MatteoI tell myself this will be the last time. The last time I let her pull me under, let myself drown in her. But as I stand in the shadows of her room, watching her chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep, I know it’s a fucking lie. I watch her sleep for a moment; her features soft, her lips slightly parted, completely unaware that I’m here again, invading her space like the fucking predator I am. She doesn’t even stir as I crawl onto the bed, spreading her legs gently, careful not to wake her too soon.I pull her panties down and my mouth finds her center, hot and slick and already begging for me. I bury my tongue between her folds, moving slow and teasing. Her body responds even in sleep, her hips shifting, her breath catching, and it makes me harder than I have any right to be.Grinning, I look up at her as my tongue circles her clit, teasing and relentless. Her eyes are still closed, her head tipped back, but her body betrays her. Her hips roll against my mouth, her thighs tremb
AmaraThe first thing I notice when I wake up is the cold. The bed feels empty, the warmth that Matteo always radiates nowhere to be found. I shift, my hand brushing the space where he had been, and it’s cool to the touch. He must have left hours ago.I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling in a tangled mess. The events of last night come rushing back with brutal clarity—his touch, his words, his tongue and the way I had given in so easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.I press my hands to my face, trying to drown out the flush creeping over my cheeks. I let him in, not just into my bed, but into parts of me I swore he’d never touch. Matteo has been claiming me since the moment he dragged me from that church. Every look, every touch, every goddamn word he’s spoken has been a declaration. But this time, I wasn’t just the unwilling captive. I gave him something willingly.Why?The question sits heavy in my chest, a weight I can’t shake. I don’t love
AmaraFor a moment, I hesitate, not out of fear but because I’ve never done this before, never even thought about doing this before. But Matteo? He’s different. The way he looks at me, the way he consumes me, makes me want to give him whatever he demands.When I don’t move fast enough, his grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into my lip with just enough force to sting. “Now, Amara,” he growls, his tone sharp, cutting through my hesitation.I part my lips, my heart pounding as his feral grin spreads wider.“That’s my good girl,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip before he gets to his feet and pulls out his cock. My eyes widen when I see the size of him.Then he presses the head of his cock against my tongue. “Now let’s see if you can back up all that fucking talk.”He guides himself to my lips, the weight of him heavy against my tongue as he pushes inside. The sensation is foreign, overwhelming, and my hands clutch at the sheets as I try to adjust. He’s slow at
AmaraThe door clicks shut behind Matteo, and the sound seems to echo in the silence of the room. I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and frustration. The warmth of his presence still lingers in the air, and I hate that I notice it, hate that I feel the cold settling in as soon as he’s gone.I pull the blanket tighter around me, trying to shake the lingering sensation of his kiss, the weight of his hand on my jaw, the dangerous promise in his voice when he said he’d deal with me later. It’s maddening how much space he takes up, even when he’s not here.What is wrong with me?I should be planning my escape, not lying here thinking about the way he looked at me, the way he touches me like he owns every part of me. And maybe he does.My stomach twists at the thought, and I press my palms to my face, trying to block it out. But the questions won’t stop.What hold does Matteo Dragonetti have over me? How did it come to this?I never asked for this—to be taken,
AmaraI’m ripped from sleep by the weight of him—heavy, warm, and unmistakable—pressing down against me. My heart jumps to my throat before I fully wake, my body instinctively trying to move, to push him off. But the second I recognize him—his gorgeous cologne—everything inside me stills.Matteo is back.His face is buried in the crook of my neck, his body caging me against the mattress. He’s holding me so tightly, it’s like he’s afraid I might disappear. His breaths are ragged, hot against my skin, and I can feel the tension vibrating off him, coiled and dangerous.I should shove him away. I should say something cutting and remind him that he left me here, locked up, like I was nothing more than an afterthought. But I don’t.Because the way he’s holding me—the desperation in the way his arms crush me to his chest, the way his lips are pressed to my throat, barely moving but there—makes my heart clench. It’s silent, wordless, but I feel it. He missed me. He’ll never say it, but it’s
AmaraBefore I can respond, his hands are on me—one gripping my waist, the other sliding up beneath the oversized shirt I’m wearing. His touch is slow, fingers trailing over my skin in a way that makes my breath catch in my throat.“Matteo,” I warn, my voice trembling despite myself.“What?” he drawls, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, his tone mocking. “Afraid you’re going to break first?”I clench my teeth, refusing to answer, but Matteo’s patient. Torturously so. He trails his fingers lower, skimming over my hip, my thigh, his touch light enough to drive me insane. My back arches slightly, chasing the contact even as my mind tells me to resist.“You can keep your mouth shut all you want,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “But your body doesn’t lie, Amara. You’ve missed me. I can feel it.”I force out a laugh, sharp and breathless. “You’re delusional.”“Am I?” Matteo’s grin widens, and his hand slides higher, teasing the sensitive skin along my inner thigh. “Let’s see
