Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
SIENNA
"And remember, beloved, the heart is a deceitful thing above all else, desperately wicked; who can understand it? But grace is given to those who seek the light, to those who wash away the stains of the world and choose the path of righteousness..."
The priest’s echoing voice booms through the massive vaulted ceilings of the cathedral, accompanied by the low, solemn hum of the pipe organ echoing in the background. Around me, the congregation sits in quiet reverence, the air thick with the scent of burning incense and old wood.
To my left, Camilla and Daniela are listening raptly, nodding along to the sermon as if the words are writing themselves directly onto their souls. Beside them, Rosalia sits with her spine perfectly straight, her face a serene, unreadable mask of devotion.
Eleonora, who just returned from her vacation two days ago, is seated beside her, her brown hair in a chignon. She looks so good.
I usually love Sundays. Church is the one place we are allowed to go where our father and his armed guards aren’t constantly breathing down our necks, tracking our every breath.
Massimo always ensures we are front and center every single Sunday morning. He doesn’t do it out of faith, or because he cares a single bit about our salvation. No, it is all part of the grand illusion he builds around the Caruso name.
He wants to paint his daughters as pure, saintly, untouchable girls, driving up our value so our prices go up when it’s finally time to auction us off to the highest-paying men in the syndicate.
Bastard.
But regardless of his sick motives, my sisters and I cherish this place. Inside these walls, the people of the community don't look at us like mafia royalty or the property of dangerous men. They treat us like normal people. Like normal girls.
But today, I feel like I shouldn’t even be sitting in this front pew. I feel like I don’t deserve to cross the threshold of this house.
I am a sinner. A hypocrite.
It has been over a week since the night at Belvedere Manor, when I stormed out of Alessandro's car and slammed his door so hard, I was genuinely surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges and shatter on the asphalt.
He hasn’t tried to reach me since then. He hasn't texted, he hasn't called, and he hasn't shown his face at the estate.
My wedding is in exactly three days—the final details were locked in just yesterday when I was forced to sit through a grueling four-hour meeting with the wedding planner to pick out floral arrangements and seating charts—yet the groom is a ghost.
I suppose I should be thrilled about his absence. It isn't like I want to see him anyway. But my mind and my body are doing more than enough to remind me of him every waking second.
Even now, my skin burns with the phantom sensation of Alessandro's touch.
My brain constantly overwhelms me with the brutal, dominating feel of his mouth crashing into mine.
The rough, calloused texture of his hands.
The way he looked at me, completely detached yet entirely consuming, as he forced me to touch myself under his dominant gaze.
I have come to the memory of that night five times in the past week alone, shivering beneath my sheets in the dead of night, and the worst part is, I don’t even have the heart to feel dirty about it. I wanted it. I want him.
"Sienna? Are you okay?"
Daniela’s gentle whisper anchors me back to reality, jolting me out of the scandalous heat of my own thoughts. I blink rapidly, my heart hammering against my ribs as I look over at her sweet, concerned face.
A heavy wave of guilt washes over me. I feel even worse for harboring these wicked, desperate thoughts in the middle of a church service, right next to my innocent sisters.
"I'm fine," I whisper back, forcing a reassuring smile onto my lips as I smooth down the fabric of my dress.
I turn my eyes back to the pulpit, desperately trying to focus on the sermon, but the priest’s warnings about a deceitful heart feel entirely too late for me. The monster already has his teeth in mine.
Just then, a sharp, heavy vibration splits the quiet of our pew. My phone is buzzing inside my bag.
Rosalia cuts her eyes toward me, sending a mild glare across the row. I flash her a quick, apologetic smile as I hurriedly slip my hand into my purse and fish out the device.
The screen glows with an incoming call from an unknown number.
Clutching the phone tightly against my thigh, I slide out of the pew as quietly as possible. I slide past my sisters, ignoring Camilla’s curious look, and quickly make my way down the long side aisle and out the heavy timber doors into the quiet courtyard of the church.
The fresh air hits my face, and I press the phone to my ear, sliding the green icon across the glass. "Hello?"
