Chapter 10 Noemi
Noemi
My body feels like it has been dismantled and carelessly put back together.
Before I even open my eyes, the physical reality of what happened last night crashes into me.
There is a deep, heavy ache between my thighs, a sharp tenderness that flares with the slightest movement.
My muscles are incredibly sore, my skin is hyper-sensitive where his calloused hands gripped me, bruised me, claimed me.
And beneath it all, seeping into my very pores, is the scent of him.
Bergamot, expensive whiskey, and the musky scent of sex.
I inhale a shaky breath, keeping my eyes squeezed shut, praying to a God I haven't spoken to in years that this is just a vivid, twisted nightmare.
I pray that when I open my eyes, I will be in the sterile, freezing guest room of the east wing, a pristine, untouched spinster who successfully managed to keep her monster of a husband at bay.
But the heavy, solid warmth radiating against my back destroys that illusion completely.
I am in the east wing. In my bed, yes, but he is there.
I open my eyes. The storm that raged outside the floor-to-ceiling windows all night has finally broken.
Pale, harsh morning sunlight floods the massive bedroom, illuminating the wreckage we made of it.
My ripped, faded sweatpants are tossed over a leather chair.
His ruined dress shirt is crumpled on the floor.
I shift slightly, wincing as the soreness in my core flares up, and turn my head over my shoulder.
My breath catches in my throat.
Cassio is awake. He isn’t just awake; he looks like he hasn't slept a single second. He is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, completely naked. The thick, dark sheets are pooled low at his waist, exposing the brutal, beautiful canvas of his chest and arms.
But it isn't his nakedness that makes the air completely vanish from my lungs. It is the way he is looking at me.
For the past week, Cassio Vellutini has treated my existence as a repulsive inconvenience. He looked at me with cold, dead eyes, ignoring me whenever possible and staring through me when forced to acknowledge my presence.
That man is gone.
The man staring at me now is looking at me with an intensity so suffocatingly heavy, it feels like a physical weight pressing down on my chest. His dark, fathomless eyes are tracking every tiny movement I make.
There is no indifference. There is only a predatory obsession.
He looks at me the way a starving man looks at a feast he has finally, violently conquered.
"Morning, moglie," he murmurs. His voice is a low, gravelly rasp that goes straight down my spine, pooling low in my aching belly.
Panic pierces through the lingering exhaustion in my brain.
He knows. The memory of his shock, the sudden, terrifying shift in his demeanor when he broke through my barrier, floods my mind.
I am entirely exposed. The armor of my bitter reputation is gone, stripped away and left in tatters on the floor along with my clothes.
I am no longer the untouchable, ruined woman he thought he was forced to endure. I am his prize.
I scramble to sit up, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I grab the heavy charcoal sheet, pulling it up to my chin to cover my bare breasts, curling my knees toward my chest.
As I move, the sheet shifts, exposing the center of the mattress.
There, damning against the dark gray fabric, is a dried, dark smear of my blood.
My face burns. A hot, humiliating flush crawls up my neck and across my cheeks. I reach out frantically to pull the fabric over the stain, to hide the undeniable proof of my vulnerability, but Cassio’s hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
His grip is not bruising like it was last night, but it is entirely immovable.
"Don't," he commands softly. He doesn't raise his voice, but the authority in that single syllable makes my blood freeze.
"Let me go," I whisper, my voice cracking embarrassingly. I refuse to look at the stain, fixing my gaze on his chest instead.
Cassio uses his grip on my wrist to slowly pull me closer to him, forcing me to uncurl my legs. "Why are you hiding, Noemi?"
"I’m not hiding," I lie, my chin tilting up defensively, trying to summon the sharp-tongued Genovese daughter who doesn't back down from anyone. "I'm cold. And I want to get out of this bed."
"No, you don't." He releases my wrist, only to slide his large, calloused hand up my bare arm, his fingers trailing over my shoulder to cup the side of my neck.
His thumb brushes the erratic, frantic pulse beating wildly against my skin.
"You are running. You woke up, realized I tore down every single one of your fucking walls last night, and now you’re panicking. "
"I am not panicking," I spit, jerking my chin away from his touch. I scramble backward, practically falling off the edge of the massive mattress.
