ass, tugging me into him. There’s not a sliver of space left between us, and yet it’s not enough. It’s like he wants to absorb me into him. I can’t say I hate the idea.

He breaks the kiss, dragging his lips to my neck, his hot tongue igniting a trail of sparks down to my core. My eyes drift open, and the first thing I see is his gun lying in its holster on the coffee table. The gun he’s used to kill who knows how many people. The haze lifts.

What the hell am I doing? I’ve lost it.

Panic grips me, and I shove at his chest. “Stop. Stop.”

He pulls back with a rough groan. “Baby…”

I slip out from between him and the counter, putting distance between us. My common sense has finally returned. What possessed me just now? He’s not good for me, for a million reasons, including how he makes me lose my mind.

I’m supposed to keep my distance from him, not make out with him in the kitchen, for God’s sake!

My eyes meet his. “This is a mistake. I don’t want this.”

Hurt flashes inside his hazel orbs, and I hate that I caused it. But it’s better if I hurt him now. It’ll be better if I refuse to give him hope.

Because once we get Gino and Vita what they want, I’m getting out of New York.