Chapter 25
LENI
His words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, I scramble away from him like the mattress just spontaneously combusted.
My body betrays me instantly—limbs tangled in sheets, graceless, panicked—until I go tumbling off the edge, hitting the floor with a bone-jarring thud that sends pain exploding up my left hip.
Oh God. Oh no. What did I do?
“Shit—are you okay?” Romero asks, leaning over the side of the bed, but he doesn’t look even remotely okay himself. Not that I have time to worry about that. There’s a much more pressing issue at hand.
“Don’t look!” I shriek, grabbing frantically for the covers and yanking them over my very naked, very exposed body.
How the hell am I naked? What happened to my dress? My underwear?
Did we…? Oh God, what did we do last night?
He raises a brow at me as he rolls off the bed, and relief trickles through me when I see he’s fully dressed in pants and a shirt. That’s… that’s good, right?
“Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
My head feels like it’s been split open with a sledgehammer, but I force myself to focus, trying to pull up memories through the fog of what must have been a spectacular hangover.
I remember everything up to the moment we went casino hopping.
“When did you show up?” I wonder out loud, but even as I ask, the fragments start assembling themselves into something resembling coherence.
Romero and his brothers appearing at the roulette table.
Me saying a bunch of things I should have kept locked in my head forever.
Strong arms carrying me to the elevators while I—oh God.
And then… heat. Waking up restless, peeling off my clothes, and the immense relief afterwards. I took my clothes off myself.
“You remember, don’t you?” There’s something knowing and dangerous in Romero’s voice that makes my stomach flip.
I gulp, glancing up at him while carefully avoiding direct eye contact. “A little… here and there,” I murmur. “I’m sorry if I did or said anything inappropriate last night.”
He levels a look at me. “I couldn’t sleep all night because of you.” He takes a deliberate step towards me, and I scramble to my feet, clutching the covers around me like a shield. But there’s nowhere to retreat in this suddenly too-small room. “Are you going to take responsibility for that?”
My heart pulses in my throat. “W–what do you mean?”
“You—” He waves a hand down my body, “—stripped yourself bare and spread out on that bed like the most tempting offering I’ve ever seen. While I was in the shower, trying to cool down from everything you’d said to me. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
I flinch at the seductive note in his voice. Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean–”
Then he’s right in front of me, close enough that I can see the storm raging in his green eyes, and he chuckles.
But it’s not a happy sound—it’s strained, almost pained.
“When I finally get my hands on you this weekend, I’m going to punish you for this torture.
I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll beg for mercy.
But I won’t show you any. Not after what you put me through. ”
Oh. The air in the room crackles with electricity, becoming so thick and heated I can barely breathe. Sweat slides down my spine as my core clenches with sudden, desperate need, sticky wetness leaking, coating my inner thighs.
I gulp, staring up at him with wide eyes, completely speechless, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. The covers slip slightly in my nerveless fingers, and his gaze tracks the movement with laser focus.
He curses under his breath, then spins away from me, storming out of the room like he can’t get away fast enough.
What just happened?
Long after he’s gone, I stand there frozen, heart thundering an unsteady staccato while I try to process the tornado that just swept through my life. My body is still humming with unwanted arousal, still aching for something I don’t have a name for.
He threatened me. Promised to hurt me. And I… I liked it.
A knock on the door snaps me out of my stupor. “You awake, sleeping beauty?” Elira’s cheerful voice drifts through the wood.
“Yes.” It comes out as a husky whisper, so I clear my throat and try again. “Yes!”
“Good. Get ready. Breakfast is on its way up.”
“I’ll be out in a minute!” I call back, then make my way to the bathroom on shaky limbs.
There are two toothbrushes on the counter—one still in its packaging, the other obviously used.
Romero’s. I swallow hard, because even the thought of him standing in this exact spot brushing his teeth makes my clit throb with want.
What’s he doing to me? Why did his words affect me that way?
I should’ve been scared, not aroused! He’s twisting me into a deviant like him.
I brush my teeth with more vigor than strictly necessary, trying to scrub away the taste of champagne and regret and whatever this new, hungry thing inside me is becoming. Then a quick shower before I get ready for what promises to be a very long day.
Breakfast is a spread worthy of royalty—perfectly fluffy pancakes, bacon that’s crispy without being burnt, coffee that smells like heaven in a cup. But I can’t focus on any of it.
Because he’s sitting directly across from me.
Stop looking at him.
But I can’t help myself. Every few seconds, my traitorous eyes drift up from my plate to find him already watching me with such blazing heat and intent that makes my fork rattle against the porcelain.
The girls are on one side of the table, the guys on the other side—Emily’s punishment for them ‘crashing our party’, as she so eloquently put it.
If only she knew what kind of crash landing I’d had this morning.
I steal another glance at him, and my heart seizes. Each time our gazes meet, my mind replays his threatening words on an endless loop.
I’m going to fuck you so hard…
“Done?”
I jolt, nearly sending my coffee cup flying, as Gia places a hand on my shoulder.
She frowns with concern, but thankfully doesn’t comment on my obvious distraction.
I nod, glancing down at my plate in surprise.
It’s completely empty, though I have no memory of actually eating anything.
My throat had felt too tight to swallow.
