Taken - A Gangster Stepbrother Romance (10 page)

Chapter Seventeen

              Emma wandered down the stairs, hearing her steps echo against the slick marble flooring. Behind her, her daily security guard trailed lazily behind. It seemed since accompanying Antonio to the office, the edge had been taken off her security detail. Instead of sticking to her till she could feel their breath on her neck, they hung back and gave her a little space which she appreciated.              

              As she reached the foyer, she peeked down the side hallway. The office door was closed. She knew Antonio was inside working. Sometimes when he worked in his home office, he would call her in to watch and learn.

              But not today.

              Today she hadn’t even seen him at breakfast. She had been disappointed at his absence. She wanted to see if his knuckles were okay from last night. She wanted to make sure he was alright.

              Emma shook her head, chastising herself mentally.
Of course he’s alright
.
He led the most vicious gang in all of America. One fistfight couldn’t hurt him.

              Still. He hadn’t come to breakfast.

              Emma sighed as she finally gave up on the office and strolled down the main hallway towards what was quickly becoming her favorite room in the house.

              The library was so cozy. With its plush carpets and soft couches, Emma could tell that this room had been decorated with comfort and joy in mind. Feeling the need to ease her mind from all the tension she had pent up, she took a slow stroll around the room, admiring each shelf of books and knick knacks.

              Once again, she was amazed by the sheer number of books available. Many of them looked quite well worn. She just couldn’t picture Gabe Del Marco sitting down on these couches and cracking open a good book. And yet, even if Antonio had been the one to create this library, she had a hard time believing he would have the time to read so many books, so many times that the bindings cracked.

              And then again, she thought, maybe he did. After all, it seemed the man was an endless supply of surprises. And not just any kind of surprises—give-you-a-heart-attack-while-running-away-from-a-tiger kind of surprises. After all, hadn’t he dropped the bomb of having a notorious mobster stepbrother on her within the first fifteen minutes of meeting?

             
Stepbrother.

              Growing up an orphan, Emma had ached for family. Sometimes the need was so acute, she actually felt a pain in her stomach. She had fantasized about her long lost mother and father. She imagined an identical twin sister somewhere in the world looking for her. She imagined a doe eyed younger brother missing his older sister.

              Never in all her years could she have predicted being the little sister, even just through marriage, to a man like Antonio.

              Now it was even harder. When she had been younger, she had craved family. Now, older and a little wiser, she realized what she really wanted was connection. She didn’t want to be the sole resident in her world; she wanted a partner. She wanted someone to share moments and create memories with.

              As a child, that had meant doing that through family. But now as a woman, she realized she needed more….

              So lost in thought, Emma bumped a small side table that stood next to a couch. “Ow!” she exclaimed quietly but then froze. She had assumed the small little table was just decoration. Only a small bronze bowl stood on it. But bumping into it, she heard something heavier jostle within.

              Curious, she looked over her shoulder at the open door. Nobody let her yet close doors in the house except her bedroom door. Her beefy looking guard stood outside, his back to her.

              Quietly she opened the small drawer the table held. Inside, were two quite sizeable picture frames, both faced down. Picking one up, she could feel the heavy wood of the frame.

              Feeling like she was completely invading Antonio’s privacy, she turned the frame over. Emma uttered a soft strangled cry as she looked at the photo.

              For a half second, she had thought she was looking down at a picture of herself. The woman had a similar height and body structure to her. Her eyes were the same almond shape brown. She had the same full lips that always looked like it was pouting just a little.

              But her mind quickly registered the differences. This woman had thicker hair that was much curlier. Her cheeks were a little wider apart and rounder. But Emma instantly recognized who she was.

             
Mom.

              Emma could feel her hands trembling as she ran a forefinger over the woman’s face. With no memories of her mother, this was the first time she had ever looked upon Charisse’s face. “Mom,” she whispered thickly, her throat tight as a drum.

              In the photo, her mother had one knee on a ladder as she held up pot she looked like she meant to hang. She was looking over her shoulder, caught in the middle of a laugh, her eyes twinkling with humor. The room she stood in looked quite familiar. Emma squinted and realized it was the library she was standing in. But it was in its early stages of formation. Only some of the shelves were up and Emma could see various fabric swatches scattered around her mother’s feet.

