14. Pietro
PIETRO
WHAT THE DARKNESS LEFT BEHIND
T he celebration was everything it should have been—a grand affair filled with laughter, good food, and the entire family gathered under one roof for something other than bloodshed.
The last time we were all together, we were burying my father. I'd be happy never to see another funeral again, but in this life, that’s asking for the impossible.
The night air is cool as I step out of the vehicle and into the hotel lobby—my home, for now. The walls are familiar, and the hallways and bar echo with the remnants of conversations from my last visit. But tonight, the silence is heavier than usual.
I push open the door to my suite, and immediately, I feel it—something is off.
Again. It’s three a.m. who the fuck wants a piece of me at this hour? The room is dark, but I see her silhouette.
Amara sits in the corner chair, half-hidden in the pale light. Her posture is tense, and her shoulders are stiff as she stares at nothing. I know she worked tonight, and I can’t shake the feeling that someone hurt her.
I close the door behind me, shrugging off my jacket as I step closer. “What happened?”
But she doesn’t answer .
She doesn’t know I’ll kill anyone who hurts her.
I crouch in front of her, trying to catch her gaze, but she keeps her head down. I pull her hands into mine, and I feel her racing pulse. Someone scared her. I don’t like this. Amara doesn’t get shaken easily, but she’s a live wire, barely holding it together tonight.
“Who hurt you?”
Still, nothing. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but whatever it is, she swallows it down. That only makes my frustration build. I don’t like seeing her like this. I don’t know what she’s running from, and I don’t like it.
I should be relieved that she ran to me. I knew she was burying her feelings for me all along, and this proves it because we just fit. She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted.
I could push her for answers. I should demand she tell me what’s wrong. But I know better. Some wounds aren’t meant to be pried open. Some things have to be given willingly.
And for now, I let her keep her secrets.
Instead, I reach for her, sliding my fingers along her jaw and tipping her face to mine. There’s something raw in her eyes, something haunted, and it makes me want to burn the world down until whatever put that look there is nothing but ash.
I don’t ask again. I kiss her.
I pull her to her feet. She stiffens at first, but then she’s melting into me, and her fingers clutch my shirt and pull me closer. Her breath is unsteady. My cock is hard against her body. She’s pressing into me like she’s trying to anchor herself to something solid, something real.
I don’t know what happened tonight. I don’t know who or what left her in this condition. But I know one thing—whoever it was, whatever it was, I’ll find out. And when I do, there won’t be a safe place for them to hide.
She’s standing in my arms, and I take a second to contemplate how lucky I am. Then, her arms slide around my neck.
“We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” she says as she nibbles on my earlobe. She quickly slides out of her heels and unbuttons her shirt before she steps out of her suit pants.
I don’t need a second invitation. My hard cock presses into her. I reach down and rip her lacy panties off, tossing them onto the plush white carpet.
I run my hand through her hair and hold her immobile as my lips devour hers. I love the taste of her. She’s warm cotton candy on a fall day.
I bury myself in her lips, then pull back to trail kisses up her neck until I smell the familiar scent of raspberry and vanilla wafting around my nose.
I groan.
She’s the one woman I could get lost in. She’s the one woman I see myself committing to. My cock strains with need and pushes against my pants like a stallion wanting to race on Derby Day.
“I need you,” she says as she pulls my lips back to hers. I slip my tongue into her warm mouth. I want to ask her questions, but I’ll find the answers I need in time.
She needs me.
Her words humble me. She’s vulnerable, and I know how hard that is for her. She might wear her heart on her sleeve, but beneath that is someone who cares deeply and has so much love to give… to the right person.
And God help her—she chose me .
She shimmies out of her dress shirt, and I unclasp her bra. She stands naked before me, physically and emotionally. I scoop her into my arms and carry her into the bedroom, where I lay her in the middle of the enormous bed.
I slip out of my shoes and pants quickly.
She sits, pulling me toward the bed. I tug my boxers off. My cock springs free, and she grabs me, running her hand up my shaft. Her lips part, and she glances up at me before her painted lips wrap around my cock.
Holy mother of God.
She moves slowly over the end, circling her tongue around my head until I groan.
I pride myself on restraint, but damn, she’s making this difficult.
I could explode in her mouth right now, but I put my hand on the back of her head as I gently encourage her to take all of me.
She pushes me back and sinks to the floor, grabbing my ass cheek and bobbing on my head.
I watch as her slender fingers stroke my shaft, slow at first, then faster, until she takes me fully into her mouth. I gasp, hips thrusting instinctively. The way she moves and devours me—she gives head like it’s an art form, and I’m her masterpiece.
