Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 11

ELEVEN

“ I know, Mom,” I sigh as I head up the steps to my apartment. “I’ve just been busy.”

Busy avoiding my problems.

I’m not even surprised that she called me. I was anticipating it after my talk with Lexie, wondering if she was going to expose me or not. As far as I can tell, she’s kept my secret, which I both appreciate and resent her for. The weakest part of me had hoped she’d spill to my mom, just so I didn’t have to sit down and tell my parents. My mom won’t be so bothered about the news, but my dad… that’s a situation I’m desperately trying to avoid. I know I can’t hide forever. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to tell them, but for now, I’m content to live in my little bubble of ignorance a little bit longer.

Mom drones on about coming home for dinner, and I swiftly rummage through my mind for an excuse. I don’t have a job, so I can’t use that as a reason not to visit my parents. They only live half an hour away, which isn’t exactly far in the grand scheme of things.

“I’ll make time, I promise.”

“Good, honey. Your dad misses you.”

I roll my eyes as I reach my front door, knowing full well that’s a lie. “You don’t need to pretend, Mom. It’s okay.”

“Alanis Rachel Bonanno!” she scolds, and I flinch. “If you think for one second your father doesn’t care about you, I’ll be marching over to the Bronx myself and dragging you home.” Her anger is unmistakable. “Don’t test me.”

The fiery determination from my mom is not something you want to mess with. She didn’t become the managing partner in her law firm by being a doormat, so I relax against my door, biting my tongue. For a long time, I just stand there, listening to the patience my mom exudes while spinning my keys around a finger. She’s waiting for me to break the silence; to bridge the gap I’ve dug between me and my dad.

Usually, we fight over the littlest of things—like me wanting to learn to fight or protect myself with a gun. The types of things I thought my father would be proud to teach me so that I didn’t have to rely on others. But he denied me those chances, which caused an argument. Of course, I went and did it anyway, which only caused another rift to form between us. And since I told him I didn’t want any part in the family business, every conversation has been strained, hanging on tenterhooks until they inevitably break.

“I’ll come visit soon,” I sigh, relenting.

“I’m holding you to that.” Despite her rigid tone, I hear the grin in her voice. Mom has never been one to hold grudges or cling onto her anger. She’s always been the understanding one, a stark contrast to my stubborn dad. Sometimes I wonder why they’re together, but then I remember all the moments I’ve walked in on throughout my life when they thought they were alone. Gross.

“I gotta go,” my mom interrupts my thoughts. “Talk soon?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, honey.”

“Love you, too.”

I wait for her to hang up before I push my key into the lock of my apartment. I was in a good mood before she called. In all honesty, I have been all week. Since my ‘date’ with Roman, I’ve felt this subtle shift of the weight that’s been tethering my anger. No way have I forgiven Roman for what he did, though. As far as bridges that have been burned goes, not even the ashes can be turned into something useful. Though for just a few minutes, while Roman pinned me beneath him, I’d forgotten about the pain and the hurt he caused. I’d forgotten about the heartbreak and the betrayal. For just a split second, when Roman told me he didn’t want to fight anymore, a thought flashed through my mind. Me too.

Something changed in an instant, and I’m not sure if I like it. I’ve been so hellbent on hating him because I believed that would help me move on, but all it’s done is make me bitter and resentful.

Maybe it was spending time with Roman that reminded me of better times; times when I was happier, times with him . Or maybe it was the fact he’d been willing to take a beating just to make me feel better—which worked. Whatever brought on the idea to resign my negative feelings for him, it has given me the chance to recognize how considerate Roman once was… maybe still is.

I’m not one for romanticizing anyone, least of all my ex-boyfriend, but it’s exhausting harboring so much anger. It’s tiresome holding onto the past like it defines me. I keep telling myself it happened, get over it. And I really want to. But the depth of what I felt for Roman five years ago is still embedded in my soul. The good and the bad rub against each other, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel anymore.

After half a decade, you’d think I’d be able to move on and let the past be the past. But something is preventing me. Something I think I need.

I drop my keys on the side table by the door as soon as I step inside, only to freeze when a familiar scent wraps around me. I find myself gravitating towards the gentle clinking sound of glass, noticing a cloud of smoke coming from the living area.

Rounding the couch, my suspicions are right. “What are you doing here, Roman?”

