19. Portia #2
I'm beyond any more words, reduced to desperate moans and pleas as he pushes me to the edge. The new angle has him hitting that perfect spot with every stroke, building pressure inside me that threatens to tear me apart.
I slide my hand under me and start playing with my clit, rubbing myself as he fucks me hard and fast.
That’s all it takes for me to break.
I come in a spiral of hot pleasure, crying and convulsing.
The orgasm rushes me all at once. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me until I’m going limp and I feel like I’m floating.
Il Diavolo groans at the way my pussy ripples around him, so slick, hot and snug. He slams into me, crushing my hips in his grip, as he plants himself deep and spills his warm seed inside me.
He collapses on top of me, breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat and still trembling from the intensity of what just happened.
It takes us a moment to come down from our orgasms. I roll over, suddenly drowsy but sated. I’m expecting to find Il Diavolo having one of two reactions. Either the acceptance he’d spoken to earlier or his regression into anger that he’s lost control.
Neither of those things are what I find.
He’s changed. His face has gone slack, his features no longer naturally clenched. Then I realize what’s happening.
“Rafael?” I choke out. I’m still wrapped in the bedsheets, buzzing from the pleasure Il Diavolo wreaked on my body.
But suddenly none of it matters as I realize the man lying beside me is changing before my eyes. It’s the night I tried to escape in reverse—Il Diavolo is vanishing as Rafael returns in a series of ragged breaths, contorted features, and pained grimaces.
His bare, muscled chest heaves air, breathing like he’s run several miles. Even his eyes change, becoming more human and alive.
His brows draw together, the unfocused look on his face that of someone waking to a new reality.
I reach for him. My hands shake, frantic with urgency and hope that it’s really him. He’s reemerged after being gone for so long.
“I’m here,” I whisper, cupping his bearded face. I rub my thumb across his jaw like he likes. “You’re here. We’re together, Rafael. Stay with me, okay? Just... just look at me. Focus on me. Don’t go away again. Please.”
He says nothing as he peers at me, blinking dazedly.
But he doesn’t need to speak right now. I know it’s him. He’s come back like Daniela said he would.
He groans my name, the sound gruff and primal like he’s getting used to words again, and then he buries his face in my neck. I hold him close, on the verge of tears, fingers threading through his rumpled dark hair.
Relief so powerful it’s dizzying sweeps me up, rendering me as speechless as he is.
He pulls away finally for another long look at me. Then he’s pressing his lips to mine, cradling my face in his large hands so gently the tears do come.
…but for a different reason than I expected.
“I’ll always find my way back to you,” he murmurs against my lips. “No matter who tries to keep me away, dolcezza. Even if it’s myself doing it.”
I start to nod, but then the sob working its way out bubbles to the surface. Our kiss goes from warm and soft to wet and salty fast. I draw back, wiping at my face.
The shame and guilt is so deep I don’t even know where to begin.
I’m lying wrapped in a bedsheet. Surely Rafael is going to put two and two together about what I had just been doing…
Not for the first time, I slept with Il Diavolo. I orgasmed, I moaned, I begged for more.
My body might’ve betrayed me, but so did the twisted desire that rose up inside me and gave in during the darkest moments.
What will Rafael think? How will he feel when he realizes I’ve slept with the same man trying to eliminate him?
Rafael wipes the tears away with his thumbs, brows furrowed and eyes searching mine.
“What’s wrong, dolcezza?”
I shake my head. “Rafael… look at me. Look at us. What we were doing…”
Rafael’s gaze drifts to the bedsheet wrapped around my body, and the general disarrayed state of the bed we’re lying in. The rage clenches onto his features immediately, his face darkening in a way I’ve seen a handful of times before, only worse.
It’s as if he’s reached such a level of rage he’s about to black out, and then— nothing .
The fury vanishes from his face. The life drains from his eyes and the warmth I’d felt only seconds ago is gone.
He goes still, and the quiet that follows tells me all I need to know.
A switch has been flipped somewhere inside him, his expression vacant until it contorts into the cold menace I hoped to never see again. My stomach twists watching him leave me in real time and realizing Diavolo’s returning.
I recoil without thinking, fingers clenching the bedsheet tighter around myself.
Il Diavolo rolls his head on his shoulders like he’s stirred from a nap.
“What’s the matter?” he drawls. “Did lover boy show his face again? Just for a second?”
My heart pounds in my ears. I can’t bring myself to answer him.
He leans forward, grinning wide. “Did you really think he’d be back for good? That was just a fake out, dolcezza. A little taste to keep you desperate.”
“Stop it,” I whisper.
He reaches for me, fingers snaking around my wrist before I can pull away. His grip is firm and possessive as he wrenches me toward him.