I hit the cold hardwood floor with my bare feet, my legs trembling so badly they almost buckle.
I grab his discarded black dress shirt from the floor and quickly shove my arms into the sleeves, pulling it tightly around my body and hastily buttoning the middle three buttons.
The shirt is huge on me, the hem falling to my mid-thigh, and it smells overwhelmingly of him.
It’s a pathetic shield, but it’s all I have.
Cassio doesn't try to stop me this time.
He just watches me. He rolls onto his back, folding his arms behind his head, the sheet dipping dangerously low on his hips.
He looks completely relaxed, completely in control, like a king observing a captive bird thrashing against the bars of a newly gilded cage.
"Are you going to pretend none of this happened?" he asks, a dark, mocking amusement dancing in his black eyes.
"Yes," I snap, wrapping my arms around my waist, hugging myself tightly. I pace a few steps away from the bed, putting distance between us. "Because that is exactly what this was, Cassio. A mistake."
The amusement instantly vanishes from his face.
"A mistake," he repeats, he spits the words like poison from his mouth.
"Yes!" I turn to face him, forcing my voice to project a confidence I absolutely do not feel.
"You were angry. You were having a psychotic, jealous meltdown because I called Dario, and you wanted to prove a point.
You wanted to mark your territory and punish me.
You didn't do this because you care about me, and I certainly didn't do it because I want to be your real wife.
It was a moment of weakness. It was just.. . biology."
Cassio sits up. The predatory grace of his movement makes my breath hitch.
He swings his long legs over the side of the bed and stands up. He doesn't bother to grab a towel or pull on his slacks. He is completely, unapologetically naked.
I take a step back, my bare heel hitting the heavy wood of the dresser behind me. I am trapped.
Cassio stalks toward me, his dark eyes are locked onto mine, stripping away every single lie I just tried to construct. He doesn't stop until he is standing mere inches away from me, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over my trembling body.
"Biology," he sneers softly, placing a heavy hand on the dresser on either side of my hips, caging me in. "Is that what you call it when you dig your nails into my back and scream my name? Biology?"
"Fuck you," I whisper, my eyes stinging with frustrated, unshed tears. "You cornered me. You took advantage of the situation."
"I took what belonged to me," he corrects. He leans in, the heat of his bare chest radiating through the thin cotton of the shirt I’m wearing.
"And let’s get one fucking thing straight, Noemi.
You didn't just submit last night. You begged me for it.
You shattered for me before I even pushed inside you. "
A humiliated sob claws at my throat. I turn my face away, staring hard at the wall, refusing to let him see me cry. "Stop it."
"Why?" He drops his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending a treacherous, involuntary shiver down my spine. "Does it ruin the narrative you’ve built in your head? The one where I am just a violent monster and you are the tragic, unwilling victim?"
"You are a monster," I hiss, turning my head back to glare at him.
"I never claimed to be anything else," he agrees easily, a dark smirk curving his lips. "But I am your monster now. And you liked it. You liked exactly what I did to you in that bed."
"It doesn't matter," I push back, planting my hands flat against his chest, trying uselessly to shove him away.
He is like a brick wall. "Last night doesn't change the reality of this situation, Cassio.
I am still a prisoner in this house. You still treat me like an object.
You still forced me into this marriage to secure a goddamn shipping port! "
"I forced Orlando's hand," he corrects smoothly, catching both of my wrists in one of his massive hands and pinning them gently to my chest. "I didn't know what you were. I didn't know I was getting a virgin queen hiding behind the mouth of a street thug."
"Don't call me that," I snap, my voice trembling. "Don't act like you revere me now just because my hymen was intact! You think that makes me yours? You think bleeding on your sheets suddenly erases the fact that you despised me yesterday?"
"I didn't despise you, Noemi," he says. "I despised the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about you.
I despised the fact that Orlando Genovese handed me a woman I was supposed to ignore, and instead, you consumed every waking thought I had.
And when I thought Dario Lombardi had his hands on you first.. ."
His jaw clenches, a violent, murderous twitch of muscle. "It made me want to burn the entire city to the ground."