Page 23 of The Assassin’s Captive (The Roma Syndicate #5)

LORENZO

I pull Serena through the doorway of my bedroom, her fingers still tangled in my shirt.

The kiss on the terrace left us both breathless, and now the air between us crackles with heat that refuses to be contained.

She looks up at me with those dark eyes, defiant even in her lust, and I know there's no turning back from this.

The moonlight bathes her skin in silver as I draw her closer. Her breath catches when I trace the line of her jaw, and she arches into my touch, her body speaking a language her mind still won't admit.

I grab her wrist and press her hand flat to my chest. “Feel that?” I ask, voice low.

“That’s what you do to me.” My heart is hammering away at my ribs as if eager to escape.

It's a rush of adrenaline knowing Serena isn't backing down from the path we both know is ahead of her, and she wants me along for the ride.

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Her gaze flicks down, then back up—hungry, unafraid.

I step into her, crowding her against the closed door behind her.

Her fingers curl against my sternum, then fist in the fabric of my shirt.

She tugs at it roughly, and I strip it over my head and toss it aside.

“Is this what you’ve been thinking about?” she murmurs. “When you watch me sleep?”

I grab a fistful of her hair and tilt her face up to mine. “Every night.”

Her mouth crashes into mine, demanding attention from me.

I kiss her hard, gripping her hips, feeling the tension coiled under her skin.

My fingers find the edge of her T-shirt, and I lift it slowly, dragging it over her ribs, baring her inch by inch.

She raises her arms, lets me pull it free, breasts bare, nipples tight from the chill.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her leggings and yank them down, dragging her underwear with them. She steps out, breath ragged, legs bare and trembling and I bend and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking until she cries out, her hands buried in my hair.

She whimpers when I suck harder, so I do it again—slow, deep pulls with my mouth until her fingers twist in my hair like she’s trying to anchor herself.

I switch to the other breast, biting the peak just enough to make her gasp.

Her hips grind against my thigh, slick and desperate, and I grip her ass with both hands to lift her.

“Put your legs around me,” I order.

She obeys instantly, wrapping herself around my waist. I carry her to the dresser and set her down hard on the edge, knocking over a tray of cufflinks and keys. She spreads for me without being told, knees wide, dripping onto the wood.

“You think this is what I’ve been imagining?” I say, dragging my knuckles down the inside of her thigh. “No. I’ve been dreaming about fucking you on the floor, the table, the goddamn stairs. Everywhere I’ve had to watch you walk away.”

She drags her nails down my chest. “Then stop dreaming.”

I tear open my fly, shove everything down, and step out of my slacks and Serena pulls at my hips, urging me closer to her.

She yanks at my hips, nails digging into my skin, and I let her pull me in. My cock presses against her, sliding through her slick folds but not inside. I do it again slowly, coating every inch of myself in her wetness.

Her jaw tightens. “Stop teasing.”

I grab her by the chin and force her eyes on mine. “You want to be fucked, say it.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t flinch. “I want you to fuck me.”

Her breath’s coming fast now, chest rising and falling as she waits, but I don’t move. I grip her jaw tighter, thumb dragging over her bottom lip until she parts it.

“That wasn’t begging,” I say. “Try again.”

Her thighs flex around my waist. “I said I want it.”

I draw my hips back, just enough to break contact, and she makes a sound—frustrated, needy. I smirk.

“You want me to fuck you,” I murmur, “you ask like you mean it. Or I’ll leave you here dripping and aching.”

Her hands fly to my shoulders. “Lorenzo?—”

“No.” I slap the inside of her thigh, hard enough to make her gasp. “Say it.”

She grits her teeth, then tilts her head back with a breathless groan. “Please.”

“Not good enough.”

She looks at me, furious and desperate. Her voice drops. “Please fuck me.”

I drag my cock along her again, slow enough to make her eyes flutter. “Louder.”

She grabs my face. “Please fuck me. I need it. I need you to make me come.”

I drive into her slowly, letting her feel the stretch. Her breath hitches, fingers digging into my shoulders. I draw back and thrust again, hard enough to make the dresser jolt against the wall. She doesn’t complain. She wraps her arms around my neck and holds on.

“You feel that?” I say against her throat. “I'm claiming every inch of you.”

She lets out a low, broken sound, and I feel her legs tighten around my waist. I grip her hips and keep fucking her deep, her slick heat pulling me back in with every stroke.

“Say it,” I growl. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”

I slam forward again, rougher now. Her tits bounce with every thrust, her body rocking with the rhythm I force on her. She scratches down my back and gasps when I bite her shoulder.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours,” she moans, louder this time. “Yours— Fuck—Don’t stop.”

Her walls tighten around me, close to breaking. I watch her face as she falls apart in my arms, every moan ripped from her throat as she comes hard around my cock. I hold her in place and fuck her through it, refusing to let her go soft.

She’s still pulsing around me, legs trembling, breath caught in her throat. I fuck her harder, chasing the edge, sweat dripping down my spine. Her nails bite into my skin, and her mouth falls open again when I shift my angle and drive deeper.

“You want to feel me come?” I mutter. “You want it all?”

She nods, dazed and breathless. “I want it. Give it to me.”

I grip the back of her neck and kiss her hard, and my fingers thread through her hair so I can pull it, angle her mouth just the way I like it.

