Page 58 of Dark Alliance
You’re mine, Cat.
I want you and only you.
You’re perfect.
Mine.
“Connor!” Her eyes roll back in her head as her body convulses, her muscles clamping down on my cock like a vice.
“Cat…!” I moan her name between clenched teeth as I climax, spilling inside her with quick, erratic thrusts.
She clings to me, shuddering through her own pleasure. I embrace her, one arm around the small of her back to keep her snug against my chest.
As we lie here together, panting vapor into the cool air, I realize nothing will ever be the same.
I’m a changed man, and I like it that way.
Chapter 18
Caterina
Making love with Connor—because that’s what we did in that warehouse—and forging a genuine partnership flipped my life on its head.
The canvas that forms my story switched from the sedate style of soft art rampant across the Renaissance to Expressionism, Fauvism, and the Pop Art of the twentieth century. Jarring colors, images that leap off the canvas—Dali, Lichenstein, Warhol—have transformed my world in just a few short days.
Connor Gallagher is dangerous and unpredictable, a walking lethal weapon. If you piss him off enough, he’s sinister, with the skills and stamina to back himself up.
He’s also the most interesting person I’ve ever met, bar none. He’s complex and deep. Confident, with an IQ that’s off the charts and a wicked sense of humor.
My gut insists Connor Gallagher is falling for me.
Wild, considering a few days ago, we were enemies and I was certain he was only interested in a quickie.
It’s not in my nature to wonder all that much about how people feel about me. That’s their business, and nothing I do will likely change their opinions.
With Connor, it’s different. I can’t help but ponder how he perceives me.
His eyes pierce straight through me, and his touches are a spiritual experience, as if he’s mapping my every valley and curve.
He might roll his eyes at that piece of art he insulted, but he’s not unlike the woman on the canvas in Paris. He’s mysterious, catches you by surprise, and his face seems to conjure an endless supply of expressions. No two smiles are the same.
I think neither Declan nor Finn understands who Connor is. Maybe they won’t appreciate his value until he’s gone, just like theMona Lisadidn’t really gain fame until she was stolen in the early 1900s.
I don’t think Connor’s meant to remain a dutiful underboss, and I’m wondering why he’s been in this subservient role for so long.
On Monday, Connor dove into Domenico Verone’s purchase history as if the dead man were his own flesh and blood. He dug up every toxic substance, legal or illegal, that the thug bought in the last five years. If the guy acquired a bottle of aspirin or a can of WD-40, Connor added that to the list.
He then fed me the information while the specialists on my end—a world-renowned pharmacologist, medical toxicologist, and integrative medical doctor—collaborated to identify the poison and concoct an antidote to reverse the damage.
Best-case scenario, my father will fully recover.
Worst-case scenario is that time wins the battle. While they may be able to slow the process or make my father more comfortable, he could be gone in a matter of weeks or months.
Still, it’s a start. Hope where none existed before. Connor’s using his powers for good, and when we come up for air and my father starts to heal, I will repay him in kind.
In this brief span of days, I’ve changed. My body is the same, but my mind and soul have shifted me into someone new. Even Eduardo Ricci—the crime boss, not my father—seems to truly see me for once. He’s weak, frail, and in constant pain, but he finally realizes my full capabilities. He’s been one hell of a father, but the way he lights up now when I enter his suite is because he knows me beyond his loving, dutiful daughter and silent support system.
I’ve officially become a real asset.
