Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter Fifteen

Only five people knew I was attending the gala. Gael, Helena, Gabriele, Rosita, and Javier.

Who could it be?

Helena is totally out of the picture. Gael is out too. Gabriele is out. It is not him. Not that I think he's not capable of killing me, but I wouldn't have made it past the elevator.

That leaves me with Javier and Rosita.

Gabriele pulls into the private parking lot of my estate. He had stopped by a hotel to pick up his luggage. Then he took a little longer to clean his wound and get it stitched.

He's changed into a black T-Shirt that hugs his taut body and bares his tattoos, matching his black jeans. His pony is a bit ruffled.

The only thing that hasn't changed is his sour mood. I don't sense it but I know. It's not his usual grim look. His eyes lost their glow. They're like dull debris now.

He didn't let me get out of the car while he picked up his luggage and cleaned up his bullet wound. He said it was too risky and I couldn't agree less.

Whoever wanted me dead is still out there. Watching me. Someone out there is trying to kill me. I need to know who.

I take a deep breath, feeling drained from everything. I'll have to let my principals know. A threat to Steel is a threat to all. Except of course someone from my Empire is behind this. But it's unlikely.

Gabriele climbs out of the car and picks up his luggage sitting by his side in the front seat. He rounds up the corner to open my door for me. This is something else that isn't in his job description.

He doesn't give me his hand this time because he's not wearing his glove. Just knuckle rings.

I climb out and he shuts the door.

I'm safe here. I have over fifty bodyguards watching the estate. Even now as we walk in, their eyes are scanning.

We both move into the private elevator that leads to my floor. Me in front and him slightly behind.

As we step out of the elevator into the hallway, I am grateful for the dim lights in the hallway. The first thing he'd have come face to face with will be the nude portrait of me. It's still there, not just as visible with the extremely dim purple light.

If he sees it, he doesn't flinch.

"Your room is next to mine," I say and point to the door of his room. "It has a joining though"

I fish the key out of my clutch and notice my pinkies are twitching. I feel his eyes on my fingers as I slide the key into the keyhole. It makes them tremble some more. When I'm anxious, my pinkies twitch.

It is not the fact that I almost died that worries me this much. I am worried because I don't know who to trust at the moment.

"After you," he says and I push the door open.

I walk into his room and he walks in behind me.

The light comes up. The room is a black and deep gray. Initially just gray walls and white sheets, curtains, and rugs. But I had Rosita change them up to black to suit his taste after I left the office today.

"Here you go" I turn to his pining eyes and hand him the key, avoiding touching his bare skin, since it's triggering. I don't want to keep putting him through that torture.

He receives the keys but takes my twitching pinky finger between his thumb and index finger before I can retrieve my hand. That evokes a soft gasp from me.

He strokes gently with the pad of his thumb and it's like stroking a feather along my heart. It's soothing. Too fucking soothing.

It starts to tickle. Somewhere in my loins. My anxiety slowly dissipates.

He moves his thumb to my knuckle, and desire cloaks my mind. Spreading like poison through my body. It is a strange feeling. Especially if all he's doing is stroking my finger.

"I won't leave your side Heaven" it's an assurance that comes out as a whisper. "I've got you"

My breath hauls and my heartbeat hammers. The bees in my stomach buzz unending.

I lift my eyes to meet his. I was betting to see lust and a desperation to take me to his bed. Instead, I see compassion. Genuine compassion. And for a quick while he lets me feel it too. He lets me feel it because he lets himself feel it.

He retrieves his fingers and the door of his emotions shut in my face.

I clear my croaked throat. "Let me know if you need anything" I half scurry out of his room.

I burst through my door and gasp for fresh air. For familiar air. The one that doesn't threaten to choke.

It's only been a day.

I dig through my clutch for my cigar and lighter. I light it up and puff.

He cares for me. Deeply. Genuinely. It's disturbing.

I step out of my shoes and let my hair down. Then I struggle through getting off my gown.

I am walking to the armchair so I can look out at the vibrant city of Mexico with just my thong on when my eyes see it.

I shouldn't have. It could have flown over. But I do.

The door hole.

I should continue with my intention of sitting by the window of my room. Instead, I move closer to the door hole and look through it.

Gabriele is shirtless. His back to me. He's barefooted too. Both his arms are covered in intricate twirls of black ink tattoos. The hole from the gunshot is stitched. It's the only scar on his back. It must have been the first time someone got so close to killing him.

He unhooks his jeans and it droops below his waistline. He turns to face me. One side of his torso is covered in tattoos. Sleepy hairs line to below his pants. His body is chiseled to charm.

He dips his hand into his jeans and I swallow bile. That tickling sensation in my loins returns. He pulls out his shaft. Lengthy and thick. With its foreskin glinting from precum.

I should look away. I really should. I want to.

He starts to stroke gently and there's a flip in my stomach. Like something toppling over. The bees in there go rogue. Desire travels from my eyes to my loins and spills into my core in liquid form.

As I watch his muscles flex from him stroking himself my core starts to pinch. Needing. Throbbing. Swollen.

I move my fingers beneath my thong and find myself wet. Too wet and fluid. What am I doing? I am married.  This isn't right.

That thought is stifled when he changes his stroke to pumping. My fingers find my clit and I start to flicker. The sensation is so overwhelming I could taste it on my tongue.

His head falls back and he makes a sound. That sound. The sound. The bestial sound.

My hand finds a sensitive spot on my clit and I flicker with intensity. Matching his rhythm. I scream quietly. Consumed by ecstasy. My other hand, with my cigar between my fingers rest on the door for support.

He's close. I am close.

More pumping. More flickering.

He grunts, bulks, and spurts. I groan, spasm, and orgasm.

He milks himself dry. I jerk myself into a puddle.

My breathing heaves. My vision blurs. My legs quake.

I let my head rest against the door. Catching my breath. I move away and look through the door hole.

He's still standing. His head is still dipping back. But then he brings it back up and pins those amber eyes on the door hole.

He's glaring at me.

I stumble back, moving away till the back of my legs meet my bed frame.

He knew. He heard.