Chapter Nine #2
His hand tightens fractionally on my throat, not enough to restrict, just enough to send a very clear message about who’s in control. “In the bedroom, I demand complete submission. Complete trust. When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions, no hesitation.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not okay. Because if you give me that control, I’ll take everything.
Your pleasure, your pain, your surrender.
I’ll push boundaries you didn’t know you had.
” His thumb strokes the side of my neck, a gentle contrast to his words.
“And when I’m done, you’ll be marked, claimed, completely mine in ways that terrify you and thrill you in equal measure. ”
The clinical, detached Alessandro from training has completely disappeared. In his place is the man Marco warned me about, dangerous, possessive, dark. The real Alessandro De Luca, The Shadow, showing me exactly what lives beneath the surface.
And heaven help me, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
“I trust you,” the words come out steadier than expected. “I trust you not to hurt me. Not to take more than I can give.”
“That’s the problem.” His forehead drops to mine, breathing hard. “I don’t trust myself not to. Not with you. Not when wanting you has become the only thing that feels real in my world of blood and violence.”
“Alessandro—”
“No.” He steps back abruptly, and the loss of his heat, his touch, his presence is almost painful. “Not like this. Not in a gym where anyone could walk in. Not when I’m barely holding onto control.”
“I don’t want you to hold onto control. I want you to let go.”
“You say that now.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and he looks wrecked, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark with want, breathing ragged. “But when you see what letting go actually looks like—”
“Then I’ll decide if I can handle it. Stop making decisions for me!” Frustration bleeds into the words. “Stop assuming you know what I can or can’t take. I’m a grown woman who knows her own mind.”
“You’re a woman who’s been shot at, threatened, and forced to hide in a penthouse because of me. Forgive me for wanting to protect you from one more dark thing.”
“You’re not protecting me, you’re protecting yourself!” The accusation rings out in the gym. “You’re scared if you show me who you really are, I’ll run. But Alessandro, I’ve seen you threaten people, carry guns, orchestrate violence. I know who you are. And I’m still here.”
“You know the surface. You don’t know what I’m like when all the restraints come off.”
“Then show me.” Closing the distance puts us face to face again. “Tonight. Your room. No holding back, no protecting me from yourself. Just you, me and the truth of what this is.”
His jaw works, internal battle playing out across his features. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking for honesty. For you to stop treating our relationship like it’s another security problem to be managed.” My Hands frame his face, forcing eye contact. “I want all of you, Alessandro. The good, the bad, the dark. Stop making me beg for what should be freely given.”
“Elena—”
“Do you want me?” The question is simple, direct.
“More than breathing.”
“Do you trust me?”
“With everything.”
“Then take a leap of faith. Let me in. Really in.” Rising on tiptoes brings mouths close to touching. “I promise I’m stronger than you think.”
He’s silent for a long moment, dark eyes searching mine. “Tonight. But Elena, when this happens, when I finally stop holding back, there’s no going back. You’ll be mine in every way that matters. Body, heart, soul. All of it.”
“Good. Because you’re already mine.”
The possessive satisfaction that crosses his face should probably concern me. Instead, it sends anticipation curling through my stomach.
“Tonight,” he repeats. “But first, I have business to handle.”
“Business. Right. The mysterious, dangerous business you won’t tell me about.”
“It’s better if you don’t know the details.”
“Alessandro—”
“Please.” The word stops me cold because he never says please. Never asks instead of demands. “Please let me handle this my way. Let me keep some of the darkness away from you for a little while longer.”
The raw honesty in his voice, the vulnerability lurking beneath the command, it’s impossible to argue with.
“Fine. But you come back to me. Safe. In one piece. Or I’m coming after you myself.”
A smile tugs at his mouth, the first real smile in days. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” He kisses me, it’s soft, sweet, and nothing like the consuming heat from moments ago. “Tonight, tesoro. Be ready.”
“For what?”
His smile turns wicked. “For everything.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the gym with a racing pulse, trembling legs and the absolute certainty that tonight is going to change everything.
The rest of the day drags. Lunch with Alessandro’s chef trying to make conversation while questions spin through my head. What constitutes “everything”? How dark is dark? What exactly does submission look like with a man like Alessandro?
More importantly, why do all those questions make heat pool low in my belly instead of fear?
Mira calls around three, her voice concerned. “Lena, where are you? The shop’s been closed for days and you’re not answering texts.”
“I’m sorry. Something came up. Family emergency.” The lie tastes bitter, but what’s the alternative? “Hey Mira, I’m actually hiding from the mafia in my mob boss boyfriend’s penthouse because someone threw a brick through my window”?
“Oh no! Is everything okay? Do you need anything?”
“Everything’s fine. I’ll be back soon.” Another lie. Because nothing about this situation is fine, and “soon” depends entirely on when Alessandro neutralizes whatever threat Greco poses.
“Okay, but seriously, call if you need anything. And when you’re back, we’re getting drinks and you’re telling me everything.”
