.ᐟ WRATH ── christopher sturniolo
𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝟏𝟐 : : 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄?
⤷ all scenes & previous scene
⤷ cw . . . mentions of death, past trauma, past abuse, slightly suggestive
March was beginning to settle in, and with it came a quiet rhythm Stella hadn’t realized she’d missed. She kept herself busy—reading by the window, baking as she always did, spending afternoons in the garden with Smokey now that the weather had finally started to soften. Things were good.
And Chris? Well, things with Chris were a whole different thing.
It had been a month since their first kiss, and somehow, it had become a ritual. Every day since, he has found a way to steal one from her. He was still buried in work, still out for long stretches, and the same ruthless man everyone feared… yet now, he checked in.
He’d show up at odd hours just to see her. A quiet “goodnight” disguised as a kiss before bed. A soft, secret one at dawn when he thought she was still asleep. Stella never told him she knew, because she secretly didn’t want him to stop.
But today, a quiet tension followed her from room to room, a question sitting heavy on her tongue that she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask.
Part of it was timing. Chris was actually home for once, a rare occurrence during the day. Then part of it was fear. She didn’t know how he’d react, or if he’d even want to hear what she had to say.
After pacing her room for what felt like hours, she finally decided she couldn’t keep avoiding him. Smokey trailed at her heels as she made her way down the hall, pausing outside his office. It was empty.
Her brow furrowed. Then, faintly, she heard it — the dull, rhythmic sound of something hitting leather echoing from down the corridor.
She followed the noise, the thuds growing louder until she reached the gym. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, she caught sight of him. Shirt clinging to his back, sweat running down his neck, muscles tightening with every swing of his fists against the punching bag.
For a moment, she just stood there, her breath catching in her throat. She’d seen him angry before, calm, composed, terrifying in control. But this was different. There was frustration in every movement, like he was fighting more than just a target.
Smokey meowed softly, brushing against her leg, and Chris turned at the sound. His eyes found hers almost instantly.
“Something you need, doll?” he asked, voice low, rough from exertion.
Stella froze for a second under his gaze, her mouth parting before the words even formed. “I, uh… I needed to ask you something,” she managed, though her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Chris grabbed the towel slung over the bench, dragging it across his face and the back of his neck. “Then ask,” he said simply, not breaking eye contact. That didn’t help.
Her eyes flickered over him. the way his shoulders flexed, how his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath. For someone usually so composed, so untouchable, there was something almost raw about seeing him like this.
“Stella,” he said, snapping her back to reality. She blinked rapidly. “Right, sorry, I just—” She tripped over her words again, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. Chris smirked faintly, tilting his head. “You just…?”
Her cheeks burned. “You’re—you’re busy. Maybe it can wait.” He took a step closer, towel slung over his shoulder now, his gaze sharpening in amusement. “Didn’t sound like something that could wait.”
“I—It’s nothing serious,” she stammered. “I’ll just—”
“Spit it out, doll,” he cut in, voice low, steady. “You came all the way here for a reason. What is it?” She opened her mouth, but all that came out was, “You, um… work out a lot.”
Chris stared at her for a beat — then huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “That’s what has you all worked up?”
Her embarrassment deepened. She turned quickly, muttering something about it not being important, but before she could take another step, Chris’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. “Not so fast.”
She gasped softly as he pulled her back. Hard enough that she stumbled right into him. Her palms pressed against his chest, the heat of his skin seeping through her hand. His grip didn’t hurt, but it was firm, unyielding.
The kind of hold that said he wasn’t letting her leave until he got what he wanted. “Now,” he said, his tone dropping lower. “You’re gonna tell me what’s got you so nervous.”
She swallowed hard, eyes flicking down before she could stop herself — the defined ridges of his abs, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint sheen of sweat catching the light. Her heart stuttered.
“Eyes up, doll,” he murmured, tilting her chin up with his thumb. “Or I’ll start thinkin’ you’re tryin’ to distract me.” Her face burned, and she quickly looked away. “It’s not— it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” he asked, softer now but still commanding. “And don’t say it’s nothing.” Her lips parted, trembling slightly. “You can’t get mad, okay?” Chris raised a brow, his thumb still resting under her chin. “Depends on what you’re about to say.”