“Good girl,” I moan.
She works her mouth, and just when I’m about to shoot my load, I pull back.
“I want to come in you,” I growl, scooping her into my arms and throwing her onto the bed without hesitation. I’m on her in seconds, my chest pressing her down, her nipples stiffening as they graze my skin. She’s soft, warm, ready—and I’m past the point of holding back.
“I’m going to fuck you all night, Princess.” I spread her legs and sink my cock into her until I’ve filled her tight pussy.
I drive into her, losing control as I pin her shoulders to the mattress. I’m so deep my balls slap against her tight ass with every thrust. Her fingers clutch at my chest hair, and her legs wrap around my hips, possessive and desperate, pulling me in closer like she never wants to let go.
I feel her pussy quiver. “Who owns you?”
“You.”
“I want you to come now and say my name.”
I pump her again, and her pussy convulses as she peaks and screams, “Pietro.” Her nails dig into my back, but I love the pain.
I wish she weren’t on the pill. I’d love to see her swollen with my baby. She’d be a good mother to my children.
This thought makes me come undone. I roar as I come. “You’re mine,” I whisper into her ear as I shoot my hot cum in her tight pussy.
My cock is still stiff as I hold her to me. She reaches her tiny hand out and grabs my cock, and it’s oddly comforting.
“Are you okay?” I ask .
“Yeah, you?”
“Never better,” I reply, realizing I spoke the truth. This is the first time I’ve envisioned settling down and having a family.
“Mm,” she purrs as she slides her hand possessively down my leg before she falls asleep.
I wonder who scarred her. I’ve noticed a scar on her arm, and I can spot a nose job when I see one, and she doesn’t impress me as a vain woman. Something’s not adding up.
Who is she?
She said she’s not with anyone, which means it must be someone close to her. If I’m going to chase her demons away, I need to know who they are.
All of them.
I drift in and out of sleep, taking her again and again as we surrender to raw desire. We lie tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat and cum, both breathless and spent.
We’re both insatiable—but somehow, somewhere between the hunger and the heat, we’ve bonded.
And that’s dangerous.
I wake at dawn. Amara is still asleep, curled into the sheets, her leg draped possessively over mine.
Her face is nuzzled into my chest, soft and trusting.
The tension from last night lingers in the air, even in sleep.
I dress quietly, slipping on a fresh shirt and fastening my Patek Philippe.
Then, I head downstairs to clear my head. I texted Matteo.
I need information on Amara. Don’t leave anything out.
You sure about that?
I need to know who hurt her.
I’m on it.
The hotel bar is empty at this hour. Just the way I like it. I sit with my espresso, watching the city come to life through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a walkway to the park. The weight of last night is still with me, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts like a dog with a beef bone.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but the sun is up, so it must be seven. I made a few espressos, lost in thought. Amara is safely tucked in my bed, and for that, I’m grateful.
Matteo finds me first, sliding into the seat across from me, his expression sharp.
“You left early last night," he says. "Everything good?”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“I’m the head of the family, and your text concerned me.”
I take a sip of caffeine, letting the heat settle before answering. “Amara was off. Something happened, but she won't say what.”
Matteo leans back in the booth, drumming his fingers on the table. "You think someone is using her to get to you?” His eyebrows furrowed with concern.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
Before Matteo can respond, Bianca appears, wearing an outfit that accentuates her figure—and, knowing her, it costs thousands of dollars.
She folds her arms, giving me a look that says she already knows more than I do.
I don’t know what that school did to her, but she’s become bold and fierce.
I suppose it has to do with the fact that our father is no longer berating her every five minutes.
Her confident expression precedes her as she slides into the booth beside me.
“What are you doing up this early?”
“I was with Matteo when he got your text. And I’m here to add some insight. If you want answers, you're asking the wrong questions,” she says. “Women don’t always say what's wrong. Sometimes, you have to read between the lines.”
I raise a brow. “And what do you think is between those lines? ”
She tilts her head, considering. “Fear. Or maybe something worse.”
That sits heavy in my gut. I drain my drink, set the cup on the saucer with barely a sound, and push it aside. “Either way, I'll get to the bottom of it.”
Bianca smirks. “Of course you will. But try not to scare her in the process. You need to be sensitive, and you’re generally—not.”
I don't respond to that. Instead, I stand, already feeling the urge to move. If there's one thing I know, nothing stays buried forever. And if Amara won’t tell me what’s chasing her, I’ll find out myself.