Chapter Ten #2
“Roll over. On your hands and knees.”
I pull out, ignoring her whimper at the loss, and manhandle her into position. This angle lets me go deeper, lets me see the curve of her spine, the way her ass looks raised for me.
“Beautiful.” One hand grips her hip hard enough to bruise. The other tangles in her hair, pulling her head back. “You’re going to take everything I give you. Every. Single. Inch.”
The thrust back inside makes her cry out, and this position somehow feels even better. Deeper. More possessive. Like I’m claiming territory that will always belong to me.
“Next time,” my voice comes out dark with promise, “I’m going to take this ass too. Going to fill every hole, mark you everywhere, make sure there’s not an inch of you that doesn’t remember who you belong to.”
“Yes.” She’s barely coherent now, lost in sensation. “Anything, everything, just don’t stop—”
My hand releases her hair and slides around to find her clit again, circling the sensitive bundle with practiced precision. “Come. Now. Come for me, Elena.”
She shatters, screaming my name, her body clenching so hard around me it triggers my own release. I empty inside her with a groan that sounds almost pained, hips jerking through aftershocks as she milks every drop.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then, carefully, I pull out and gather her against my chest, both of us breathing hard and trembling.
“You okay?” The question comes out rough with concern.
“Okay doesn’t begin to cover it.” Her laugh is shaky but genuine. “That was, God, Alessandro, that was—”
“Too much?”
“Perfect.” She turns in my arms to face me, and the satisfaction in her expression eases something in my chest. “That was absolutely perfect.”
“Good.” A kiss presses to her forehead, gentle in contrast to everything that just happened. “Because we’re not done yet.”
Her eyes widen. “Not done?”
“Not even close. You said you wanted everything, tesoro. I’m going to spend all night showing you exactly what that means.”
The next few hours blur together, her mouth on me again, me buried inside her against the window with the city spread below us, her riding me while I watched her take her pleasure.
By the time exhaustion finally wins, the sheets are destroyed and Elena is marked with my fingerprints on her hips, teeth marks on her shoulders, evidence everywhere that she belongs to me.
She falls asleep tucked against my side, sated and trusting and completely unaware that giving her body to me has sealed her fate in ways she can’t comprehend yet.
Mine. In every way that matters. No going back.
The thought should satisfy the possessive thing living in my chest. And it does, for about three hours.
Then my phone rings.
Marco’s voice comes through tense, urgent. “Boss, we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Keeping my voice low to avoid waking Elena takes effort.
“Greco. He’s talking to the feds.”
Every muscle goes rigid. “Since when?”
“Apparently months. We just got confirmation from our source in the bureau. He’s building a case, not only against us, but against every major family in the city.”
“Fuck.” The word is whispered but vicious. “How much does he have?”
“Enough to be a problem. Names, transactions, locations. If he flips officially, we’re looking at federal indictments across the board.”
Which means RICO charges. Which means life in prison. Which means Elena would be caught in the crossfire of a federal investigation.
“Pull everyone back. Clean up anything that could connect to federal charges. And Marco? Find out who else knows about this. If Greco’s talking to the feds, someone had to facilitate the introduction.”
“On it. Boss, the girl needs to know. If the feds are investigating, they’ll find out about her. She’ll be questioned, maybe charged as an accessory.”
“She’s not an accessory. She knows nothing.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’ll use her to pressure you. You know how this works.”
Yes. Unfortunately, knowing exactly how this works is the problem. Elena would become a target, not only from Greco, but from federal prosecutors looking to flip witnesses, from rival families who’d use her as leverage, from every direction.
“I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
Good question. “I’ll figure something out. Just keep me posted on the fed situation.”
The call ends, and Elena stirs beside me, making a sleepy sound. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Just business. Go back to sleep.”
She settles again, trusting, and guilt sits heavy in my chest. Tonight was supposed to be about honesty. About showing her everything. About no more secrets.
But how can the truth be told when the truth is that loving me might destroy her life in ways she can’t imagine? When federal investigations and RICO charges and witness protection programs might become her new reality?
Sleep refuses to return. Instead, the hours pass watching Elena sleep, memorizing the way she looks in my bed, the way she fits against me, the way she chose me despite every reason not to.
And planning. Always planning. How to protect her. How to keep her away from the fallout that’s coming. How to make sure that when this all falls apart, and it will fall apart, eventually, she walks away clean.
Even if that means pushing her away first.
Morning comes too soon. Elena wakes slowly, stretching like a cat, then wincing slightly. “I’m going to feel this for days.”
“Good.” The satisfaction in the word is real. “I want you remembering exactly who you belong to.”
She laughs, then notices my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just—” The sentence dies because how do you tell someone you just claimed in every possible way you might have to let them go to keep them safe?
“Alessandro.” She sits up, concern replacing satisfaction. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“Business complications. Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out now. Not after—” She gestures at the destroyed bed, the evidence of what we shared. “Not after that.”
She deserves truth. Deserves honesty. Deserves better than a man who’s dragging her into federal investigations and turf wars and violence.
“There’s—” The words stick. “There might be some legal complications coming. Federal attention. It’s probably nothing, but—”
“But it could be something.” She’s already reading between the lines, already seeing the implications. “What kind of federal attention?”
“The kind that asks uncomfortable questions about who you associate with. The kind that might try to use you as leverage against me.”
Her face goes pale. “They would come after me? Even though I haven’t done anything?”
“Association is enough in federal cases. And tesoro, you’re very clearly associated with me now.” Gesturing at the marks on her skin makes the point without words.
She processes this, and watching her realize exactly what being mine actually costs is harder than any bullet taken.
“Okay.” Her voice is steady, but fear lurks in her eyes. “Okay. What do we do?”
