God Of Vengeance (Kings Of Mafia)

I managed to get another three hours sleep and feel a little more human. It’s early the morning when I walk toward Gabriella’s suite.

Knocking, I wait for her reply before I push her bedroom door open.

She’s sitting by her dressing table, and it’s the first time I see her without makeup.

“Oh,” she gasps, quickly climbing to her feet.

“We need to start with your training,” I say as I move closer to her, my eyes drinking in the sight of her natural beauty.

Makeup or no makeup, my fiancée is breathtaking.

“Training?” she asks.

My gaze sweeps over the pantsuit she’s wearing.

“Shooting lessons. Do you have casual clothes?”

She nods. “I have leggings.”

“Change into them.” When she remains standing, I add, “Now.”

“Oh … okay.” She hurries into the closet.

While I wait for her to change her clothes, I walk to the window and stare at the view of the lake.

It doesn’t take long before Gabriella comes back into the bedroom. When my eyes land on the tight-as-fuck leggings and her long-sleeve shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, I grow hard in a split second.

Christ.

The sight of the gap between her thighs and her evident-as-fuck perky breasts almost has me throwing her on the bed.

“That’s definitely not going to fucking work,” I growl.

Her eyes fill with worry as she whispers, “It’s all I have.”

Grabbing her hand, I haul her out of her bedroom and head to my suite. I don’t stop until we’re standing in my walk-in closet.

Yanking a sweater from a hanger, I shove it over her head and bark, “Arms.”

She quickly puts on the sweater, and when it hangs to the middle of the thighs, I feel a little better.

Grabbing hold of her hips, I lift her from her feet and set her down on the display case in the middle of the closet. I brace my hands on either side of her, and leaning forward, I capture her stunned eyes.

“Never wear leggings outside of the bedroom,” I order.

She nods quickly.

“No cleavage in public.”

A frown starts to form on her forehead. “Do you want me to dress more conservatively?”

“No. I love the way you dress. Just don’t show what’s mine to other men, or there will be hell to pay.”

There’s a flicker of relief on her face. “Okay.”

I pull back, and when I see her in my sweater, one hell of a possessive feeling fills my chest.

“I like you in my clothes,” I mutter.

“I like it too.” She smiles at me as she slips off the display case. “It’s snuggly and warm.”

Gabriella’s wearing sneakers, and without the height of her high heels, she only reaches the middle of my chest.

An overwhelming protective feeling joins the possessiveness in my chest.

And then I fucking realize she’s only a few feet from my bed.

Besides Martha, who comes in to clean, no other woman has ever set foot in my suite.

Fuck.

My eyes flick from Gabriella to the bed, then back to her.

Before I decide to fuck my fiancée, I take her hand and almost drag her out of the room in my hurry to put a safe distance between us and the bed.

Only halfway down the stairs do I remember Gabriella’s half my size, and I slow my pace.

Walking out the front door, I head to the outer building near the lining of trees where my armory and shooting range are based.

When I key in the code, and the door clicks open, I step inside and switch on the lights.

I hear Gabriella gasp. “Wow. That’s a lot of weapons.”

I glance over the guns and pick one for Gabriella.

“This is a SIG P365. It has a twelve-round capacity.” I check the magazine, then hold the weapon out to her.

She takes it, her fingers wrapping carefully around the handle.

“How does it feel?” I ask.

“It’s not as heavy as I expected,” she admits.

“Good.”

I walk to the back, where the shooting range is, and removing my Glock from behind my back, I say, “Watch what I do.”

“Okay.”

Gabriella’s eyes are glued to me as I fire five rounds at the target, hitting the head and chest area.

When I look at her, I notice her cheeks are flushed.

Tilting my head, I ask, “You like watching me shoot a gun?”

“Ahh…” She maintains eye contact with me as she admits, “Yes.”

“Come closer, principessa,” I order.

When she’s within reaching distance, I pull her to stand in front of me so she’s facing the target.

Leaning down, I say, “Position your arms the same way I did.”

She brings them up, pointing the barrel of the gun at the target.

“Pull the trigger.”