Emily efficiently kicks the guys out so we can ‘get ready without being groped’. Her exact words. They make me gulp when I think of my own fate on my wedding night.
The wedding—which is tomorrow. Holy shit.
After we’re properly dressed and primped, the girls pepper me with questions about the ceremony, which I can thankfully answer now after my meeting with Marcy, the wedding planner, a few days ago.
I’m grateful for the subject change—finally, something to think about besides Romero’s dark promises. At least for a little while.
“How do you feel about us wearing blue?” Emily asks, and I shrug, not minding it one bit.
“I think you guys would look stunning in blue.”
“I’m wearing gold since I’m the matron of honor. It suits my hair,” Elira preens, running a hand through her gorgeous red locks.
“Wait, who decided you were matron of honor?” Gianna demands, brows shooting up. “If anyone should have that role, it should be me.”
“And why exactly should it be you, Gia?” Emily jumps in.
Before I know it, they're bickering like sisters over who has the better claim to the title. Despite everything, my lips start to curve upwards. The ridiculousness of it, the way they’re so invested in my wedding that they’re actually fighting over who gets to stand closest to me—it’s sweet. And hilarious.
“She smiled!” Elira suddenly exclaims, pointing at me with the enthusiasm of someone who has just solved a difficult puzzle.
“What?” I giggle as all three women turn to stare at me with matching grins.
“You’ve been out of it all morning, so the girls and I were trying to figure out how to snap you out of whatever funk you’re in,” Emily explains, her expression softening. “Did you and Romero have a fight?”
“What? No! No—we’re fine.” The denial comes easily.
But their concern—genuine, heartfelt concern from women who barely know me—makes my chest tight with unexpected emotion.
No one has ever paid close enough attention to notice my mood changes, let alone actively tried to improve them.
“You guys...” My voice cracks embarrassingly as I pull them all into hugs.
“Hey, now.” Gia pats my back with the same gentle rhythm I imagine she uses with her daughters. The gesture is so motherly, so naturally soothing, that I sink deeper into her embrace. “It’s okay. It’s probably just pre-wedding jitters hitting you.”
If only it were that simple.
I nod anyway as I pull back from the hug. “I guess so. In just one more day, I’m going to be Mrs. Lombardi.” I glance down at my engagement ring, twisting it around my finger. A month ago, I couldn’t have even imagined how much my life would change.
“It’s totally normal,” Elira says, patting my hand. “Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. But if it’s more than that, you know you can tell us, right? If you want to call off the wedding, it’s not too late. We’ll help you, whatever you decide.”
“Yeah, you’re our friend, Leni,” Emily chimes in, her voice fierce with loyalty I haven’t done anything to earn. “We’ve got your back no matter what.”
“Shit, you're going to make me cry.” I wipe my eyes, sniffing to hold the tears at bay. “No, I don’t want to call it off. I want to marry him.” And I do. I really do.
It’s terrifying how much I want to be Mrs. Lombardi—not just because of our contract.
And in an unexpected twist that would have shocked me a month ago, I’m even looking forward to our wedding night, his threat be damned.
If my body’s reaction this morning was any indication, I’ll probably enjoy every second of whatever he has planned.
After that confession, the atmosphere lightens considerably. Emily texts Rafael that the guys should stay out of sight for the rest of the day because we have ‘critically important bachelorette activities’ to complete.
The critically important activities, it turns out, involve a full beauty session at one of Vegas’ most exclusive salons. Manicures, pedicures, and at the girl’s insistence, lash extensions that make my eyes look twice their normal size.
“You look like a Disney princess,” Elira declares when they’re done with me, and I have to admit the transformation is pretty dramatic.
When I try to pay for any of it, they become really offended, insisting it’s all part of the ‘bachelorette package’ and I’m not allowed to contribute a single dollar.
The casual way they throw around money that would make me hyperventilate under normal circumstances reminds me again just how different their worlds are from mine.
Were from mine.
Back at the suite, we spend the rest of the day in comfortable pajamas, watching romcoms while sipping elaborately garnished mocktails. We unanimously agreed that yesterday’s alcohol consumption was more than sufficient for the entire trip.
By the time evening rolls around and we have to check out of the hotel, I’m hit with an unexpectedly bittersweet feeling. I don’t want this to end. I’ve never had girlfriends before, and I’m worried about how we’ll maintain these connections when we return to our busy lives in New York.
The girls must be feeling the same way, because when we arrive at the private airstrip where two massive private jets are waiting for us, Gianna announces dramatically, “See you menfolk back in New York!” And blows an exaggerated kiss to her husband.
I chuckle as Emily and Elira wave their theatrical goodbyes to their respective spouses as well before slipping into the same private jet that brought us here, leaving the other jet for the guys.
Heart pounding, I work up the courage to meet Romero’s eyes across the tarmac.
When I finally do, the intensity of his gaze nearly steals my breath.
He’s watching me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s already planning exactly how he’s going to make good on this morning’s promise.
I manage a small wave—just a flutter of my fingers that feels absurdly inadequate given the electric tension crackling between us—then escape into the safety of the jet.
Safety.
The word feels laughable as the door seals shut behind me and the jet engines purr to life. Because tomorrow, there will be no escape. Tomorrow, I become his wife in every sense of the word.
And though I should know better, I can’t wait.