Page 11

11

Alessio

Isadora moans as I slip inside her, holding her close as she adjusts to the fit. She’s hot and tight and better than I could have imagined.

“How long have you wanted this?”

Her question breaks through the hunger thundering through my veins. “Since the club. That first night.”

“Me, too.”

I brush my lips against hers. “I’m sorry if I was rough that night.”

She kisses me back. “Don’t be.”

Our mouths fuse again, her fingers digging into the muscles of my shoulders as I begin to move. We find a rhythm that echoes the one we used in the club, but it’s slower and deeper. Instead of taking her, I’m showing her how much I want her, showing her what I’ve done without her, and what I could do if only I had a chance.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of you,” I whisper against her throat, leaving small kisses along her pulse point. “Of seeing your eyes, touching you like this.”

She rakes her nails across my upper arms, her breasts pressing into my chest.

“Ever since that night, I haven’t been able to forget.” I grit my teeth, loving the feel of her muscles fluttering around my cock. “Every night, I’ve been coming to the thought of you. It isn’t fair.”

She nips at my bottom lip, her eyes full of mischief. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you, life isn’t fair?”

I thrust harder, burying my cock balls deep and drawing a soft cry from her. My hands gravitate to her ass, tilting her pelvis so I can get even deeper. “Tell me what you want. What do you need, principessa?”

There’s vulnerability in her emerald eyes. She doesn’t realize that I’d cut off my arm if only she would ask.

“Tell me.”

She sighs, leaning into me. “Make me forget.”

Hearing her say those words hurts almost as much as it satisfies. I’d do anything to shield her from the life she’s been born to. Anything. If only we could walk away, just the two of us, and leave the world to take care of itself.

“Make me forget,” she says again.

So, I show her what forgetting can mean.

My cock is filling every inch of her, stroking places that have never felt pleasure before. My lips capture her cries of ecstasy as she falls over the edge. Her silky walls squeeze my cock like a vise, begging me to join her. But I hold back. This isn’t about release, not yet.

Before her climax is over, I pull out of her and lean my back against the headboard. I spread my legs, helping her ease herself onto me in reverse cowgirl style.

Isadora glances over her shoulder at me. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were doing this on purpose.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” I purr, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I have a weakness for cowboys,” she tells me. “Not sure if I’m much of a cowgirl, though. Hope you can coach me.”

It takes a split second for what she’s saying to sink in, and then I’m laughing. Not my usual dead, short-lived laughter, but real, genuinely amused laughter. What had I ever done to deserve this woman?

“Cowboys, eh?” I prompt, reaching around to squeeze her tits. “Never took you for the type. There is a lot about you that could surprise me?”

“Ah, yes,” she groans. “If that’s how you’re going to touch me.”

“Oh, that’s not even the half of it.”

Her body is braced against mine. She’s sitting in my lap, legs stretched wide around me, her beautiful pussy spread and ready for my taking. Her ass squeezes the base of my cock, stimulating me without mercy.

“I can’t wait to taste you again,” I growl.

Isadora shivers in response. “Does the idea excite you?”

“What do you think?” I ask, dragging her right hand between her legs. Her fingers begin tracing small circles around her clit.

“You... really... love that?” She’s panting hard, her ass bouncing up and down as she glides along my shaft.

“Yeah.” I nuzzle her hair, breath heavy. “I also love when you fill that naughty little mouth with my dick. I love the way you kiss me, sucking on my tongue when I first slide inside you.”

I’m sliding her up and down my throbbing rod, her back arched and breasts pointed toward the ceiling.

“I love all the ways you’ve let me touch you,” I continue, kissing her neck. “I’ll give you whatever you need, principessa. All you have to do is ask.”

My dick swells and tingles race up and down my thighs.

“I’m going to cum soon,” I admit.

She goes off right after me, shattering like a broken mirror, and letting out a stream of incoherent words.

“Faster, faster,” she gasps. “Pump my cunt.”

I press her hand into the bed, giving her leverage, and get both legs underneath her to push her off and onto my rock-hard member. Soon, her orgasms aren’t spurts but a continuous hum—a soprano singer hitting the highest note possible.

Isadora lifts her ass high and gets my cock real deep, really deep inside her. She arches her back and lowers herself again, squeezing every inch of my throbbing meat.

When her hips jerk forward, her body shakes.

“Oh... oh... fuck!” Isadora screeches.

Even though she’s gone, she continues rocking her hips forward and back, swirling my tip against her G spot, urging the orgasm to continue.

We break at the same time, grunting, moaning, growling, her face twisted into an expression so erotic it should’ve made her blush. When her spasms subside, we breathe as if we’ve run a marathon, enjoying the pleasure-drenched calm that follows.

I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her in place.