She fires a shot, and it slams into the wall a good foot away from the target.

She glances up at me from over her shoulder. “Sorry.”

I shake my head. “This is why we’re here. So you can learn to shoot.”

I tuck my Glock back into the waistband of my chinos, and wrapping my arms around Gabriella, I nudge her arms up.

I line up the shot, then order, “Pull the trigger.”

She fires a round, and it hits the side of the target.

I adjust her arms. “Shoot.”

This time, she hits the heart, and the corner of my mouth lifts. “Again.”

Bang.

“Again.”

Bang.

“Again.”

Bang.

I lower my arms, and not even thinking, I pat her on the ass. “Good.”

I fist my hands, so I don’t reach for her because I want to feel every inch of her body.

My voice is hoarse as I order, “Keep shooting until the magazine is empty.”

I load magazine after magazine into the gun and watch as Gabriella gets better with every shot she fires.

As she pulls the trigger again, my eyes land on the engagement ring, and I notice it’s a little too big for her.

I’ll have to get it resized.

I don’t like the idea of removing the ring from her finger one bit.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriella asks.

“The ring is too big,” I mutter.

“I’m picking up weight. It should fit better soon.”

My eyes drift over her body, and I like the sound of her being curvier. Not that there’s anything wrong with her body, I just won’t have to be so fucking careful not to hurt her.

A weird expression flashes over her face. “Unless you’re against me picking up weight.”

The fuck?

“Why would you think that?” I almost bark the question.

“My mother always controlled my weight. I thought maybe you’d want to do the same.”

The. Actual. Fuck?

I suck in a deep breath, so I don’t lose my temper and mutter, “I’m not against it. Just don’t lose more weight. You’re already as light as a fucking feather.”

A smile spreads over her face. “Okay.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I ask, “What else did your mother do?”

Just like before, she shakes her head and replies, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Tell me,” I demand.

She glances down at the weapon in her hands. “They just weren’t happy when I was born,” she answers, her tone sounding strained. “I wasn’t planned.”

She shrugs, then emotions tighten her features, and she tries to smile. “I got my first hug two weeks ago. From Mrs. Accardi. It was really nice.”

First hug?

My blood turns to ice in my veins. “Your parents never showed you any form of affection?”

“No.” She faces the target and lifts her arms to fire a shot.

“Put down the gun,” I order.

Letting out a sigh, she places the weapon on a counter near the wall, then she mutters, “I really don’t want to talk about my parents.”

“Come here.”

Her eyes lift to my face, and she moves closer to me.

Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck before pulling her against my chest. I lean down and lock my other arm around her, holding her tight to me.

I feel a tremor shudder through her body, and lifting her from the floor, I mutter, “Wrap your legs around me.”

Gabriella does as I say, her arms circling my neck. I walk to a seating area, and as I sit down, I order, “Straddle me.”

Once again, she does as I say, and when I’m comfortable, I hold her even tighter while pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You’re just going to hug me?” she whispers, her tone tight with emotion.

“Yes.” I begin to brush my hand up and down her back, then say, “Relax, principessa. Lean into me.”

Pulling her arms away from my neck, she snuggles against my chest, and it has the corner of my mouth lifting.

I begin to feel the heat from her body, and her scent drifts around me.

Closing my eyes, I focus on how it feels to hold her.

It’s comfortable, and she fits perfectly on my lap and in my arms.

She flattens one of her hands over my side, and I feel the tension drain from her body.

After a few minutes, she admits, “This feels really nice. I like it.”

“Good,” I murmur.

I hold her for a while longer before she lifts her head and sits upright on my lap.

I bring my hand to her face and brush my fingers along the curve of her jaw. “You’re beautiful, Gabriella.”

“Thank you.”

When I remain quiet, just staring at her, she asks, “Should I climb off your lap?”

I shake my head.

When she begins to look awkward because I’m just staring at her, I say, “I like silence. It helps me recharge.”

“I’ll remember that,” she whispers before she leans into my chest again.

The corner of my mouth lifts, and I close my eyes as I get used to the feel of her body against mine.