He’s silent, not a single word parting his lips. Despite the frown on his face, he looks more than happy to finish off the whiskey bottle on my coffee table. It’s a good thing I’m not attached to the stuff, because then this interaction would be a lot more volatile. As I search for the agitation I should be feeling over Roman’s second intrusion in two weeks, I can’t. His lips press together in a flat line, his brow furrowed so deep that I want to reach forward with my thumb and rub the crease away.

His fingers tap on the worn leather of my couch; a rhythmic sound that pierces the silence. The longer it stretches, the more worried I get. Until he reaches forward, grabs my hand, and pulls me onto his lap. He nuzzles into my neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of whiskey sits heavy on his hot breath, skating past my lips when he lifts his head to gaze into my eyes.

“I found you,” he smirks, and the change in expression is so sudden it stuns me. His smile is delicious and obnoxious, yet I can’t find it in myself to hate it because the promise of something else digs into my ass. And as if to prove that point, he grinds his hips upwards. “What’s my prize?”

“How about I don’t knock you out for breaking into my apartment?” I retort, running my thumb over his split lip. I’m a little too proud about getting in some decent hits the other day. I knew he was going easy on me because the Genoveses are pro-fighters. They might not have gained a title or belt, or whatever the victors are awarded at fights, but they know their shit and they’re good at it.

He bites down on my thumb, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for me to recognize what he really wants. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to be placated. He wants to forget about whatever has pissed him off, and I don’t know why that turns me on so much.

Maybe it’s because I want to forget, too.

The air turns ominous, and my heart pounds at a dangerous rhythm. I’m skating close to the edge of no return, again. One of these days I’ll address my constant contradiction between my head and heart, but for now, my soaked panties are telling me to live in the moment.

Wrapping his hand around the nape of my neck, Roman pulls my face to his, brushing his soft plump lips against mine. “I’ve missed these moments,” he admits, and those few vulnerable words seem to be my undoing.

I fuse my lips onto his, ignoring all the signs that tell me I shouldn’t be doing this— again.

Roman’s hold tightens around my waist while the smash of glass sounds behind me. This kiss is consuming on a whole other level. It’s harsher than the other times we’ve kissed; urgent, intoxicating, suffocating. Roman parts my lips with his tongue to deepen it, and the rush of lust makes my pussy throb with need. Desperation clings to every parting move of our lips, not wanting to break the contact.

The taste of whiskey hits my tongue, woodsy and warm. I revel in the way the flavor rolls down my throat as I swallow, eager to taste more than residual alcohol. I know this is not the way to get over someone. Sex makes things complicated, and that’s the last thing I want. But for now, I want to revel in some good sex. Then maybe I can lay down the law—so to speak—with Roman and tell him enough is enough.

Yeah right, the little voice in my head tells me.

Roman tugs at my leather jacket, grunting in agitation when it gets stuck on my arms. He lifts me off his lap and tosses me onto the couch, peeling his own jacket and shirt off his body so effortlessly that a gasp leaves my lips when my eyes lock onto his taut body. I’ve seen it before—three days ago, to be precise. But up close, I’m able to commit every detail to memory. His abs that look like they’re chiseled from marble, his chest that’s a depiction of perfection. The tattoos that stain his skin only add to his devastating beauty. It’s no wonder this man left me in pieces. He’s one wanton glare away from obliterating me, and I’d shamelessly let him.

He runs his lips over my neck, his hands doing all the work of undressing me. I don’t stop him. I can’t . There isn’t one bone in my body that would act willingly right now. I’m beneath my enemy, a dangerously sexy enemy.

Leaning back on his heels, he tosses my converse onto the floor before peeling my jeans down my legs. “I hope you aren’t attached to these,” he comments.

I frown, then gasp when the tear of fabric answers my silent question. I’m completely bare, my naked chest heaving with anticipation as his eyes feast on my pussy like a starved man. And she’s just as desperate for the attention.

Roman dives between my legs, running his tongue through my slick folds, alternating between long, slow licks and fast flicks. My back arches as a raspy moan breaks free, my legs parting wider to give him all the access he needs, all the access I need.

His warm chuckle vibrates against my pussy, sending a ripple of sensations through my body. “I love that sound,” he whispers, though his words are aimed between my legs.

