Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 20 - Leo

The wedding's over, and we're back in the bedroom. Her laughter still echoes faintly in my ears, and honestly, I'm not sure if it's the buzz of the champagne or the madness of the last few weeks, but there's this strange sense of calm I didn't expect. She stands there, looking out the window, lost in her own thoughts.

I move toward her, slow, deliberate. My fingers graze the zipper at the back of her dress, and she turns her head slightly, giving me a silent nod to proceed. I ease the zipper down, revealing more of her skin. She shivers under my touch, but not from the cold.

"I've got something for you," I say, walking over to the dresser and pulling out one of my old T-shirts. It's ridiculously large on her, but there's something about the thought of her wearing my clothes that does things to me. I hold it out. "Here, put this on."

She steps out of the dress with that graceful, unintentional elegance she always has. Her fingers brush against my chest as she takes the shirt from me, and I swear, it's like a shock runs through me. I can't stop looking at her—bare skin, soft curves.

She catches me staring and gives me that teasing look. "You wanna help me with the rest or just stand there gawking?"

I chuckle, running a hand through my hair. "Believe me, if I start, I won't stop." I turn to give her some space, but my mind's already spinning with other thoughts.

"Hey," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed, "you know Marco's mole? Got any idea who it could be?"

Her brows knit together as she pulls the shirt over her head and lets the shirt fall over herself. "Marco? No... I don't know. Why?"

I shake my head, not pushing it. "Doesn't matter right now." I pause, my gaze dropping to her stomach. Her hand is there, resting against her belly, and the sight hits me like a freight train. "Shit... we're really doing this, aren't we?"

She laughs, a soft, almost disbelieving sound. "Yeah. We're gonna be parents. Kinda wild, huh?"

I stand up, moving closer, unable to stop myself from wrapping my arms around her waist. "Never thought I'd say it, but I'm actually excited about this." I chuckle, and she tilts her head back to look at me, her eyes soft but questioning. "It's been one hell of a fever dream these last few weeks."

"No kidding." She smiles, her hand still resting on her stomach. It's surreal, seeing her like this—seeing us like this. I press a kiss to the top of her head.

And then, there's this shift in the air. Maybe it's the quiet of the room or maybe it's just that I've been thinking too much lately, but I find myself saying, "You know, a part of me kinda wished the wedding was real."

Her eyes flash up to mine, wide, questioning. For a second, I think she's gonna laugh or brush it off, but instead, she whispers, "Do you... like me or something?"

I don't answer with words. I don't need to. I lean down, crashing my lips against hers, and she responds instantly, pulling me closer, needing me as much as I need her.

It's messy, desperate, like we're trying to drown out all the shit swirling around us. My hands roam her body and lift her onto the bed. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as I push her back against the sheets, and in that moment, there's no more talking. No more thinking. Just us.

I lose track of time, of space, of everything except the way her body arches beneath me, the way her breaths come in sharp gasps. Every touch, every kiss feels like something breaking and healing all at once.

When it's over, we're both panting, tangled up in the sheets. She's got this dazed look in her eyes, and for once, I don't have a cocky comment lined up. Instead, I roll off the bed and offer her a hand. "Shower?"

She nods, and we stumble into the bathroom together. The hot water runs down our bodies, but it's more about the intimacy than getting clean. I scrub shampoo into her hair, and she leans into me like she's never felt safer.

I can't help but think about what I said earlier—the wedding, how I kinda wanted it to be real. Maybe I'm losing it.

After we're done, I grab a towel and wrap it around her before I dry myself off. I catch her eye in the mirror, and she's watching me with that same questioning look she had earlier.

I clear my throat, drying my hair. "Look, I'm not gonna force you to stay or anything. But... if you gave me a chance, I think I could make you happy."

She raises an eyebrow, like she's trying to figure out if I'm serious. Then she laughs, shaking her head. "In your weird way... I think you actually care about me."

I grin, walking over to her, pulling her close again. "What gave me away?"

"You're less of an asshole when you're not trying to kill me."

"Mia cara, have I ever tried to kill you?" I laugh, a deep, throaty sound that echoes in the bathroom.

She looks up at me, biting her lip, and I can't resist leaning in again. Our lips meet, and it's softer this time, gentler, but still just as intense.

We end up back in the bedroom, making out like a couple of damn teenagers who don't have a care in the world. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and I trail kisses down her neck, feeling the shivers running through her. It's almost innocent compared to earlier, but it's just as powerful. Eventually, she pulls back, resting her forehead against mine.

"What the hell are we doing?"

I smirk. "No idea. But I'm not complaining."

She sighs, but there's a smile playing on her lips. "I don't think I've ever met someone as confusing as you."

"Confusing? Me? Nah, I'm an open book."

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, sure."

We lie there for a while, the silence comfortable for once. Her head rests on my chest, and I absentmindedly run my fingers through her hair, thinking about the future—about what the hell happens next.

"You know," she says softly, breaking the silence, "I've never really done this before."

I glance down at her, my brow furrowing. "Done what?"

"Been... in a relationship." Her voice is barely audible, but I hear it. It hits me harder than I expected.

I don't say anything for a moment, just pull her closer, kissing the top of her head. "Well, stick around. I'll show you how."

She laughs softly, the sound muffled against my chest, but I can tell she's not just laughing at me. She's laughing because she actually believes it.

And maybe, just maybe, so do I.