Sitting in a private jet Massimo owns, it dawns on me just how rich he is.

Obviously I had assumed—but the man occupies a one-bedroom in a quaint little Mom-and-Pop town. His luxury sports car, designer watch, and bespoke suits do betray his wealth, but only if you pay attention. Massimo doesn't flaunt anything about himself.

I have no clue what we're doing in Chicago, and my travel partner clearly has no intention of letting me know. He seems to be in a particularly nonverbal mood at the moment. Which is fine, considering he knows that I'm not backing down from this little game he's started between us.

He could be taking me to the dessert to kill me and by principle, I wouldn't give a shit.

I meant it when I said I'd be involved in this mess, and Massimo knows it. I've been harping on it at every turn, and he's well aware I'd die on this hill because I'd die on any hill when proving him wrong is involved.

And the man looks smug about it. Don't ask me how. Physically, he looks the exact same as he always does. But I just know there's an infuriating amount of smugness simmering beneath that annoyingly perfect façade.

"Mr. Romano, can I interest you in any beverages?" The flight attendant sidles up, her cheeks reddening as she waits for his reply. And it's not a 'he's hot and I'm nervous' blush. It's a 'I'm horny and I want to fuck him' blush.

"Just two waters for now," he says, and she practically melts at the smooth burnish of his voice.

I'm silently agreeing with her appreciation, because same, until I see it beginning to make Massimo uncomfortable. She stands there, practically breathing on the side of his face, while he seems focused on mustering up the breath to dismiss her.

"Could I actually get a Red Bull? Do you guys have that?"

At my request, she visibly startles. As if she hadn't even noticed my presence. And okay, now I'm annoyed. At her reluctant nod, I grace her with an overly friendly smile. "Thanks so much. That'll be all."

Massimo shifts to me. "You drink those?"

A thrill of satisfaction prickles my skin when the flight attendant looks irritated at the fact that his whole body has turned in my direction. She has no choice but to leave.

"When people drag me onto red-eye flights with an hour's notice, absolutely. I can't sleep on planes."

He looks troubled by this. I begin to get comfortable, rooting through my bag for the book I packed. It's a new romance novel I'm trying out, and I was just getting to the smutty part.

Massimo's stare hasn't stopped burning the side of my face.

"Those are filled with chemicals, Vivienne."

"That must be why they're so yummy. Hey—what's this?" Frowning, I pull out a container that I definitely didn't pack. It's... my cookies. All three batches packed away, even with a paper towel on top to preserve the moisture. "You... packed these?"

Massimo pulls out his laptop, and I almost have a stroke when he slips on those damn glasses.

And so does the flight attendant, who has just returned with my drink. If she looked like she wanted to fuck him before, her expression is borderline pornographic now.

Okay girl, we get it. He's hot. Keep it moving. 

Seeing Massimo in his glasses feels like somewhat of an intimate experience. He only seems to wear them when he's relatively settled and zoning in on his work. Not so much letting his guard down, but getting comfortable. Being... himself. It's stupid to get all that from glasses. But I do, and now this bitch is pissing me off because I don't want her to see him like this.

I'm not jealous.

It's... well, I don't know what it is, but it's something else. I've never been one of those girls who get jealous and vindictive. To prove it, I make sure to give her a sweet smile as thanks for my drink. And if there's a saccharine edge to it that screams 'you can look all you want but he's sitting with me,' that's totally unintentional. 

Massimo has still barely looked in her direction, so he's oblivious to the pissy look she aims at me before stomping away. Oh, to be as oblivious as a man.

"There wasn't any room in my bag," he says tonelessly, reminding me of the cookies I'm still holding. He gives me a weird look, as if that should be obvious.

"Oh," I whisper, staring at the container. He wanted to bring my cookies? Nobody has ever expressed any interest in actually consuming what I bake. Amir tolerates it but he clearly prefers my mom's, and for good reason. Her stuff actually tastes good.

I realize that in my excitement to have Massimo taste them, and then with everything that followed, I completely forgot to try them myself. They must be amazing. I begin to crack open the container.

Massimo snatches it away. "Those are for me."

He tucks it next to him in the seat and flags down the flight attendant, to my annoyance. He begins speaking before she arrives, forcing her to do an awkward little jog in her heels. "She'll have some snacks. Bring a selection of whatever you have."

Baffled and somewhat overcome, I settle back into my seat. It isn't until I look to my left and see my reflection in the window that I realize I'm smiling.

♛

My good mood doesn't last. 

