20. Pietro
PIETRO
KISSES AND CONSEQUENCES
S hopping with Amara is an exercise in control.
Not mine—hers. She hates being spoiled and hates accepting things that she hasn’t worked for. But today, she doesn’t get a choice.
“You’re here, sir,” Joseph announces from the driver’s seat as he pulls up in front of La Perla. Before she can protest, I open the door and offer my hand. She looks at me warily but takes it, stepping onto the glistening sidewalk.
“I don’t need anything from here,” she protests. The fact that she’s blushing is adorable. It makes me happy to spoil her. I smile. “Good thing I didn’t ask if you needed it,” I say as I steer her toward the sliding doors. She’s adorable, even if she protests too much.
Besides, this is as much for me as it is for her.
A sales associate greets us instantly, filled with polished charm and the kind of practiced grace worthy of a billionaire’s wife. “Welcome to La Perla. How can I assist you today?”
I glance at Amara. “Something in red.”
She huffs. “Black.”
I tilt my head. “Both.”
The associate hides her smile, gesturing for us to follow. “Right this way. ”
Amara walks ahead, her fingers lightly grazing the delicate lace and silk on display.
I watch her closely. She might resist the idea of luxury, but I see how her hands hesitate over the softer fabrics, and how her breath hitches tells me she likes what she sees.
I have an undeniable need to shower her with luxurious things.
She’s had a tough life and deserves to be spoiled.
“Try them on,” I say, nodding toward the fitting rooms.
She levels me with a glare. “Bossy.”
“And?”
She sighs but takes a few sets, disappearing behind the curtain. I settle into a plush chair, waiting. My jaw drops when she steps out in black lace lingerie that barely covers her.
She raises a brow, smirking. “Cat got your tongue?”
I let my gaze drag over her—slow, deliberate, hungry. “You’re getting that.”
Her lips twitch. “Oh, am I?”
I stand, closing the space between us, my voice dropping low. “And you’re wearing it tonight.”
Her breathing is erratic, but the sales associate clears her throat before she can respond. She hands Amara a few other pieces to try on, then discreetly turns and walks away.
Amara mutters something about me being impossible before disappearing behind the fitting room door again.
My cock has a mind of its own and strains against the zipper of my pants. I walk through the door, closing it behind me.
“You can’t be in here,” she exclaims, as she holds the lacy lingerie so that it covers her beautiful tits.
“Want to bet?” I murmur, voice low and loaded with promise. The idea of taking her right here, right now—with the risk of being caught—only makes my cock throb harder.
“You’ll need more than that to stop me,” I chuckle, my eyes are locked on her nipples that are tight and begging for my mouth.
“Go on, Princess... tempt me,” I call her bluff.
“You wouldn’t,” she mocks me, because she knows me, and I’m not a man who loses when it’s important to me .
And she’s important to me—irreplaceable. My world wouldn’t be the same without her. I care for her deeply, and that’s dangerous. She’s the enemy’s daughter, and she’s still holding onto secrets she won’t share.
She refuses to give me the answers I need to protect her, but I know she’ll tell me eventually. Her trust issues run deep, and I get it. Her childhood… It’s eerily similar to mine.
I pull Amara into my solid chest and cover her lips. I unzip my slacks and push her against the wall, removing the clothing from her hands and tossing it. I slip my hand between her legs.
“You’re wet for me.” I dip two fingers in her and feel her wetness before I pull them out and lick them suggestively.
“My Princess has needs,” I murmur, licking my fingers again, slowly, deliberately. This time, our eyes lock.
Desire blazes in hers, yes… but there’s more.
Something she’s not ready to say out loud.
My Princess is vulnerable, which means she’s open to love. My heart soars like a rocket at the thought that she might love me.
I tug my slacks down, the cool air brushing against my skin. Her hands find my shoulders, steadying herself as I grip her hips.
I lift her effortlessly—then slam into her with a guttural growl, claiming her in one powerful thrust.
She’s mine.
“I’m going to fuck your tight pussy.”
I take her hard and fast against the wall. Amara stifles her scream when she comes. I pump her hot pussy a few more times before filling her with my seed.
It was too quick—but a blessing, considering the saleslady pops in to ask if everything’s okay.
“Fine,” I reply. I grab my pants and pick up the lingerie at our feet before cracking the door, and gingerly hand it to her.
“Wrap everything, please.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Amara chuckles.