              Emma drew in a shuddering breath and looked around the room with new eyes. So the softness she had seen, the coziness, it had all been her mother’s doing. Those dozens and dozens of nearly threadbare books had been handled over and over again by her mother. The plant that her mother was trying to hang in the photo was now gone. Probably because no one was around to water and care for it anymore. But she recognized the couch’s fabric in on of the small swatch squares from the photo.

              This whole room had been loved and touched by her mother. And standing there, Emma suddenly felt like her heart would burst. She had never had such a solid and tangible connection with her mother.

              Feeling tears crowd her lashes, Emma turned over the second picture. She inhaled quickly, feeling a small punch in the gut.

              It was all four of them. Gabe Del Marco, tall and stocky, sat on the same library couch Emma had unknowingly sat on a dozen times before. He had his arm draped casually around her mother. He was looking at her with eyes that shone with the deep contentment of a happy man.

              Her mother was looking forward, one hand outstretched, a laugh on her lips, as she seemed to say something to the two children in front of her.

              A tall boy with a devilishly cute face was holding up a little girl as high into the air as his arms could reach. The boy grinned up at the little girl whose eyes were squinted close as she seemed to be giggling madly, clearly enjoying the lift.

              There it was. There
they
were.

              A tiny piece of her had been in constant denial since meeting Antonio. It just all seemed so outlandish, so crazy. Even after seeing her mother’s photo, she still clung to her denial. But now, seeing the photo of the four of them…as a
family
…Emma realized it was true.

              Charisse Grant
had
loved Gabe Del Marco. And he had clearly loved her. She could see it written all over his face. And together, they had created a family for Emma and Antonio.

              Her stepbrother. The Del Marco Clan. It was all real. This was all real.

              And without any warning, she immediately fell onto the couch, crying in huge ugly sobs. She panted as wracking sob after sob stole over her body. Although she tried to mentally reason with herself, she could hardly find a coherent word to calm herself down.

              It was everything. It was the revealing of her true identity. It was her unexpected and unwanted marriage arrangement. It was learning of her mobster stepbrother. It was the sudden role of mobster sister and daughter being thrust upon her. It was her mother. It was the Grants. It was being alone.

              Emma coughed and choked on her tears as the stress of the last several days finally reached its breaking point. After seeing her mother’s photos, Emma suddenly felt a sweeping wave of loneliness that made her tears fall heavy and fast.

              “Emma.”

              Emma stiffened. She couldn’t muffle her tears but she tried her best not to openly sob loudly as she looked up.

              Antonio stood in the doorway, his tall frame blocking out the light of the hall. He looked worn. His gray eyes glowed mutely like a distant storm as his jaw tightened in raw emotion. His whole body seemed coiled for some kind of blow. She remembered seeing this kind of raw, naked face. She had seen it at the Gala.

Chapter Eighteen

              “Emma, what’s wrong?” he asked, standing stock still in the doorway.

              Emma rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice thick and shaky with tears, sounding completely un-fine.

              “Emma—”

              “No, really,” she said. “I’m just…it’s just….I-I’m fine.” She could hardly understand why she was crying; there was no way she’d be able to explain to someone else. Especially if that someone else was Antonio.

              Antonio stood at the doorway, seeming to consider different options. Finally, as if unable to help himself, he stepped into the library, closing the door behind him.

              Emma sat further back into the couch, not wanting to be a crying mess in front of him.

              Antonio took a seat, sucking down most of the cushions towards him. Putting a long arm around the back of the couch, he said in a low voice, “Tell me why you’re crying.”

              Emma bit her lip, feeling tears still threatening to fall. She shook her head.

              “Was it because of the fight last night?” Antonio asked quietly, referring to the alley brawl.

              Her head shot up. She could see a tiredness in his silvery gaze. There were faint smudges underneath his eyes that made her wonder if he had slept at all last night.

              “No, not that,” she said.

              “Then what, Emma?” Antonio pressed.

              Emma sniffled, praying she could hold back the rest of her tears. She reached back towards the small side table and pulled forward the photos. Antonio looked down at them. She caught the small look of surprise cross his face before it was quickly replaced with harsh, apologetic pain.

