Chapter 32 Vincenzo
Vincenzo
The morning light slants through the curtains, pale and cold, the kind that doesn’t warm anything it touches. It slices across the bed in broken lines, catching on pale skin, the edge of a black sheet, and the faint outline of a throat I spent most of last night biting.
I wake slowly. Not the startled jolt of a man who fell asleep in enemy territory. Not the hungover disorientation of too many late nights and bad decisions. No, this is something quieter. Heavier. My body knows exactly who it fell asleep beside and isn’t quite ready to admit how much that matters.
Nikolaj is still here.
The sheets are tangled around his hips, his back bare, lashes brushing his cheek in sleep.
One hand is wrapped around my waist, and his hair is a mess across my chest like he’s always belonged there.
Like last night didn’t end with me breaking open at the mouth and him putting himself back together between my thighs.
I should hate that he’s still here. I should want him gone, but I don’t. I want him right fucking here.
I don’t know what that says about me.
My phone rings. I reach for it blindly with one hand, trying not to jostle him. I check the screen and wince like I’ve been punched in the gut.
Father.
Of course.
I slip out from under Nikolaj as carefully as I can, ignoring the way he makes a soft, annoyed noise at the loss of body heat.
I grab my sweats, slip them on, and step onto the balcony barefoot, letting the cold slap me fully awake before I answer, pulling the glass door shut behind me with a click.
“Vincenzo.”
My father’s voice is as cold as the wind that slices, my spine snapping straight, bare feet pressing flat against the chilled stone as if I can root myself against whatever’s about to come.
“I received a report this morning.”
“Of course you did.”
“Don’t be flippant.”
I close my eyes. “Then don’t waste time circling the point.”
“There were witnesses,” his voice darkens, coiled with fury that simmers instead of exploding, “saying Nikolaj Dragovich slapped a drink from your hand like a feral child.”
“That drink was poisoned.”
“I don’t care if it was filled with cyanide and arsenic and the blood of Saint Catherine,” he growls. “What matters is how it looked, Vincenzo. What matters is the Vieri name.”
I grip the balcony railing harder than I need to.
“You’ve let Dragovich too far inside your head,” he snaps.
“You were meant to be king of the next empire, but lately, all I see is a boy pretending he knows what it means to rule. A boy losing himself to things he shouldn’t want.
If you cannot control yourself, I will pull you from the school and have someone else inherit what should be yours. ”
A flicker of rage flares in my chest, molten and hot. “I’m not giving up my crown,” I grit out.
“Then act like you want it,” he growls. “Clean your mess, regain control, and do not let me hear your name tied to Dragovich again.”
“I haven’t embarrassed anyone,” I say carefully. “I’ve done exactly what you asked. I survived. I remained at the top of the heir program. I’ve—”
“Don’t insult me with excuses. Dragovich is a threat, not a plaything.”
“I know what he is.”
“Do you?”
I open my mouth to reply, but I freeze because behind me, I hear the faintest rustle.
“Do you?” my father demands again. “I will not allow my heir to be turned into some spectacle for the others. If you won’t make the decision, I will.”
“I hear you, Pappa,” I say quietly.
I hear Nikolaj, too. He’s behind me, and I can feel the warmth of his body before he touches me. His hand drags along my hipbone, his fingers slip past the waistband of my sweats. I inhale through my nose, body already thrumming.
Nikolaj’s breath brushes against my lower back when he sinks to his knees behind me. “…need to remember who you are, Vincenzo,” my father says. “You do not bend for anyone. Especially not for him.”
I close my eyes because, God, if only he knew.
Nikolaj slides my sweats farther down, just enough to bare me. His hands are cold, but his mouth is fire, open and claiming over the base of my spine, dragging his tongue slowly until I shudder.
My throat goes dry.
My father is still talking—something about alliances and appearances. But I can’t hear a word over the rush of blood to my ears and the heat rising under my skin.
“Don’t make a sound,” my undoing whispers. “Keep talking. Be the perfect heir, Prince.”
I turn and glance down to see his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Then he mouths one word.
Mine.
I grip the phone tighter.
“I want obedience, Vincenzo. I want clarity. I want to know you still remember who the fuck you are when I strip away the school, the title, the name.”
Nikolaj decides at that exact moment to spread my cheeks apart with both hands and lick me open.
I shudder so violently the phone nearly slips from my grip. His mouth is molten, greedy, filthy. He doesn’t ease in—he claims. Tongue flat at first, dragging slow and possessive from the base of my spine down, before he narrows the pressure and presses in deeper; deliberate and godless.
