Blind Trust with the Don

Chapter 4: The Only Woman for Him.

Marcell's POV.

“Marcell…" Olivia gasped my name in the sliver of space the parting of our lips allowed before I captured her bottom lip between mine.

“Hush," I said, pulling back, only to pull her closer to me. She was practically putty in my arms, and the only fight she put up was the roll of her beautifully intoxicating brown eyes.

There were countless nights that instead of giving into my dark urges and carving out the eyes of the men who replaced Aldo Russo, I found myself here trying to remind myself I wasn't like them, even though that ever-present mocking voice echoed reminders I wasn't any different than Aldo, Shamus, Costas, Constance, and Petrov.

I was dirty, sick, and marked by death, and like some selfish succubus, I was sucking the purity, the goodness, out of the one thing in my life that had light. Always terrified of the darkness that threatened to take me over.

“Marcell…" Olivia mumbled against my lips, pulling back again. I growled in frustration, pulling my hands from their grasp on her hips, weaving them into her hair like I knew she liked.

“Relax, baby," I whispered to her, tipping her head up as I peppered kisses down across her lips. “I missed you today. I was so d*mn distracted thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you. Do you know how difficult it is to sit and listen to those old men while I have a hard-on?"

I trailed my mouth across her chin.

“You're the only woman for me, darling. You've ruined me, Olivia. I've tasted you, and now I crave you. How am I to go a day without quenching my thirst?"

Backing her up so her back rested against the kitchen island gave me the leverage I needed to roll my kisses down her long neck, focusing most of my attention on the junction between her collarbone, right where her pulse beat erratically. My hands followed my lips, finding purchase on the island behind her, boxing her in. It wasn't until I slowed down that I registered Olivia wasn't participating, nor was she enjoying like she normally would be.

Any other given hot and heavy night, she would pant and beg for me to stop teasing her, but I misread the erratic pulse for her arousal. Olivia wasn't aroused, she was angry. Her fists were clutched to my shirt, but they weren't clutched to keep me close. Her knuckles were white with tension.

I pulled back a fraction, tilting my head up to see the face of the woman who had overwhelmed my thoughts every single moment of every single hour of every single day. Her angled jaw was firmly set in place. Her full lips pinched into a thin line, her eyes focused on a fixed point ahead of her. I couldn't see the emotion in them, but I didn't need to. I had misread this entire situation terribly.

“Something's wrong," I dumbly stated.

Obviously, I knew something wrong. A blind elephant could see something wrong, probably sooner than I caught up. I, of course, was so caught up in my own primal need to rid myself of the darkness that suffocated me, I refused to sense what Olivia needed.

“Olivia?" I raised myself to the fullest of my stature.

I was now towering over her slightly, still boxing her in, refusing to let her out of the bubble of my arms but regardless of the forced proximity, or the fact I was practically blocking out the spot on the wall she was staring at she still didn't meet my eyes, which was driving me slightly insane. More so than I already was.

“Darling. What's wrong? Did something happen? Did I hurt you?" I pressed, lowering my voice, hating the vulnerability that crept up my spine and the doubt that itched in my brain.

Olivia rolled her eyes and turned out from my embrace, dropping her hold on my shirt, leaving tiny creases in my shirt, an imprinted reminder of her presence. I let her go from my hold and watched as she walked further into the kitchen to grab a cup and fill it with water from the faucet.

Warmth filled me, catching me off guard, unsure why watching her drink a cup of tap water was making me feel sentimental. But there was something about Olivia that made me feel things I swore I'd never feel. Hell, if it were any other woman who turned cold while I was seducing them, I'd have no problem leaving their a**es in the same spot in which I found them. But I cared about what Olivia felt. I felt for her. I cared, and I wasn't scared about how I felt, and that alone should make me hesitant. But I didn't run from danger. I ran to it.

“Olivia. Please. Did something happen today? Was it Pauly? Did he say something to you? If he did, then I can…"

“No. It wasn't Pauly." Olivia said, placing the glass down heavily on the counter. “He's the only one who actually spends time with me."

“What the hell does that mean?"

The familiar sting of anger rose inside of me before I could temper it before I could remind it we weren't really angry at Olivia. We were angry at our situation, at the men who stood in the middle of our happiness. The men who kept us so busy I couldn't do what I wanted to do; spend every waking moment with her.

“When was the last time we actually talked before you stormed into my apartment like you owned the place and stuffed your tongue down my throat without so much of a hello?" Olivia spun around, her eyes full of the passion I loved so much.

“I don't remember hearing you complain." The words tumbled out of my mouth before my mind could even register what I had said. “Sh*t. No. Olivia. No, that was a horrible thing for me to say."

I rushed around the island, closing the space between us, panic overtaking my soul. The thought that six words could ruin every single thing I didn't even know I needed.

“You think?" Olivia responded, her dark eyebrow quirking up.

“I am so sorry." I apologized, meaning every single syllable of my words. I closed the distance even further, cupping her face with my hands.

“I know it's absolutely no excuse, but things have been tense at work. I know I could do all of this better. I promise I'll be better. Please, Olivia. Trust me when I say I don't mean to be a complete fumbling a**hole."

I brushed her hair back from her face, once more weaving my hands through her hair. It wasn't until then I noticed her once dark brown hair was lighter. Instead of the deep dark brown that reflected hues of amber in certain lights, it was now a light caramel color that melted as it reached her roots.

Instead of rolling soft curls that teased me with their seduction, it had a tighter curl to it. I pulled a strand closer, pulling it between our faces, noticing it barely reached her shoulder when I let it loose. I tampered down the shock that ran cold through my veins as visions of her dark hair cascading down the back of her tantalizing red dress that made first made me fall for her overwhelmed my vision.

“What did you do to your hair?"