She hesitated for a long moment, her voice shrinking to almost a whisper.
“Tomorrow’s the day my father died…” she said, eyes flicking away. “I was wondering if you could— I mean, if you’d be able to take me. But if you’re busy, I totally understand. I don't mean to bother you or make it sound like I’m asking too much, I just thought—”
His tone cut through her ramble—not harsh, but firm enough to stop her cold. She blinked up at him, startled.
He exhaled slowly, thumb brushing her jaw once before he dropped his hand. “You should’ve just said that from the start.”
“I didn’t want to make it sound like—”
“You didn’t,” he interrupted again, quieter this time. “I’ll take you.” Her eyes widened. “You… will?” Chris gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. You think I wouldn’t take you?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She didn’t expect him to take her. Damian never said yes. He never even listened.
Her hand drifted to her arm, fingers brushing over the faint scar hidden beneath her sleeve. A quiet reminder of what asking had cost her once.
Chris didn’t seem to notice. He stepped back, rolling his shoulders and reaching for the weight rack again. “Be ready by ten,” he said, tone casual but firm. “And don’t overthink it.”
He paused, one hand on the dumbbell, and glanced over his shoulder. “Your old man raised you. The least I can do is pay my respects.”
Stella didn’t move. She stood there a moment longer, watching him. There was something about the ease in his voice that threw her off — like he didn’t even realize how much that simple offer meant.
Chris looked up, catching her hesitation. “What’s the matter?” She quickly shook her head. “Nothing,” she said softly, turning toward the door. “Doll,” his voice stopped her. She turned back, confused. “Yeah?”
He gave a half-shrug, one corner of his mouth lifting in that teasing smirk she was starting to recognize. “You can stay if you want. You know I don’t bite.” Her brow furrowed. “I can stay?”
“Yeah,” he said, picking the weight back up. “Till I’m done. If you’re gonna hover, might as well do it sitting down.” She hesitated, then nodded shyly and moved to sit on the bench off to the side.
Chris didn’t say anything else—just went back to lifting, the sound of metal and steady breathing filling the room. For a while, she simply watched him.
The room was filled only with the sound of Chris’s steady breathing and occasional grunts. Stella’s eyes wandered. First to the punching bag, still swaying faintly, then to the barbell in his hands.
Her eyes widened a little when she noticed the weight plates. “You can lift that much?” Chris looked over at her, amusement flickering across his face. “Why? Didn’t think I could?” She shook her head quickly. “No, I just… that looks really heavy.”
He smirked, straightening up and rolling his shoulders. “Impressed?” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah.”
“Good,” He said under his breath, setting the barbell back down with a soft thud. “Wouldn’t want my wife thinking I’m all talk.” Her cheeks flushed again at the word wife, but she didn’t look away this time.
She watched him for a moment, eyes following the way his muscles flexed as he adjusted the weights again. “What’s the most you can lift?” she asked suddenly, her voice small but curious.
Chris glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Depends. Deadlift or bench?” She blinked, clearly lost. “Uh… the really heavy one.” That made him smirk. “Deadlift, then. About five hundred.”
Her mouth fell open slightly. “Five hundred? Like— pounds?” He gave a low chuckle, nodding once. “Yeah, doll. Pounds. Why? You doubting me?” She shook her head quickly, still processing it. “No, that’s just… that’s a lot.”
Chris grabbed his towel again, rubbing the back of his neck, that amused glint still in his eyes. “You’re surprised a man in my line of work knows how to stay strong?” “No, I just—” she hesitated, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Could you lift me?”
He froze mid-motion, blinking once before scoffing out a short laugh. “What?” She bit her lip, cheeks already warm. “I mean, if you can lift five hundred pounds, then—”
He shook his head, half laughing, half disbelieving. “You’re serious?” Stella nodded shyly, looking away like she regretted asking.
