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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Stefano

The priest's flawless Latin during the recital of the marriage ceremony echoes through the conference room, transforming the sterile corporate space into something almost sacred. Almost. If you ignore the armed men at every exit and the way Ava's hands tremble in mine. The steel bands we're calling wedding rings glint in the light.

She won't look at me. She hasn't since Matteo brought her in. She’s beautiful and broken in a cream dress someone procured at my command. Her skin is pale, with dark circles under her eyes, betraying how little she's slept. My doing. My punishment. My protection.

"I do." The words fall from her lips like stones, heavy with resignation. No joy. No love. Just surrender.

It should satisfy the monster in me. It should feel like victory, watching her bow to inevitability. Instead, something twists in my chest, sharp and bitter.

This isn't how I imagined marrying her. Even in my darkest fantasies, there was always fire in her eyes. Defiance. In my dreams, I would stare at the spark of fierce strength that made me fall for her all those years ago as we were married.

Now this hollow compliance tastes like ash.

"I do," I echo when prompted, letting my grip tighten on her fingers, letting her feel the strength that could crush or protect.

The priest pronounces us man and wife, his voice carrying no judgment. Smart man. I pay well for discretion, for understanding that sometimes monsters need legitimacy too.

Ava's pulse races beneath my thumb where it rests against her wrist. From fear? Anger? The child making her heart work harder? I observe each flutter, each tremor, storing them away with all the other details that make her mine.

"It's done," I murmur as the priest gathers his things. Security begins clearing the room with practiced efficiency. "Legal. Binding. Irreversible."

She says nothing, but her fingers clench slightly in mine. It’s the first real reaction I've gotten from her since this began.

"Shall we?" I gesture toward the door, toward the suite waiting upstairs. Toward our future, whether she wants it or not.

The elevator ride is silent, heavy with words we won't say. She stands as far from me as the small space allows, one hand pressed protectively over her stomach. Over our child. The sight makes possession roar through my blood.

Mine. All mine.

The suite door closes behind us with quiet finality. Ava moves immediately to the window, putting distance between us. The city sparkles beyond the glass, lights blurring in the gathering dusk.

"Your brother will be retrieved tonight," I say, watching her reflection tense at my voice. "Tomasso has a team in position. By morning, this will all be settled."

"Nothing about this is settled." Her voice comes out raw with the first words she's spoken since her vows. "You've just made it more complicated."

"Have I?" I move closer, letting her feel my presence at her back. "Seems simple to me. You're my wife. That child is my heir. Everything else is just..." I lean in, lips brushing her ear. "Details."

She shivers, though whether from fear or something else, I can't tell. "And what happens when the Fioris retaliate? When they come after all of us?"

"Let them try." The words come out dark, promising violence. "I'll paint Chicago red with their blood before I let them touch what's mine."

"Yours." She laughs, the sound edged with hysteria. "Is that all I am now? Just another possession for the great Stefano Rega to lock away?"

The question hits harder than it should. Because she's wrong—she's never been just anything to me. Even now, after her betrayal, after forcing this ceremony, after everything...

She's still the girl who haunts my dreams. Still the woman who makes the monster in me purr. Still the only person who's ever made me want something more than power and control.

"You could have been so much more," I admit, the words tasting like regret. "If you'd trusted me. If you'd been honest."

"Honest?" She turns finally, dark eyes flashing with the first real emotion I've seen since this began. "Like you were honest about having me followed? About planning this whole thing the moment I left?"

"I've never lied to you." I catch her chin, holding her gaze. "Never pretended to be anything other than what I am: a monster, a possessive, obsessive bastard who's spent ten years searching for you." My grip tightens slightly. "A monster who would burn down heaven and earth to keep you now that I've found you again."

Tears gather in her eyes, but she blinks them back. Still fighting, even now. "I never asked for any of this."

"No?" I trace her lower lip with my thumb. "You never wanted the protection I could offer? The safety? The chance to give our child a future secured by blood and violence instead of cons and running?"

She tries to pull away, but I hold firm. "I wanted freedom."

"And I wanted you." The confession burns like whiskey, like blood, like everything dark and dangerous between us. "I’ve experienced years of wanting you, Ava, dreaming of you, searching for you." I lean closer, until our breaths mingle. "Did you really think I'd let you slip away again? Let you take my child and disappear into the night?"

"I thought..." Her voice cracks. "I thought I was protecting everyone."

"By lying? By running?" Anger rises again, hot and familiar. "By working for people who would kill you without hesitation?"

"I never gave them anything!" The words burst from her like she can't hold them back. "Never betrayed your secrets. Never?—"

I silence her with a kiss, swallowing her protests with my mouth. She fights for a moment, hands pushing against my chest, before surrendering with a sob that tastes like defeat. Like submission.

