Chapter 5 #2
"Different how?" Alex asks.
"Stronger. More interesting. The way she handles herself… it's not what I expected from their family."
"She has decent taste in dresses at least," Sofia adds, which from my sister is practically a declaration of friendship.
Valentina hears it too. Her hands pause on the crystal she's drying, a flicker of something crossing her face. Not quite victory, but satisfaction maybe. She's earned respect from the most dangerous family in Chicago.
"They don't hate me," she observes.
"They don't hate you," I confirm, moving closer until I can smell her perfume mixing with dish soap. "That's essentially approval in this family."
She reaches past me for a dish towel, her breast grazing my arm. The contact shoots straight to my cock, and I see her nipples harden beneath the black dress.
"Your brother smiled," she says, voice slightly breathless as she sets down the glass. "Dante actually smiled at me."
"You surprised him. That's rare." I study her profile, the elegant line of her throat, the way wisps of dark hair escape from her careful style. "You surprised all of them."
"Did I surprise you?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning I'm not ready to examine. Four days since I tasted her, since she called me husband while coming apart, and she's still revealing new facets. Each one more intriguing than the last.
"You have hidden depths," I admit, watching her hands move precisely. "Makes me wonder what else you're concealing behind that Bernardi princess facade."
She turns to face me fully, those dark eyes unreadable. "Everyone has secrets, Marco. Even men who think they know everything."
"I intend to discover all of yours." The promise comes out darker than intended. "Every hidden thought, every concealed skill, every secret you've buried under years of survival."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise." I catch her wrist, thumb finding her pulse. It jumps beneath my touch, fast and fluttering. "You're a Rosetti now, even if you don't accept it yet. You've proven yourself worthy of the name tonight. But worthiness and trust are different things."
Her pulse races beneath my touch, but she doesn't pull away. I can smell her arousal beneath the perfume, faint but unmistakable. "You don't trust me?"
"I don't know you. Not really. Tonight showed me that clearly." I release her wrist, stepping back before I do something stupid like bend her over this counter. "But I will. Every dark corner, every hidden strength, every secret you think you've buried deep enough to never surface."
She returns to the dishes, but I see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands grip the crystal a fraction too tight. Good. Let her wonder what methods I'll use to investigate her secrets. Let her worry about what I'll find.
My family filters past the kitchen, offering goodbyes and surprisingly civil nods to Valentina. Even Sofia pauses at the doorway.
"Try to last two weeks at least," she says to Valentina. "It would be embarrassing if you proved me right about the one week thing."
After they're gone, the compound feels too quiet.
The scent of garlic lingers. Valentina finishes with the dishes in silence while I watch, noting every movement, every micro-expression.
She's not what I expected when I stole her from that altar.
She's more. The question is how much more, and whether that's dangerous or delicious.
"Ready to leave?" I ask, though we both know she has no choice.
She dries her hands with deliberate care. "Back to the penthouse prison?"
"Back to where you belong," I correct, guiding her toward the door with a hand on her back. "But you're learning to navigate it well enough. Tonight proved that."
The drive from the compound to the penthouse passes in tension thick enough to cut.
She sits precisely in the middle of the backseat, maintaining distance even in the confined space.
But I can smell her arousal growing stronger with each mile.
The sweet musk of it mixing with her perfume until my cock aches from the knowledge.
Her thighs press together, a tell she doesn't know she has.
Her breathing grows shallow as we near the building.
She knows what's coming. What's been building for four days.
Tommy parks in the private garage, and I dismiss him with a look. The elevator requires my keycard, trapping us in the small space as it rises. Forty floors of her trying not to look at me, trying not to acknowledge the heat between us.
I catch her reflection in the mirrored walls. Lips parted, pupils dilated. Her nipples are hard points against the black dress, visible even in the dim elevator light. She shifts her weight, and I know her pussy is dripping wet. Probably has been since I touched her wrist in the kitchen.
"You're trembling," I observe, moving closer until she's backed against the mirrored wall.
"I'm not."
"Liar." I cage her with my arms, not touching but close enough that she feels my heat. "You're trembling because you know what happens when we get to the penthouse. Four days of sleeping beside me, smelling my cologne on the sheets, remembering how my tongue felt on your clit."
Her breath hitches.
"Four days of waking up wet," I continue, voice dropping to a growl. "Hating yourself for wanting what only I can give you."
"You're delusional."
"Am I?" I lean closer, my lips almost brushing her ear. "I can smell how wet you are. It's been driving me insane all evening. Sitting through dinner, knowing your pussy was dripping for me under that dress. Watching you clear dishes while your nipples stayed hard, begging to be sucked."
She turns her face away, but I see her reflection. Eyes closed, lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. Fighting her own desire and losing.
The elevator climbs higher. Thirty floors. Thirty-five. Each number on the display brings us closer to the inevitable.
"When those doors open," I tell her, "you have a choice. You can spend another night touching yourself while thinking of my tongue. Or…"
"Or?"
"Or you can admit what your body already knows. That you're mine. That you've been mine since you came on my tongue calling me husband. That you'll be mine until the day one of us stops breathing."
Floor thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.
Her eyes open, meeting mine in the mirror. "You will never touch me again. Not like that."
The elevator reaches forty. The doors begin to open with a soft chime.
"Then I'll wait." I step back, giving her space. "I'm very patient, principessa. But we both know how this ends."