Not Mine to Keep: Chapter 25

“About time you showed up. You don’t plan on letting your wife sleep alone, do you?” Frankie had the nerve to stop me in the hall of my own damn home on the way to my bedroom, and it took all my restraint not to shove him against the wall. His attention dipped to the bag in my hand. “Ah, got the princess a diamond, did you?”

I was too tired and had had too much to drink to deal with him right now. No response was the best way to handle the prick. So being the bigger person, I ignored him and hurried up the stairs, exhaustion setting in hard and fast with every step closer to my bedroom—a room I’d never shared overnight with a woman until now.

Testing the handle and finding it locked, I reached into my pocket for my keys. I’d had a deadbolt installed today, not a fan of Armani’s men having access to my wife. At least she had the good sense to lock the door.

Once inside the room, I kicked off my shoes and gave myself a few seconds to adjust to the darkness so I didn’t trip over anything and wake her.

I had every intention of setting the little blue bag on the nightstand without a word, but she caught me mid-act placing it there. She turned on the lamp, and I let go of the ring bag and took a few uncomfortable steps back.

“What’s this?” She sat upright, wearing a pink nightshirt from the looks of it, and I had no clue whether she had on bottoms, too.

“It’d be strange if my wife didn’t have a diamond. I thought of everything but that before we arrived.” I’d spent almost two hours in that store tonight, wavering on which ring to buy, now knowing way more about diamonds than I ever wanted or needed to.

“Oh.” She removed the box from the bag, and I swallowed, oddly nervous whether she’d like it. I’d wanted to buy her the biggest rock there, but her “you can’t buy everything” comment earlier had me going with a simple solitaire with small diamonds on each side instead.

The smile from her as she slipped on the too-big-for-her-finger ring did something funny to my chest. “This is . . . well, perfect.”

“Don’t worry, my assistant picked it out,” I said as fast as possible before she got angry at me again, like she had with the guitar. “Nothing sentimental about the ring.”

“Good. Um, great.”

Such a little liar. Just like me.

“Tell your assistant they have great taste.”

“Sure.” I was ready to get this conversation over with and sleep before I lost my head and asked her to scoot over, to let me sleep on my side of the bed she was currently occupying.

“Well, thank you. I’ll need it sized.” And yet, she didn’t take it off, just fiddled with it on her finger.

I pushed out in a nonchalant tone, “You’re welcome. It, uh, was nothing.”

Still fidgeting with the diamond ring, she asked, “How’d the board meeting go? Your family business okay? Will you survive the fallout?”

“Fine.” Not really. But we’d done our best to keep people’s heads from exploding. “Are things okay on your end with damage control?” Did you talk to Braden?

“I need another day or two before I make any calls. Just sent a few texts. Tested the waters with my aunt via email. She only gave me an update on her location along with a few photos, seemingly oblivious to this hell, which is good news.”

Speaking of . . . “I have more good news.”

She let her hand fall to her lap atop the gray duvet, attention shooting to me.

I had to pocket my hands so I wouldn’t reach for her. Or ask her to let me finger fuck her again. “We’re getting divorced much sooner than expected. Right after our birthday.”

The little oh sound she made that could’ve been confused for disappointment wasn’t lost on me. “I forgot your birthday is on the twenty-first, too. I saw that in my search, but I got distracted by photos of you and . . .”

Other women. I never gave a damn about my reputation. Until now. Until Little Miss Tennessee Whiskey blew into my life like a storm, setting everything off course in my perfect world that was probably far from ever being perfect.

“Wait, that’s soon. Today’s May twenty-ninth, right?” Her being twenty-nine and counting on her fingers fucking killed me. Too cute. Too innocent. Too everything for me. “That’s in twenty-three days.” The bedding went to the wayside as she stood, revealing she had nothing on under that pink nightshirt that went to midthigh.

“Told you, good news.” Mindlessly, I began unbuttoning my dress shirt and went over to the couch, discovering she’d already turned it down into a bed and had the sheets and blanket prepped for me.

“How? I mean, um, does that mean you’re killing my father in three and a half weeks?”

My fingers went still on the buttons at her words, and I slowly faced her, my arms falling to my sides. “You called him your father. You—”

“Shit.” She blinked as if surprised herself. “It’s just a lot to take in. Helping murder someone. A man who gave me life. Even if I hate him for his very existence.”

I went back over to her, worried there was about to be a major disconnect and problem with the plan. Searching for her gaze, I waited until she gave me her eyes. Instead, she chewed on her already short thumbnail—not one of her nervous habits I’d yet to witness. No, this was doubt infiltrating her mind.

She freed her thumbnail from between her teeth to ask, “How will you kill him?”

When she’d yet to give me her eyes, I reached for her elbow. “At our birthday party that we invite him and Marcello to. We’ll frame Rocco and his father—revenge for choosing me over him to wed.”