“Deal.”
The call ends, and guilt sits heavy in my chest. Lying to my best friend. Hiding in a fortress. Waiting for a man to come back from doing God-knows-what so we can finally cross the line we’ve been dancing around for days.
This isn’t the life imagined when opening a flower shop. This isn’t the future Nonna would have wanted, full of danger and secrets and loving a man who kills people.
But thinking about Alessandro, about the way he looks at me like I’m precious, the way he touches me like I might break, the way he’s trying so hard to protect me even from himself, walking away isn’t possible.
Maybe that makes me crazy. Maybe it makes me stupid. Or maybe, just maybe, it makes me exactly the kind of woman who can love a man like Alessandro De Luca.
Seven o’clock comes and goes. No Alessandro.
Eight o’clock. Still nothing.
By nine, pacing has worn a path in the living room floor. The security team refuses to answer questions about his location. The phone goes to voicemail.
What if something happened? What if Greco made a move and Alessandro is hurt or worse and nobody’s telling me because they think protecting me means keeping me in the dark?
At 9:47, the elevator finally dings.
Alessandro steps out, and relief floods through me so powerfully it’s almost painful. He’s alive. He’s here. He’s—
He’s covered in blood.
Not his blood, at least, it doesn’t look like his blood. But there’s spatter on his shirt, his hands, even a few drops on his face. He looks like he walked out of a horror movie, and the cold emptiness in his eyes is more terrifying than the blood.
“Alessandro.” His name comes out as a whisper. “What happened?”
He looks at me as though he’s seeing me from a great distance. “You should go to your room.”
“What? No. What happened? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. But you should go to your room.” His voice is flat, emotionless. The voice of The Shadow, not Alessandro. “Please, Elena. Don’t see me like this.”
But how can looking away be possible when he’s standing there covered in evidence of whatever violence he committed tonight? When the man who promised to show me everything is trying to hide again?
“No.” The word comes out firm. “You said tonight. You said no more holding back. So don’t hide from me now.”
His jaw clenches. “This is what I was trying to protect you from. This is what holding back looks like when it stops.”
“Then show me. Tell me what happened.”
For a long moment, he just stares. Then, slowly, he moves toward the kitchen.
His jacket gets shrugged off, it’s ruined, blood-soaked.
The shoulder holster comes next, gun still nested in leather.
His shirt follows, revealing the tattoos covering his torso, Italian script, religious imagery, things that probably mean something in his world.
“Greco’s lieutenant made a move on one of our warehouses,” he says, voice still flat. “He tried to take out six of my men. He thought he could weaken my operation.”
“What did you do?”
“What I always do. I made an example.” He turns on the sink, starts washing his hands. The water runs pink, then red, then pink again. “He won’t be making any more moves.”
“You killed him.”
“Yes.”
The simple affirmation should shock me. Should send me running. Instead, watching him methodically wash blood from his hands, all that exists is concern for the emptiness in his eyes.
“How many others?”
“Three of his men. The rest ran.” The water shuts off. He dries his hands on a towel, movements mechanical. “I wanted them to run. Wanted them to spread the word about what happens when you come after what’s mine.”
“Alessandro—”
“This is what I am, Elena.” He finally looks at me, and the bleakness in his eyes makes my chest ache.
“This is what you’re choosing. A man who kills without hesitation.
Who uses violence as a tool. Who came home tonight covered in blood and felt nothing except satisfaction that the message was sent. ”
The words are meant to scare me. Push me away. Show me the monster he thinks he is.
But all that’s visible is a man trying desperately to protect me from himself. A man who thinks his darkness makes him unworthy of light.
So instead of running, instead of showing fear or disgust or any of the reactions he’s expecting, the distance between us closes. Arms wrap around him despite the blood, despite the violence he represents, despite everything.
“You came back to me,” I speak the words against his chest. “That’s all that matters.”
His entire body goes rigid. “Elena, you shouldn’t—”
“I know what I should and shouldn’t do. And right now, I should hold you. Because you’re shaking and you think you’re a monster and someone needs to remind you, you’re human.”
“Human.” He laughs, bitter and broken. “Human monsters are the worst kind.”
“You’re not a monster. You’re a man doing what he has to do to survive in an impossible world.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Now go shower. Then come to bed. And stop trying to scare me away. It’s not working.”
He stares at me like solving an impossible equation. Then, slowly, his hands come up to frame my face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Or your salvation. I haven’t decided yet.”
The laugh that escapes is more real this time. “Go to my room. Wait for me there. And Elena?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For not running.”
“I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
His kiss is soft, reverent, tasting of gratitude and wonder and something that might be hope.
Then he’s gone to shower away the blood, and leaving me alone to wait in his bedroom.
Tonight, darkness and light are finally going to stop fighting. Tonight, Alessandro De Luca is going to learn some people are strong enough to love monsters. And maybe that’s exactly what turns monsters back into men.