Page 35

LUCA

H er body trembles beneath me, her breathing ragged, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. I’m still buried deep inside her, my chest pressed to her back, the aftershocks of her orgasm rippling through us both. But then she shifts, her hips rolling against me, and I realize she’s not done.

She turns in my arms, her eyes blazing with need, and pushes me back onto the bed.

Before I can say a word, she’s climbing on top of me, straddling my hips, her fingers braced against my chest as her heat presses against the tip of my cock.

My breath catches, my hands instinctively finding her thighs, gripping the soft, supple flesh as she looks down at me with wild determination.

“You’re insatiable,” I rasp, my voice rough, but I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips.

Her answer is a roll of her hips as she sinks down onto me, taking me in one slow, torturous motion.

I groan, my head falling back against the pillows as her tight heat envelops me.

She pauses at the base, her body adjusting, and the sight of her like this—flushed, desperate, in complete control—threatens to undo me.

“Valentina,” I growl, my fingers digging into her hips as she begins to move.

Her pace starts slow, deliberate, her nails raking down my chest as she rises and falls, every movement dragging me deeper, tighter. She’s relentless, her hips rolling, grinding, and every time she moves, her body clenches around me in a way that drives me closer to the edge.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” I groan, my hands sliding up to her waist, steadying her as she picks up the pace.

Her moans fill the room, soft at first but growing louder with every thrust. She tosses her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and the way her body arches is nothing short of divine.

“You like that?” she breathes, her voice shaking but laced with teasing defiance. “You like it when I take you like this?”

“I love it,” I rasp, bucking my hips upward to meet her movements. She gasps, her nails digging into my skin, and I know I’ve hit the spot that drives her crazy.

I thrust up harder, faster, matching her frantic rhythm, and the sound of our bodies colliding fills the room. Her moans grow desperate, her movements more erratic, and I can feel her tightening around me, her body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you?” I say, my voice rough, dark. “I can feel it. You’re so close.”

“Yes,” she cries, her hands bracing against my chest as her hips slam down harder. “Yes, Luca. Don’t stop.”

“I’ll never stop,” I growl, gripping her hips tightly, guiding her movements as I thrust up into her, pushing us both to the edge. “Come for me, Valentina. Show me who owns this perfect fucking body.”

Her cry is raw, broken, as she shatters above me. Her body clamps down around me, milking me, and I can’t hold back any longer. My release hits me like a freight train, hot and powerful, spilling into her as I groan her name, my body shaking with the force of it.

But as her cries fade, they shift, turning softer, broken in a way that makes me freeze. My eyes snap open to see her trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks as she collapses against my chest, her body still shaking.

“Valentina,” I say softly, sitting up slightly to wrap my arms around her. She buries her face in my neck, her tears hot against my skin as her shoulders heave with quiet sobs. “Hey, hey…I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I’m scared,” she whispers, her voice choked. “Of everything. Of loving you. Of this .”

I hold her tighter, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling the back of her head. “It’s okay,” I murmur, my lips pressing against her temple. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Her sobs tear through the room like shrapnel, each one embedding itself somewhere I didn’t think could hurt anymore. Her head is buried against my chest, her fingers clutching my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from unraveling entirely.

“Valentina,” I murmur, my voice low, careful, like I might scare her off if I say the wrong thing.

The absurdity of that—that I could scare her —claws at me.

My hand moves down her back in slow, deliberate strokes, each motion saying what I can’t seem to articulate: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

She pulls away, just enough for me to see her face. Red-rimmed eyes, cheeks blotched, lips trembling. Her tears glisten in the dim light, and it guts me, because this woman—this fierce, unyielding woman—doesn’t cry without reason.

“This isn’t fair, Luca,” she whispers, her voice jagged with pain. “It’s not fair to me, to Leo, to?—”

“To you?” I interrupt, the words harsher than I intend, but the frustration is boiling over. “Do you think this is fair for me, Valentina? That I’ve spent every goddamn day trying to build something for you, for our son, only for you to keep running from me?”

Her eyes narrow, a flash of defiance cutting through the sorrow. That’s my Valentina. Always ready to fight me, even when she’s breaking.