Chris stared at her for a second, then let out a low, rough chuckle. “I’m offended you’d even ask that, doll.” He dropped the towel over his shoulder, still smirking. “Yeah, I could lift you. Easy.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide again. “Really?” He tilted his head, that teasing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You wanna test that theory?”
Stella’s eyes widened, she shyly smiled, and stepped back. Chris crooked a finger for her to come closer. “Come on, don’t look so scared. You wanted to know if I could lift you, right?”
She took a cautious step forward, hands clasped together. Before she could change her mind, he braced himself, hooked an arm around her knees and the other at her back, and straightened easily.
The motion sent a surprised squeak out of her. “Oh my gosh—!” He grinned, holding her steady. “See? Told you it’d be easy.”
Her hair basically flew around as he started to deadlift with her body. Stella saw the smirk on his face as she giggled and wiggled in his grasp. He was counting under his breath the hold time.
She couldn’t deny the way she was secretly enjoying it. Would it be wrong if she admitted that she wanted this to happen? Chris was so close that she could smell the cologne and sweat from his shirtless body. There was something so manly about him she loved.
After what sounded like he counted to a hundred, he muttered under his breath.
“Light work,” setting her back on her feet, voice smug. Stella stood there, pink-cheeked and flustered, brushing at her hair. He scoffed, grinning, returning to his weights. “Next time, maybe believe me the first time I say I can handle something.”
She perched on the bench, quietly watching him go through his set. She’d thought she knew strong before, but seeing him like this… it was something else entirely.
Then… a sharp ding broke through the calm. Chris froze mid-lift. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His jaw tightened. The easy cockiness was replaced by… something dangerous.
Something about the way he stared at the screen made her uneasy, but she didn’t dare speak. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant for her.
Chris exhaled slowly, letting the phone slide back into his pocket. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the side as if weighing something, planning something. And just like that, he was back to picking up his weights.
But Stella noticed the subtle shift—the way his shoulders tightened, the way his jaw flexed with each movement. Something had changed, though she had no idea what.
Chris finally set the last weight down, letting out a low exhale that seemed to shake the whole room. His movements were deliberate, precise, but there was a faint softness in the way he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
He glanced at her from across the bench, one eyebrow arched. Then, almost casually, he walked over and lowered his head just enough to press a quick, firm kiss to her lips. Stella froze for a second, her heart racing, eyes wide.
He smirked against her lips before straightening, that familiar cocky gleam returning. “Can’t believe you actually sat through my whole hour session,” he muttered, voice rough but teasing. She bit her lip, half laughing, half flustered. “I… don’t mind.”
“You don’t mind, or do you like watching me work out?” Chris let out a low chuckle as Stella’s face flushed. “I don’t mind. You can look, doll.”
Chris finally set the last weight down with a loud thunk, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the towel slung over his shoulder. He glanced at her and gave a small nod.
“All done here,” he said, voice casual but commanding. “Come on.” She trailed behind him, heart still racing, trying to keep her steps quiet as she followed. Chris moved toward his room without a glance back.
“I’m heading to the shower,” he added over his shoulder as he reached his door. “Of course,” she stammered, walking a little faster, almost speed-walking. “Have fun—”
She cut herself off. Have fun? Who the hell says that to someone going to shower, she thought. She could hear his low chuckle behind her, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
By the time she reached the living room, she sank onto the couch, curling slightly into herself. Her mind kept replaying everything. The firmness of his hands as he steadied her, the strength in his arms, the way his bare chest had flexed with each movement.
She bit her lip, trying to shove the thoughts away, but they lingered stubbornly. Her pulse quickened just remembering the teasing smirk he had worn when he caught her staring.
She hugged Smokey closer, letting the soft purr of the cat ground her for a moment, but it did little to settle the storm of thoughts swirling in her head. Thoughts about him. About Chris.
It felt… strange to think about him this way. But was it really wrong? After all, he was her husband. People did far more with their husbands than just… think.
This was the first man she had ever considered in such a way, and he just happened to be the most feared man in the city, who had probably had more enemies than friends.
But for some reason, he never let her fully see his darkness.