I don't just want her body. Her obedience. Her resignation to this cage I've built.

I want her fire. Her defiance. Her love.

But for now, I'll take what I can get. Keep her close. Keep her safe. Keep her mine in every way that matters.

Even if she hates me for it.

Even if part of me hates myself.

"Get some rest," I say, pulling away before I do something we'll both regret. "Tomorrow will be...eventful."

She nods once, the gesture mechanical and empty, before retreating to the bedroom, leaving me alone with the weight of choices that feel both absolutely right and terribly wrong.

But watching her curl protectively around her stomach, around our child, I know I'd make the same choice again to keep her safe. A thousand times.

* * *

The sound of running water is driving me insane.

I pace the hotel suite like a caged animal, each step measured against the quiet splash of Ava bathing in the next room. My wife.

The monster in me pictures her in there, water sliding over olive skin, belly still flat but carrying my child. Mine. The word pounds through my blood with each step.

"Status update," I bark into my phone, needing distraction.

"Team's in position," Tomasso reports. "Waiting for your word to move on the Fiori compound."

I should be focused on the mission. On rescuing her brother. On all the chess pieces I need to move to keep everyone safe.

Instead, all I can think about is her on the other side of that door.

My control snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

The bathroom door opens silently under my hand, releasing a cloud of steam into the suite. Ava stands in the massive tub, water sluicing down her back, dark hair clinging to wet skin.

She freezes at the sound of my entrance, spine going rigid. For a moment, she doesn't move—doesn't even seem to breathe.

Neither do I.

The air is thick, humid, and it clings to my lungs as I take her in. The curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips.

Water cascades down her body, catching the light from the overhead fixture, glistening like liquid gold. My pulse quickens, a raw, primal hunger surging through me. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just stare.

Her shoulders tense, and I can see the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her ribcage expands and contracts with slow, deliberate breaths.

The moment stretches, taut and electric, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. My eyes trace every inch of her, memorizing the way the water clings to her skin, the way her hair falls in damp tendrils down her back.

God, I want her.

I want to push her against the wall, to pin her there and claim her mouth with mine. I want to feel her body pressed against me, to hear her moan when I touch her, to taste the salt of her skin as I trail kisses down her neck.

I want to consume her, to make her mine in every possible way

My fingers twitch at my side, itching to reach out, to bridge the distance between us. But I don’t. I can’t.

Then she whirls, eyes wide with shock that quickly blazes into fury.

"What the hell?" She scrambles to cover herself, though we both know it's pointless. Every inch of her body is already mapped in my memory. "Get out!"

"My wife." The words come out rough as I stalk closer. "In my tub. In my hotel." My eyes trace the water droplets running down her throat, between her breasts, over the slight curve of her stomach where our child grows. "Everything exactly as it should be."

"There is nothing about this that's how it should be." Rage makes her voice shake as she wraps her arms around herself. It’s not modesty. It’s defiance. "This isn't a marriage. It's kidnapping with paperwork."

"It's protection." I reach the tub, close enough to feel the steam rising between us. "The only way to keep you both safe."

"Safe?" She laughs bitterly. "Like Tony is safe right now? Being tortured by the Fioris while you play house?"

The accusation stings, but I push past it. "He’s not being tortured. We’re in discussions with them about— Like I said, Tomasso's team moves tonight. By morning, your brother will be secured, one way or another." My hand finds her shoulder, skin slick beneath my palm. "Everything I do is to protect you."

She tries to jerk away, but there's nowhere to go. "And once he's safe? Will you let us go then? Let us have the normal life we deserve?"

"Never." The word comes out like a growl. "You're carrying my heir, Ava. There is no normal life. No running. No escape." I cup her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. "The sooner you accept that, the happier we'll all be."

Tears spill down her cheeks, mingling with water. "I wanted to be happy about the baby," she whispers, anger cracking to reveal raw pain beneath. "Wanted to dream about nurseries and names and first steps. But you've turned it into a chain, into a reason to cage me."

The words hit like bullets, making something in my chest ache. Because I understand, God help me, I do. In another life, this could have been different. Should have been different.

"It doesn't have to be a cage." I brush away her tears with my thumb. "Stay willingly. Be my wife, really be my wife. Let me give you and our child everything."

"Everything except freedom."

"Freedom is an illusion." I lean closer, our breaths mingling. "The Fioris would hunt you forever. Other families would see you as leverage against me. The only safety is here. With me. Under my protection."

She shakes her head, more tears falling. "I can't. I can't just accept this. I can’t accept you forcing me?—"

"Forcing you to live?" My voice rises slightly. "Forcing you to let me protect you? Yes, Ava. That's exactly what I'm doing. Because you've proven you can't be trusted to make smart choices."

