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I cross my arms, my voice sharp to mask the unease curling inside me. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, stepping back, needing distance from the way his gaze burns into me. “I don’t expect you to change your life because of this. You don’t have to play the dedicated father.”
The words spill out, bitter, a defense against the fear that he’ll see this child as a burden, a complication in our already fractured marriage. I’m Serafina Rossi, I don’t beg for anyone’s loyalty, not even his. But his eyes darken, his jaw tightening, and he steps closer, closing the gap I tried to keep.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, but there’s a fierceness in it that stops me cold. “You think I’d walk away? I might be a lot of things, Fina, but a deadbeat to my child isn’t one of them.” His words hit like a fist, solid, unwavering, and I freeze, my breath catching. “I’ll be a hundred percent involved. Every step of the way. This baby is mine, and I don’t run from what’s mine.” His gaze holds mine, steady, unapologetic, and I see it—the truth in his eyes, the promise he’s making, not just to our child, but to me.
He's not denying it. He's not accusing me of trying to use this child as a means to get to him. He's simply just accepting it. I'm stunned. It's more than I'd hoped.
I gape at him as my heart beats a staccato burst of rhythm in my chest. The room suddenly feels too small, too warm. He’s so close, his scent—leather, smoke, him—wrapping around me, pulling me in. I’ve fought him at every turn, built walls to keep him out, but right now, those walls are crumbling.
Being near him does something to me, something I can’t name, something that makes my blood sing and my pride falter. I see him—the man who’s my enemy, my husband, the father of my child—and I can’t stop myself. I step forward, my hands reaching for his face, and I kiss him.
It’s not the wild, angry clash of our past. This kiss is tender, soft, a quiet surrender that scares me more than any fight. His lips are warm, yielding under mine, and for a moment, the world falls away—the manor, the pregnancy, the war between us. It’s just him, just me, and this fragile thing we’re building.
My hands slide to his jaw, feeling the stubble, the strength beneath, and I pour everything into this kiss, all the fear, the want, the hope I’m too proud to voice. He doesn’t pull away, his hands finding my waist, gentle, like he’s afraid I’ll break.
But I’m not breaking.
I’m Serafina Rossi, and right now, I’m choosing this, choosing him, if only for this moment.
21
Enzo
Fina’s lips are warm and soft as they meet mine, a kind of spark that catches me off guard. It ignites something deep in my chest. Her kiss is gentle, a rare offering from a woman who’s all fire and steel, and it stirs something raw, a hunger I’ve tried so hard to bury. I'm not this man who comes apart from a woman's touch, but Fina's touch cracks me open, and I can’t hold back.
I take over, my hands cradling her face, my mouth pressing harder, a rough edge to my need. But I’m careful, mindful of the life she carries—our child. The truth of her pregnancy thrums in my veins, warms my blood. It urges me to be tender—a softness that feels alien, almost wrong, yet it’s all I want in this moment. Her breath catches, a small, fierce sound that sends heat curling through me, and I deepen the kiss, tasting her strength, her surrender to everything.
I pull away, just enough to see her face in the soft glow of her bedroom, the lamplight casting a warm sheen across her skin. Her green eyes are wide, unguarded, a vulnerability that makes my chest tighten. It's a raw ache I can’t name.
She’s beautiful, fierce, mine, and the sight of her steals my breath. My fingers trace her jaw wondrously, sliding down her throat, feeling the pulse that beats strong beneath her skin. She leans into me, her hands fisting my shirt, pulling me closer.
“Fina,” I murmur, my voice scraped raw with need. It's a sound that feels torn from somewhere deep. She doesn’t speak, as if understanding just how much I want her in the very moment. She just nods, her lips parted, and it’s enough to unravel me. I kiss her again, slowly, savoring the warmth of her mouth, the way she yields without breaking, a dance of fire and trust.
My hands find the edge of her dress, and I lift it. My touch is deliberate, careful, as if she might shatter, though I know she won’t. The fabric slides over her hips, her thighs, falling to the floor, and she stands bare, her skin glowing in the lamplight, smooth and unmarred. There's no sign yet of the child she carries. She’s only a few weeks pregnant, too early for her body to show, but the knowledge of our baby—a secret alive in her—hits me like a fist, fierce and unshakable.
I pause, my breath hitching, a tide of awe surging through me, raw and overwhelming. She’s carrying my blood, my future, and it shifts something inside. It awakens something deep, a need to shield her, to hold her close, that I didn’t know I could feel.
I guide her to the bed, my hands steady, easing her onto the sheets. My eyes are locked on hers. She watches me, her gaze sharp but open, a trust that humbles me. It's a weight I don’t deserve but crave.
I shed my clothes, my movements quick, purposeful, and join her on the bed. My body hovers over hers, careful not to press too hard, too aware of the life between us. I kiss her throat, my lips rough, scraping her skin. I soften the edge, brushing her collarbone, her shoulder, with a tenderness that surprises me. Her hands roam my back, fingers digging into my muscles, and I groan, a low, unguarded sound that betrays me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I say, my voice thick, almost a plea, and she shakes her head, her grip tightening.
Fina’s whisper cuts through the quiet. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice fierce, Serafina Rossi in every syllable, commanding and sure. I move lower, my mouth tracing the swell of her chest, the soft rise of her belly, and she arches into me, her warmth a beacon I follow. I move lower, my mouth brushing her skin delicately, tasting the warmth of her, and she sighs, a sound that’s both fierce and fragile, pulling me deeper into her orbit.
I shift, my hands bracing beside her on the bed, my body hovering, careful not to overwhelm. My eyes lock on her glazed ones, so green, so fierce even in this quiet moment, and I enter her slowly, a measured thrust that’s rough with my need but tempered by care. My body craves her, a primal urge that surges, raw and wild, but I fight it, each movement deep, intentional, a silent vow I can’t put into words.
Her gasp fills the room, soft yet urgent, and it’s a sound that hooks me, pulling me closer, making my chest ache with something I don’t dare name. I lean down, my lips finding hers, kissing her hard, swallowing her sounds, my heart pounding like a war drum against my ribs.
This isn’t like before, not the wild, consuming clashes of our past, where we tore into each other like enemies fighting for dominance. This is different, a dance that’s both rough and tender, a connection that carries a weight I’m not ready to face.
I move with her, finding a rhythm, her skin warm and soft under my hands, her breath a melody that weaves through the air, grounding me. Her hands slide down my back, nails grazing my skin, and I groan, a low, raw sound that betrays how much she undoes me. I whisper her name, a rough plea that slips out, unguarded, and it feels like a confession, a truth I can’t take back.
Her body responds, tightening around me, and I feel the tension building, a wave that’s both fierce and gentle. Her gasps grow sharper, her fingers clutching me, and I watch her, her face flushed, her eyes half-closed but still locked on mine. She’s beautiful, fierce, mine, and the sight pushes me closer to the edge.
I kiss her again, softer this time, my lips lingering, and she cries out, her release a shudder that pulls me with her. The wave crashes over me, leaving me trembling, my body heavy with theweight of it. I collapse beside her, pulling her close, her warmth pressed against me, her heartbeat a steady pulse against my chest.
I hold her, my arm around her, and I’m shaken, caught off guard by this tenderness, this depth of feeling I won’t name. It’s not just the act, not just the fire between us—it’s her, Fina, the woman who’s my wife, my enemy, the mother of my child. This moment binds us in ways I can’t untangle, and it scares me, the way it lays me bare.