Her stomach fluttered, a strange, needy heat creeping through her, making her pulse quicken. She couldn’t understand why she felt it, or why her body seemed to betray her with every memory of his touch, his smirk, the way he moved.
She had been lost in her thoughts so completely that she didn’t notice how much time had passed. A low, familiar voice behind her made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat.
Her eyes snapped up. Chris was leaning against the doorway, plain black clothes, damp hair sticking slightly to his forehead, the faint scent of soap coming from him.
“Oh!” she gasped, spinning slightly to hide her flustered face, hoping he hadn’t noticed what she’d been thinking. Chris’s smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, that cocky, knowing glint in his eyes. “You zoning out?”
She could only manage a sheepish nod, unable to look away. Her cheeks burned hotter than ever, realizing just how obvious she must have seemed.
Chris pushed off from the doorway and came to sit beside her on the couch, close enough that she could feel the faint heat radiating from him. Her heart skipped a beat, and she forced herself to focus, to pay attention to whatever he was about to say.
But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes kept drifting. His jawline, strong and sharp, was dusted with just enough stubble to make her stomach twist. The faint curve of his lips, the way his cheekbones caught the light, the confidence in his posture — it was almost unfair how ridiculously handsome he looked.
“Stella?” His voice cut through her thoughts, low and amused. She jumped slightly, blinking rapidly. “Huh? I—uh, yeah…” She tried to focus, but her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs.
Chris leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with that mix of amusement and something darker she couldn’t quite place. “You’re not listening, are you?”
“I—No! I mean… I am,” she stammered, face burning hotter by the second.
Chris’s smirk deepened as he leaned just a little closer, his hand brushing against hers. Without another word, he shifted, and before Stella could react, he gently pulled her onto his lap. She found herself half-sitting against him, her heart hammering against her ribcage.
His hands rested on her hips, firm but not rough, holding her in place as he tilted his head toward her. “Doll,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “You’re so… shy.” Before she could respond, he pressed his lips to hers, slow and chaste. When he pulled back just slightly, his eyes glinted with amusement. “See? You’re shy, baby.”
Her cheeks flamed, but before she could protest, he kissed her again, deeper this time, letting the moment linger, letting her feel the weight of his presence.
Pulling back slightly, he tilted his chin, cocky grin still in place. “You never ask for what you want, you know that?” She swallowed, cheeks pink. Chris leaned in, his hands still steady on her hips. “You want to be around me?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Then be around me,” he said, tone firm but teasing. “No need to act like you need a reason.” He paused, adding quietly, “Unless we’re around my men, or I’m… busy.”
Her pulse raced as she nodded. She shifted slightly on his lap, curling a little closer against him, the warmth of his body radiating through her. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“I… I like it when you’re home,” she admitted, looking down at her hands. Chris’s smirk softened into something rarer. “Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to catch her gaze. She nodded. “Yeah.”
His hand brushed against hers, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. “You know I can’t be home a lot, baby,” he said, voice low. She looked up at him. “I know,” she said, voice gentle. “I… I understand. I know what your life is like. I just… I like it when you’re here. That’s all.”
He studied her for a long, quiet moment—long enough that she felt the weight of his gaze settle over her like a warm blanket. Then his thumb brushed her cheek, slow and deliberate.
“I’ll always come back to you at night, ok?” he murmured, voice low, almost solemn. Her breath caught. Something about the way he said it… It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t teasing. It was a promise. She nodded, barely. “Okay.”
He exhaled, pressing his forehead to hers for a beat. “But I need you to understand something.” His hands slid a little on her hips. “I can’t give you what a normal husband can.”
Her fingers curled lightly into his shoulders, like she was afraid to hold too tight. “I know—”
“I’m serious,” he interrupted gently. “My job. My life. The hours. The things I have to do. I won’t ever be that guy who’s home by five, or someone who can take you out every weekend, or—” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “Or the man who lives soft.”
She looked at him, really looked at him—the faint scars, the strong lines of his face, the tiredness he tried to hide, the strength he wore like armor.
“I never asked for that,” she whispered. He blinked, the tension in his shoulders easing the smallest amount. “Then what do you want, hm?” His tone softened.
