Chapter Nine
Elena
Three days of living in Alessandro’s penthouse feels like three years.
Not because it’s unpleasant, it’s the opposite, really. The space is beautiful, the bed comfortable, the view spectacular. Alessandro’s chef delivers meals that should probably be illegal. The security team is invisible but ever-present.
But Alessandro himself? He’s become a ghost.
He leaves early for “business.” Returns late smelling like danger and exhaustion.
Sits across from me at dinner making polite conversation as though we’re strangers instead of two people who’ve kissed like the world is ending.
Stays carefully, deliberately distant in a way that’s starting to drive me insane.
The self-defense training is the only time he touches me, and even then it’s clinical.
Professional. His hands correcting my stance, adjusting my grip on the gun, demonstrating how to break free from various holds, all of it done with the detached efficiency of someone teaching a skill set, not someone who had me straddling him in bed three mornings ago.
It’s maddening.
“Again.” Alessandro’s voice cuts through my frustration. We’re in the building’s private gym, all mirrors, equipment and mats that smell like rubber and sweat. “Someone grabs you from behind. What do you do?”
“Step back, disrupt their balance, elbow to the ribs, heel to instep, turn and strike.” The movements are executed as taught, mechanical and precise.
“Better. But you’re telegraphing the elbow.
The element of surprise is crucial.” He demonstrates, moving behind me to show the proper form.
His chest presses against my back, his arms coming around to position mine correctly.
“See? Smooth, no warning. Then—” He guides the motion, slow and controlled.
“Impact here causes maximum pain with minimum effort.”
His breath is warm on my neck. Solid presence surrounds me completely. This close, his cologne mingles with something uniquely him and soap and it makes my brain short-circuit.
“Elena.” His voice is rough. “Are you paying attention?”
“Yes.” The lie comes out breathy. “Totally paying attention. Elbows. Ribs. Got it.”
He steps back abruptly, putting distance between us. “Take five. You’re distracted.”
Distracted is putting it mildly. Sexually frustrated is more accurate. Slowly going insane from want might be the most honest description.
I grab the water bottle with more force than necessary. “When do we work on shooting again?”
“Tomorrow, maybe. Depends on my schedule.”
“Your mysterious, important schedule that you can’t tell me about.”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re off doing dangerous mob things.”
“Yes.”
“Things that might get you killed.”
“Possibly.” He doesn’t even look up from his phone, scrolling through what’s probably emails about territorial disputes and strategic violence.
“And I’m just supposed to sit here and wait? Not knowing if you’re safe? Not knowing if—” The words catch in my throat. “Not knowing if you’re coming back?”
That gets his attention. He sets the phone down, dark eyes finding mine across the gym. “I always come back.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, but I can promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I do.
” He stands, crossing to where the water bottles sit.
Takes one, drinks, watching me over the rim like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.
“This is what my life looks like, Elena. Late nights, dangerous situations, uncertainty. If you can’t handle it—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp. “Don’t use my worry as an excuse to push me away. Don’t act like caring about whether you live or die means I’m not cut out for this.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You’ve been doing it for three days.
” Stepping closer eliminates some of the careful distance he maintains.
“You barely look at me. You don’t touch me unless it’s training.
You leave before I wake up and come back after I’m asleep.
If you’ve changed your mind about us, just say it. Don’t make me guess.”
His jaw works. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Then what is this? Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Greco? Your enemies? Because newsflash, Alessandro, I’m already in danger. I’m already a target. Avoiding me doesn’t change that.”
“I’m trying to protect you from me,” he says quietly, and something raw flashes across his face. “From what I want to do to you. From how dark the wanting gets when you’re close.”
Oh.
Oh.
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. “What if I want that too?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.” Another step closer, and now we’re in each other’s space, breathing the same air. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Stop hiding whatever you think will scare me away.”
“Elena—” My name is a warning.
“Alessandro.” His name back as a challenge.
Something shifts in his expression, his control cracks, the careful mask slips. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my bottom lip with a possessiveness that sends shivers down my spine.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs. “How much I want you. How hard it is to maintain any semblance of control when you’re in my space, wearing my clothes, looking at me like I’m something other than a monster.”
“You’re not a monster.”
“Yes, I am. And when I finally give in, when I stop fighting this, you’re going to see exactly what kind of monster wants you.”
The words should probably terrify me. Instead, they light something primal and hungry in my core.
“Try me.”
His eyes go almost black. “You’re playing with fire, tesoro.”
“Maybe I like the burn.”
For one suspended moment, neither of us moves. Then his control shatters.
He kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m oxygen. desperate, consuming, nothing gentle about it. One hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the angle. The other grips my hip, pulling me flush against him so every hard plane of his body presses against mine.
This isn’t the sweet kiss under Christmas lights. This isn’t the restrained affection of someone holding back. This is raw need and barely leashed desire and the promise of exactly how dark his wanting can get.
“Alessandro,” his name comes out as a gasp when his mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “We’re in the gym—”
“Don’t care.” His hand slides under my tank top, splaying across bare skin. “Been trying to be good. Trying to give you space. But Cristo, Elena, you make it impossible.”
“Good. Be impossible with me.” Fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as his mouth does devastating things to my neck. “Stop holding back.”
He groans against my skin, and then he’s moving, backing me up until my spine hits the mirrored wall.
The cold glass contrasts sharply with the heat of his body, and when his thigh slides between my legs, pressing exactly where the ache has been building for days, a moan escapes that echoes in the empty gym.
“That sound,” he mutters. “I want to hear you make that sound again. And again. Until it’s the only thing I can remember.”
His thigh presses harder, and pleasure spikes through me. “Alessandro—”
“Tell me to stop.” His hand slides higher under my shirt, fingers tracing the edge of my sports bra. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
“I can’t.” Because it would be a lie. Because every nerve ending is on fire. Because want has transformed into need and need into something desperate and all-consuming. “I want this. I want you.”
“Fuck.” The curse is reverent, almost pained. Then his mouth is on mine again, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
His hand finally, finally, slides under my sports bra, cupping my breast, thumb brushing across the sensitive peak. The sensation shoots straight through me, and the sound that escapes is definitely not appropriate for a gym.
“So responsive,” he murmurs against my mouth. “So perfect. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined this? How many cold showers I’ve taken thinking about touching you like this?”
“Show me.” The demand comes out breathy, desperate. “Stop imagining and show me.”
Something shifts in him, something darker, more primal. His hand slides from my breast to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there in a gesture of possession that should probably alarm me but instead sends heat flooding through my body.
“You want me to show you?” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “You want to see what the monster wants to do to you?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No fear. Just burning curiosity, trust and want that’s been building for days.
His thumb presses gently against my pulse point, feeling it race.
“When I take you, and I will take you, Tesoro, it won’t be gentle.
It won’t be sweet. I’ve spent too long holding back, and when I finally let go.
..” He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “I’m going to make you mine in every way that matters.
Mark your skin. Make you scream my name.
Fuck you until the only word you remember is ‘more.’”
Oh God. Every word sends liquid heat through my veins. His hand on my throat, his thigh between my legs, his voice painting pictures of exactly what he wants to do, it’s overwhelming and perfect and not nearly enough.
“I want that.” I can barely form words. “I want all of it.”
“No, you don’t. Not yet.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and what’s in his eyes makes my breath catch, desire, darkness and something almost like fear.
“You think you know what you’re signing up for, but you don’t.
You don’t know how possessive I get. How controlling.
How dark my needs run when it comes to taking what’s mine. ”
“Then tell me. Show me. Stop protecting me from yourself.”