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7

ALESSIA

I t's been a couple of hours since Romiro and I spoke This morning feels surreal, a hazy blur of moments I can't quite wrap my mind around. The other night with him still hangs in the air, heavy and electric, like there was a shift between us. But I force myself to push it aside, focusing on what lies ahead —the date my Mamma and Nonna have arranged.

Val helped me pick out an outfit before she left. I run my hands down the deep purple dress we chose, feeling the soft fabric glide against my skin. It’s beautiful, with a slit that climbs up my thigh, just enough to feel a little daring, though I know I’m making a mistake. I bite my lip. If Romiro finds out … I don't know what he would do, but I know it won’t be good.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. He has no business dictating what I do with my life It’s not like we’re together. I grab my matching purse, slip into my black heels, and throw on a light, thin shawl. My hand fiddles with my silver earring as a wave of doubt crashes over me. Should I cancel? No. I straighten my back. I’m going. I give Mr. Marvin a quick peck on his head, earning a soft purr in response, and head out the door, making sure to lock it behind me.

I take the elevator down, my foot tapping anxiously as I watch the numbers descend. When the doors ping open, the cold air outside greets me. I try to hail a cab, and it takes a good ten minutes before one finally stops. Sliding into the back seat, I give the driver the address. "The Geraldeen, please."

The driver gives me a quick look, then pulls away into the sluggish traffic. It takes nearly half an hour to cover a distance that should’ve taken ten minutes—classic New York. I hand the driver the money, muttering a polite “thank you,” then step out of the cab. My eyes land on the restaurant's entrance, already lined with people waiting to get in. I don’t bother with the line; instead, I walk straight up to the guard at the front.

He’s a tall guy in a neat black suit, his chestnut brown hair slicked back. He looks at me, a little wary, a little curious. I stifle a laugh when the tips of his ears turn red, and he clears his throat. “Name?”

“Visconti. Alessia Visconti.” His eyes widen just slightly at the name. He doesn’t bother checking the list; he steps aside and opens the door for me. “Go ahead, Miss Visconti.”

The sound of my heels clicking against the granite floor rings out in the open entrance of the restaurant. At the hostess stand, a young brunette gives me a bright smile. “Hello, Ms. Visconti. Your date has arrived already. Please, follow me.”

She leads me up the familiar stairs. My hand lightly trails along the cool black stone railing, my heart beating a bit faster with every step. We reach the second floor, and there’s only one table set. A man in a navy-blue suit stands as we approach, his dark hair combed back neatly. He smiles warmly as I reach the table, stepping forward to greet me.

“Hello, Alessia. I’m Francesco, but you can call me Frankie.” His voice is smooth and polite, and he leans in to kiss my cheek, his cologne light and pleasant.

“Ok, Frankie,” I say, giving him a grateful smile as he pulls out my chair for me. I settle into the seat, and he takes his place across from me.

We begin with light conversation, the usual small talk—where we grew up, what we like to do. I ask him what he does for work, and he answers with enthusiasm. “I’m in investment, mostly in new tech startups. It’s risky, but I love it. It feels like I’m part of something bigger, you know?”

I nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “That sounds exciting,” I say honestly. “I imagine you’ve seen some interesting innovations.”

“Oh, definitely,” he replies. “And you’re a doctor, right?”

“Still finishing my residency,” I admit, feeling a little spark of pride. “Just one more exam to go, and then I’ll be officially qualified.”

Francesco smiles, his gray-colored eyes lighting up with genuine interest. “That’s impressive, Alessia. You must be incredibly dedicated.”

My cheeks warm a little. “Thank you. It’s … been a long road, but worth it.”

We continue to talk, the conversation easy, flowing smoothly from one topic to the next. Frankie is attentive, polite, and genuinely interested. As the meal progresses, I find myself relaxing more. He’s not bad. Maybe this won’t be such a disaster after all.

Then, as we’re finishing our dessert, he leans in closer, his voice softer. “I’ve had a great time tonight,” he says, his eyes looking into mine. “I’d love to see you again, if you’re open to it.”

Before I can respond, he’s closing the distance between us. His lips brush mine, soft and tentative, a polite, testing kiss. But in that instant, my thoughts freeze—Romiro’s face flashes across my mind, his smile, the way he looked at me the other night … my heart twists in my chest.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps fills the room, firm and deliberate. I pull back quickly, my heart pounding and see Romiro standing at the top of the stairs. His gaze is dark, sharp, and locked on me. There’s something fierce and unyielding in his eyes, a storm gathering right in front of us.

Francesco, oblivious, smiles and straightens. “And who might this be?” he asks, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

Romiro’s lips curl into a cold, dangerous smile. “I’m the one who’s about to make you regret that kiss,” he says, his voice low, each word deliberate.