Her lips parted. “You. Just… you.”
“Just me…” he repeated, the words like a prayer on his mouth, as he leaned forward. His lips brushed hers first, like he was giving her one last chance to pull back.
So he kissed her again, deeper this time.
A slow inhale left her, and the moment it did, Chris shifted—one hand sliding up her spine, the other tightening on her hip as if to keep her exactly where he wanted her. The kiss turned hot, then something that made her toes curl.
Her fingers gathered in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer without even thinking about it. He made a low sound in his chest. Approval. Hunger. He angled her head so he could kiss her deeper.
Before she could even respond, he kissed her again—slow but intense, the kind that left her barely remembering how breathing worked. His hand slid under the hem of her shirt, fingers splaying warm over her waist, drawing a quiet gasp from her.
He pulled back just enough to see her face, her flushed cheeks, her half-lidded eyes.
“There's no one like you, doll.”
And there it was again, that pooling heat in her stomach. Before she could catch it, a tiny sound slipped out of her—a soft, startled little moan.
His hands stilled on her hips, grip loosening. His expression shifted in a heartbeat—from hungry and warm to composed, controlled, almost blank. It was like watching a door slam shut behind his eyes.
The sudden lack of him made her entire body feel too light, too empty. She looked in his eyes and could see how it almost looked like he was bracing himself aswell. His jaw was clenched, his arms tense.
Stella blinked up at him, confused, her heart still pounding. She didn’t understand what she had done wrong. All she knew was that something inside her had reached for more—something she didn’t even recognize until it vanished.
“Stella.” His voice was steady again. Calm. Too calm. “We should stop.”
The word hit harder than it should’ve.
She nodded quickly, pretending she wasn’t disappointed, pretending she hadn’t wanted him to go further, to kiss her again, to do… whatever it was her body had been aching for without her permission.
She dropped her gaze to hide the rush of embarrassment warming her face. Chris let out a slow breath, steadying himself. “You okay?”
She nodded again. Even though the truth was no, she wasn’t. There was a hollow ache in her chest; she didn’t know how to explain. She didn’t understand why she suddenly wanted something she had never even let herself think about before.
Something she never wanted from Damian, but Damian always wanted from her. She couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually feel good if it were with Chris.
Chris shifted, pulling back just enough to give her space, his tone gentle but firm as he said, “Good.”
But she couldn’t help it.
She wished he hadn’t stopped.
She took a shaky breath, summoning the courage to speak. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Did… did I do something?" Chris’s head snapped toward her. “No,” he said, voice calm but clipped. “Why?”
She swallowed, heart racing, and bit her lip. “Then… why did you stop?” His jaw tightened, and for a long beat he didn’t answer. Finally, he muttered, “It’s… nothing, doll.”
Chris let out a long, heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. Without another word, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest.
He pressed his forehead to the top of her head, letting his lips brush against her hair. His voice dropped to a soft murmur.
“There’s just… some things I can’t take lightly with you, Stella,” he said, almost like he was confessing a secret. “I can’t be reckless with you.”
She tilted her head up slightly, blinking against the flush of her cheeks. “Ok,” she whispered. “Ok?” His voice lifted just a little, like he needed her to really understand. “Yeah,” she said, heart still racing.
She felt Chris’s arms tighten around her, and she could feel the faint rumble of his chest against hers. For a moment, the world shrank down to the two of them.
Chris’s thumb brushed slowly over her shoulder before he leaned back just enough to look at her. His eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but in that sharp, observant way he always did when he was trying to read her.
“Why were you so nervous earlier?” he asked, voice low. She blinked, confused. “About asking me to visit your dad.” He continued. Stella looked down quickly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “It’s nothing…”
“Stella.” The way he said her name made in such disapproving. Chris cupped her face in both hands, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“I hate liars,” he said quietly. Not threatening, just honest. “Try again.” She swallowed hard, cheeks warming. “I just… thought you’d say no. You’re usually not home. And it wasn’t important—”
“That’s not the reason,” he cut in gently but firmly. Her eyes darted away again, but his hands held her in place—not harsh, just steady. “Stella,” he murmured, softening just a fraction. “You know you can trust me, right?”
