Well, that was a shitshow.
Not that I’m surprised at how my visit went. We’re talking about Rico, after all. “Shitshow” should be his middle name.
I need to talk to Dante again. Get him to tell me what kind of price tag my father put on my head. There’s no way I can even begin to start planning how to pay back my family’s debt when I have no clue how much my dad owes the Bellantis.
But getting Dante to see me won’t be easy. Nothing is easy when it comes to him.
The fact is, every single car that passes through the gates of Bellanti Vineyards is seen by dozens of pairs of eyes—as well as cameras and security guards—before it gets anywhere near the house. Now that I’ve made such a loud (and very public) scene in the Bellanti offices, I’m sure everyone at the vineyard knows I’m not welcome there anymore…so I can’t just roll up and hope to get past Jessica again. Security guards would surround my car before I even set foot on the gravel driveway. Fuck.
There’s only one way I can think of. I don’t know how else to get in. But this plan of mine is about as insane as going to see Rico this morning…
Guess I might as well go two for two on the insanity scale and just get it over with.
I’m going to have to sneak onto the property from the Abbott compound.
My father’s truck is nowhere to be seen as I roll down the driveway and pass the house. Outside the stables, I wait in the car for a few minutes to make sure the coast is clear, just as I did when I dropped off Livvie this morning. It sounds ridiculous, but I can’t help worrying that my father is going to come running out from somewhere waving a gun at me. When nothing happens, I take a deep breath and head into the building.
“Ytse,” I call out softly as I make my way down the center aisle.
My horse’s dark, glossy head swings over his stall and he greets me with a whicker.
“There you are,” I coo, stroking his nose. “That’s my beautiful boy.”
I quickly saddle the big black gelding and change into some of my old riding clothes that Livvie keeps stashed in the office for me. Then I write a quick note, telling my sister that I’m going for a ride and might be a little bit later than planned, but to stay in the barn until I get back.
“Do you think I’m crazy for doing this, Ytse?” I ask as I mount up.
The horse just stomps his foot, snorting as if he’s impatient to get going.
Laughing, I pat his neck and nudge him out of the stables. He prances a little, letting me know he’s eager to gallop. Good. So am I.
“Of course I’m crazy,” I tell him. “My whole fucking life is crazy.”
I keep him in check while riding him out of the yard and toward the vineyard. Once we’re out in the vines, I give Ytse his head and we take off, flying over the verdant hills. It’s exhilarating, and my chest aches at the realization of how much I’ve missed this. With the sun on my back and the wind in my hair, I almost feel like I can outrun my problems for a little while.
But all too soon, the split rail wooden fence that separates the Abbott and Bellanti vineyards comes into view.
I don’t slow Ytse down. His ears perk forward as he spies the fence. He knows what to do.
He makes a lead change and then gathers himself right before soaring over the rail like the champ that he is. Just like that, I’m on Bellanti property. We only get a few strides before I see a group of men in the vineyard out of the corner of my eye. It’s Marco and a few other workers, staring at me slack-jawed. Shit. I never expected to see one of the brothers out here.
Keeping my head high, I give a jaunty wave as we trot past them, praying that Marco doesn’t have his cell phone on him or else I’m screwed.
I ride to the edge of the vineyard and crest the ridge that peers out over the Bellanti estate, spread out across the green valley. You can see everything from here. It’s breathtaking. The low rise edging down to the stately home. The vineyard buildings. The winery itself, the tasting room. All interspersed with immaculate grounds, beautiful flowers, and well-tended trees. It looks like a postcard. It’s probably a good thing this view neglects to show the poison inside.
Taking a deep breath, I tell myself I can do this. I really can. Because after my failure to get anywhere this morning, I simply can’t afford to fail again.
I nudge Ytse down the hill and over to the seldom used, fully fenced-in tennis court. It’s the perfect place for him to soak up the sun and wait for me. I jump down and loosen the girth of his saddle so he’ll be comfortable.
“Don’t be afraid to leave a big pile of shit anywhere you want, sweet boy.”
Making sure to latch the gate behind me, I cross the wide lawn and make my way toward the rear of the main house. Praying that the door leading to the kitchen is unlocked, I reach for the knob and let out a breath when it turns easily in my hand. I’m in luck.
Peeking my head around, I strain my ears for any sounds from within. The scent of steel cleaner and blueberry muffins fills the space, but everything is silent. I slip in and quietly close the door behind me. Making my way across the room, I’m almost to the door leading to the main hallway when I pause to check my watch. Five-thirty. Good. I still have a half hour before—
Suddenly, the door swings open and Dante storms in. I take a step back with my eyes wide, bracing myself on the countertop. His expression is as dark as his suit, his brows tightly knitted together.
“I thought for sure Marco was high, but here you are. What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
Of course, Marco would have his phone on him. He can’t risk missing a text from one of his booty calls. Or ratting me out to his brother. Dammit. There goes the element of surprise.
I stand a little taller and force myself to meet his gaze. “How much does my father owe you?”
His eyes sweep over me. “What?”
“How much. Does my father. Owe you?”
My skin is heating beneath my riding pants and long-sleeve shirt. Some of it is frustration, but the rest is all arousal. I can’t be in the same vicinity as Dante and not want him. It doesn’t matter that he’s looking at me like I’m an insect beneath his shoe. Or that every word that comes out of his mouth will be dripping with venom. It doesn’t matter that he despises me.
I still want him.
He doesn’t answer at first. He almost looks wary of me, in fact. But he recovers quickly. “He owes me a winery.”
“Cut the bullshit, Dante. Give me a number.”
“Three to four,” he says.