              Holding on to the photo of the foursome with both hands, Emma sniffed. “When I was eight, I was in a foster home with a lady named Ms. Hurst. If you consider most foster mothers, Ms. Hurst wasn’t a bad one. But she was a very remote lady. She treated most of her foster children like tenants in her house.” Emma quickly brushed away a stray tear that had fallen.

              “One day walking home from school, I tripped and fell on the sidewalk. I had completely scraped open my knee. By the time I had gotten home, it had bled all the way down my legs and into my socks. Ms. Hurst saw me as I stepped inside.” Emma shook her head. “She told me to watch where I dripped and that bandages and ointments were in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Then she went out back to garden.”

              Emma held the thick frame tighter. She looked down at her mother’s smile, her outreached hand looking like it was reaching for her right now on the couch. “So I went to the bathroom and I cleaned myself up and bandaged the scrape.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “All I had wanted was someone to hold me then. To ask me if I was o-okay.” Whatever scraps of control she had left over her emotions completely disintegrated. Emma felt her tears rushing down again.

              “I just wanted someone to
touch
me. I remembering crying till I threw up because of how much I had wanted a mother, a f-family,” she shuddered, her emotions crashing over her in overwhelming waves. “And now…now here’s proof that I once had it. I once had a mother. And even though I don't remember her or h-have any memories of her, I m-miss her so m-much!”

              Emma completely broke down but before she could let loose another sob, she felt herself jerked forward. Emma nearly choked in surprise as she found herself in a tight embrace, arms strong as oak wrapped around her. A warm, large hand pressed her head against a broad shoulder.

              “No one forgot you in this house,” Antonio whispered fiercely, holding her close. “No one forgot you for a
second.
”

              Emma clutched at his shirt, letting the shuddering waves of tears flow through her.

              “You were always with me, Emma,” he said, his voice growing rougher by the word. “I’ve always kept you with me.”

              His words echoed through her, stunning her silent. She rested her forehead against his hard chest. “Why,” she asked in a shuddering voice, “didn’t you call me back sooner? Why did you wait?”

              Antonio’s grip around her tightened. Emma could feel his heart beat beneath her cheek. “You were special,” he said gruffly, his voice thick with ragged emotion. “I wanted to keep you safe as long as possible. You were better than a mobster’s brat. You were more.”

              Emma realized his words were not only talking about her. Reading between the lines, she heard his thoughts. If she was more than a mobster’s brat, what about him? What did he think he was?

              Emma looked up, tears still clinging to the fringes of her eyelashes. “But you’re sending me away,” she whispered. “You want me to marry David.”

              Antonio’s features were harsh with tortured emotions. “I had no choice there. The Cavallis only proposed marriage as an option because they knew there was a Del Marco daughter. If I had said no, they would still know of your existence and could harm you in ways that I might not be able to protect you from.” Antonio brushed away a tear, his finger tracing her cheekbone.

“But you’ll have a good life, a better life,” Antonio said tightly, clearly forcing himself to say what he thought was right. “The Del Marco and Cavalli alliance will open up a whole new world for you and make it a safe and comfortable place for you to live.”

              “But I don’t want that! I don’t want that life!” she cried.
I want you.
Emma’s pulse skipped as she heard her truest desires spoken aloud by her heart.

              Antonio closed his eyes briefly as if it pained him to hear her words. Opening his silvery eyes, he gave her a ghost of a smile. “David is good. He had a different life than I did. Than most did in this business. He’s kind. He’s gentle.”

             
But he’s not you.

              “I don’t want any of that,” Emma whispered. “I want to be
home.
”
I want to be here.
With every breath, it seemed her heart began to understand and express its true desire.

              Antonio’s face darkened with pain at her words. He brushed her hair back from her brow, running his hand down her cheek. “I haven’t had a home for twenty years,” he said lowly. “Then you arrived. And now, I’m home again.” His eyes carried his own pain that he had endured for the last twenty years.

              “Antonio, I want to stay,” she whispered. “Let me stay.”

              He broke their gaze, looking down at himself as if judging his worth. “You haven’t seen me in a long time, Emma. You were kept clean from a very dirty, dirty world. But I’m not clean. I’m dirty. I’m wicked. I’m cruel. I’m stained.”

