Page 34 of Sworn to the Enemy

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 the weight 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.

I bury my face in her hair, breathing in her jasmine scent, and for now, I let myself feel it, this quiet, fragile thing we’ve made, knowing it’s a risk I might regret but can’t walk away from.

It’s a risk, a ledge I’m standing on, and though I know I might regret it, I can’t pull away, not yet.

Her warmth seeps into me, her heartbeat a steady pulse against my chest, and I linger in the stillness, the world beyond this room fading, leaving only us, this moment, this bond I’m not ready to face.

Fina lies against me, her body warm and soft.

She's quiet, except for her quick breaths, her head resting on my chest, her dark hair spilling across the sheets like a river of ink.

The room is equally hushed, the lamplight casting gentle shadows over her skin, and I hold her, my arm around her shoulders, my fingers brushing her arm in slow, absent circles.

Her breath steadies and I bask in the quiet rhythm that calms the storm inside me.

But I’m uneasy, too aware of how close we’ve become, how much of myself I’ve bared.

Here, with her, I’ve let slip a tenderness that feels like a crack in my armor.

She’s carrying my child, and that truth ties us together, but it also exposes me, makes me vulnerable, and I hate it, hate how it weakens me.

The silence wraps around us, heavy and intimate. I feel the weight of it, the way her body fits against mine, the way her heartbeat echoes in my chest. I want to pull away, to rebuild the walls I’ve let crumble, but her warmth holds me, a tether I’m not ready to break.

She shifts slightly, her breath catching, and I sense her stirring, the quiet moment stretching thin, like a thread about to snap. I keep my eyes on the ceiling, trying to anchor myself, but her presence is a tide, pulling me deeper into something I can’t control.

She lifts her head, slow and deliberate, her dark hair brushing my skin as she moves. Her green eyes find mine, curious, searching, and I feel my stomach knot, caught by the intensity of her gaze.

Her eyes linger, drifting upward, settling on the scar above my brow, the jagged mark I’ve carried for years.

I tense, my breath hitching, as her finger rises, hesitant, then traces the scar, her touch light, almost reverent, but it burns, stirring memories I’ve buried deep.

Her finger lingers, and I’m uncomfortable, exposed, my skin prickling under her scrutiny, a raw edge I don’t want her to see.

“Enzo,” she says, her voice low, softer than I’ve heard, a tone that’s too close, too intimate, like she’s reaching for something I’ve locked away. “How’d you get it?”

Her question is simple, a quiet probe, but it’s a blade, slicing into places I’ve sealed shut, scars that run deeper than flesh.

My body stiffens, my jaw clenching, and I feel the walls rising, cold and unyielding.

I don’t share my past, not with her, not with anyone.

She’s my wife, the mother of my unborn child, but that doesn’t give her the right to know me, to see the parts I’ve hidden.

I’ve already bared too much, and I hate it, this tenderness that’s crept in like a shadow.

I sit up, pulling away, my voice hard as I meet her gaze. “You being pregnant doesn’t mean you get to dig into my life, Fina.”

The words are sharp, a lash meant to push her back, to rebuild the distance I need.

Her eyes flicker with hurt, a quick, raw wound she tries to mask, but I see it, the way her lips press tight, the way her hand falls to the sheet, clutching it to her chest. Her pride is a shield, but I know her, see the pain in the stiff set of her shoulders, the way she looks away, her silence louder than any retort.

The hurt I’ve caused twists in my chest, a dull ache I don’t want to feel, but I don’t apologize. I can’t. Vulnerability is a weakness, and I’ve already given more than I should.

She sits up now, her movements slow and deliberate as she pulls the sheet higher, her eyes fixed on some point beyond me, and I hate it, hate how her silence makes me feel like I’ve failed her.

The air between us is thick, heavy with things we won’t say, and I’m trapped in it, caught between wanting to reach for her and needing to push her away.

I’m not the man who bends, who softens, but Fina causes me to question my existence, the very essence of my being. I open my mouth, ready to say something cold, to seal the distance, but my cellphone vibrates on the nightstand, a sharp buzz that cuts through the tension.

I grab it, seeing Matteo’s name, and answer, my voice clipped. “What?” His voice crackles through. It's urgent, rough. “Enzo, we’ve got trouble. Need you now.”

I glance at Fina, her eyes still turned away, her silence a weight I carry.

“Stay here,” I say, my voice flat, and she doesn’t respond, just grips the sheet tighter, her pride holding her together.

I know the damage I've done. She's silent, not saying anything, not whipping out a sharp retort from her armory of unending words.

I stand, the call a lifeline, pulling me from this mess of feelings I can’t face. I dress quickly, my movements sharp, my mind shifting to whatever crisis waits, but her presence lingers like a pull I can’t ignore.

I move to the door, my hand gripping the knob, and pause, glancing back.

Fina’s watching me now, her green eyes sharp but raw, brimming with a pain I put there, a hurt that cuts deeper than I meant.

Guilt surges, a heavy, gnawing thing in my chest, but I force it down, burying it where it can’t touch me.

I step out, the door clicking shut, and head down the hall, Matteo’s call pulling me forward, urgent, demanding.

Her pain trails me, a weight I can’t shake, heavy as the silence she left behind. Those eyes, fierce even in their hurt, burn in my mind, a mark I’ve etched with my own words. I know it’ll cost me, this moment where I turned away when she reached for me.