Unforgivable Ties

Chapter 12

Vincenzo

S tephanie had consumed one too many drinks. She had started hammering them down after we almost kissed, clearly embarrassed by the near-touch of our lips. I matched her drink for drink with ease, but I weighed more than twice as much as she did.

Now, she was leaning against me outside the club, having trouble standing upright.

“It’s time for you to go home,” I said, my arm cemented around her lower back.

“But I don’t wanna go back there,” she whined. “The stairs might break in half when I walk up them, and at night I hear weird scratching in the walls.”

My lip quirked up in a half smile. She was so drunk she didn’t remember she didn’t live in her condemned apartment anymore.

“You don’t live there anymore, Steph,” I said, taking my phone out of my pocket. I was going to have one of our men pick us up. She was so drunk she might mention something about the mafia while we were in an Uber and not even realize it.

“I don’t?” she asked, tilting her head like a confused puppy.

“No,” I said, putting my phone back in my pocket. “You live with me.”

“I live with a mobster?!” she said, her face turning as red as her hair.

We were outside in a relatively secluded spot, so it wasn’t a big deal she brought it up.

“But what if the feds find out?” she squeaked, her eyes wide.

Oh, drunk Stephanie was cute. I was committing this to memory and I would tease her about it tomorrow.

“They never would,” I responded.

“You promise?” she asked, snuggling into me.

“Promise,” I replied, wrapping my arm tighter around her.

The two of us continued to wait for our ride, her babbling drunk nonsense while I held her up from falling over. After fifteen minutes, a car finally pulled up. I opened the door for Stephanie and held her so she didn’t faceplant while sitting down.

All her grace had gone out the window with how plastered she was. She sat in the back seat with her legs wide open, her panties on full display under her short dress. I pulled up the privacy screen so the male driver wouldn’t be able to see her panties in the rearview mirror.

“Careful,” I said, tugging her short dress down.

I tried not to stare at her panties. I wanted to fuck her, and when I did, I would do so with her fully coherent. Looking at them right now felt like cheating.

“I bet you’re really good at sex, Vincenzo,” she said drunkenly.

“Excuse me?” I said, more entertained than shocked at her bluntness.

“You’re all...dangerous and stuff,” she slurred, even looking endearing despite her drunkenness. “Aren’t dangerous men usually good at sex?”

I wasn’t going to sell myself short—I was fucking amazing at it. But that wasn’t something I was going to tell her in her drunken state.

“Guess you’ll just have to use your imagination,” I said, gently tapping her forehead.

“Preston sucked at it. I never came,” she said.

Jealousy flared through my body. I hated her stupid prick of an ex boyfriend. I hated he got to her first, when it should have been me. I wanted to be the first person to claim her, ravish her, and bring her to the peak of ecstasy she deserved.

If his parents weren’t such prominent figures—we even did business with them—I’d put a bullet in his head and sleep easy.

“But I’ve never had sex with anyone else…so maybe I’m the problem,” she sighed, snuggling back into me.

I wanted to tell her she definitely wasn’t the problem; it was Prickton’s fault.

“This is where we live?” she said, looking up with wide eyes at the apartment complex she had been to many times.

“Yeah,” I said, helping her out of the car with a firm grip.

I helped her into the elevator and tapped my keycard for the top floor. Stephanie slouched into the side of my body, her eyes closed and her breaths turning into gentle, rhythmic heaves. Despite her disarray and the lingering scent of alcohol tainting her perfume, she was still captivating.

Once we reached the top, I tapped the keycard again to open the doors. I cradled Stephanie’s sleeping body gently in my arms, her head nestled comfortably against my shoulder. I carefully walked her into her room and laid her on the bed before bending down to take off her black heels.

She squirmed uncomfortably in her sleep, still stuck in the skintight dress she wore for the night. It looked amazing on her. When she had first walked into the living room earlier in the night, I had nearly pounced on her.

“God damn it,” I sighed.

I walked to my room and pulled out a cotton t-shirt. Then I shuffled around her drawers until I found a pair of pajama pants. Very carefully, I lowered the straps from her dress and placed the shirt over her head. Then, I slipped on her pants and tugged them up her body.

Finally, I unzipped the dress from the back and pulled it down her clothed lower half, trying not to disturb her slumber. I dressed her without seeing more than what she had accidentally flashed me in the car.

“Goodnight,” I murmured, before turning off the light and shutting her door.

It was always peaceful at seven am. I would drink my coffee while staring out at the expansive New York City skyline while reading the news for the day. The morning light painted the city in soft shades of gold and pink, making everything seem like a still life painting. But I knew better. Underneath the beauty of the sunrise was a city that never truly slept, full of secrets and darkness that were just waiting to unravel at any moment. But in these moments, it was nice to forget.

The silence was broken by loud retching from Stephanie’s room. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the Gatorade I had set on the table. I had foreseen this. The girl drank so much last night that she could have single-handedly kept a distillery in business. With a resigned sigh, I put my mug down and headed towards her room, the ice-cold Gatorade bottle sweating in my hand.

I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed the door open, bracing myself for the mess that might await me. Stephanie’s bathroom door was open, and she was hunched over the toilet, her disheveled hair falling like a curtain around her face.

“Morning, Doc,” I said, handing her the bottle of Gatorade.

She responded with a groan before a fresh wave of nausea hit her, causing her to lean over the toilet once more.

“Did you have a good night?”

“Fuck you,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Enjoying the show?”

I laughed lightly, leaning against the sink. “It is entertaining, yes.”

She took a sip from the Gatorade bottle. Her face twisted in an expression of obvious discomfort as the sweet, electrolyte-loaded liquid hit her tongue.

“I haven’t drank that much since undergrad,” she said, massaging her temples. “I don’t even remember what happened after dinner.”

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed that she didn’t remember we almost kissed.

“Hm, well, you were very interested in my sex life,” I said, smirking at her. “You weren’t shy about what you asked.”

“Oh,” she said, her face turning from green to red. “Just...please forget I said anything.”

“I’m not so sure I can do that,” I replied, my smirk growing even wider. “I mean, it’s not every day a brilliant med student like you asks me about my romantic exploits.”

“Fuck you, Vin—hold on, is this your shirt?” Stephanie said, her eyes widening, looking down to between her legs. Her brain was working on overdrive, trying to remember if we had had sex.

“Don’t worry,” I said, explaining how I had changed her clothes without seeing anything.

“Ugh,” she groaned, slumping against the porcelain. “I feel like death.”

“Well, you have work today, and you’re not taking the day off.” I walked out of her room, ignoring the curses spewing in my direction.

She was cute when she was riled up.