MatteoI stare down at Amara as she watches me like she’s trying to peel me apart with her eyes. She’s always looking for cracks, for weakness, as if she’ll find some way to slip a knife between my ribs if I let her get too close. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic—she doesn’t realize she’s already there. Already under my skin. Already carving herself into me.But I’m not about to say any of that. Not out loud. I’ve given her enough for one night.“Go to sleep,” I mutter as I get to my feet, yanking off my boots one at a time and letting them thud against the floor. Her eyes follow every movement, suspicious as always.“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice edged with that bratty defiance I’ve grown to expect.I don’t answer right away. Instead, I unstrap the tactical vest I’m wearing, letting it drop with a heavy thud next to the bed. My knives go next—one tucked at my ankle, one hidden under my shirt—and I make a point of dismantling my gun, piece by piece, before setti
MatteoThe first thing I notice when I wake up is her. Amara’s watching me, her head propped on her hand, a soft smile tugging at her lips. It’s not smug or defiant or sharp like it usually is. It’s… different. Too soft. Too real. Like she’s letting her guard down without even realizing it.And it hits me in the chest like a punch I wasn’t ready for.My heart feels like it’s in a vice, squeezing tighter with every second she looks at me like that. I can’t fucking breathe.She looks at me like I’m hers.I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve her.“What are you smiling at?” I murmur, my voice rough from sleep.She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, just tilts her head slightly. “You. You look… peaceful.”Peaceful. I almost laughed at that. Me? The walking disaster Matteo Dragonetti, peaceful? Not a fucking chance.I don’t respond. Instead, I reach out, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her against me like she belongs here. She gasps softly, her hands bracing against my chest a
AmaraI wake up to the smell of Matteo.It’s warm linen and expensive cologne, but underneath all that, it’s just him. That familiar scent I’ve come to recognize even before I open my eyes—one that’s clung to me, comforted me, irritated me, consumed me for the past two years. It seeps into my skin the way his love does: all-encompassing, impossible to ignore, and addictive in a way that should probably be illegal.His arm is thrown over my waist, heavy and possessive, like I might slip away in the middle of the night if he doesn’t physically hold me down. Not much has changed there. Matteo Dragonetti is still Matteo—still insufferably bossy, still infuriatingly smug, still the most dangerous man in every room.But somehow, with me… he’s also this.Soft.I turn slightly, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. His bare chest rises and falls under my cheek, and the steady beat of his heart is enough to lull me back to sleep if I’m not careful.Instead, I close my eyes and smile. It’
NadyaThe sharp rip of fabric fills the room as Markus makes good on his promise. My dress gives way under his grip, the delicate material tearing apart like it’s nothing. A gasp escapes me as the cool air hits my bare skin, goosebumps rising in its wake.“You—” I start, my breath hitching as he yanks the remains of my dress off and tosses it to the floor.“I told you,” he murmurs, voice low and full of heat. “Gonna spread you out and claim every inch of you. Gonna make sure you never forget who you belong to.”I shudder, his words winding through me like a drug, settling deep in my gut where need burns hot. My nerves haven’t disappeared entirely—this is still new, still unfamiliar in ways that make my pulse skitter—but Markus doesn’t rush. He’s careful, even in his dominance, in the way his hands trace my skin like he’s mapping it out, memorizing every inch.He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me from the mirror to the bed like I weigh nothing. The mattress is cool against my heated s
NadyaThe car pulls up to the private jet, sleek and waiting under the soft glow of the tarmac lights. A few of Markus’s men are already there, loading the last of our luggage, making sure everything is in place. None of them look at me. They wouldn’t dare. They know who I belong to now.Markus steps out first, then turns to offer me his hand. I take it, letting him help me out of the SUV, and he doesn’t let go. He leads me toward the jet, and my pulse quickens when I step inside and he takes me to the private cabin, I see exactly what he’s done.The mirror is massive, taking up nearly the entire wall of the private cabin. It’s impossible to ignore. My reflection stares back at me, wide-eyed and breathless, my wedding dress still pristine, still perfect. For now.I don’t even get a chance to speak before Markus is behind me, his hands slipping around my waist, his lips pressing against the side of my neck.“Remember what I told you, baby?” he murmurs against my skin, his voice thick w