              Emma shook her head, burrowing her forehead into his chest. “No, no you’re not!” she cried out, her voice muffled against his shirt. She imagined him in the dark underbelly of the high ranking world of crime, fighting and bleeding to keep her safe and untouched. “You’re not any of that!”

              When she looked up, she saw him smile faintly down at her, his eyes completely unconvinced by her cries.

              Desperate to show how she saw him, Emma tentatively raised her hand against his stubbled cheek. “You’re not dirty,” she whispered. Raising herself, she lightly kissed his lips. She felt his grip around her back tighten at her touch.

              “You’re not wicked,” she said before kissing him again, thinking of the donations to her school.

              “You’re not cruel.” She kissed him again, thinking of the magical job offering she had received out of nowhere.

              “You’re not sta—”

              Before she could touch his lips again, Antonio surged forward, crushing her to him with a strength that took her breath away.

              Holding her close, Antonio’s tongue plunged deep into her mouth. He explored her, tasted her, owned her. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself even tighter to him. Only moments before she had felt as if all the loneliness in the world had entered her heart. And now, she was locked in an embrace of her heart’s true desire, sharing a passion that made her blood burn and her body sing.

              Pushing forward, Antonio laid Emma onto the couch. Tasting her lips, he reached down and pulled her sweater up. His large hand closed over one of her full and creamy breasts. Emma immediately moaned at his touch.

              He squeezed then pinched the erect nipple,
hard.
Emma cried out as the pain shot right down her spine to her pussy. Antonio made sure to give her other breast equal attention, squeezing and pinching till Emma was writhing in pain and ecstasy.

              Breaking apart from their kiss, Antonio unbuttoned his shirt. Emma stared at him, her cheeks burning with a shy passion. He looked as if he had been carved from marble. Every muscle, every line, every indentation was perfect. His defined arms and powerful shoulders stretched as they pulled Emma’s hands up, pinning her wrists above her head.

              Undoing both of their pants, Antonio’s hand plunged into her wetness below.

              “Oh god!” Emma cried out.

              His thick fingers seemed to know exactly how hard and how fast to stroke her aching pussy. Swirls of growing pleasure blossomed within her body. His large hand above held her wrists captive while his other hand held her pussy captive. She was his. Completely his.

              Emma looked up in her haze and caught Antonio’s sharp and gleaming silver gaze. His eyes burned with a passion that was deep and fervent. She could see the desire glowing within.

              Replacing his hand with his thick cock, he positioned himself right at her entrance. Sliding the tip over her wetness, he whispered harshly, “Beg for it.”

              Emma looked up, heart pounding and body crying out for more.

              “Beg for it,” he said again, holding her wrists tight.

              “Please,” she whispered, licking her lips. “Please, Antonio.”

              Antonio pressed the tip of his cock hard against her swelling clit. “Oh god, please! Please fuck me!” Emma whispered, unable to take the torture any longer.

              With a satisfying grunt, Antonio sheathed himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

              Emma’s back arched as she screamed her release, pleasure snapping across every nerve ending in her body. The room sheeted white. Her muscles tightened to the point of cramping before her body shuddered in release, ecstasy seeping into her every fiber.

              Then Antonio pulled out and plunged back in again.

              “Oh, I can’t,” Emma whispered hoarsely. “I can’t again.” It had been so intense. She didn’t think she could stand up for all the money in the world. Feeling Antonio’s thick cock stretch and slide against her shot off another spark of intense pleasure making her pussy clench and twitch. “Oh god!”

              Antonio took her lips, biting down quickly on her bottom lip. “Oh you can, sweetheart,” he said, thrusting in so deeply she could feel him brush against her womb. “You’ll come for me again. I want you to come hard for me.”

              Emma shook her head, unable to form her protest verbally. Every thrust of his cock stretched her pussy till it bordered on pain. But the pain only heightened her pleasure. And unbelievably, she could feel her body rising to his rhythm. Coils of anxious pleasure tightened and twirled within her.

              Antonio took her lips again. His eyes mirroring exactly how she felt,
I’m home. I’m home with you.

              He plunged again and again. Deeper and deeper. Emma didn’t think she could take it. Her body would surely explode and disintegrate if she had another orgasm. But Antonio was ruthless. He plunged faster and faster until something within her snapped.