Silence greets me.
"Hello?" I repeat, my voice echoing slightly against the stone pillars of the courtyard. "Is anyone there?"
Nothing. Not even the sound of breathing. Just a dead, hollow line stretching out into the void.
Frowning, I pull the phone away from my ear to confirm the call is still connected. The timer is ticking away the seconds, but the party on the other end remains entirely mute. Frustrated and mildly irritated, I end the call.
I head back inside the cathedral. Instead of walking all the way back down the center aisle to our front row—and risking another, much harsher glare from Rosalia—I decide to slide quietly into the very last row of pews.
It's completely empty back here, tucked away in the shadows near the entrance, ensuring I won't disturb anyone else's prayers.
Suddenly, a large, warm hand strikes from the dark behind me, fisting into my hair.
My heart violently leaps into my throat, a gasp dying on my lips as the familiar, intoxicating scent of expensive cedarwood and raw power floods my senses. I turn my head as much as the tight grip allows, my wide eyes locking onto a pair of dark, dangerous eyes.
It's Alessandro.
He shifts his weight smoothly, wrapping my long ponytail around his large wrist in that signature, dominating way of his.
With a firm, slow tug, he pulls my head back until my spine arches slightly against the pew.
He leans over the back of the bench, his lips hovering barely a fraction of an inch from mine, his breath hot against my mouth.
"Is this seat taken, fidanzata?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that vibrates straight down to my core.
Before I can even process the shock of him being here, he effortlessly vaults over the back of the bench and slides into the pew right beside me. He sits entirely too close, his broad shoulder pinning me against the wooden armrest, his heavy thigh pressing flush against mine.
I try to find my voice, desperately blinking away the dizzying heat radiating off him. "Go sit somewhere else, Alessandro. You shouldn't be here."
His eyes trail down to my lips, heavy and full of an unholy heat that has absolutely no place in this building. My heart slams like a trapped bird against my ribs. "What are you doing here?" I demand, keeping my whisper sharp and furious.
His gaze locks back onto mine. "I'm here to see you."
I violently turn my face away from him, staring straight ahead at the distant altar.
No. I can't look at him. I can’t let him look at me like that, or he’s going to see exactly how much power he has over me.
I can’t let him make me fall. Not here. Not three days before he officially traps me in his world.
Sensing my sudden wall, a wicked, amused tilt touches his lips. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Too holy for me today?"
"Shut up," I hiss, a fierce crimson stain rushing up my neck. I glance around frantically, terrified someone will hear. "We are in a church, you heathen. Have some decency."
"Decency?" he echoes, leaning closer until his stubble brushes the sensitive skin of my cheek. "You're the one who was just daydreaming about my mouth between your legs. Don't lie to me. I can smell your arousal from here."
How did he know that?
"You are completely insane," I whisper back, my hands trembling in my lap. "And incredibly arrogant."
"Only because you prove me right every single time."
Suddenly, an elderly woman seated a few pews ahead of us stiffens. She turns her head around, her brow furrowed in a deep, judgmental frown as she glares at the two of us whispering in the shadows.
Alessandro notices. His eyes darken, his hand sliding down the back of the pew, his fingers lightly brushing the nape of my neck. The elderly woman turns away, probably scarred for life.
I instantly freeze, my hand flying up to press against Alessandro’s broad chest to hold him back. "Be quiet," I command in a fierce, breathless whisper, holding his dark gaze. "If you want to stay seated next to me, you need to stay completely silent. Right now."
Alessandro tracks the movement of my hand on his chest, a low, silent chuckle vibrating against my palm. He looks at the elderly woman, then back to me.
Slowly, he raises two fingers to his lips, running them smoothly across the seam from left to right to signify he’s zipping his mouth completely shut. He drops his hand, a dangerous, mocking glint in his eyes, but he honors the deal.
Forced into an absolute, heavy silence, we sit shoulder to shoulder in the dim light. He doesn't move an inch away from me, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my dress, trapping me in a quiet, breathless bubble of our own making while the choir begins to sing.