“Don’t stop,” I rasp, tugging at his hair. “Don’t…stop!”

He doesn’t. He feasts on me like a man possessed, hands digging into the flesh of my thighs until I’m grinding against his face. He clamps his teeth down on my clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over the sensitive nub until I shatter, my screams exploding around us. My shaky breaths aren’t enough for him, though, and my pussy throbs for more . “Roman!”

I don’t even care how desperate I sound, I can regret that later.

He kicks off his slacks, letting them join the pool of clothes strewn across the floor. Crawling over me, he drops rough kisses along my collarbone, my chest, my nipples, until I’m crying out with desire.

His rock hard cock needs no introduction to my pussy. He lines up and slams into me with one hard thrust, stealing the air from my lungs. A rushed whimper escapes me, followed by Roman’s rumble of approval that coils around my spine. He pulls out, then drives back into me, his hands wrapping around my thighs to steady himself and thrust deeper.

Roman pounds me into the couch like his life depends on it, as if every slap of our flesh allows him to lose a bit of himself. The crease along his forehead has since disappeared, replaced with pure ecstasy that I could stare at for hours.

Reaching up, his tattooed hand circles my throat—not enough to cut my airways, but applying the right amount of pressure to intensify my incoming release. It’s no use in trying to ignore it, because Roman is fucking me so hard that his cock hits the perfect spot every time. In just a matter of seconds, I shatter for the second time, screaming his name.

Roman slows his rhythm down, still moving so I can ride out my orgasm. When my breaths settle into a less pathetic blend of choked exhales, I look up at him, blue eyes gazing back at me as he tucks his bottom lip beneath his teeth.

“What?” I frown as he leans down to capture my lips.

“I changed my mind,” he says, biting my bottom lip hard and making me whimper. “ That’s my favorite sound.”

He picks me up before I have time to respond, wrapping my legs around his waist and moving us around my apartment. He fucks me on every surface possible, from the kitchen to the bathroom, until we’re nothing but grunts of exhausted desire, sighs of sated pleasure and raw flesh slapping.

We collapse on my bed, sweaty, breathless, and boneless. For a few minutes, no words are exchanged, which is just what I need to sort through my flurry of confusing thoughts. I should be hating Roman, not fucking him. But once again, my brain and heart are getting confused by one another.

“Why do you want to join the NYPD?” Roman asks after what feels like ten minutes have passed. He takes a drag from a joint I hadn’t realized he’d sparked up before passing it over to me.

I take a harsh toke, relishing the dryness coating my throat. I should really quit smoking while I can. The last thing I need is a drug test that pulls me from the academy. But I still have three weeks before I start, so there’s plenty of time to get it out of my system.

“You can do anything else. Literally, anything,” Roman chuckles, waving his hand around my bedroom.

“What? Like working for my brother?” I scoff. “No thanks.”

Roman slouches back against my headboard, the covers pooling around his lap. I lick my lips. I’m still sore from the four hour fuck session we’ve just had, but it’s hard to tamper down my desire for him when he literally looks like a god.

I take another drag of the joint to try and shake away the desperate need to be fucked into oblivion again. My pussy hasn’t gotten the message yet.

“You could work with me.”

“What?” I choke out, coughing and spluttering. I slap my chest, coaxing the remnants of the weed to dissipate.

“Come work with me,” he shrugs.

I laugh incredulously. “Roman! That’s the most idiotic thing you’ve said, ever!”

“Why not?” He frowns.

I hand back the joint and twist my body out of the covers. I only get halfway before Roman stops me, grabbing me by the waist and yanking me backwards until I’m beneath him. His firm chest presses against my hard nipples, a gasp slipping from my lips as I peer up at him. I could definitely get used to this view. The sex, too. But I know full well this could never be my version of normality.

His blue eyes darken, the question he asked still lingering between us.

“Even if I didn’t still hate you, I want nothing to do with that life,” I growl.

He drops his head into the crook of my neck, sliding his swollen lips over my sensitive skin. “But you’ll learn to love me.”

“Someone’s cocky,” I jest, slapping his chest with my palm.

He glances between us, where his cock rests heavy against my stomach. There’s no denying what he’s packing. The fact he’s good with it is only going to make it that much more difficult when I finally cut off whatever this is we’ve been doing.

