Chapter Thirty – Lunetta
One year Later
The doors to the lecture hall creak shut behind me. My feet feel like stones in my shoes. My hands tremble faintly from too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
Bea’s hand wraps around mine. “You didn’t pass out mid-sentence,” she says with a grin. “Proud of you.”
I nod, lips curved faintly. But my eyes are already scanning past the crowd of students trickling down the steps.
And then I see him.
He’s standing by the curb just past the parking sign, one foot crossed over the other, hands casually tucked into his jacket. A baby carrier is strapped tightly to his chest—Carmela curled inside, her plump cheek squished against the black cotton, her tiny mouth slightly open as she sleeps. Her breath fogs a faint circle on Vieri’s shirt.
God, how does a man like him make holding a baby look like the most natural thing in the world?
He lifts his head at the same time I do. Our eyes meet, and my chest aches.
I forget about the exam, the paper due Friday, the cramps in my calves. I start walking.
Bea doesn’t even try to stop me. “Here we go again,” I hear her mutter with a soft laugh behind me.
When I reach him, I throw my arms around him, careful not to jostle the baby. Vieri catches me like he always does—like I’m made for his arms and his arms alone. One arm cradles my back, the other steadies the carrier. He smells like leather and black tea and a trace of baby powder.
I tilt my face up.
He kisses me without hesitation. My knees go soft, and I melt into him. He kisses like he’s memorizing me all over again.
A little huff escapes behind us. “Do you guys ever remember other people exist?” Bea asks, rolling her eyes as she saunters toward the car.
He breaks the kiss but keeps his forehead pressed to mine. “Tell me you aced your speech,” he murmurs, his voice low and proud. “Tell me you didn’t stutter once.”
“I did,” I whisper. “I didn’t even look at my notes.”
His smile is quiet. “That’s my girl.”
We walk to the car together, and I feel them again—the stares. Some students glance over discreetly. Others don’t even bother to hide it.
It’s not the baby. It’s the man. The scar above his brow. The tattoos that peek beneath his rolled-up sleeves. The aura of danger that clings to him like a shadow.
We slide into the car and Bea is beside the driver, talking about how we owe her a lifetime supply of espresso for babysitting. I sit in the back, Vieri beside me, Carmela still fast asleep on his chest.
I rest my hand over the baby’s legs, letting my fingers trace the soft edge of her sock.
A year has passed but the memories of that night remain. I thought I’d lost our baby. But fate—or grace—spared us. The blade hadn’t gone deep. She was born healthy. Strong. My miracle. I look at my Rosary that now hangs in the car and I say a prayer.
“Thank you, blessed mother.”
I pray now. I learned how to do it again without the guilt.
When I woke in the hospital, Vieri was there. He told me everything. My inheritance. The truth about my parents. The blood-soaked diamonds. He cried when he heard Nonna passed and blamed himself so much that there was no point blaming him.
Not that I did. I was shameless when it came to him and I accepted that already. I listened.
And then I told him I didn’t want anything to do with the diamonds. He and his brothers wanted nothing to do with them either.
They left it all behind. Wherever their uncle had stashed them, they stayed. Let the past rot with the bones that built it.
I moved into the mansion from the hospital, Bea right beside me. I gave birth in Vieri’s room after a grueling nine months. Carmela came into the world with a cry as fierce as fire.
She had Vieri’s eyes.
Two months after that, I applied to college. I had no hope of getting in but somehow I got in.
Vieri paused everything—handed the business to his brothers without hesitation. Said he wanted to be there when I graduated. When Carmela walked for the first time. When she said “Mama.” He would raise our kid while I studied. He’s here now. Just like he promised.
So I went back to college, taking Bea with me.
The car engine clicks softly as it cools, the air outside thick with the warmth of late afternoon. Vieri gets down, holding Carmela delicately. He opens the door for me and I get down.
Bea hops out on the other side, patting dust off her jeans. Riccardo barrels out the front doors like he’s been counting down the seconds.
“Bea,” he calls, half-breathless, grin wide. “Hey. Hi. How are you? You okay? Did you eat? Do you need anything? Should I carry your bag? You look amazing—did I say that already?”
Bea just raises an eyebrow at him. “Get me some lemonade.”
He blinks. “Right. Yes. Of course. Right away.” He practically grabs her bag off her shoulder and sprints back inside without another word.
From the patio, Enzo, Alfio, and Omero step out like they’ve been watching a circus and just realized the animals have escaped. They stare at Bea, wide-eyed and wary.
“Is she…” Omero starts.
“A witch?” Alfio offers, half-whispered.