Claiming me while my father tells me not to bend.
“Talk,” he murmurs against me. “Be good. Be what he wants you to be.”
I want to kill him. I want to drag him to his feet and remind him who he’s kneeling for. But instead, I stand still, spine rigid, body on fire.
“You have my obedience and my loyalty,” I manage, forcing the words through my teeth. “I hear you loud and clear, but I am not leaving. I am staying to claim my throne and kill Silvano when I return.”
He slides his hands to the backs of my thighs, pushes them apart just an inch wider, and buries his face deeper, tongue working me with slow, devastating precision, unbothered by the way I tremble.
“I need you focused, Vincenzo,” my father goes on, clearly unaware I’m seconds away from breaking. “There are decisions coming down in the next few weeks that will shape the next decade. Your every move is under scrutiny.”
“Yes, Pappa,” I manage, voice raw and breathless like I’m sick. “Of course.”
Nikolaj spreads me wider and spits against my hole, letting it drip before dragging his tongue back up, and wrapping a hand around my cock. He strokes it once, slow, so fucking slow, before leaning in and mouthing against me again, tongue circling my hole.
He’s waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to forget my name.
But I won’t. I can't.
Because I’m Vincenzo Vieri.
Because my father is still talking.
Because this is a war, and Nikolaj Dragovich plays on his knees like it’s the highest position of power in the game.
“You sound distracted,” my father snaps.
“No,” I lie, my voice tight. “I’m focused.”
“You’d better be.” He pauses. “Tell me now, before I hang up—will I be hearing your name tied to Dragovich again?”
Another slow, cruel push of Nikolaj’s tongue. My eyes roll back.
“I won’t embarrass the family,” I grind out, every syllable trembling on the edge of a moan.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Nikolaj decides at that fucking moment to rise from the floor in one fluid motion, all sin and precision, and slips between me and the balcony. He drops to his knees in front of me and his hand fists my leaking cock again, leaning in to press his mouth right against it.
My father’s still waiting for an answer, when my enemy takes me into his mouth.
“I said,” my father’s voice sharpens, “will I be hearing your name tied to him again?”
I force the words out through a locked throat. “No.”
Nikolaj moans around me. It vibrates all the way through my spine.
“Good,” my father says. “Because if I do, I will assume you’ve forgotten the value of loyalty.”
I can’t breathe. I nod, forgetting he can’t see me. “I’m loyal,” I rasp. “To the crown. To our legacy.”
I glance down, and he looks up—those eyes so clear, so fucking blue, blown wide with hunger and satisfaction. There’s a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, even with my cock stuffed halfway down his throat.
“I’m flying in next week,” my father says. “We’ll discuss your future then. But I expect you to be presentable at the summit this weekend. No scandals. No slip-ups. You will speak when spoken to and nothing more. You’re there to observe, to signal strength. Let me remind you, Vincenzo—”
“You don’t need to,” I interrupt, barely recognizing my own voice. “I haven’t forgotten who I am.”
But I have, because I’m standing on a balcony overlooking my empire while my rival’s mouth is on my cock.
“Then act like someone I can be proud of.”
The line goes dead before I can respond, phone falling to the stone with a clatter that echoes around the courtyard below. Then I grip Nikolaj’s hair and fuck his mouth.
His eyes flutter shut as I drive into him; one hand in his hair, the other gripping the balcony rail to me to keep from shaking apart. I use his mouth like a weapon, like the punishment he wants, like the secret we both know won’t stay buried much longer.
“Nikolaj—fuck—”
It feels like he’s trained himself on the taste of me, and fuck, it should humiliate me how good he is at this. How well he handles it. How easily he slips down my cock, lips stretched, spit clinging between us in thick strings when he pulls back to breathe.
“You were so good, Your Highness,” he murmurs. “Taking orders like that with my tongue in your ass. Who knew royalty had such manners?”
“Shut up,” I breathe, but it’s a prayer, not a threat. My knees are shaking, and my skin is molten. I can’t focus on anything but the heat of Nikolaj’s mouth on me, the way he drags his tongue over the sensitive spot just behind my balls, how his fingers dig into my thighs.
“You just told Daddy no?” he whispers.
I nod once, short and shallow. “Yes.”
“Did he remind you who you belong to?”
“He tried to,” I say, panting as he presses against me.
“He doesn’t own you,” he growls. “Not here. Let me take what he’s trying to erase.”