My stomach drops. I can see the tension rippling through his body, the restrained fury simmering just beneath the surface. “Romiro, wait,” I start, standing, but he doesn’t break his gaze from Frankie. Oh, God. This is going to get messy. Quickly.

Frankie’s smile falters. “Look, man, I didn’t know?—”

“That she’s mine?” Romiro cuts in, stepping forward. “You didn’t know she’s mine?”

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thick with tension. I step between them, my hand on Romiro’s chest, feeling the hard drum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “Romiro, please,” I whisper, my voice pleading, trying to defuse the situation.

He finally looks at me, and his expression softens just a fraction, but his voice is still taut with emotion. “We need to talk,” he says, quieter, but there’s no mistaking the intensity.

Francesco, sensing he’s out of his depth, rises from his chair. “I think it’s best if I leave,” he murmurs, giving me an apologetic nod.

I offer him a quick, strained smile. “I’m sorry, Frankie. Really.”

He waves it off, looking more confused than offended. “No worries. Maybe some other time.”

Romiro steps in front of him, effectively stopping him from leaving. “Not so fast.” He slips out his Camorra dagger and he grabs Frankie by his collar. Frankie starts screaming and thrashing, but Romiro has an iron-clad grip that no one has ever been able to escape from. Unless he wants a chase.

But he doesn’t drag out Frankie’s torture. Instead, he quickly slashes his throat and drops him to bleed out on the black tile floors. It all happens so fast. Blood everywhere. On his hands, on the tile floors, oozing out of Francesco. This is my fault.

I let out a choked sound before trying to escape the horrific scene that just unfolded in front of me and head downstairs, but Romiro stops me. “I’m not done with you,” he tells me, his lips near my ears. A man is dead because of me.

My throat moves as I swallow before I ask him, “and what do you mean by that? It’s not like you have any right to dictate who I go on a date with and who I don’t go on a date with.” My heartbeat quickens when he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he grabs me by my upper arm and guides me to my date’s dead body. I gag, but nothing comes up. I’m not na?ve to what my cousins, brother, father, and friends do, but I’ve never been in the same room before . Romiro’s hands are soaked with blood that isn’t his own. My breathing is ragged, and pressure is quickly building up in my chest.

“I mean, I am going to fuck you over his dead body until you cry and beg me to stop. Understood?” Romiro’s voice sounds crazed, and I confirm it when I look at the wild look in his eyes. He grips my chin and shakes me, demanding I give him an answer. I don’t think I can speak without throwing up what I just ate, so I settle for a small nod. He accepts it, utters one command,then takes a step back from me. “Strip.” My throat constricts.

I shake my head. “Romiro, don’t do this.”

“I said strip,” he grinds out. I know that if I try to reason with him, especially while he has that crazed look in his eyes, he’ll do so much more damage than he already has. So, I quickly lift my hands up, slide the straps of my dress from my shoulders, and slowly unzip it . Romiro’s eyes leave a trail of flames down my body as his gaze follows the dress on its way down. His jaw clenches when he sees that I’m not wearing any underwear. Bile rises at the thought of doing something so intimate near a fucking corpse. The corpse of my date . I shouldn’t be this freaked out; I’ve seen dead bodies dropping left and right since I was baby. We’ve been at war with the Chicago Outfit for that long.

“ Big. Fucking. Mistake. Alessia. ” The warning in his tone is loud even though his voice is low. Romiro doesn’t make a move. Instead, he stands rooted in his place, his hands in his pockets as his eyes devour me. My legs clench together on instinct. I’m a sick fuck for finding this situation so arousing—the fact that I’m naked and he’s fully clothed. His eyes zero in on the action, and he says to me, “Come closer and give me a kiss. Don’t I deserve a kiss from my dear friend?”

“Stop that,” I say, and he gives me a smirk.

“Stop what exactly?” he asks, acting coy.

“Don’t say friend —” I falter before continuing with, “Don’t say friend like that. It’s weird,” I tell him as I step closer to him, craving the kiss he’s asking for. I wipe my sweaty palms down on my naked thighs.

“I’m not saying it weirdly,” he says before he yanks me closer. Suddenly, we’re standing chest to chest, and my lips are inches from his.

“Just say the words, Red.”

“Kiss me.” I breathe out, and his lips quickly fall on mine. His kiss is rough, possessive, and all-consuming. He’s taking all I can give, and more, as his arms wrap around my waist, slowly bending us until we’re both on the floor. He runs his callused hands over my waist, inches from Francesco’s dead body. Romiro makes his way down my body, nipping, biting, and kissing until his lips reach my wet pussy. His finger glides from the bottom, and he flicks my clit.

