Hunter (35 page)

“I'm gonna kill him!” I stomped toward the door and heard the creak of the leather. I spun, every protective instinct in my little body coming to life, and pointed at Hunter. “You get up and I'm gonna give you a second god damn gunshot wound. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Boss.” He grinned and sat back. “Do you have drugs?”

“How do I know? I don't know anything about this house. Angelo!” I yelled. “Hey, Pontarelli!”

“Jesus, woman, I'm here, I'm here.” He came in through the door that lead from the living room to the back deck.

I looked at the cigarette in his hand and cleared my throat. He promptly returned outside, put it out, and came back in.

“Sorry,” he said. “Forgot.”

“Thank you. Hunter needs some aspirin or something strong enough to stop him being in pain.”

“I don't know if we have any.”

“Then I suggest you go and get some.”

“Why is that my job?”

“Did you or did you not help him discharge himself and drive him from the hospital to here?”

He didn't answer me.

“Exactly. Go. Now. Thank you.” I pointed toward the door.

Angelo grinned and glanced over his shoulder to Hunter. “Only woman I'd ever take an order from.”

I swung my hand toward him, and he laughed and jumped out of the way.

“By the way,” he said as he backed up. “I just spoke to Dad. He found Rossi.”

I gasped happily. “Yes!”

“He's eating all the tuna, apparently.”

“Fucking cat,” Hunter muttered from the sofa. “Hey, where's Gaige? I want to thank him for not getting himself killed.”

Angelo laughed as he left, and I shrugged. “I think he's going up the Statue of Liberty, but who knows?”

Hunter quirked an eyebrow. “Really? Lady Liberty? That's what he's doing?”

“Well he's already done the Empire State and Central Park this week. I told him to go explore because he kept hovering and it bugged me.” I shrugged again and sat on the coffee table opposite Hunter. “Are you really okay?”

“I got shot through my appendix. I'm fucking dandy,
bella.
”

I pursed my lips. “I swear to God...”

He grinned, and it was the mischievous, infectious grin I loved. “I'm okay. Just hurting a little. But I'm better now that I'm home. With you.” Hesitance glimmered back at me in his gaze.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you think I'm going to throw you out to sleep on the lake or something.”

“Well... I wouldn't blame you.” His grin dropped, guilt taking the place of his amusement. “I did a fucking lot of really shitty things to you, Addy. I lied to you and broke your heart. I almost got you killed because I was a fucking prize asshole. I don't blame you if you don't forgive me.”

“Hunter...” I moved to the sofa next to him. “You made a choice. It was just the wrong one. Am I mad still? Yeah, kinda, but I know why you did it. And honestly, being without you for a week and watching you almost die right in front of me has kind of put it into perspective.”

He stared at me for a long moment before he shifted, bit back a shudder, and brought his hand to cup my cheek. I flattened my hand over his and turned my face into his palm, smiling as his hand, softer than usual, spread warmth through me.

“You're a much better person than I am.” He frowned, but when I ghosted my thumb along his lips, stopped.

“You're my person, though,” I whispered, leaning forward so our breath mingled. “Even if you can be a shitty one sometimes.”

He smiled, laughing against my lips. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” I pulled back, and the twinkle returned to his eye. “Besides—I can't do this alone, can I? I kinda need you a bit.”

“Just a bit, huh?”

“Just a bit. Don't get too cocky. You're still on bed rest.”

“Is that an order?”

“It's always an order, Rosso.” I tapped his nose. “Always.”

“Always.” He pulled me back into him, this time wrapping an arm securely around my body. “I like the sound of always.”

“Good. Now you're going to bed.” I kissed his cheek and stood, holding my hands out for him.

He got up by himself. Defiant little bastard. “Are you coming with me?”

I stared at him. “Not to do what you're thinking I'm gonna do.”

“I wanted a nap, but okay, if you wanna strip me naked and—”

“Hunter.”

“What?”

I smiled. “Shut up. Fool.”

He smiled right back. “Fine. A nap. But then I'm going to help you rebuild this empire you decided to steal back. While I'm lying in bed, of course. Being waited on hand and foot by your fine ass.”

I wrapped my arm around his waist and helped him down the hall. “I didn't think this through, did I?”

“Don't worry.” He rested his arm over my shoulders and pulled me into his side—his good side. “I'll make it worth your while.”

“Don't even think about paying me in sex.”

“Who said anything about sex?” He paused us at the bottom of the stairs and looked down at me. “I can't have sex with you right now, unless you want blood on the sheets.”

“So what are you talking about?”

He grinned. “Can't use my cock, but I can use my mouth. You'll just have to, you know.” He winked.

Sit on my face,
his eyes said.

I sighed.

It was going to be a long recovery.

Three months later.