The flight wasn't long, but by the time we make it to our hotel, I'm embarrassingly tired and grumpy. Well, it would be embarrassing, but I'm too tired and grumpy to care.

My body aches, my eyes feel heavy, and I'm filled with a strange restless energy as I stand back, letting Massimo secure our reservations. It began tickling at my bones as I followed him helplessly through the city, and has crystallized to a persistent itch as I wait impatiently to be led to a shower where I can let the hot water wash it away.

I'm fucking irritated. At what? I'm too irritated to figure it out. 

To distract myself, I observe Massimo. This is no small task, because it's impossible to notice much about him just by looking. You have to drink him in to see the small indications he gives towards how he's feeling. I used to think he was a steel trap, never letting anything past. But over time, I've realized that all I have to be is patient, and the reward is well worth it.

He's tenser than I've ever seen him, muscles strung so tight that it almost seems like looking at him wrong could cause everything to snap. When he speaks, his voice is too low and soft. It almost always is, but now it's as if he just can't bring himself to exert more energy. The poor receptionist has to keep asking him to repeat himself, looking like she wants to cry at his blunt, minimally worded responses.

Anyone else may think that he's just a tired, antisocial asshole with a stupidly pretty face. But I can tell that he really, really doesn't want to be in this city.

It only throws gasoline on my desire to know exactly what he's running from. Not for the first time, I think back on the brief interaction I had with his brother. And I highly doubt that Massimo's reaction to this city has anything to do with the threats we've been receiving.

But why would he be running from his family?

Distracted by the wandering eyes of a passing older couple, I'm reminded of another thing. The amount of stares that follow Massimo everywhere he goes is bizarre. Stares from men, women, and children alike. They aren't all appreciative; those that are transition to discomfort before too long. He's a walking contradiction—a prince in a designer suit who viscerally hates interacting with people. He both draws and repels attention.

And now I'm hyperfocusing on how he looks in that suit. Who the fuck changes into an Armani suit for a three-hour flight anyway?

Somehow, I end up glaring at a child waiting in another line next to us.

It's not my proudest moment. I'm exhausted and my patience admittedly isn't where I'd like it to be. But she keeps tugging on her mom's shirt and asking loud questions about "that big, scary man over there." After I unintentionally give her something else to be scared about, her father, a man who is frankly built like a linebacker, approaches me with a slew of angry words.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Even as my mouth moves, I don't know why I'm talking. I don't actually care about this man and his nosy child. "May I gently suggest teaching your child to respect strangers?"

He jabs his finger in my face, saying something totally valid about how it's not polite to intimidate a stranger's child. But I'm not really listening. Watching her father get in my face makes the kid start sobbing, and her mother, looking travel-weary like me, seems close to tears herself.

Massimo finishes our check-in. It quickly dawns on him that I've decided to fight an entire family while his back was turned.

His brows lower at the scene. The next thing I know, a broad shoulder is in my face and my access to the stranger is cut off. Massimo's approach is so soundless and sudden that the man immediately goes on the defense, backing up and escorting his family from the lobby like it's on fire.

And surprise, this only further pisses me off.

"Fucking ridiculous," I gripe, marching ahead to the elevators. "Children piss me off, but what's even worse is adults who should know better. You didn't even say one word to him! And he acts like you were threatening him?"

Massimo presses the button, unbothered. "I was about to. Saved me the breath."

Ignoring him, I continue ranting as we ascend. Eventually, I realize we've been ascending for a very long time. "Where the fuck are we going? How many floors does this thing even have?"

The doors slide open and Massimo nods for me to go first as he collects our bags. "Somewhere you won't be picking fights with children."

I turn just in time to see his lips twitch. My chest simultaneously warms and freezes over. Holy shit. Did Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionless seriously almost just smile or did I imagine that? Regardless, I'm stunned into silence as he lugs our bags into our room.

Then I'm stunned for a completely different reason.

Our accommodations are... massive. Obviously, he booked a penthouse suite. But I didn't know those could be like this. It features a dining area, living room space, hot tub, terrace, and from what I can see, at least three bedrooms. There's a fully stocked bar and fridge, and a huge window wall that displays an impressive view of the Chicago skyline.

"A security detail will be right outside at all times," Massimo parks himself stiffly near the door, interrupting my awed perusal of the room. "If you need anything, call them. They're here solely to address your needs. I sent you their contact information." On cue, my phone buzzes from my pocket. "Everything else you'll need is up here, but you're free to explore. However, two guards will accompany you wherever you go."

I scoff. "Is that really necessary?"