“I ran because I had to,” she fires back. “Because you don’t listen. You think power solves everything, that you can just control every situation?—”

“That’s because power is the only thing that’s ever worked!” I snap, standing abruptly. Her absence has been a wound I’ve been carrying for years, and now, with her here, ripping it open again, it’s too much.

She flinches, but only slightly. Her gaze doesn’t waver, and that’s how I know this fight is different. She’s not just angry—she’s devastated.

I turn away, pacing to the window, needing the space to gather myself. The night presses against the glass, cold and indifferent, while my chest feels like it’s about to collapse in on itself.

She doesn’t say anything, just sits there, quiet but unyielding. The silence between us is deafening, but I force myself to break it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, surprising even myself, especially since I actually mean it. I turn back to her, and she’s watching me, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know how to do this, Valentina. I don’t know how to be what you need me to be.”

Her shoulders sag, and the fight drains out of her. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Luca. I just need you to try. For me, for Leo…for yourself.”

For the first time, the weight of what she’s asking hits me. She’s not asking for control or dominance or any of the things I’ve spent my life perfecting. She’s asking for vulnerability, for honesty.

I go to the desk, pulling out the envelope I’d been holding onto for days. When I hand it to her, her brow furrows.

“What is this?” she asks, her voice wary.

“Plane tickets,” I say simply. “Two of them. One for you, one for Leo. The flight is tomorrow evening.”

Her head jerks up, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re…inviting us to come back?”

“If that’s what you want,” I say, each word cutting into me like glass. “I won’t force you, Valentina. I can’t keep doing this—missing you, hoping you’ll stay. It’s your choice. But there’s one thing I need.”

Her lips part, like she’s going to argue, but she doesn’t. She just waits.

“I need you to let me see him,” I continue, my voice soft but firm. “Our son. And I want to contribute to his life. His education, his future—whatever he needs.”

She nods slowly, tears spilling over again. “Okay,” she whispers.

I reach out, brushing the tears from her cheek. She leans into my touch, just for a moment, and it’s enough to shatter what little resolve I have left.

“I love you,” I say, the words quieter this time, almost to myself.

She stands, clutching the envelope, and turns to leave.

Look back, my heart shouts soundlessly. If only once, so I can see your face, your eyes, your mouth one last time. Turn around, Goddammit.

She opens the door.

Please.

Her head angles to the side, and her eyes wash over me. My heart all but stops.

Then, she’s gone.

The hours remain suspended in complete agony as I prepare to return without my wife and son.

The next afternoon rolls in, and I head to the airport in a state of disarray.

What does it matter what people think, if the one person I would lay this life down for will not accompany me? Will not grow old with me?

Voices echo in the vast terminal, footsteps pounding against polished floors, but all I hear is the relentless thrum of my own heartbeat. It’s a mocking rhythm, loud in my ears, as if reminding me of how close I am to losing everything.

The ticket agent hands me my boarding pass. I clutch it tightly, the edges bending under the pressure of my grip. My mind races. I’ve faced death more times than I can count, but this? Standing here, waiting for a plane to take me away from my son, from her—it’s unbearable.

I sit in the hard plastic chair near the gate, my boarding pass folded neatly in my hand, the edges wearing thin from my restless fingers. Around me, life hums along—families chatting, business travelers barking orders into their phones, a toddler screaming bloody murder two rows over.

I hear none of it.

All I can focus on is the weight of the silence she left behind.

I glance at the digital clock above the gate. Fifteen minutes until boarding. My stomach knots tighter.

I thought giving her the choice would bring some peace.

That I could find solace in doing the right thing for once.

But all it’s done is crack something open inside me.

I can’t stop picturing her face when she left the hotel last night.

The way her eyes glistened with unshed tears, how her hand lingered on the doorknob before she walked out.

I rub a hand over my jaw, the stubble scraping against my palm. Days of sleepless nights are catching up to me, but I don’t care.

I close my eyes, leaning back against the unforgiving chair, and let the memories come.

Her laughter, bright and defiant, the first time she challenged me.

The softness of her voice when she told me she was pregnant.