“Do you understand the implication of this, Red? Hmm?” he asks, but he’s not really looking for an answer, because he leans down, flattening his tongue against my clit, alternating between long, slow licks and fast flicks. It’s as if he’s starving. I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the squeal. Romiro thrusts his fingers inside of me, his fingers curling inside of me until he finds the spot that has me bucking against his face. His other hand digs into my flesh, He tugs on my clit with his teeth, gently, flicking over the sensitive nub with his tongue, and I explode on his tongue. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls, lapping up every drop of my release. I feel the sting of embarrassment as my face heats and my chest heaves trying to catch my breath from the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Romiro leans back, and I feel myself flush red as I see my arousal drip off his chin.

“Fucking delicious,” he says, and then he’s back to the same position, his head between my thighs and his tongue inside my pussy.

“Romiro,” I moan out.

“Shhh, baby. I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs softly against me. His tongue licks and teases me, then sucks on my clit, and my moans ring through the large space as I scrape my nails against the hard floors. “Someone might come,” I try to reason, my voice breathy.

“That’s the most exciting part of what we’re doing, isn’t it? You like being fucked out in public because you’re a dirty fucking whore, aren’t you? You’re my dirty fucking whore.” His words make a wave of desire wash over me, and I shatter again on his tongue making y legs feel like jelly. He unzips himself, rolls on a condom, and grips my throat before thrusting into me mercilessly, his cock stretching me. My back arches again, and I moan as I dig my nails into his shoulders.

“You.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Mine.Do you fucking understand?” He punctuates each word with a thrust deeper and harsher than the last, groaning when I tighten around him.

“Romiro—” I try to speak, but he’s fucking me so hard that I can barely think.

“Not a word, Red. You’ll take my cock how I want you to,” he says. He keeps up with his savage pace, and a familiar sensation builds up in the pit of my stomach. That sweet wave of pleasure heightens as he reaches his hand down to rub my clit. Romiro’s movements are rougher, more frantic, and his strokes become harder as his control slips away. I feel myself fall over the edge once his lips circle my nipples and he grazes his teeth against the hard peaks. But he doesn’t stop; Romiro keeps thrusting inside me, even as my orgasm subsides.

“Romiro I’m tired,” I whine, his cock still deep inside of me.

“Beg me to stop. I fucking dare you,” he growls against my lips, his harsh breath grazing my bottom lip. I’m about to kiss him, but he pulls out of me, flips me onto my stomach, and slides back inside me just as fast. His hand snakes out and yanks me up so my back is to his chest.

“Don’t you ever entertain the idea of another man as your partner. There is only me. I’m warning you, Red. I won’t fucking share. Their blood will be on your hands.” My shameless moans fill the air as Romiro pins me with his hips against the floor. His thrusts are so rough I know that bruises are already forming. I shatter around him again and a sob rise in my throat.

“Please. Romiro. I can’t take this anymore.” I should be upset that he’s fucking me on the floor of a high-end restaurant, of all places, especially for our first time, , but I’m so unbelievably turned on I can’t see straight.

There’s something so dirty and delicious about fucking in public.

His thrusts find a steady, punishing rhythm, and I roll my hips against him. Romiro groans against my ear, “I fucking love you, Red.” He stills, and I watch him come apart. I don’t think he realizes what he said, because after he finishes, he slowly pulls out of me and helps me clean up and put my dress back on.

Romiro waits until I’m fully dressed before saying, “What are you doing, Alessia?” he demands, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge to it that sends shivers down my spine. My heart is racing, and I can’t find the words. He steps closer, his forehead almost touching mine, and his voice drops even lower. “Why are you doing this?”

I swallow hard, my breath catching, I guess we’re doing this, we’re talking about this. “Because I’m scared,” I finally admit, my voice breaking. “Do you realize what this is, what happened between us tonight? Do you? Know what it means, to lose you to something that might not last…”

He sighs deeply, his expression softening further. “You won’t lose me,” he whispers. “Not ever. But we can’t keep running from this, from whatever this is.” He points between us.

I nod slowly, my hand still resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steadying under my touch. “Okay,” I say, my voice trembling. “Okay, well I’m done running. Are you? Are you willing to give me a chance?”

He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me, and I feel the world right itself—like everything is finally where it’s meant to be. Romiro and I head downstairs after he calls a man named Shadow, i’m guessing it’s some sort of nickname. He asked him to clean up the body upstairs. I don’t know how Romiro dares to leave a dead body in a popular restaurant. We may be the Camorra, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid and reckless. Or maybe that’s just Romiro when it comes to some people.

We’re waiting for the valet to bring out his car when I feel his body go rigid beside me. I look up and find him staring across the street, his face frozen in horror as if he’s seen a ghost.