“I’ll take that as a complaint.” But when I turn to help Amara dress, she’s smiling, and that’s worth more than a million dollars .
When we left the store, I decided the day was still young, and there were plenty of shops to visit. As we walk to the vehicle, I catch her glancing up and down the street, and I can’t help but wonder who she’s looking for… is it Milo?? Or her father?
From there, Joseph drives us to a designer boutique, where the argument picks up right where we left off.
But the entire afternoon, I know something is afoot, and I can’t figure it out, which frustrates me even more. I can’t keep her safe if I don’t know what I’m up against.
“Pietro, I don’t need this many pairs of heels,” she protests, holding up a pair of Louboutins like they’ve personally offended her.
I pluck them from her hands and add them to the pile. “You do now.”
She crosses her arms. “You can’t just?—”
“I can.” I lean in, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and dropping a kiss on her crimson-red lips. “And I will.”
She exhales sharply but doesn’t argue further. Ha. Victory is mine today. And just to make her really uncomfortable, we hit the Dior store next.
We don’t stop until I’m satisfied that she’s outfitted in the latest designs and has a wardrobe fit for a Princess.
Joseph chuckles as he opens the trunk for the obscene number of bags.
“Take us home,” I instruct Joseph as I guide Amara into the vehicle.
She shakes her head as we settle in, staring at the pile in the backseat. “This is ridiculous.”
I grin. “You’re smiling.”
She collapses onto the couch at the penthouse, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you love it,” I say as I pull a small velvet box from my pocket and hand it to her. She eyes the box suspiciously. “What now?”
“Open it.”
She hesitates, then carefully takes the box from me. When she flips the lid, she gasps. Her eyes lock on the delicate necklace—a thin gold chain with a diamond pendant that catches the light just right .
She swallows hard. “Pietro…” Her voice is barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. Her fingers brush the edge of the velvet box. “It’s beautiful, but… I can’t accept something like this.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says it. Her jaw tightens, and her eyes glisten from disbelief.
She loves it. She doesn’t think she’s worthy of it.
I take the necklace and move behind her, brushing her hair aside to clasp it at the back of her neck. My fingers graze her skin, and she shivers.
“It’s too much,” she says quietly.
I tilt my head, studying how the diamond rests against her collarbone. It catches the light, and it’s pretty, sure. But she’s exquisite.
“Two hundred thousand on a necklace to make you smile?” I say, kissing the side of her neck, smirking as she stills. “Priceless. You’re to wear it all the time. I’m not joking,” I add. “This is one of those rules you have to follow. It marks you as mine.”
She turns, looking up at me, something unreadable in her expression. “You can’t buy me, Pietro.”
I don’t flinch. I expected that answer—hell, I would’ve been disappointed if she said anything else.
“Good,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “Because I’m not trying to.” I let my gaze fall on the necklace adorning her fair skin. “I don’t want to own you, Amara. I want the world to know you’re mine—because you choose to be.”
She blinks, the fight in her flickering for just a moment, and I feel her hesitate for a second.
“But don’t mistake that for weakness,” I add, my voice dropping. “I’ll burn this city to the ground if anyone touches you.”
The necklace is for her, but it’s also for me. With the enemy sniffing around, I’m not leaving anything to chance. I had a chip placed in it. She’s mine to protect.
The ride to the island is smooth, and the hum of the road beneath us becomes a soothing rhythm. The sun’s fading light casts a golden hue over the water, gilding the world in the warmth that doesn’t quite reach the tension that simmers between us.
Amara sits beside me with her legs crossed, her hands resting lightly in her lap.
She’s too calm and composed. She’s pretending not to notice the way I’m watching her, like a puzzle I’m trying to solve with my eyes.
My gaze drifts over her—the curve of her mouth that dips above the elegant line of her neck.
She’s wearing my necklace, but it pales compared to her beauty.
She knows I’m looking, yet she refuses to meet my stare.
The silence is thick but not uncomfortable. It's charged. I feel her nerves even if she hides them well because it’s evident in the way she shifts slightly and glances at me from the corner of her eye. She quickly diverts her gaze as if she’s afraid of what she’ll see if she lingers too long.
“You’ll love them,” I say, my voice low, sure. “And they’ll love you.”
She doesn’t respond immediately, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before she masks it with her carefully constructed poise.
She’s bracing herself, expecting judgment and being treated like an outsider, and never once has she considered that what’s waiting for her might be acceptance.
But Amara doesn’t know that yet.