Her hair fanned out across the light gray pillow, matted and messed up from where she'd run her fingers through it so many times during the night. Her phone had been ringing off the hook as a large drug shipment came in and was almost busted, but in the end, I put my foot down and told them to call the
consigliere
so he could deal with it, because she was exhausted.

After all—my father wouldn't take the shit Adriana would. Not that she took shit. She was just too nice most of the time to tell the men to fuck off.

That and she still thought she needed to earn their respect, although I saw it in everyone's eyes when they looked at her.

She was twenty-three years old, but she'd stepped into a role most fifty year old men would fear. Yes, she'd had help, but she'd made all the decisions.

She'd relayed them, at least. She named her family, from the
consigliere
to her
capos
. No one had challenged her or argued.

She'd demoted me, too.

Three days after I'd left the hospital, I'd had a dream so violent, I'd ripped the bedding with my bare hands. She'd demanded I tell her why I struggled with sleep, and once she'd silently cried for the pain she knew I felt, she flat-out refused to have me do that anymore.

Unless it was a kill or be killed situation, the only thing I'd be hunting was deer. And even then only when I was allowed.

It'd worked. We'd talked through everything, and for the most part, the dreams had gone. Except for the one where I lost her.

I didn't think that one would ever go.

Yes—she'd demoted me from assassin, but she'd promoted me to her level.

Boss.

I didn't have a choice. She all but dragged my ass onto a plane two weeks ago, flew us to Las Vegas, and hauled me down an aisle.

Well. Maybe I did the dragging the moment she agreed. We kinda took each other and got on with it. We'd been through too much to, in her words, 'organize some fancy-ass ceremony where, let's be honest someone's just gonna die like they normally do.'

I couldn't argue with that. There was a skewed tradition that someone tended to die every time a wedding happened within the Romano family. Ours had broken that.

I gently touched the diamond band that wrapped around her finger. It was simple and understated, just like her. Not that it had existed when we actually got married, but rather after, when we went shopping.

“Stop staring at me,” she muttered and batted my hand away. She rolled over to face me, bleary-eyed, and pushed her hair from her face. “Are they fucking calling again? Because I'm going to shoot them all if they are.”

I grinned. “No. I just wanted to stare at my wife.”

“Say 'wife' again. Go on. I dare you.” She glared. “I have a name, and last time I checked, it wasn't 'wife.'”

“Boss Wife?”

She still glared.

I laughed and covered her mouth with mine. She relented, responding enthusiastically when I slid my tongue against hers and rolled on top of her. She ran her hands up and down my back, her nails teasing my sensitive skin.

“Seriously, though,” she muttered when I ran my mouth down her neck. “Did they call?”

I groaned, then stopped, and looked up at her. “This is the only time I am ever going to say his name in our bed. Gaige will be fine. I'm sure he's done it all just fine. He assisted the last smuggling and now he's running this. He's determined to be a
capo
for you, and he knows this is on the line.”

She sighed heavily. I knew how she was feeling—she wanted Gaige to get this right, because if he didn't, she couldn't give him the responsibility she, and he, wanted. He'd settled into New York—once he was done being a motherfucking tourist—and into the more dangerous mafia life than he was used to. He loved it.

I loved it, because Adriana got the best of both worlds. She had me, and she had her best friend.

And we didn't even try to kill each other on a regular basis anymore. Mostly because I got the girl.

My girl.

“I need to call him.” She pushed me off of her and reached for her phone.

I growled and knocked it on the floor from the nightstand. “You can. In a minute. On one condition.”

She blinked up at me with those gorgeous baby blues. “Fine. Name it, Mr. Romano.”

I smirked. I loved it. “You call him right in front of me, and then when you're done, I'm going to drag you back into this bed, kiss every inch of your gorgeous body, then flip you over and fuck you so hard you'll stop caring.”

“Deal.” She kissed me firmly, curling her body right around mine until my cock got so hard the temptation not to wait became too strong and I flipped her onto her back. We were both naked, so my cock brushed against her wetness several times.

She gasped beneath me, lifting her hips so the opening of her pussy touched the top of my erection.

“Fuck the phone call,” I murmured, quickly pushing my dick inside her.

Again, she gasped, her body arching as she adjusted to me. Her fingers dug into my back, avoiding the scar that my injury had left, and I lost myself in her as I thrusted. The sound of her heavy breathing going to moans and cries as she came guided me toward my own release, and I reveled in the feeling of her tight cunt spasming around my cock as I joined her in happiness.

And then her phone rang. She groaned as I pulled out of her and dropped to the side. I snatched her wrist and pulled her against me as the shrill tone filled the room and the phone buzzed across the carpet.

I took her mouth with mine. “I love you, Mrs. Romano.”

She smiled. “I love you, too,
Cacciatore.
”

Blaire Drake is a pseudonym for a New York Times bestselling author, who wanted to let her sexier side out. You can find her hiding behind a cocktail glass while she writes wearing a balaclava so nobody works out her real name.

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