NadyaThe reception is in full swing, filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of crystal glasses, but my body still hums with leftover adrenaline. The shootout lingers in the back of my mind like an unshakable shadow, and no matter how many times I remind myself that we made it out unscathed, my heart refuses to slow completely. It’s not that I haven’t seen violence before—hell, I was raised in it—but something about today rattled me more than I expected. Maybe it’s because I finally had something to lose.I glance down at my wedding band, the cool weight of it resting against my skin like a silent promise. Markus is my husband now. That still feels surreal to even think. I expected this day to feel like a deal, an arrangement—something I had no real say in. But it doesn’t. Not anymore.I push the memories of the gunfire down as best I can and straighten my shoulders. This is my wedding day. I refuse to let bloodshed be what defines it.Markus hasn’t left my side, his hand rest
MarkusI stand at the altar, my hands clasped in front of me, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But the second the doors open and I see her—really see her—it’s fucking over for me.My heart slams against my ribs, my pulse roaring in my ears as Nadya steps into the aisle, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. She looks like a dream, a vision wrapped in ivory silk and lace, her golden hair falling in soft waves around her face. I don’t take my eyes off her as she walks toward me, each step measured, her shoulders squared despite the nerves I can see in the slight tremble of her fingers. But her eyes—they don’t waver. Those blue depths lock onto mine, holding me there, grounding me in place. How did I ever believe this girl wouldn’t become everything? That she wouldn’t climb under my skin and settle there, wrapping herself around every thought until she’s all I fucking think about? From the moment I found her huddled in that room, scared and broken, to the woman standing
NadyaThe night air is cool against my skin as I step onto the small balcony of my bedroom, breathing in the crisp scent of the garden below. The estate is quiet, the sky a deep indigo scattered with stars, and for the first time in weeks, I feel a strange sense of peace settling inside me.Tomorrow, I will be Nadya Dragonetti.I never imagined feeling… calm about that. But here I am, standing on the edge of one life and stepping into another, and I don’t feel like I’m suffocating anymore. Things with Markus have improved, slowly but surely. He still gets frustrated too easily, still lets his temper flare before thinking things through. And I still hold back more than I should, scared of exposing too much of myself. But we’re trying. And that’s more than I thought we’d ever get to.A smile tugs at my lips as I wrap my arms around myself, the silk of my nightgown cool against my skin. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed any of this.The soft creak of my bedroom door snapping shut mak
MarkusI stand there in front of her, my heart thundering like a beast trapped inside my chest. She looks fucking stunning in that dress—the kind of breathtaking that steals the air from my lungs. There’s no denying that seeing her like this, standing there bathed in the soft, flattering glow of the dressing room lights, has me questioning my own sanity for ever thinking I could deny myself this woman. She looks like a goddamn angel, and completely out of place standing next to a beast like me. And yet, this perfect creature is supposed to be mine. The thought sends a surge of all-consuming possessiveness tearing through me.Nadya meets my gaze cautiously, her blue eyes uncertain, the softness in them hitting me harder than any blow I’ve ever felt. I swallow tightly, my throat dry, knowing I need to make this right. She’s going to be mine—my wife—and I can’t let us go forward on shaky ground.“You look fucking breathtaking,” I say quietly, my voice rough with raw honesty. She blushes
NadyaI never thought dress fittings could be fun, yet here I am, standing in front of a floor-length mirror with the Dragonetti women fussing over me like I truly belong. There’s laughter, warmth, and teasing that I don’t always understand but appreciate anyway.For once, I’m not surrounded by cold stares, calculating eyes, or the hushed whispers of men who see me as nothing more than a bargaining chip. Instead, I hear soft murmurs about fabric choices, feel gentle hands smoothing the silk over my frame, and catch playful nudges about honeymoon plans.Serena and Amara take every opportunity to tease me, their easy smiles coaxing small, reluctant laughs from my lips.“I think lace,” Serena says, lifting a delicate ivory fabric and holding it up to my skin. “It brings out your eyes. And the way the silk moves when you walk? Markus will lose his mind.” She smirks, her voice filled with mischief.My face heats at the mention of his name, and I look away quickly, my throat suddenly dry.A
NadyaThe mirror in front of me shows a version of myself I barely recognize. Pale skin, dark circles under wide, nervous eyes, and lips bitten raw with anxiety. Today is the dress fitting. Just the thought of it makes my chest feel heavy, tightening painfully with each breath I take. A bride, yet I have no mother here to fuss over my hair or smile proudly when I finally slip into white silk. I have no sisters to giggle with as we admire lace and chiffon. There are no friends here to hold my hand and tell me everything will be fine, or to reassure me that Markus might not hate me quite as much as I fear. No—I’m alone, surrounded only by men who speak in clipped, gruff voices, men who can’t possibly understand the hollow ache in my chest or the nerves twisting deep in my stomach. I close my eyes tightly for a moment, forcing myself to breathe slowly, to calm the anxiety building inside me like a storm. I don’t even know how this is supposed to feel, how other women feel when they’r