He immediately tenses, as if he was prepared for this reaction. "I am already compromising from my instinct, which is to prevent you from leaving the penthouse altogether."

"So I take that as a yes, then," I mutter.

Massimo looks like he's in the early stages of a migraine. "Vivienne, I will not—"

"I'll bring the guards with me, okay? Unclench." Suddenly, relaxing is the last thing he looks like doing, but I continue. "Where will you be going? Got a hot date?"

He meets my suggestive smirk with a slight wrinkle of his nose.

The sky is the limit when it comes to interpreting his micro-expressions, and the idea of Massimo on a date is more amusing than I'd like to admit. What would he do? Sit there in a way that would make anyone reevaluate their posture and only speak to critique her food choices? Honestly, good looks and riches should only get you so far. But I'm sure both have worked in his favor with women in the past. Fuck knows his interpersonal skills aren't doing him any favors.

Now that I think about it, Massimo is probably thinking of reconnecting with his usual hookups now that he's back in his city. Even he needs get off sometime, right? And I'm sure he has access to the most beautiful, high-class women. 

He brushes imaginary lint off his suit jacket as if simultaneously brushing off this conversation. "I have meetings. I'll be gone for several hours."

"You're leaving now?" It's late, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't slept in over a day.

Too late, I realize it sounds like I care.

A long buzz saves Massimo from answering, and he strides for the door. A large, bald man in a suit—part of my security detail, because of course they look like that—begins speaking in hushed tones, and the two step right outside the door.

Too antsy and restless to even try to eavesdrop, I check my phone. Mrs. Chambers is taking care of Nik again but this time, she's keeping him at her place. The different setting is bound to agitate him somewhat, but Massimo refused to let the elderly woman have access to his home. She's sent me several pictures of my baby perched on top of her fridge, with a wall of text explaining that he's been up there since the second I left and won't come down.

I'm typing a response when I hear a subtle, consistent buzzing.

Holding my breath, I listen closer. It's low, coming from the corner where all our luggage is.

What the hell?

Suddenly, a horrible thought dawns on me. I hurry to the suitcases, tossing Massimo's bags aside to violently root through my things.

There is simply no way the neon green, tentacled monster dildo has decided to announce its presence right now.

I didn't even mean to pack it. It's just that... well, I had to put that thing somewhere. Preferably a place where nobody would ever stumble upon it. So I stuck it in one of my travel bags weeks ago and promptly forgot about it until now. Which is a bit crazy, because it's fucking huge—but what can I say? I like my bags with many, many pockets.

It's only once I have the dildo from hell in my hands that I realize something else is making the noise. Glancing around, I notice Massimo's phone on the ground, having fallen from his bags when I pushed them aside. Tommaso is calling. Repeatedly. I can't look away as missed calls and voicemails keep populating the screen.

What if someone died? Could something horrible have happened?

Listening to one of the voicemails is definitely the dumbest thing I've done in a while. But I'm suddenly convinced of a worst-case scenario. I'm also tired, agitated for a vague reason I still can't uncover, and have been sexually frustrated since Massimo kissed me at Pulse.

Also, the man almost killed me twice. Am I really the bad guy if I snoop and listen to one voicemail?

Having sufficiently justified my stupid decisions to myself, I hit play.

"Hey," his brother's flat, defeated voice crackles through the phone speakers. "It's time for the weekly spam from your favorite brother." He laughs in a way that suggests the opposite is true. "If you think I'm getting even remotely tired of this, think a-fucking-gain. Santo won't say it, but he really wants you at the wedding. It's in forty-one days. Know what that means? That you have forty-one days to figure out how to get your ass here. We need you here. Santo's trying his best but he can't lead this family the way you can, and we all know it. Even short stuff agrees with me, and you know she does her best to keep that from happening too often. They're doing fine, by the way. So are Samuel and Leah. They're all just... doing their best." Thickness invades his voice, and he abruptly clears his throat. "Not that you care. As for me..." he breaks off with a self-deprecating laugh, "yeah, nothing of interest to you there. Fuck you, and I'll see you in forty-one days. Okay?"

A strange feeling engulfs me as I lower the phone. The simultaneous sadness and anger were clear in Tommaso's voice, and I'm left with more questions than I started with.

Massimo is missing his brother's wedding?

Cold hands rip the phone from me. Massimo backs away, gripping the device tight enough to crack it. His face has gone a shade paler but he doesn't look angry. He looks like he's seen a ghost. Or heard one.

Which unfortunately is what pricks at my conscience.