“What were you doing here, anyway?” I ask, trailing my fingertips over the Genovese emblem tattooed on his left pec. Above it is a crown, the ink evidently newer than the emblem. “You seemed…”

“Pissed?” he answers for me with a smile that could break hearts. I should know.

I nod.

He rolls onto his back, bringing me into his chest like it’s the most normal thing for us to do.

Newsflash, Alanis. None of what you’re doing right now is normal.

“Issues with the Russians,” Roman supplies.

“What are you going to do about them?”

He shrugs his response, wrapping his arm tighter around my waist. “I’ll figure something out.”

My head rests above the steady beat of his heart, and for a brief moment, I find myself wondering if his broke the same way mine did when I never answered his calls. Did he even question why? Doubtful. He left without a second glance in my direction. He might have had obligations to his family, but where were his loyalties to me?

We’ve fallen so easily into a trap of hating and fucking that I wonder if this should mean more to me than it does; to him, as well. It’s a stupid thought, a ridiculous thought that I have no business exploring. Yet I do, and I hate where that takes me.

I push off him and sit upright just to catch my shuddering breath. I can’t afford to have thoughts like those. I can’t afford to have wandering feelings. I need to stick to my guns because going back to how we were when we were eighteen isn’t an option anymore. Those days have long gone, drowning in the darkness where my past lies.

“You know you’re gonna have to tell everyone, right?”

My attention snaps to him. “I’m well aware.”

“Just saying,” he replies nonchalantly, folding his arms beneath his head. His muscles thicken like cords, his tattoos stretching over the expanse of skin. “If you’re really doing this?—”

“I am,” I bite back, irritation coursing through my veins. I push up off the bed to grab a hoodie from my closet. The impending argument isn’t something I want to have while naked. “And you said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“Whoa!” Roman jumps off the bed and paces towards me. “I’m not going to tell anyone, Presh.” He reaches for my cheek, but I shove him away. I need to create as much space between us as possible. I said this couldn’t happen again, and I’m letting my traitorous heart decide for me instead of listening to the warning in my head.

“Good,” I deride. “Then we’re done here.”

“What?” Roman’s bright blue eyes blow wide, his mouth gaping. “Alanis, I?—”

“Got what you wanted,” I sneer. “Though blackmailing me to sleep with you is a little low, even for you, don’t you think?”

His jaw ticks over with restrained rage. Shame, I’d love to see how angry Roman can get when his buttons are pushed the right way.

“Then again, I shouldn’t put anything past you. You’ll lie about anything just to get what you want.”

“Alanis,” he growls, but stops himself. For just a second, I see his features shift from fury to realization. Something must have switched in his brain, because he steps forward, running his hand through his hair and continuing to stalk me, even when my back hits my bedroom wall. “Is that what this is about?”

I gulp, unable to keep my eyes off the way the muscles around his throat strain angrily. I don’t answer. I can’t because I’m too scared that the words will choke me.

Roman takes a step back and I finally feel like I can breathe a little. Storming over to the bedside table, he grabs his keys and tugs something off it. He marches back towards me, shoving something in my hand. “Just because I left, doesn’t mean I never cared.”

I look down at my hand, clutching the item between shaky fingers. The keyring clinks with every movement, and it’s not just any keyring. It’s a silver ferris wheel with a photo attached—one of me and Roman. We can’t be more than seventeen in the picture, wide grins full of unfiltered happiness stretching our faces. While I beam at the camera, Roman’s oceanic gaze is locked on me, small creases pinching either side of his eyes. It’s a stupid picture taken in a photo booth at Chelsea Pier.

Fuck.

My heart aches, the pounding of guilt and resentment at war against one another. My head throbs as confusion sets in, because I know what happened five years ago; I was there. I heard every heartfelt word he uttered to me, I felt every emotion he poured into our kiss, and every crack that tore my heart open when he left.

I must be staring at the keyring for longer than I realize, because when I look up, Roman is fully dressed and pulling on his jacket. He bypasses me as he heads toward the bedroom door, stopping in the doorway, refusing to look at me.

“For the record, this isn’t me walking away.”

And then he’s gone. The only evidence that he was ever here sits in the palm of my hand while the ache in my chest picks open at old scars.

My apartment door slams, and that’s when it hurts the most because I’m utterly and heartbreakingly alone, staring at a memory I’d long forgotten about.