Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

30. Delilah

THIRTY

DELILAH

The next day, I headed to the shop.

I told Santino I needed to stop at my apartment to pick up some items, but I made a detour on the way back to his place. I’d fixed the issue with the zoning permit and needed to unlock the door for the artist I’d hired to paint a mural on the white brick interior.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. The empty space felt like a blank canvas, waiting for the artist’s touch to bring it to life. I busied myself with some paperwork at the counter, losing track of time as I reviewed invoices.

The door opened.

I looked up, my heart dropping when Santino strolled inside. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I could ask you the same thing, principessa.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing.

His eyes scanned the room, taking in the empty racks and boxes of merchandise. “What’s Retro Rose Boutique?”

I met his gaze steadily. “A store I’m opening.”

“For what?” he asked.

“Vintage clothing,” I whispered, relieved that he didn’t seem angry. “I wanted to make them more accessible. It’s a passion of mine. I thought…I hoped I could become more independent if I started my own business.”

Santino leaned against the counter, his gaze roving over the buckets of paint sitting next to the wall. “You let me believe you were a gold digger.”

“It’s not far off the mark.”

“It is when you’re signing leases, contracting painters, hiring designers, and buying inventory for your fucking store. That’s different from using my cash to go on a shopping spree.”

“I know.”

He sighed heavily, hands stuffed in his pockets. “So you’re setting up a fallback plan? Like you’re getting ready to bail?”

I shifted on my feet. “No, I just…it was easier that way. If you thought I was after your money, you wouldn’t ask questions.”

“Why did you keep this a secret?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect myself.”

His eyes searched mine. “From me?”

“Yes. Dimitri told me he’d help with the store, and then he screwed me over. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

“I’m not the same as that piece of shit.”

I chewed my lip, pained by his stony expression. “I was scared of losing what little freedom I had.”

“Delilah, I’ve given you everything you asked for.” He circled the counter, his voice darkening. “You know why I do that, don’t you?”

I sucked in a tight breath, shaking my head.

His fingers glided under my chin, forcing me to meet his intense stare. “Because of you . Because you got me hooked. Every time you walked away with my money, all I could think about getting you back in my bed. But I want more. I want kids. I want to put a lock on that pretty pussy.”

My cheeks flamed. “So romantic.”

A wry smile tipped his mouth. “You don’t want romance.”

“Yes, I do. I want more than an arrangement where it’s all about what you give me, and I take. I want a real relationship.”

He blinked, his fingers stilling under my chin. “What does that even mean to you?”

“It means you don’t just throw cash at me whenever you think I need something.”

“You insisted on the cash.”

“And now I’m telling you it’s not enough. I don’t want to be part of your empire. I want a real relationship. I want to laugh with you, talk about stupid things that aren’t life and death. I want to be more than a woman you bought.”

He stared at me, his jaw tight. Slowly, the tension in his face eased and his lips quirked into a half-smile. “You mean that?”

“Yes.”

He stepped closer. Butterflies soared in my chest as Santino cradled my face in his hands before he lifted me onto the counter. He kissed me firmly, making my heart pound, and I kissed him back.

When our lips parted, I leaned back slightly. “I should have told you about the store. I’m sorry for keeping it a secret.”

“I get it. You’ve been trying to protect yourself.”

A knot in my chest loosened. “So you’re not mad?”

“No, baby. I understand why you did it.” He paused, his hand still resting on my face. “You’ve been burned before. But listen, I’m not another guy you need to protect yourself from.”

“I’m starting to realize that.”

He stroked my hair. “I just want to keep you.”

How did this man make me feel so cherished? Warmth spread through me, filling the spaces that had been so empty for so long. I’d been so used to the push and pull between us, but this was different. There was something raw in the way he looked at me.

Something warm and overwhelming bloomed inside me. I couldn’t say it out loud yet, but I…I loved him. He fought for me. He gave me space even when he wanted to keep me close.

“You make me happy, Delilah.”

I smiled. “You make me happy, too.”

I didn’t add what my heart was screaming—that I’d fallen for him.

He grinned. “I know.”

His hands rested on my hips as my fingers traced his jaw. The pull between us was stronger than it had ever been. He wasn’t just someone I wanted in my life. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

He stepped back and looked around. “So, what’s the next step in getting this place up and running?”

I slid off the counter. “The mural. I hired an artist to paint it, and she should be coming in soon. Then there’s the inventory, marketing, and a million other things.”

The artist popped through the door a moment later and got to work painting. In the meantime, I brought Santino up to speed about everything the boutique needed. After we wrapped things up at the store, we went home to Santino’s penthouse.

He disappeared into his gym, and I drifted into the kitchen. As weights clinked, I looked in the fridge.

I pulled out ingredients for spaghetti carbonara—Santino’s go-to comfort food. A peace offering. I set the water to boil and chopped garlic and pancetta, sizzling it in the pan.

He came into the kitchen, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel draped around his neck. “Smells good.”

“It’s your favorite, right?”

He nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. He disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower, leaving me to finish up the meal. I set the table, plating the pasta with a sprinkle of fresh parsley. The aroma filled the kitchen, making my stomach rumble.

A few minutes later, Santino returned, his hair damp and a clean shirt clinging to his muscular frame. He sat down at the table, his expression full of anticipation.

I set a plate in front of him. He waited, fork poised, as I sat down with my own plate. Then Santino dug in, shoveling the carbonara into his mouth. He moaned with the first bite. He finished his plate by the time I was halfway through mine, his fork scraping the last bits of egg and cheese.

Santino set his fork down and wiped his mouth. “So good.”

“You’re welcome.”

He patted his lap. I slid off my chair and moved over, settling onto his lap. His hands found my hips and pulled me close.

“Making me dinner, sitting pretty on my lap. What are you up to?”

I leaned against him, playing with his T-shirt. Something lingered in the back of my mind that I’d been too afraid to bring up before. Maybe it was the softness of the evening or the way Santino had opened up to me lately, but I felt like I could ask him.

“The fire,” I began, my fingers stilling on his chest. “The one that…killed your cousin. You’ve never really talked about it.”

His entire body tensed. “What do you want to know?”

“What happened?”

He exhaled a rough breath. “I was just a kid. Twelve years old. My aunt and uncle were like second parents to me. My aunt, uncle, and cousin. Gone in one night. I watched the whole thing.”

“That must have been horrible.”

“It was,” he admitted, his voice rough. “My cousin was only ten. We’d been playing together earlier that day. And then he was gone.”

“What happened?”

His jaw tightened. “Arson.”

“Did the police ever catch the person responsible?”

He shook his head, glowering.

“What was your cousin like?”

“Luca? He was a tough little bastard. Fiercer than most men I know now. Once, cops caught us stealing bikes. Luca swore we’d be riding again by sunset. He wasn’t wrong. My uncle pulled some strings, and hours later, we pedaled down the street like nothing happened.”

I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “He sounds a lot like you.”

Santino shrugged, his gaze drifting to the window. “We never got to find out, did we?”

“No, I guess not.”

He grabbed his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out a worn photograph. “This is him.”

He handed it to me. A young boy with a mischievous grin beamed at the camera.

I took the photo, my heart stopping.

“What is it?” Santino asked.

I stared at the photograph. “He looks like you.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

My fingers lingered on the photo, tracing the outline of Luca’s face. “It’s strange to think about how different your lives could have been.”

As I looked at the boy in the photograph, my hands shook. I knew that face. I had seen it before, many times. My breath caught as the pieces clicked into place.

This boy…Luca…was alive.

I’d grown up with him. He worked for the Providence Bratva, and judging by the blank look on his face, Santino had no idea.