Page 48 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

I’m a weak, saturated, boneless mess when my husband pulls out of me.

So that’s it. I’m no longer a virgin.

I stare down at the comforter. There’s so much blood.

Andreas has disappeared but returns quickly with a warm damp cloth and another glass of champagne.

He glances up at me for permission and when I nod, he strokes the warm cloth over my ruined pussy and thighs.

I am shattered and sore, but I have never felt more beautiful.

As much as I hated being drawn to the very cusp, then released, only to be taken back to breaking point again, over and over, I’m glad Andreas did that. It made me so wet and ravenous that my body welcomed his length and girth, even though it broke me in every possible way.

And having him inside my body… I can’t explain how it made me feel. He said I’m now his and I feel the truth of that as clearly as the beat of my heart.

He held my gaze as he drove all the way in, watching the tear in my hymen as it happened, in the widening of my eyes. He was with me in that moment in a way no one has ever been there my whole life. And his arms contained my trembling and my tears for many breaths afterward.

I wouldn’t say we just ‘made love’ but the love I feel for my husband seems bottomless. This was a necessary fuck. A ground-shifting, room-spinning, mind-blowing fuck, but a fuck all the same. Now, I can focus on loosening up and accepting him easily and often—on loving him in a raw and carnal way.

I sit up with some effort and take the flute from his hand. It’s getting late in the evening but I’m too buzzed to sleep yet.

He settles beside me, threading a thick arm across my shoulders.

“How are you feeling?”

I think for a moment. “Exhausted but giddy.”

He presses a kiss to my temple. “You were fucking amazing.”

I turn to look into his eyes. They seem lighter somehow. He shakes his head, a look of wonderment pulling on his lips .

“And you felt…” He lowers his forehead to mine. “In-fucking-describable.”

I tilt my head and kiss him deeply. I can’t get enough of this man. “So did you.”

He lifts a hand to my chin and gently pulls away.

“Don’t make me hot again, beautiful. Your body needs to recover.”

I arch a brow and he returns a frown. “It’s non-negotiable, Sera. You will hurt.”

I pout and take a sip of the champagne.

“I’ll be away the next few days anyway. I need to be on site for the build planning. Your body will have a chance to recover.”

“The work is starting already?”

There’s a fresh energy in his inhalation. “My team has been waiting for this moment. They’re already three steps ahead, mapping the fiber lines, briefing demolition teams. We need to pull down all the existing structures so we can start afresh.”

“And this is all part of the Alliance?”

He nods, a look of pride ghosting over his face. “Real power isn’t about firing bullets or bringing down gangs. It’s about controlling information. If you can control that, you can control anything.”

My gaze roams him eagerly. I’m not quite ready to admit it yet, but this man inspires me.

I’m not officially on board with the underground nature of his work, but the way he thinks, the way he executes with efficiency and flare—it makes me hungry for something of my own.

Not hospitality, like I used to think, but something else. Something meaningful.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say quietly, “that maybe I’d like to start something too.”

He lifts a brow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Ever since you told me about how you ended up on the streets, in that shelter for homeless and orphaned kids, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

He chews his lip, waiting.

“I want to do something that can help kids like you and Arrow. Maybe get them off the streets, or give them a few more options when they come to carve out their adult lives.”

His brow dips. “You mean, like a kids home or a soup kitchen or something?”

“No, no. That would feel disingenuous, you know, someone from a privileged background handing out skin-deep smiles and food packages that expire within two days.” I shake my head at the thought.

“No, I’m good with people, I think. I enjoy attending the dinners and galas with you.

I feel surprisingly comfortable in that world. Maybe I could do something… political?”

His eyes round, and I realize how hilarious that sounds—the wife of a mobster getting into politics.

“I know it sounds ridiculous,” I say, my collarbone flushing in embarrassment.

“No, wait…” He rests a hand on my arm. “It’s not ridiculous.”

I lift my gaze to his and he’s looking beyond me, figuring something out .

“It’s genius, actually.”

I straighten up. “Genius how?”

His gaze drops back to mine and roams me for a long moment.

“People are wary of me, but they trust you. I threaten—you influence.”

I try to read between the lines to get to his vision. “So, I use these events to lobby for better funding, better outcomes, while you use the same platform to advance your agenda and that of my brother-in-law?”

A smile pulls at his lips. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“What’s the other way?” I’m not entirely comfortable with the sensation but butterflies have picked up excitedly in my gut.

“The other way,” he starts, drifting his fingers down my arm, lighting up every nerve ending from here to the cluster between my legs, “is that we each get our heart’s desire.

You change lives. I protect ours. Maybe we advance an agenda greater than just mine.

Maybe we could both get what we want, while building a legacy all of our own. ”

I can’t help the smile that lights up my face. “Is it terrible that I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard?”

He says nothing, but sips his champagne, resting his gaze on me over the rim of his flute.

I lie back against the pillow and stare at the ceiling.

I think about him as a small boy, learning how to survive on the streets, dealing devices on the black market.

And about the possibility that if I lean into this, use his world to better mine, we could actually build something amazing together.

“Think about it,” he says, lightly. “And as soon as you’re ready, I’ll put you in touch with some useful connections.” There’s no question over if I’ll be ready, only when, and I have a feeling it will be sooner rather than later.

I don’t get a chance to dwell on the idea for too long, because Andreas’ phone rings and a frown pulls on his brow.

He lifts the cell to his ear. “Tony?”

My breath catches. Papa?

“Sure, she’s right here.”

Andreas hands me the phone and watches me closely.

“Hi, Papa? Is everything okay?” My father rarely calls after seven p.m.

“Everything’s fine,” he assures me. “But I’m calling to invite you home for a day. It’s been too long since I had all my girls around me and I miss you.”

I frown and glance up at Andreas. This doesn’t sound like Papa. Usually, being in a room with four rowdy young women is enough to send him to the port with a hip flask.

“Okay, of course. When?”

He suggests a day in a week’s time, reassures me again that everything is fine, then hangs up, leaving me to stare at my husband in confusion .

“What was that about?” Andreas asks.

I shake my head. “I have absolutely no idea. But it won’t be long before we find out.”