“Did you like that?”

“Very much.”

I search for any hint of hesitation or regret in her gaze, but all I find is warmth.

“I know what Maria wants me to do,” she says, the intensity in her eyes matched by the firm set of her jaw.

She knows the consequences of her choice. The lives it could endanger—perhaps even her own. Yet determination outweighs any fear, in this moment, at least.

“If we cross this line,” I warn, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, “there’s no going back. A De Angelis betrothal to a Calvino, if broken, can destroy two decades of unwritten peace between the families.”

“I’m tired of playing the pawn in someone else’s game,” she answers, reaching out to trace a finger along the ridge of muscle separating my neck and shoulder. “No more letting my future be chosen for me.”

“That’s a dangerous path.” I kiss her temple, reveling in the small shiver that follows. “Powerful men don’t make good enemies.”

She leans into me, her warmth pressing against me in ways I want to memorize. “The question is, which men?”

My pulse kicks with a combination of lust and alarm. Vengeance and something more. Desire that has nothing to do with alliances or business agreements.

She searches my eyes, knowing there’s no guarantee with the plan she’s proposing. And for the first time in my life, I find myself wanting to believe—believing that not all losses are inevitable, that maybe, against all odds, this gamble can pay off.

I shift her from my lap onto the mattress, my blood racing with equal measures of desire and unease. Can I truly do this? Cross the lines so thoroughly it will unleash an avalanche I have no hope of controlling?

But what if doing so offers something truly new? Something brighter than the dark certainties I’ve allowed myself to believe?

“I’ll help you,” she says again as if wanting to make sure I understand. “With Giancarlo.”

“You understand what that means?” I ask, needing to be sure she knows the danger she’d be putting herself in.

“It means betraying my father’s alliance. It means risking everything.” She props herself up on one elbow to look at me properly. “It also means stopping a monster who murdered his own wife and tried to kill his child.”

“The risks—”

“Are mine to take,” she interrupts. “I’ve spent my entire life being a pawn in other people’s games, Stefano. A bargaining chip. An asset.” She traces the line of my jaw with her fingertips. “This is my choice.”

My chest warms up. Perhaps with hope, or the dawning realization that I’m no longer alone in my mission.

“What changed your mind?” I ask. I have to—no, I need to know.

“Maria,” she answers honestly. “Seeing how much she sacrificed to save you. The life she built for you here.” She gestures to my modest childhood room. “And you—the boy who became a ghost to survive, the man who never forgot who he really was.”

I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead that feels more intimate than our lovemaking. “Six days until the wedding,” I murmur against her skin.

“Six days until Giancarlo Calvino discovers that his past has come back to haunt him,” she corrects me.

My smile against her temple feels like a victory already. “Luca will never forgive you.”

“I never wanted Luca,” she says simply. “I never wanted any of it.”

“And now? What do you want now?”

The question hangs between us, weighted with possibilities neither of us dared consider before this morning. I think of Maria’s words at the nursing home—her hope that I might find something beyond vengeance. Could this be it? Could Isadora be the future I never hoped to dream of?

“Justice,” she answers, meeting my gaze steadily. “And afterward... afterward, I want the chance to discover who I am when I’m not being what everyone else demands.”

I gently touch her face, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “What about who we might be?”

The question makes her breath hitch, as does mine. The possibility of an “us” beyond this revenge plot, beyond the tangled web of family loyalties and blood debts, is a dangerous thought.

“One step at a time,” she says, pressing a kiss to my palm. “First, we take down Giancarlo Calvino. Then we figure out what comes after.”

I nod, understanding the caution in her words. We’ve both lived our lives caged by others’ expectations. Freedom—if we can grasp it—will take time to figure out.

“We should go,” I say reluctantly, glancing at my watch. “Rodriguez takes over your security at nine.”

I force the reality to stay at bay even though it insists on crashing back with a powerful realization of just how precarious our position is. How many lines we’ve crossed in the span of a few hours.

As we dress in silence, I feel her studying me—her eyes taking in the way I move, and probably marking even the set of my shoulders. She’s more observant than anyone gives her credit for. I wonder if she sees Stefano Calvino beneath the Alessio Gravano, feared enforcer, who still exists in every controlled gesture. Can she see the man with a soul deeper than his vengeance?

The boy who survived. The man who remembered.

All I can hope is that she sees someone who’ll fight like hell to, against all odds, be her salvation rather than her destruction. That’s what I want. That’s what she deserves.

“Ready?” I ask, extending my hand once we’re both dressed.

She places her palm in mine, our fingers intertwining with newfound certainty. “Ready.”

Six days until a wedding that will never happen. Six days to bring down an empire. Six days to rewrite our futures.

And for the first time since I can remember, I’m not worried about what comes next.