Page 25

“At some point, I forgot that you were a mafia boss. There is nothing kind or soft about you. You have jagged edges, and I cannot expect you to somehow find softness overnight.”

“For you, I would have.” The words slip past my lips on their own accord. But it doesn’t make them any less true. For her, I would find the gentleness within myself.

“I never wanted it gentle. I wanted you to give me everything you had—and you did.”

No, I didn’t.

I hadn’t even scratched the surface of what I was capable of with her. If I am to give her all of me, she would likely break apart. She isn’t ready—not yet. But part of me thinks she never will be.

The silence is thick, pulsing with something dark and electric. A slow-burning current that hums between us, drawing me in, making it impossible to pull away.

She feels it too.

Her pupils blow wide, her breathing turns shallow, and her lips part just slightly—like she’s already bracing for what she knows is coming.

Then, her voice cuts through the air—soft, but firm enough to own me.

“Kiss me, Matteo.”

Not a plea.

A command.

I exhale slowly, but it does nothing to calm the raging storm inside me.

“If you want to show me you’re sorry—kiss me.”

My jaw clenches, every muscle in my body locking into place, fighting the inevitability of this. Of her.

This is a trap. A trap I should avoid. She wanted me to claim her last night, but unlike then, my resolve is weaker now—shattered. Guilt gnaws at me, but something stronger, darker, hungrier pushes me forward. Unlike last night—I can’t walk away.

I move around the island, each step slower than the last, each one feels like surrender, spelling my own downfall.

By the time I stop in front of her, she’s already breathless, her hands gripping the white marble edge like she needs something to anchor her.

She tilts her chin up, eyes burning into mine, daring me to make the first move.

She blinks up at me through her lashes, those perfect pink lips parting, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

I snap.

In one swift motion, I grab her hips and yank her against me—hard enough that a gasp rips from her lips. Her hands press flat against my chest, warmth bleeding through my shirt, sinking straight into my skin, my blood, my soul.

“Maria Davacalli.” The name rolls off my tongue like it was always meant to be there. The way she shivers at the sound of it sends something wild, uncontrollable, fucking primal through me.

“You think this is a game?” My voice is rough, thick with something dangerous.

Her breath is unsteady when she speaks. “No, Matteo. I think this is fate.”

I curse under my breath, my hand trailing up her spine, fisting into the silk of her nightgown.

Her eyes dart from mine to my lips and then back up again. Her actions send a wave of pleasure up and down my spine.

She leans in, her lips barely brushing mine. “Take what’s already yours.”

Fuck.

And then I do.

My fingers flex against her waist, my restraint snapping thread by thread.

And then her lips crash into mine.

Fire. Destruction. Something unstoppable.

The moment we collide, it’s a detonation. A desperate, all-consuming clash of mouths, of bodies, of everything we’ve been holding back for far too long.

She melts into me on instinct, like she was made for this, made for me, her body curving into mine, fitting against me like there was a space carved just for her.

I growl against her mouth, feeling the way her body molds into mine. My grip tightening on her waist, my fingers fisting the silk of her nightgown, pulling her even closer, deeper, like I could swallow her whole.

She gasps, but I devour the sound, tilting her head back, kissing her harder, deeper, bruising. Her nails dig into my chest, and instead of stopping, it fuels me.

She shivers, but she doesn’t pull away.

No.

If anything—she presses closer.

Her arms wind around my neck, her body arches into mine, desperate, pleading, demanding more. Her tongue flicks against mine, teasing, and I growl, taking control, taking everything, losing myself in her the way I swore I never would again.

Because this is war.

And neither of us are surrendering.

I curse under my breath, my hand sliding up her spine, feeling every delicate dip, every subtle tremble beneath my touch. She’s intoxicating—so damn intoxicating that I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

Maria fists my shirt, her nails scraping lightly against my skin through the fabric, and it ignites something primal inside of me. I spin us around, pressing her back against the edge of the counter, caging her in.