Refusing to meet my eyes while taking shallow breaths weren’t the best signs. “How will you kill him, though?” The break in her tone had me letting go of her elbow, and I stepped back.

“Look at me,” I demanded roughly, but if this plan was about to go to hell in a handbasket, as my mother liked to say, I needed to do damage control, and fast.

Marriage. Murder. Revenge. Divorce. That’d been the plan. Was she changing it on me?

“The man had a doctor check your fertility. He’s trying to force you to fuck me so you can give him a kid, a child he wants to raise to become a killer.” She had to remember the details, to commit the gritty, dark truth about the bastard to memory before she changed her mind. “Where’s this coming from? Why do you care how he dies as long as he ends up six feet under?”

She sidestepped me and sat on the pull-out bed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I just . . .” Those light-green eyes finally landed on me, and I nearly regretted demanding her attention, because that sad expression was a painful sight. “Talking about it happening at the end of the summer felt like forever away, and this feels real now.” She tugged her lip between her teeth, appearing contemplative when there shouldn’t have been anything to think about. “What if having a hand in his murder makes me as bad as him? What if he wins anyway because I let the darkness out he wants unleashed?” Tears pricked her eyes, and they poked a hole in my chest.

Unable to stop myself, I sat by her and held her hand. The diamond had spun around and dug into my palm. “Don’t do this. You’re not him, and you never will be.” Feeling a bit panicked myself, because if she changed her mind I had no damn idea what to do, I brought our linked palms between us and turned toward her. “We’re in this together. Okay?”

She stared at our united hands, blinking a few times. Uncertainty still clung to her soft gaze when it returned to my face. “Non c’è luce senza oscurità.”

Squeezing her hand a bit harder at the sight of tears now slipping down her cheeks, I leaned closer and set my forehead to hers. “You’re the light in this scenario, okay?” I murmured. “And you need to let me be the dark. I can handle it, I promise.” I already am it. “You’re just tired. I should’ve waited to tell you this until after you slept,” I added when she’d yet to speak, and her silence was brutal.

“Maybe you’re right.” Her determined voice was what I needed to hear, and I pulled away to check her face, see if some color had returned.

Realizing I was still holding her hand to the point her ring was now leaving an imprint inside my palm, I let her go, and she swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Tell me the truth about Rocco.”

Since I’d already opened my mouth tonight, it was time to go ahead and rip the Band-Aid off, I supposed. Maybe this would help ease her concerns about the plan, too? But I’d need to stand for this and keep my back to her. “After my brothers and I were arrested for killing our sister’s killer—which we got wrong back then but didn’t know it . . . and don’t worry, the person responsible is now dead—well, my dad negotiated a get-out-of-jail-free card for us.”

Her hand was at my back, which meant she’d joined me on her feet. She was careful with how she touched me. Gentle. Comforting. As if letting me know she had my back. That wasn’t something I’d allowed a woman outside my family to have before.

“Go on,” she prompted when I’d become tripped up.

“The deal was charges would be dropped and no prison time if my brothers and I worked for the government. Three veterans killing a killer—the Feds didn’t really want us in jail, either. So they arranged to have us do off-the-books, clandestine stuff. Not exactly reporting to the CIA, but kind of . . . But four years ago, we were sent after a high-value target, Claudio Barone. The intel must’ve been bad because the plan went sideways, and Rocco captured Constantine. He had him for ten days. Slowly tortured him. The kind of torture you need trigger warnings for before watching a movie. Only this was . . . real.” Fuck, now I was going to be sick. I still had no clue how I’d faced off with that animal in Rome and hadn’t killed him.

Who was I kidding? When she urged me to face her, I knew why: taking out Rocco would’ve jeopardized the woman before me.

Her palms landed on my cheeks, and I quickly held her wrists but didn’t shove her hands away. “I was working on a rescue, but a sniper had me in his sights on overwatch, and apparently, Gabriel also had me in his sights, because he took out Rocco’s man on the long gun, saving my life.”

“Gabriel saved you,” she whispered, surprise in her eyes. “Why? How’d he know? Armani wasn’t working with Rocco then, was he?”

I slowly lowered her hands from my face, finding myself a little short of breath, walking down memory lane. Holding her wrists still, but down at our sides, I shared, “Gabriel heard my brother had been taken by the Barones. He didn’t have Armani’s blessing, nor did Armani know his plan, but according to Gabriel, he went there to help save Constantine.”

“This is why you owe him a favor. The reason you’re helping me is all because of what happened four years ago.” She studied me for a long moment, and I wasn’t sure where her head was at right now, but she didn’t make me wait long to find out. “Does everything really happen for a reason? If Armani hadn’t chosen Rocco to marry me, would you not have helped? Maybe Gabriel would never have gone to you in the first place.”