“Three to four…what? Hundred thousand? Three to four million? Three to four what?”
Dante takes a step toward me. It’s deliberate. Measured. I hold my ground.
“The number of times I’m going to make you come,” he finishes.
Those words derail every thought in my head. It takes me a second to regroup. “I’m…I’m not here for that. I’m here to talk about—”
“Of course you are,” he says, standing directly in front of me now, close enough that I could touch him. “You could have just called. But you didn’t.”
His gaze is so intense that I have to look away.
“And you would have actually taken the call?” I scoff, trying to play it cool.
“Guess we’ll never know.”
Dante takes the last step, closing the gap between us, the familiar musk of his cologne making my pulse race. He slides his hand up my arm, down my chest, cupping my breast and running his thumb over my peaked nipple so I shudder. Before I can stop myself, I let out a soft gasp. I didn’t think this through. I didn’t think any of this through. He can’t know how much I want him. And I can’t give in, no matter how much he makes me want it.
“Come to bed with me, Francesca,” he commands.
I shake my head. “I’m not your wife.”
“I don’t care,” he says. “And I know if I slid my fingers into your hot little cunt right now, I’d find it doesn’t care either. I know what you look like when you’re soaking wet. It’s written all over your face. Come to bed with me.”
He flicks my nipple, and I hiss. “No.”
“Then I’ll have to fuck you right here.”
All I can do is stare at him. I feel like a deer in headlights, knowing I should run, but unable to. My body can’t seem to obey me. I do nothing as he presses my back against the counter and slides his hand down the elastic waist of my riding pants.
“Like I was saying,” he murmurs, thrusting two fingers into me and pumping them so his thumb presses against my clit. I am, of course, extremely wet.
There’s no gentleness as he finger fucks me. It’s hard and fast and intentional, and fuck, my body goes haywire. I widen my stance, spreading my legs to give him better access. I’ve missed this so much. Sex with the devil is addictive, and the withdrawals have been torture.
Gripping his shoulders, I lean into his hand, seeking the pleasure he’s offering even as I hate myself for it. He swirls his fingers, working me hard, changing the rhythm but not the pace. Then his head dips low as he rests his forehead against mine, closing his eyes, sighing deeply. It almost feels tender. Almost like he loves me.
Suddenly an orgasm rips through me so fast and hard that my knees buckle. I moan, clinging to his shoulders as his arm wraps around me, holding me in place. I blink back tears as I ride out the shockwaves. I’m gushing.
“Your married cunt just came all over my hand,” Dante says. “You’re a fucking cheater.”
Ice water on the fire.
I twist out of his grip and stalk away, but he comes up behind me and pulls me against him so I can feel the hard ridge of his arousal pushing into my ass.
“Let me go,” I grind out.
Instead, he bends me over the kitchen island, positioning my hands on the butcherblock, and says, “We’re not done.”
I don’t protest as he wrenches my pants down to the tops of my riding boots. I hear the clink of his belt. The rough drop of fabric. The tearing open of a condom wrapper. Jesus, I want him so bad I could cry. I want to impale myself on his cock, ride that hard length. I want—
“You might be married to Rico, but your cunt belongs to me.”
His filthy, hurtful words feel like a physical touch. My pussy aches with need, pulsing as if he’s already stroking my clit. Dante puts a hand on my back and presses me flat against the butcherblock. The tip of his cock bobs against my slit and then rams home, his thick shaft filling me in one thrust. A tortured moan leaves my mouth at the feel of him stuffing me, and I realize I’m already coming again, clenching tight and fast around his cock.
A self-satisfied laugh ripples in my ear. “Two for two. That didn’t take long.”
Bastard.
He starts fucking me deeply from behind. Slowly, with measured, intentional movements, making us both shudder and groan with every thrust. My breasts rub against the countertop, my nipples tingling at the friction, my hands gripping the island for traction as my hips pound against the edge. I’ll probably have bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care.
“You filthy, dirty whore. Look at you, spreading your legs for me. I’m barely inside you for two seconds before you’re coming all over my cock. And I’m about to make you come again. Admit it, Francesca. You want this.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs again. “Fuck me? Oh, you are. And you’re doing it so well.”
Jesus Christ. Another orgasm flashes, quick and hot. I can’t moan or move, suspended by the force of the pleasure. He rides me through it, his cock swelling, growing harder. Stretching me to the limit. It’s over all too soon, but my clit pulses and pouts with the rise of yet another orgasm as Dante thrusts hard. Once. Twice.
“I love fucking my whore. Pounding that tight little pussy, making you scream.”
Fuck. I come again. So hard that my body shakes, the orgasm almost painful this time.
Dante digs his fingers into my hips and slams into me so deep, I feel like he’s splitting me apart. I squeeze my eyes shut as he finally lets go with a groan, his face pushed into my shoulder. I feel so shaky, I don’t know how I’m still standing.
Looking up, I catch his reflection in the window as he lifts his head from me. His face is etched with emotion. He looks utterly decimated. Devastated by what he’s just done. Or maybe it’s just regret.
Quickly pulling out, Dante turns away to throw out the used condom and adjust his clothes. I’m still struggling to tug my pants back up when he throws a dish towel at me. It lands on the island, and I look over at him.
“If your husband wants to negotiate with me, he can do it himself,” Dante says. His mask is back on, his expression cold. Completely devoid of anything but distaste. “I don’t negotiate with cheating whores.”
For a moment I’m speechless, before managing an affronted, “Excuse me?”
“Go on and bring him around. He can watch me fuck your brains out if he wants.”
With that, he glides out the door, leaving me to clean myself up.
I do the best I can, shaking the entire time.