“We? There’s no we in this decision. You need to—”
The bedroom door crashes open.
Marco stands in the doorway, face grim, holding a tablet. “Boss, you need to see this. Now.”
“I’m busy—”
“Now.” Marco’s tone brooks no argument. “It’s about her.”
Elena pulls the sheet up, suddenly aware of her nudity, but Marco doesn’t even glance her way. His attention is fixed on me, and whatever is on that tablet has him rattled enough to violate my privacy.
“Show me.”
He crosses to the bed, turns the tablet around. On the screen is a news article in the Seattle Times, posted two hours ago.
The headline makes my blood run cold: “Federal Investigation Targets Seattle Crime Families: Dozens Expected to Face Charges.”
But it’s the photo beneath the headline that stops my heart. Elena, leaving her flower shop. The caption reads: “Elena Harper, owner of Petals & Pines, reportedly linked to Alessandro ‘The Shadow’ De Luca, suspected head of the De Luca crime family.”
“How—” Elena’s voice is small, shocked. “How do they know? How did they—”
“Russo.” Marco says the name like a curse. “Your grandparents’ last name was Russo. Same as the family we’re at war with. The feds think you’re connected, either a plant, or collateral, or leverage. Either way, you’re now part of their investigation.”
“But I’m not, I don’t have anything to do with—” She’s looking at me now, fear and confusion warring in her expression. “Alessandro, tell them. Tell them I’m not involved.”
“It doesn’t matter what I tell them.” The words come out flat.
“They’ll investigate you anyway. Question you.
Tear apart your life looking for connections.
And Elena, they’ll find them. They’ll find the texts, the calls, the fact you’ve been living in my penthouse.
They’ll twist everything into proof of involvement. ”
“No.” She’s shaking her head. “No, this isn’t happening. I run a flower shop. I’m not a criminal. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You fell in love with me.” The admission is bitter. “It’s enough to destroy your life.”
She stares at me, and I watch the realization hit, watch her understand exactly what being with me actually costs, is worse than any physical pain.
“Get out.” Her voice is quiet, deadly.
“Elena—”
“Get. Out.” Louder now, trembling with fury. “Both of you. Out of this room. Out of my sight. Out of my life.”
“You don’t mean that—”
“Don’t I?” She’s out of bed now, grabbing my shirt from the floor and pulling it on with shaking hands. “You knew. You knew this could happen and you still—” Her voice breaks. “You still took everything from me. My safety, my reputation, my future. You took it all and didn’t even warn me.”
“I was trying to protect you—”
“By fucking me?” The accusation cuts. “By marking me, claiming me, making sure everyone knows I belong to you? That’s protection?”
“It’s complicated—”
“It’s selfish!” She’s shouting now, tears streaming down her face.
“You wanted me, so you took me, and you didn’t care what it would cost me.
You didn’t care that my name is now in the paper linked to organized crime.
My shop will suffer. My life is ruined because I was stupid enough to fall for your lies! ”
“They weren’t lies—”
“Get out!” She grabs the nearest thing, a lamp, and throws it. The crash against the wall echoes like a gunshot. “Get out before I call the police myself and tell them everything!”
Marco grabs my arm. “Boss, we need to go.”
But leaving Elena like this, furious, terrified, and feeling betrayed, every instinct screams against it.
“Elena, please—”
“I said get out!” Another throw, a book this time. “And don’t come back. Don’t call, don’t text, don’t send your men to watch my shop. We’re done. You hear me? Done!”
Marco physically pulls me from the room before more projectiles can be launched. The door slams behind us, and the sound of Elena’s sobbing carries through the walls.
“Boss—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out broken. “Just—don’t.”
Three hours ago, she was in my arms, sated and trusting and mine. Now she’s behind that door, crying because being with me has destroyed her life.
Marco was right. The men were right. Caring about her made me sloppy, made me selfish, made me put what I wanted over what she needed.
And now she’s paying the price.
“What do you want to do?” Marco asks quietly.
“Damage control. Get our lawyers on this. Make sure her name gets cleared in any investigation. And Marco? I want round-the-clock protection on her whether she likes it or not.”
“She’s going to hate it.”
“She already hates me. At least this way she’ll be alive to hate me.”
Back in my office, the tablet shows the article again. Elena’s photo, her shop, her name, all of it connected to mine. Evidence of my selfishness, my weakness, my failure to protect what matters most.
The phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number: “Flowers for you, delivered to the lobby.”
Flowers. From Elena.
The security footage shows her leaving the building two hours ago, face set, eyes red, determination in every line of her body. Shows her entering the lobby thirty minutes ago with a small bouquet. Shows her leaving it with the front desk and walking out without looking back.
The bouquet arrives in my office courtesy of building security. It’s elegant, professional, and devastating in its simplicity, black roses, three of them, tied with a white ribbon.
The card reads: “For the death of whatever this was. Don’t contact me again. -E”
Black roses. Mourning. Endings. Death.
She really does know her flowers.
Marco looks at the bouquet, then at me. “Boss—”
“Leave me.”
“But—”
“I said leave me!” The roar echoes through the office, and Marco retreats without another word.
Alone with black roses and the wreckage of the best thing to happen in fifteen years, the only option is to stare at Elena’s message and accept the truth.
She’s right to hate me. Right to end this. Right to protect herself from the disaster that loving me creates.
But that doesn’t mean I’m letting her go without a fight. Doesn’t mean I’m allowing Greco or the feds or anyone else to hurt her.
Even if she never speaks to me again, even if she sends a thousand black roses, even if she hates me until the day she dies, she’ll be protected.
Because Elena Harper might not be mine anymore.
But she’ll always be under my protection.
Whether she wants it or not.