She hesitated. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, slow, grounding. “Everything between us,” he said, voice dropping even lower, “Stays between us. No one else hears it.”
Her heart clenched at that—at the seriousness in his tone, the way he looked at her like this wasn’t some small conversation to him.
“I… I know,” she whispered, breath shaky. “I guess I just didn’t want to bother you.” Chris scoffed under his breath, but it wasn’t mocking, more like he couldn’t believe she’d even think that.
“And why’d you think that, huh?” His gaze softened in a way she rarely saw. Her fingers fidgeted nervously in her lap, and she swallowed hard. “It’s just… Damian,” she admitted softly. “He… he never took me to see him or my mom. And if I even asked, he’d get angry. I just…”
Chris’s gaze darkened immediately. That protective edge sharpened in his eyes, and the faint flicker of anger made her heart skip.
Stella tried to act like Damian doesn't affect her anymore. These past months, she really tried to forget everything she endured with him. But she couldn't. The emotional and physical scars were too deep.
“I’m not Damian,” he said, voice low and tight, every word deliberate. “I don’t treat you like that. I don’t restrict you from doing things like that, doll.” Her lips curved into a small, tentative smile. “Thank you.”
Stella studied Chris’s gaze. It almost looked like he was plotting Damian's death. Chris leaned back slightly. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh.
“About Romano, actually...” he said, voice low but sharp. “…you wouldn’t happen to know anything about him I’d need to know, would you, baby?”
Stella froze for a moment, her mind flickering. She did… she did know something. Something small, seemingly unimportant, but she hesitated. Because what she knew could shift everything—change how he looked at her. If she were to tell him, she should have done so when they first met.
She shook her head, forcing a lightness into her voice. “No… I don’t.” Chris’s gaze lingered on her, nodding slowly. She could tell he believed her.
Her heart thumped too fast. She swallowed. “Is… is everything okay?” she asked softly, tilting her head. “You seem… tense.”
Chris exhaled slowly, letting his shoulders drop slightly. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his eyes didn’t lose that flicker of sharpness. “Just thinking. That’s all.”
She nodded, trying to believe him, though a part of her knew better. Something in his expression told her this wasn’t just ‘thinking.’ Instead, she leaned slightly into him, “If there’s… anything you need me to do, you can tell me,” she murmured.
“I’ll keep that in mind, doll.” Chris’s lips twitched in the smallest smirk, though his eyes stayed sharp. “No need to stress that pretty head of yours.”
Her cheeks flushed instantly. Chris leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. The soft contact made her stomach flutter until a sudden sharp noise made them both startle.
The door swung open, and a few of his men barreled in, steps loud against the hardwood floor. They froze the instant they saw the scene before them. Their boss on the couch, his wife sitting on top of him.
Chris, however, seemed almost unfazed. More annoyed than anything. His brow furrowed slightly, and without hesitation, he shifted his arms to cover Stella’s slightly exposed state, pulling her closer to him.
“The hell is it?” he barked, voice low and commanding, eyes sharp as knives. “I said today and tomorrow, we’re not moving.” One of the men stepped forward, voice tense but respectful. “Boss… It’s urgent. We need to move now.”
Chris’s jaw tightened. “I said today and tomorrow,” he repeated, slower this time, letting the weight of his tone make the point. “Nothing moves without me being ready.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances, clearly weighing whether to push further. The leader spoke again, voice firm but careful. “Boss, we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t serious. We need you on this now.”
Chris’s eyes flicked to Stella, reading her expression. She was half flustered, half disappointed. His jaw clenched. “Fine,” he said finally.
He adjusted his hold on her, ensuring she was fully covered, before speaking. “Tomorrow, I’ll see you at 10. Be ready,” he sighed, "Don't get into trouble, doll."
She nodded, and Chris immediately went back into his mob boss persona. It was like something in his mind switched. The teasing man from seconds ago is gone. His men nodded, uneasy but used to the boss’s temper, and began briefing him immediately.
Then once again, she was left with the quiet and the ghost of his touch.
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