Page 84 of Trapped
“The docks in Providence are a gold mine, not to mention the smuggling routes through New York. We could expand beyond Boston. Isn’t that better than a war that leaves us weakened? This kid could bridge the gap between our families. It’s peace or leverage, depending on how we play it.”
“Mikhail’s not going to sit back and let his daughter marry into the family that’s been trying to kill him.”
“We have his daughter. We’ll make a deal with Mikhail. Offer him stability under our management. We’ve done it before with the MCs.”
“Can you get him to agree?”
I met his gaze steadily. “I think so. He’s getting old. He knows Delilah’s the only future he’s got.”
Vinn nodded. “Alright.”
“It’ll work,” I assured him. “We handle this carefully, and we’ll come out stronger.”
Vinn motioned to his men, and they backed off, giving me space. “If you fuck up, it’ll be on you.”
I nodded.
I didn’t need a reminder of the stakes.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DELILAH
A zipping noise startled me awake.
I blinked, pushing the sheets back. I’d been in the middle of a strange dream, so it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The rustling came from the other side of the bed. I rolled over, watching Santino bent over his suitcase. He stuffed it with clothes, packing as though his life depended on it.
“Are you wearing jeans?” I asked.
He shoved my bra into his suitcase. “I need you to get dressed.”
“What’s the matter?”
He glanced at me. “Nothing.”
“You’re making a lot of noise for nothing.”
“We’re going home,” he said, cramming my toiletries bag into the suitcase.
Home?
A brief flash of Providence entered my head, but that hadn’t been home in a long time. Maybe once when I was too youngto understand neglect. No, Boston was home. It was where I’d turned my dreams into reality.
Santino patted my knee through the sheets. “Get up, baby. I wanna get out of here.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I’m starving, and there’s a good diner down the road.”
He squeezed my leg, the touch reminding me of last night. He must have finished inside me four times. Every time I suggested we take a break, Santino urged me on all fours or flipped me on my stomach and ate my pussy until Ineededhim inside me.
Men like Santino didn’t stop until they got what they wanted. I would get pregnant. Once that happened, his family would never leave me alone. I’d been at a few of his family gatherings, and Italians went nuts for babies.
Having his baby didn’tfeellike an option. It felt like an absurd fantasy. No matter how many times Santino insisted differently, people like us couldn’t have a nice house in the suburbs and kids.
Grudgingly, I ripped the coverlet off my legs and got dressed. Santino hovered as I went through my skincare routine, his black gaze throbbing with impatience. He ushered me into the car. We zipped to a fifties-style restaurant by the highway, Santino drumming his fingers on the Formica table until the waitress took our orders.
His breakfast came on several platters—pancakes, eggs, bacon. A sugar, fat, and carb overload. I dug into my egg whites and oatmeal. For all her faults, my stepmother had been a good cook. Borscht with a dollop of sour cream, pelmeni, pirozhki, andthe sweet, delicate layers of medovik cake. Russian cuisine was nothing like Italian.