“I think she reads minds,” Enzo mutters, backing up a step.
“I heard she killed a man with a look once,” Omero says solemnly.
Bea turns her head slowly and pins them with a glare that could curdle milk.
All three of them freeze.
Alfio raises both hands. “We didn’t say anything.”
“We love witches,” Enzo adds quickly.
“Big fans,” Omero nods.
“It’s your turn to babysit, Omero. Lune,” she says, turning to me, “Vieri can give them the baby. They seem to have a lot of time on their hands.”
She turns to Omero and stares. He runs up to Vieri immediately with a scared smile. “Yeah, of course, you both need some time to rest.”
Vieri hands the baby over to him and he cradles the baby carefully.
“If she wakes up—“ Bea says. Omero gulps, looking at Bea, then down at Carmela.
“We have it covered,” Alfio says, avoiding Bea’s eyes. “We are uncles, we’ve got this.”
They walk off quietly, with their full attention on the sleeping baby.
Bea looks at Vieri. “I got you time with your girl. You owe me.”
He nods, putting his hands around me. “Thank you Bea. I do owe you.”
Bea crosses her arms and watches Riccardo return at full speed, holding out the glass like a sacred offering. “Fresh lemon, no pulp, one sugar cube,” he announces proudly.
She snatches it from him, takes a long sip, and then nods once. “You’ll do.”
He beams like she’s just declared her undying love.
“Wanna tell me about your day?” he asks, jogging beside her as she starts walking toward the house.
Bea doesn’t answer. She just lets him follow her, sipping slowly as he tries to keep up.
I glance at Vieri. He looks down at me.
We both start laughing.
We slip into the house, past the marble hall and down the quiet corridor to our wing. I slip into the bathroom, peel off my clothes, and sink into the warmth of a bath. The quiet wraps around me. When I finally step out, skin flushed, wrapped in my robe, Vieri is standing by the cot, gently tucking the blanket around Carmela.
He turns the moment I step out.
His arms come around me fast, pulling me close. He breathes me in, as if he needs the scent of my skin to remind him I’m really here.
“You smell like heaven,” he murmurs.
I bury my face against his chest, my hands fisting lightly in his shirt. His warmth grounds me. His lips graze my forehead, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth before he seals his mouth over mine.
“I missed you,” he says softly.
“I was gone for hours.”
He shrugs against me. “Still counts.”
I smile and tighten my arms around him.
My hands slide up his bare chest. I can feel the tension in his body—heat humming just under the surface.
“Babe…” I whisper, my voice cracking on the edge of the need building inside me. “I need you.”
His hands slide over my waist, warm and reverent, fingers spreading across the softness of my hips like he’s been waiting all day just to touch me here.
“You look beautiful like this,” he murmurs against my neck, kissing just below my ear.
The knot of my robe is the next thing to go—undone with a practiced flick of his fingers. It parts easily, exposing my full breasts, my belly, the thick swell of my thighs. I flush.
He groans low. “You drive me crazy.”
His lips trail down my shoulder as his hands roam—palming my ass, dragging over the curve of my hip, dipping just low enough to brush the outer lips of my vulva. I feel how wet I already am, the slickness between my labia warm and heavy.
He kisses down my spine and guides me forward until my hands brace on the edge of the vanity. The cool wood is a contrast to the heat of my body.
“I want you just like this,” he says, voice softer now. “Bent over. Letting me take my time.”
I tremble as he kneels behind me. His hands part my ass gently, reverently. His thumbs spread my entrance wide, exposing my vagina—already glistening, my clit swollen and eager.
“You’re soaked,” he whispers like a compliment, brushing a single finger down my slit. “Let me taste you first.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my clitoris—gentle at first, then deeper, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles. I moan, my legs already trembling from the sensation. His hands anchor me in place as his tongue laps through my folds, dipping into my vagina, then back to flick against the aching bud.
“You taste like everything,” he says into me. “I’ll never get enough.”
I grip the vanity harder as he stands, his chest warm against my back now. He kisses my shoulder, then the back of my neck, then reaches down to guide the head of his cock—thick, hot, leaking—against my entrance.
“Ready?” he murmurs, voice pure affection laced with desire.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”
He pushes in slowly.
The stretch makes me gasp, my vaginal walls parting to take him. Inch by inch, he fills me until I feel the pressure deep in my belly, the weight of him perfect, my body clutching around him.
“God,” he groans, pressing kisses along my spine. He holds still for a moment, buried fully inside, letting me adjust to the fullness. His hands spread over my hips, smoothing down the softness of my sides.