She looks up at me through heavy lashes, lips swollen from my kiss, breath coming in short, uneven pants. “Matteo…”

My name on her lips sends a dangerous thrill through my chest. The way this woman affects me is unreal. She unhinges my normal restraint.

She’s mine.

And God help me, I want to remind her of that in every way possible.

I lower my head, letting my lips graze the side of her throat. She tilts her head instinctively, granting me more access, and I take it—pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below her ear. Her hands thread through my hair and they pull at the soft strands.

I feel all the blood rush down my cock. It strains against my pants, begging to be let loose into her. The need for her is raw, untamed, and out of control.

I nip at the sensitive spot beneath her jaw. “Tell me to stop.”

Silence.

“I don’t want you to.”

I groan, dragging my teeth over the pulse in her neck before kissing the spot as if in apology. My hands travel lower, gripping the backs of her thighs. In one swift motion, I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs.

Maria gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself. “You’re insufferable,” she mutters, but her fingers slide up, threading into my hair.

I smirk against her skin. “And yet, here you are, letting me touch you.”

She huffs, but there’s no real bite to it. Instead, she tugs on my hair—hard. I growl, capturing her lips again, kissing her deeper, slower, drawing out every ounce of tension that has been simmering between us since the moment we met. And it has been there, even though I did my best to deny it.

There has always been something about her that drew me in. Like a siren call that draws sailors into her treacherous waters.

Her hands slip beneath my shirt, dragging across my bare skin. I feel the hesitation in her touch, the way her fingers linger like she’s memorizing me. And damn it, I let her. Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m memorizing her too.

Every soft sigh, every small shudder. Every single piece of her. I want to know every inch of her.

I pull back slightly, ripping my lips from hers. My lips are bruised and tingling from her touch. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to catch my breath.

“We should stop.”

Her brows furrow, her expression shifting from lust to frustration.

“You’re kidding, right? Don’t do this to me again, Matteo.

Not when you kissed me like you want to fuck me.

I don’t want to go through this back-and-forth with you again.

Either you take me here and now or we move past this for good. ”

The anger that glazes over her tone is warranted. But it still catches me off guard slightly.

I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. “I can’t—I won’t let you get attached to me, Maria. I don’t want you to confuse what this is.”

She levels me with her stare. “Unless you are a little confused, I will tell you. This, what is going to happen between the two of us, is a normal action that occurs between husband and wife. If I’m stuck in this marriage with you, Matteo, then you’re either going to fuck me—or let me find someone who will. ”

Her words flare something dark and dangerous within me. I grab her thigh with one hand, grip her chin, and tilt her face up to meet my gaze. “You would let another man have you?”

She sucks in a breath, but her voice doesn’t waver. “The man I want won’t take me.”

My grip on her tightens. Fucking hell.

She tilts her head back, her lips inches from mine, her breath warm and unsteady. “So tell me, Matteo—should I give myself to someone else?”

The words ignite something dark inside me. My restraint—already threadbare at best—tears apart completely.

I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me again. My voice is low, guttural. “You think I’d fucking let that happen?”

Her lips part, and I don’t miss the way her pulse flutters at her throat, the way her body trembles against mine—not with fear, but with anticipation.

“Then do something about it,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.

Her words slam into me, knocking the breath from my chest, slicing through me like a blade.

The image of another man touching her—his hands where mine should be, his mouth claiming what’s already mine—it’s a sickness, a madness I can’t control.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t need her this much.

The thought of her belonging to someone else?

It makes me homicidal.

Maria isn’t a possession. She isn’t mine to keep. But fuck if I’ll let another man have her.

And that’s when I snap.

My restraint shatters, splintering like glass, torn apart by something dark and primal. A slow exhale escapes me—a warning, a surrender, a fucking admission of defeat.

I crash my lips onto hers, hard, punishing, possessive—devouring her like a man starved, like I need to erase the very idea of anyone else touching her.

Because tonight, she’s not just my wife.

She’s mine.