Page 30 of Corso DeLuca

Corso’s control amazes me. Does anything rattle this man who’s captured my heart? He’s right though. If Brett Donaldson escaped, why hasn’t the FBI or law enforcement breached The Governor? If Mattia is behind these assassination attempts, he doesn’t want the FBI’s full attention. The Esposito family, along with someone in the bureau, wants to kill two birds, me and Corso, with one stone while flying under the radar.

“He gave me a letter of sorts, too. I need my clothes, vest… and gun,” I say.

“Yes, to the gun. I have clothes for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you’ll wear the DeLuca crest while in the building.”

“Oh,” I tease, “the DeLuca crest. I’m honored.”

“No, princess,” he whispers, his tone serious. “The honor is mine.”

I don’t question his sincerity. We have work to do, and I want to do everything in my power to give him the answers we both need to move forward. “I think I know what Greg did with the puzzle.”

Dressed only in the gorgeous skin heaven granted him, Corso gives me a solemn look. “Greg gave each of us a piece of the puzzle that we have work together to solve. He wanted me here with you, Corso.”

“Just like Gregorio to lead me someplace I needed to be,” Corso says, not the least bit of irritation in his voice. “He did that a lot after Mom and I were attacked. He forced me out of bed each day… wheeled me to see my mother. I’m thankful that I had those final days at her side. It humbled me.” Corso looks at me, his gaze boring through me. “Gregorio has always wanted me to share my life… have a family.”

I say nothing, but inwardly I smile. I think he wanted the same for me. Corso leads me out of the bed, and I squeeze my new partner’s hand a little bit tighter.

I nod, already moving towards the shower, then the clinic. With a hand to my elbow, he pulls me to a stop. “He wanted us to work together, princess.”

“Yes, he did.” I look down to see Corso thread his long fingers between mine, locking us together. My heart flutters in my chest. It’s a pivotal moment for me.

“Shower, dress, and guns.” He winks.

“Be still my heart. A man who speaks my language.” I have a partner. Did Greg foresee me and his brother working together in all ways?

Corso smiles. “No, princess. We write our own fucking language.”

He tugs my hand up to his mouth, kissing my wrist.

“I like that,” I whisper. He says nothing, instead keeps my hand in his, and I follow where he leads.

I clung to Corso last night, trusting that what he stripped away would be replaced. He broke me open, not to harm me, rather to place a piece of himself in my safekeeping. There are no scars or aches from his invasion. I have a new hope that despite our being enemies in the past, we can be partners and lovers with a future.

FOURTEEN

Corso

In my office, we lay our two halves of the message from Greg, one single sheet of paper each, on the conference table. I had the behemoth piece of furniture moved from the family home when my father died. He and my mother had enjoyed many fond memories, some business related, others private family time, around this hand-carved heirloom. I look at Jessie, comfortable in my home, wearing a black fitted jacket and pants emblazoned with my crest. For all intents and purposes, she’s a DeLuca. Will we have the opportunity to make our own memories here?

Jessie scoots closer to me, bumping my shoulder playfully with hers.

“I’m kind of liking this paramilitary Rhythm Nation DeLuca dress code.”

A flush of heat fills my chest at the thought of her relishing being mine.

“Can’t wait to peel it off of you later.

Her lips spread into a wide grin, her unique smile causing my cock to harden. Eyes filled with a passionate promise search my features. She is more beautiful than the day before, my tough girl. Defiant woman who refused to reapply her arm harness after our shower or medicate with a pain killer.

“Case first. Cuddle later.” She winks.

Like a negotiated exchange, Jessie slowly pushes her letter in my direction. It’s wilted at the edges, the creases thin and dirty from repeated handling. I suck in a breath when I see the black and white boxes forming a crossword puzzle. Word games were one of our favorite pastimes as young boys.

On closer inspection, I frown. Most of the puzzle is complete, but the words are spelled incorrectly. Reading the clues, I review each of the pre-filled answers typed across the puzzle. In my head, I start to correct the errors, the pattern emerging.