Then he begins to move.
His hips roll with slow, deep thrusts, the head of his penis dragging against every sensitive ridge inside me. My breath catches with each push forward, my clit brushing against the edge of the table. The rhythm is steady, tender but intense.
My breasts sway with every thrust, nipples tight, skin flushed. He leans forward, wraps an arm around my waist, and presses his lips to my shoulder as he rocks into me.
“You take me so well,” he breathes. “So tight. So perfect.”
My moans spill out freely now, hips rolling back to meet him. I want more—I want all of it. I’m learning not to hold back. Learning to let him see how much I love it.
“Faster,” I whisper. “Don’t hold back.”
His breath stutters.
Then his rhythm changes—deeper, faster, still tender but with more weight behind it. My ass bounces with each thrust, his pelvis slapping softly against the fullness of my cheeks. I feel every inch of him, every shift in angle, every brush of my g-spot as he moves.
My clit pulses against the edge of the vanity, and the pressure builds fast, sharp, delicious.
“I’m close,” I moan. “Right there…”
“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers, one hand leaving my hip to slide beneath me. His fingers find my clit, rubbing slow, tight circles as he fucks me through it.
I break.
My orgasm slams into me. My walls tighten, pulsing around his cock, and I cry out as my legs go weak.
“Fuck—yes,” he groans. “That’s it. Let me feel you come.”
I shiver as he presses a soft kiss between my shoulder blades. His hands trace down my hips. Then he leans closer and murmurs in my ear, “Come with me.”
Before I can ask where, he pulls out. A string of wetness trails down my thigh, and I moan at the loss.
But he doesn’t give me time to mourn it.
He turns me gently and lifts me into his arms. I squeal softly, but he silences it with a kiss—deep and warm and full of hunger that hasn’t even begun to fade.
He carries me across the room. Then my back hits the wall.
He presses me there—bare skin to cool paint—his body flush against mine, his cock nestled between my thighs, hard and hot and ready. His hands roam down my sides, over the soft swell of my ass, gripping my flesh like he can’t believe I’m real.
“I love you like this,” he groans. “Pinned between me and the wall. Legs spread. Pussy dripping. Ready for more.”
My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and I feel his cock slide through my folds again.
“Please,” I whisper, breathless. “I want you back inside me.”
He lines himself up with one hand and locks his gaze on mine.
“You want it?”
I nod.
“Say it,” he whispers. “Say you want me to fuck this pretty pussy against the wall.”
My cheeks heat, but something in me wants to give him that. All of it.
“I want you to fuck my pussy,” I say, breath hitching. “I want you deep.”
His eyes flash, and then he thrusts upward.
My mouth drops open as he pushes back inside—one hard, wet, perfect motion. He fills me again, and the stretch is intense, sharper this time with how sensitive I am.
“God,” he groans. “You’re still so tight.”
I’m pinned between the wall and his body, thick thighs wrapped around him, my vagina stretched wide around his cock. He starts to move—thrusting up into me, using the wall for leverage. His cock drags against every swollen ridge inside me, hitting deep, fast, hungry.
My breasts bounce with each thrust, my back arching against the wall. His hands grab under my thighs, holding me up, guiding every snap of his hips.
“You feel that?” he pants, burying his face in my neck. “That’s how perfect this pussy takes me. Like it was made to fit my cock.”
My arms wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his back as he slams into me again and again. The sound of our bodies meeting echoes through the room—wet, obscene, relentless.
I moan loud against his ear. “You’re so deep—oh god—keep going…”
His rhythm turns punishing.
“I love this body,” he groans. “Every curve. Every inch. This thick ass bouncing against me. These thighs locked around me. This tight, wet cunt wrapped around my cock like you never want to let go.”
And I don’t.
I never want him to stop.
His hand slips between us, finding my clitoris with practiced ease. He rubs tight, wet circles as he fucks me against the wall, my orgasm building fast and brutal.
“I’m close,” I gasp, head falling back. “I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he growls. I do.
My entire body goes rigid, my cunt clenching around him like a vise. Pleasure tears through me like a storm—hot, endless, overwhelming. I cry out, trembling in his arms, hips jerking wildly as my orgasm rips through every nerve ending.
He groans and slams into me once more.
“I’m gonna come,” he chokes out. “I’m gonna fill you up again.”
He thrusts deep and holds, cock pulsing inside me as he releases—thick, hot spurts spilling into my cunt, flooding me again, the wetness trailing down my thighs.
He stays there, pressed against me, forehead to mine, both of us shaking.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You feel like everything.”