Alessandro’s large hand leaves his lap, sliding slowly over the hem of my dress to touch my bare leg. His palms are rough, warm, and deliberate as they begin to move higher. A jolt of pure panic flashes through me. I look around quickly before reaching down to aggressively bat his hand away.
He stays completely still for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes boring into the side of my face, testing my resolve. Then, with an unbothered confidence, he replaces his hand right back on my thigh, gripping the soft skin firmly.
"Alessandro!" I whisper-hiss, my voice trembling as I try to pull away from his touch without drawing the congregation's attention.
He leans in so close his lips graze the shell of my ear, his breath a scorching contrast to the cool air of the church. "You better stay still, sweetheart, before I lay you on the bench and show everyone exactly who you belong to."
I freeze, completely stunned by the sheer, unadulterated dominance in his gravelly voice.
My heart thumps violently against my ribs, trapping the breath in my throat.
He takes my paralyzing shock as an open invitation, sliding his heavy hand higher up my thigh, his long fingers effortlessly pushing the silk of my underwear to the side.
I jolt at the direct contact, a silent gasp slipping past my lips. Before I can find the strength to shove him away, his fingers slide directly into my aching, slick heat.
"So fucking wet for me," he breathes against my neck, his voice a dark, possessive rumble that sends a vicious shiver straight down my spine. "You were made for me, dolcezza."
A wave of dizzying pleasure crashes over me, so intense it makes my vision blur. I violently bite down on my bottom lip, burying my teeth into the flesh until I taste copper, doing anything to keep from letting out a loud, shameful moan that would echo across the sacred walls.
Terrified of drawing the attention of the people just a few rows ahead, I force my entire body to stay completely rigid, anchoring myself against the wooden armrest. He handles me with a slow, agonizingly wicked rhythm, the quiet, slick friction of his fingers moving inside me sounding deafeningly loud over the choir’s holy hymnal.
Without a shred of warning, he yanks his hand out from beneath my dress. I gasp softly at the sudden emptiness, but the sound is instantly trapped in my throat as he slowly raises his glistening fingers and slides them directly into his mouth.
He holds my gaze the entire time, his dark eyes burning into mine with absolute satisfaction. The visual is so fiercely dominant, so unashamedly filthy, that my core clenches hard with a violent, involuntary wave of lust.
"Alessandro..." I breathe, my voice trembling so much it’s barely a thread of sound.
"So fucking sweet," he rumbles. "I’m highly tempted to throw the whole plan away and eat you out right here in the back row."
"Please..." I whisper, though I don't even know if I'm begging him to stop or begging him to give me more.
He chuckles darkly, and sinks his fingers right back into my slick heat. This time, I don't even try to push him away. I don't pretend to resist.
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, letting my head fall back against the wooden pew as the priest’s booming voice suddenly rocks through the speaker system again.
Oh no. What am I doing? Oh no.
The guilt fights with the pleasure, a brutal war raging inside my chest. I'm in a sacred house, right behind my sisters and dozens of innocent families, and I'm letting a monster ruin me. But even as the panic spikes, the words to command him to stop completely die in my throat.
I want the sin.
I want his touch.
His hand pumps in and out of me with a fierce, unwavering rhythm, the filthy, wet sounds completely masked by the voice of the priest. Then, he curves his fingers inside me, his thumb deliberately brushing over my hyper-sensitive clit in a perfect stroke.
I completely shatter.
My vision goes white as a massive, violent orgasm crashes over me, my internal muscles clamping down around his hand in tight, desperate waves. I violently swallow a crying sob, my fingers burying into the fabric of his tailored suit jacket so hard my knuckles turn white.
My goodness.
He watches the pleasure break across my face, an arrogant, dark satisfaction written in every line of his features. Slowly, he withdraws his hand, bringing it to his mouth once more to lick it completely clean, his eyes never leaving mine.
He flashes me a dangerous, knowing smile that tells me he knows exactly how completely he owns me now.
Without another syllable, he rises smoothly to his feet. Before I can even find my breath or open my mouth to speak, he melts right back into the deep shadows near the cathedral doors, gone as quickly and silently as he arrived.