But I'm still angry at him, for many things. For submerging me in this mess and forcing me to grab onto him if I don't want to drown. For invading my life and then expecting me to just be fine letting him handle things for me, like kitchen repairs and hotel reservations and a whole security detail.

And just like that, the root of my irritation surfaces. It's been like nails on a chalkboard just following him around and letting him take care of things. Throw in living with him on top of everything else—and that's yet another way I'm placing my wellbeing in his hands. And somehow all of that is so much worse than dragging him on silly errands or seeing how much I can annoy him. Because he's asking me in no certain words to trust him, but there's no intimacy to the act. At the end of the day, Massimo is asking me to throw myself into the fire because he knows my stubbornness will make me go. Even when he's the one holding the lit match. And I can do many things—stand up for myself against his attempts to boss me around, fight him tooth and nail on every word he utters—but I can't rely on him for those simple but important things.

I can't remember the last time I relied on anyone for so much as a penny.

And based on the state of his family, neither can Massimo.

He doesn't spare me a look at me as he leaves, letting the door slam behind him.

It's only once I'm alone that I realize I'm still holding that stupid dildo.

♛

The vomit-esque taste of tequila masked with sugar and shitty fruit juice slithers down my throat.

God, I fucking hate tequila.

I'd be far more inclined to go for a joint or a glass of whiskey, but the douche sitting next to me gave me one look and decided I'm a mixed drink kind of girl.

But a free drink is a free drink.

Joel—I think that was his name—goes on about his blue-collar job, while I make sure to nod and 'mhm' in all the right places. The hotel bar isn't too packed; it's just us, a few other stragglers who've been shooting me interested looks, and my two big beefy bodyguards. They have the decency to sit several tables away, at least, and Justin is too engrossed in recounting his life story to notice the pair of suited, three-hundred-pound men staring at me.

While I may be feeling rebellious, annoyed, and recklessly guilty over my snooping, that doesn't mean I'll suddenly turn into an idiot. I can handle the bodyguards if that means I can get drunk without having to worry about any cannibalizing sex traffickers tracking me down.

What is my life?

Jake's gaze keeps dipping below my neck—although I'm not sure what he's looking at, my B-cups certainly can't be that interesting—and I'm unfortunately not as tipsy as I hoped. Instead, I've just skipped straight to tired. The prospect of a comfy, warm bed is the most erotic thing I can think of. I swear I nearly whimper.

Jackson's eyes turn molten and I fear I actually have whimpered. "How about we go back to my room?" He smirks, leaning forward. "We can continue our... conversation there." His hands rest on the corners of my chair, not quite boxing me in but clearly giving me the impression that if I don't want this to go any further, I'd better speak now or forever hold my peace.

Now, this would normally be the moment I agree and follow him to his room, secretly hoping the whole way that this mediocre man will wow me beyond belief. Joseph is just like any other guy I'd normally go for—attractive, put together,  and probably moved out of his parents' house. The sex would be fine. I could definitely see myself becoming attracted enough to this guy, especially if he possesses a basic knowledge of how to use his penis.

Normally, I really wouldn't have to think about what comes next.

But this time, I find myself doing a lot of thinking.

Would my bodyguards have to come with? I know Massimo gave them specific orders to follow me wherever I go—does that mean they'd need to be in the room as I fuck this guy or would they settle for, like, waiting outside the door? Would they report back to Massimo? Did he ask them to?

I don't ever reach the conclusion to that train wreck of thought.

Unease flickers in what's-his-face's eyes as he focuses on something behind me. "Who's... that?"

I know who it is before I even turn around.

Sure enough, there he is. Looming behind me like a perturbed, homicidal shadow. His chilled gaze is fixed unseeingly on where I'm being boxed into my chair by this stranger, but he makes no move forward.

"Neighborhood Watch, I'm afraid," I turn back to J, which is what I've decided to call him at this point.

He visibly tries to pull himself together, but Massimo must be serving some serious sociopathic looks right now, because I can tell the mood has been ruined. "Will he just... stand there the whole time?"

"Probably," I sigh. "He may say something vague and cryptic at one point. You'll know you're in trouble if he completely disregards his contractions." I smile and raise my drink, seeing the resolution to this written all over his face. "Well, it was nice meeting you. Cheers."

J cannot get out of there fast enough. I finish my drink before turning to my shadow.

"If you kill him just for flirting with me, I'm so serious when I say that you will never see me again."

Taking his time, Massimo looks me over, from the top of my head to the empty glass I'm still holding. "He didn't hurt or offend you?" I shake my head. "Then I won't touch him. I'm not so pathetic that I would make you responsible for a man's death."