The dresser slams the wall again, and she moans into my mouth, already shaking from aftershocks.

My cock swells, pressure coiling low and tight.

I bury myself to the hilt and come with a low growl, every muscle locked as I empty inside her.

She clenches again, like her body’s trying to take all of it.

I stay inside her, breath still ragged, hand firm on her hip. Her skin is flushed, damp with sweat, chest rising against mine. She blinks up at me, lips parted, eyes too open for what we’ve done. I watch her heartbeat flicker in her throat, steady and alive under my palm.

The room is quiet except for our breathing, and for a moment, I allow myself to forget who we are. What this means. What will happen when the sun rises. But she doesn't let the silence linger.

"I need your help," she says, her voice soft but clear in the darkness, "if I'm going to survive being Emilio Costa's daughter."

Serena is finally accepting the truth of what she is, of the blood that runs through her veins. And she's asking me—the man who was sent to kill her—for protection.

"Serena—"

"Don't tell me it's not that simple." She shifts, leaning back against the wall behind her to look at me. "I know what this makes me. I know what it means. And I can't do this alone."

The vulnerability in her voice cuts through me. This is the same woman who faced down my threats with fire in her eyes. But now, in the aftermath of what we've shared, she's showing me the fear she's kept buried.

"I think you know we've crossed lines that can't be uncrossed, and that I'll be there for?—"

A sound from outside cuts through my words. Metal against stone followed by footsteps that are too loud.

I'm moving before the echo fades, pulling on my pants and grabbing the Glock from the nightstand in one fluid motion. Serena sits up, clutching her arms over her chest, her eyes wide.

"Stay here," I whisper, already moving toward the terrace doors. "Don't make a sound."

The terrace is bathed in shadow, the moon now hidden behind a bank of clouds. I press myself against the wall and peer around the corner, scanning the alley below. At first, I see nothing but the usual collection of refuse bins and parked cars.

Then I spot the movement in the darkness and know instinctively what it is.

A figure in dark clothing moves through the shadows on the far side of the alley, keeping close to the buildings.

He's trying to stay hidden, but his movements are too deliberate, too focused.

This isn't some random vagrant or late-night wanderer.

My blood turns to ice. It's the same prowler who was lurking around my back yard a week ago when that nosy cop showed up to intervene. I could've finished this then if he'd have stayed out of it.

"Hey! You there!"

The shout comes from below, and I watch as Silvano Petrini emerges from the shadows near his own home. The retired detective moves with surprising speed for a man his age, his voice carrying clearly through the night air.

"What are you doing skulking around here?"

The prowler freezes for a split second, then bolts. He's fast, but Silvano is faster than he looks, giving chase like a predator. "Stop! Police!"

Even retired, Silvano still has the voice of authority.

And he's determined—I'll give him that. The prowler stumbles, recovers, then disappears around the corner of the adjacent home, and Silvano follows him into the shadows where they vanish out of sight.

Their footsteps fade with them as they grow farther away and I stand there listening.

I remain motionless on the terrace, watching the scene unfold with growing dread. Silvano is making enough noise to wake half the neighborhood, which means this little chase won't go unnoticed. Questions will be asked. Attention will be drawn.

And attention is the last thing I need right now. Though, I'm a bit relieved to find his nosiness has kept me from having the police directly on my doorstep. I thought the man would come at me, but he's kept to his business—and I to mine—just like he promised.

The alley falls quiet again, but I wait another full minute before retreating back inside. Serena is sitting on the edge of the bed, my shirt draped over her shoulders.

"What was it?" she asks.

"Someone watching the house." I close the terrace doors and draw the curtains tight. "Second time I've seen him."

Her face goes pale. "You think they know I'm here?"

I don't answer immediately. Instead, I grab my phone from the dresser and scroll through my contacts until I find Victor's number. My cousin answers on the second ring, his voice thick with sleep.

"Lorenzo? It's past midnight."

"I need you to run a name for me. Luciano Maretti."

But Victor's silence speaks volumes. When he does respond, his voice is rough with sleep. "Lorenzo, that's not possible. Maretti left Rome two years ago after the Torretti war. Dad made sure of it."

"Well, he's back. And he's been watching my house."

Victor's tone sharpens. "Are you certain?"

"Certain enough." I glance at Serena, who's watching me with growing alarm. "What do you know about his current operations?"

"Last I heard, he was working the southern ports. Small-time smuggling, protection rackets. Nothing that would bring him back to Rome." Victor pauses. "Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless he knows about the girl."

Luciano Maretti was one of Emilio's oldest enemies, a man who'd spent years trying to undermine the Costa syndicate. If he's learned about Serena's true identity—about the daughter Emilio refuses to acknowledge—he'd see her as the perfect weapon.

"How long has he been watching?" Victor asks.

"Three days. Maybe more."

"Then he knows she's there. And if Maretti knows, others will soon follow."

I run a hand through my hair, my mind racing through possibilities and contingencies. Hiding at my home was supposed to buy us time, but time has just run out.

"What's wrong, Lorenzo?" Serena asks, rising with fright in her eyes. My alarm system will always warn me with enough time to protect her. It's just a matter of how much blood would be shed if that happens.

"Say something…"

I wish I had an answer for her. But the truth is, nowhere in Rome is safe anymore. The hunter has become the hunted, and the game has changed completely.