"And you're so much better?" She shoves against my chest, water splashing between us. "The great Stefano Rega, so obsessed with a girl from his past that he'd force her to marry him? Trap her? Control her every move?"

"Yes." I catch her wrists, pulling her closer despite her struggles. "Because that obsession keeps you alive. That control keeps our child safe. That trap..." I rest my forehead against hers. "That trap is the only thing standing between you and a world that would destroy everything I love."

The admission hangs between us, heavy with implications neither of us is ready to face. Because despite everything—the betrayal, the lies, the forced marriage—there's still this, this gravitational pull that makes resistance impossible.

This love that tastes like violence and redemption all at once.

"Please," she whispers, but I'm not sure what she's asking for anymore. Freedom? Understanding? Something even she can't name?

"I can't let you go." My voice comes out softer than intended. "Not now. Not ever. But I can try to make this cage gilded. Make it feel less like punishment and more like protection." I brush my lips across her forehead. "If you let me."

She shudders, tears still falling, but doesn't pull away. Progress, maybe. Or just exhaustion.

The sight of her tears undoes me.

I surge forward, capturing her mouth with mine, swallowing her gasp of surprise. For one perfect moment, she melts against me, all soft curves and wet skin and instinctive surrender.

My hands slide into her hair, holding her exactly where I want her as I pour every ounce of rage and possession and desperate need into the kiss.

This. This is what I want. What I need. What keeps me awake at night—her body yielding to mine, her defenses crumbling, everything between us reduced to pure sensation and chemistry.

Her lips part, and I take full advantage, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming her. She tastes like mint and something sweet, something uniquely her. Her hands are on my chest, but they’re not pushing me away. No, they’re gripping me, her fingers digging into my shirt like she’s trying to hold on.

I groan against her mouth, the sound harsh and needy. My hands roam her body, mapping every curve, every dip.

My lips trail down her jaw, her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin just below her ear. She gasps, her head tilting back to give me better access, and I take it, my teeth grazing her pulse point. She’s trembling, her hands gripping my shoulders like she’s afraid she’ll fall.

I kiss my way down her neck, over her collarbone, and then, my mouth is on her breast, sucking hard. She cries out, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

I groan, licking, sucking, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. She’s panting now, her body arching into me, her hands still in my hair, holding me there.

“You taste so fucking good,” I mutter against her skin, my breath hot, and she whimpers, her hips rocking against mine.

I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands sliding up her thighs, and I waste no time burying my face between her legs.

She’s perfect. She’s wet and hot, and I can’t get enough of her. My tongue flicks over her clit, and she cries out, her hands fisting in my hair. I do it again, harder this time, and she’s trembling, her knees buckling.

She makes a sudden harsh noise in her throat and her hands come up hard against my shoulders, shoving me back with unexpected strength.

Water splashes between us as she puts distance between our bodies, almost falling into the tub, her eyes blazing with renewed fury and barely restrained desire.

"Don't." Her voice shakes. "Don't you dare touch me like that. Like nothing's changed. Like you haven't turned everything into this...this prison."

The rejection hits harder than it should. It makes the monster in me want to grab her, force her to acknowledge what's still between us. I want to force her to admit that her body betrays her every time I'm near.

Instead, I let ice replace fire in my veins. Let the mask of control slide back into place.

"You're right." My voice comes out cold, clinical. "This was a mistake. You're nothing but a distraction now, one I can't afford when I have the Fioris to deal with."

She flinches like I've struck her.

Fuck .

"Perfect." Her laugh holds no humor. "Go be the big bad Monster of Chicago. That's all you're good for anyway, right? Violence and control and making everyone around you miserable?"

The words are designed to wound, and they do. But I don't let it show. Can't let it show. Not when there's still so much at stake.

"Get some rest, Mrs. Rega. You'll be a widow by morning if I don't focus on what matters."

"And what matters?" She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable despite her anger. "Your empire? Your reputation? Your need to own everything and everyone around you?"

"Keeping you alive." The words come out sharp. "Keeping our child safe. Keeping your brother from being carved into pieces by people who'd kill us all without hesitation." I move toward the door, needing distance before I do something we'll both regret. "Even if it means being exactly the monster you think I am."

"Stefano..."

But I'm already gone, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the frame.

Fucking hell!

My phone buzzes. Tomasso with another update—they’ve moved the boy to another location.

Shit.

Time to focus on what I can control. What I can fix. What I can protect through violence and money and all the other tools at my disposal.

Because love clearly isn't enough. Never has been. Never will be.

And I have a war to win.

Even if it means losing the only battle that ever really mattered.