Although there is murder written in his eyes, I believe him. I believe that he would have stood there like a man tied to the stake and watched me hook up with that guy before he penalized me for wanting to have sex with somebody else. Oh, for the love of fucking fuck. Frustrated, I cross my arms. "Stop being so goddamn confusing!"

Massimo looms closer, and I have to remind myself to keep breathing normally. "Just because I won't, does not mean I don't want to, Vivienne. But I am quite good at denying myself the things I want."

I stand, a sensual chill racing down my spine as his eyes shift and fracture, like stained glass with no light behind it. When Massimo looks at me, it's completely new. It's almost erotic in and of itself because of the way I can see the tension in him becoming harder and harder for him to bear. Every time we've kissed, I've felt him riding the brink of losing it. Closer and closer. Felt it in the unrelenting heaviness of his touch and the boner he can't hide, no matter how persistently he tries. 

There's something about a man positively suffering in his desire for you that makes you feel like nothing else. And while I don't want Massimo to suffer, he's going to until he decides to stop pulling back from me.

"I don't know," I shrug. "I can think of a couple times you actually let yourself want something." I don't think he realizes he's started to lean towards my lips, tilting towards me like we're connected by an invisible string. "But it's probably for the best." My lips graze his and his chin dips, nudging my mouth softly. "I don't know if you can handle the things you want."

"What I can't handle," Massimo breathes, "is the wanting in the first place."

He takes my hand around the wrist. Confused, I let him guide it to his chest. He leaves it there, the smooth planes of his body shifting beneath my touch through the fabric of his suit. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me with a question breaking past the shattered glass.

I don't stop to think as I trail my hand down the front of his clothes, feeling the accommodating clench of his abdomen. "Go on, dolcezza," his voice is so low, so soft, and my bones turn to liquid as I stop at his waist, hooking my fingers below his belt. Pulling him towards me.

The groan he makes when I kiss him vibrates in my fucking blood. It's quiet, so only I can hear it. He meets each stroke of my tongue with controlled sweeps of his own, his lips frustratingly soft and pliable—but they have an incendiary effect on my desire because I can feel the want and need trembling through his body.

Yet he holds it back, only going as far as I take it. Only coming as close as I pull him. 

I feel... powerful. Sex has never made me feel that way. It's always been about keeping up appearances, adhering to whatever will ensure that me and my partner both get off so we can go our separate ways.

Massimo shifts his hips, desperate for movement, and my hand dips a little past his belt. The answering full body shiver that rolls through him almost makes my vision go blurry.

I think I've been doing sex wrong.

Since I'm clearly the one in charge here, we only stop when I pull away for air. I have the feeling he would've kept kissing me into unconsciousness if I didn't make the executive decision to stop.

Dazed, floating, I watch him walk away. Curious gazes stay fixed on me but none of the other men at the bar make a move. They know I'm not interested—not because Massimo laid claim over me, but because I laid claim over him.

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

Massimo stops to say a few short words to my bodyguards, then he's gone.

My ringing phone stops me from completely melting into a puddle. "Hello?" Distracted, I stare off at the door Massimo disappeared through, carting my dignity and sanity with him.

"Hello? Vivi? Where the fuck are you?"

Startled, I glance down at Caller ID. Tori.

"Uh." Right now, where I am and what I'm doing are unfortunately two things I have no fucking clue about. "I'm out. What's up?"

"That's all you have to say?" Tori nearly shrieks. "Honestly, what is going on with you? You haven't texted in ages. Like, did you die? We had no clue. It's Nate's birthday tonight. Are you not coming out with us?"

Oh my God. My friends. I completely forgot about my friends. How shitty of a person am I?

"Shit. I'm so sorry. I had to go out of town last minute. Did I miss the texts?" I don't think I've ignored any texts recently. 

"Well—no, we didn't text you. But I'm pretty sure Nate's birthday is the same time every year. Shiv is annoyed with you, that's why I'm the one calling."

A knot of guilt tightens in my gut. I'll have to apologize about that later.

There's not that much else left to say, so we exchange our goodbyes before long. My bodyguards follow me dutifully back to the room, where I fall into bed, tired enough that I'm seeing double. But sleep doesn't meet me, and instead I'm up all night.

And it's definitely not because Massimo doesn't return to the penthouse until much later. 

♛ 

Aaaand we're getting right back into it. The way I'm so addicted to these characters that I missed not updating for one stinking week.

Thank you for reading babes!

- G