“Come here,” he croons. “Give me a kiss.”
“No… don’t touch me!” I twist out of his hold, shoving against his chest.
His grin twists into a scowl, and he jerks back like I’ve struck him harder than I did, clearly offended by the rejection.
“Get out then!” he snarls. “Get the fuck out of my room! RIGHT NOW!”
I scramble backward, nearly tripping over the bedsheet as I stumble out of the bed. In my mad dash to the door, I manage to snatch my piece of lingerie off the floor.
Luckily, Daniela is already waiting for me outside in the hall.
Her eyes are wide as though she already knows what happened inside. She rushes toward me, helping me slide into the lingerie piece, covering me up as necessary.
“I am sorry, Portia,” she says, tutting her tongue. “He is always in one of his moods. I hate when he calls you to his room. It never ends well for you.”
I’m so shaken from everything that’s happened in the span of five minutes, I can’t even bring myself to answer her…
It’s been days since I left this room.
The light shifts through the curtains in soft gradients, but it doesn’t feel real anymore. Time here doesn’t pass so much as stretch . The villa is quietest in this wing, and I’ve grown used to the silence. It wraps around me like a second skin, numb and suffocating all at once.
I sit curled on the window ledge, staring at the same hedges and olive grove I’ve memorized every detail of.
Others would say the view is beautiful and scenic. It’s a view of the Italian countryside, after all.
But after so long in captivity it only represents my prison.
It’s a cruel taunt of the world I’m no longer a part of.
At this point, I almost wish he’d get it over with. I know it’s coming. I’ve known it from the beginning. This is all just buildup, some elaborate orchestration of torment—emotional, psychological, sexual —designed to break me over time.
It’s the waiting that’s the worst.
The not knowing how long until the next moment he’ll return. The wondering if the next time he looks at me with those cold, inhumane eyes, it’ll be the last time I’ll take a breath.
A soft knock breaks the silence. The door glides open a split second later.
Daniela slips inside as light-footed and gentle as a breeze. She’s always so cautious in the way she moves when she comes by my room, like she’s breaking a rule by merely associating with me, even if it’s to deliver me food.
This afternoon she’s carrying two porcelain bowls in her hands. One for me, the other for herself.
Her expression is warm but hesitant, and I realize with a pang that she’s been worried. She always looks a little worried when she sees me like this—hollowed out and broken down.
“I brought something sweet,” she says, lifting the dish. “Panna cotta, your favorite Italian treat.”
I force a smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
She crosses the room and sits beside me near the window where the light slants across the hardwood floor. Without speaking, she hands me one of the small silver spoons tucked into the napkin.
We eat slowly, taking our time to savor the sweet dessert.
Daniela has been the only constant since I arrived here. Not a guard. Not a tormentor. Just a woman navigating this madness with quiet and gentle grace.
We’ve grown unexpectedly close. Trauma has a way of accelerating friendships. And even though I still don’t know exactly where her loyalties lie, I find myself craving her presence in moments like this; when I need to remember normal people still exist in the world.
I glance over at her as she scoops a bite of the cream from her cup.
“Tell me about your family, Daniela. I know so little about you.”
She pauses, then shakes her head, a bashful look on her face. “There isn’t much to tell. I’m an orphan. I have no family and very few friends.”
I blink slowly. “Me too. I lost my parents when I was a kid. They were gunned down one night. My cousin Jayla—well, she’s my sister by adoption—her parents were gunned down that night too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says sadly. “I lost mine in a similar way.”
“You did?”
She nods. “To the Morellis.”
“Wow… and now you work for their rivals.”
“The Belluccis avenged my family. I was taken in by them. They clothed me and paid for my education. They gave me this job to work off my debt to them.”
Debt.
While it’s a noble concept they avenged her family, I’m not so sure it’s as selfless as it seems they’re forcing Daniela to be indebted to them as a servant.
“Anyhow,” sighs Daniela, reaching into the pouch of her apron. She withdraws a sleek black envelope and slides it across the table between us. “I was hoping the dessert might make this a little easier.”
The spoon slips from my hand, clinking against the dish. I stare at the envelope for a moment before ever touching it. Dread has started pooling in my stomach.
“What is it?”
“A message. From him.”
I rattle out a breath, then grab the envelope, slitting it open without care for how elegant or expensive it looks. My brows raise as I read the short message.
“We’re meeting tonight at seven? For what reason?”
“He has plans for you,” she says cryptically. “Apparently tonight will be different.”
I narrow my eyes. “Different how?”
She tilts her head, almost apologetic. “He’s taking you out.”
I blink. “Out as in…?”
“A date to the opera. Just the two of you.”