I let go of her wrists and slid my hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head. “I don’t know if Gabriel would’ve come to me if Rocco wasn’t involved, but regardless of the man your father chose, I would’ve said yes to helping you.”

Her eyes locked with mine. “Why?”

“Because I met you,” I admitted hoarsely. “And Gabriel knew I’d never be able to walk away from you after that.”

“But you will be walking away,” she reminded me, a single tear breaking free as she pulled away her hand. “Right after our birthday party, you’ll walk away.” She removed the diamond, which had me oddly feeling as if I’d been punched, then she gave me her back. “Do you still work for the government?”

“No. We were given our freedom. Everything we do now is because we want to. No red tape, either.” Doing my best to shake off the fact I felt like I’d been through the emotional wringer my therapist had tried to put me through in the past without much luck—and this woman in the space of a heartbeat had managed to do it—I finished the job of unbuttoning my shirt and tossed it on the pull-out bed.

“You help people because you can, not because you have to.” She faced me again, eyes landing on my naked chest. “You’re not the dark in this scenario, Alessandro.” Slowly, she worked her attention to my face. “You’re the light.”

I closed the space between us. Hands tight at my sides so I didn’t touch her, I rasped, “No, I am. You need to remember that, too. And remember I will walk away from you when this is over, because I am that guy. I can’t be anyone else.” It took all my strength, all my energy, to spew those words—words that didn’t want to come out, but I had to hammer in the point. “I’m not the hero in the story.” My palm went flat over my heart. “I’m the man who’d go scorched-earth on the world to save his family. A hero would put their country first.”

What in the hell was on her mind? Why wasn’t she backing away? Running?

“At the end of the day, I’m a killer,” I said, reiterating my point, worried she’d yet to receive it with her peering at me as if she’d be okay if I sacrificed the world for her. “You’re a schoolteacher. A musician. A woman with a good heart.” I stabbed the air. “You’re not a DiMaggio. You’re not like us. Like me.” Breathing hard, worried I was on the verge of snapping and gathering her in my arms to feel her light wash over me, to experience what it felt like just to have a taste of her sweetness, I sidestepped her to get to the bathroom, needing the conversation over with.

“I get it. You’re trying to push me away. I all but begged you to do that earlier after you gave me the guitar.” Her soft tone stopped me in my tracks, preventing me from slamming the bathroom door shut. “But you are a hero, Alessandro. What you’re doing for me, for Constantine . . . We have different definitions of that word. The only villains are the ones you plan to kill.”

I slowly faced her from where I stood inside the doorway of the bathroom. I set my hands to the frame, trying to stop myself from going into the room and fucking her so hard I’d destroy us both, just to prove she was wrong about me.

She slipped the ring back on her finger while approaching me, eyes steady on mine as she took small but confident steps.

“Calliope,” I hissed as she stopped before me, and I couldn’t help but take notice of her nipples piercing the fabric. “Thin ice.” I reminded her about my control and its limits when it came to her. “You told me earlier you want to hate me, or have you forgotten?”

“I said I’d try.” Her palm went over my heart, and on instinct, I flinched. “Feel that?” She arched a brow and peered up at me. “It beats.”

For you.

Fuck, it seems to beat again for you.

Chills like I’d never known scattered across my skin, and I was pretty sure she was aware of her effect on me. This woman, and my reaction to her, scared the ever-loving hell out of me. “Callie,” I forced out this time. “This is just . . . desire. That’s all it is. That’s what you’re feeling.” I swallowed, hating myself enough for the both of us. “We need to stay away from each other. I can’t be near you without . . .” Wanting you. “And you’re confused. It’s the adrenaline and shock of your situation. You don’t want this.” I pushed away from the doorframe and removed her hand from my chest, unable to handle it parked there any longer.

“Based on how wet I am, I’m pretty sure I do.” And there it was. My good girl’s naughty side. But that side would get her in trouble. Especially with me. Her attention wandered to my dress pants, and I knew she was able to see I was as hard as steel. “What if we get it out of our systems? Maybe that’ll help? Maybe that’s what I should have said earlier in your office.”

I closed my eyes, unable to stand looking at her any more without showing my cards. The fact I may have had an emotion or two still left in me after the life I’d lived.

“You’d get bored of me after the one time, right? So no concerns we’d do it again after that.”

Bored was the last thing I’d ever be with this woman. “How would that make you feel if I fucked you and moved on?” I did my best to be an asshole, even though I didn’t want to be one right now.

“Sad,” she confessed without making me wait, and I opened my eyes at that bit of truth. “Because you’re not mine to keep, and I’m afraid I’ll want to.” She blinked back tears.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m not a villain, because a villain would take you now and not care,” I ground out. “And I can’t do that.” I leaned in close, but not so close I’d slip and kiss her. “I don’t want to hurt you.” My voice broke that time. “Please, for the love of God, stay away from me for the next three weeks so I don’t do that. So I don’t become the villain of your story.”