Chapter Thirteen – Severo #2
But she’s not done. Her eyes snap open, locking onto mine, dark and fierce, unyielding.
Without a word, she sits up, grabbing my hand and bringing it to her mouth.
Her tongue slides over my fingers, slow and deliberate, tasting herself as her eyes burn into mine.
Then her hand wraps around my cock, and I grunt, low and raw, as her fingers close around me—tight, smooth, slick with my precum.
She strokes me, slow at first, then faster, her grip firm and unrelenting.
My jaw clenches, my cock throbbing in her hand, heavy and painfully hard.
She pulls me closer, her mouth open, tongue searching, kissing me like she’s claiming me—tasting herself on my lips, her hand still working me with a rhythm that makes my vision blur.
I groan into her mouth, my hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Her arms wrap around my shoulders, legs sliding around my hips, opening for me without hesitation.
I don’t wait. I line up and thrust inside her, the heat of her cunt wrapping around me—hot, tight, fucking perfect.
I push in slow but deep, burying myself until I bottom out, her moan vibrating against my ear as she clings to me.
“Shit,” I growl, my hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks.
“You feel—fuck.” Words fail me as her cunt clenches around me, pulling me deeper.
I draw back and thrust again, harder, her body jolting against mine.
Her arms tighten around my neck, her breath hot against my throat as I set a rhythm—short, sharp strokes that make her gasp with every impact.
The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, raw and relentless.
Her legs lock around my waist, heels digging into my back as she arches into me, meeting every thrust. Her cunt is so warm, so wet, gripping me like it doesn’t want to let go.
Her moans are constant now, spilling against my ear, her nails raking down my back as she clings to me like I’m her lifeline.
But I want more. I slow my thrusts, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in, deep and deliberate, making her feel every inch.
Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat, and I lean in, dragging my tongue along her pulse, tasting the salt of her sweat.
I bite gently, just enough to make her gasp, her cunt fluttering around me in response.
“More,” she whispers, voice hoarse, desperate. “Please.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I shift, hooking one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her wider.
The angle changes, letting me drive deeper, and she cries out, her hands scrabbling at my shoulders.
I fuck her harder now, each thrust slamming into her, the wet sound of our bodies obscene and perfect.
Her breasts bounce with every movement, her skin flushed and glistening, and I can’t look away.
Her moans grow louder, breaking into whimpers as I feel her tightening around me again, her cunt pulsing with every thrust. I slide a hand between us, finding her clit with my thumb, rubbing tight circles that make her sob.
Her body arches, trembling, and I feel it—the moment she breaks again, her release crashing through her, her pussy spasming around my cock as she screams my name.
I don’t stop. I can’t. My thrusts grow erratic, the heat of her, the slick grip of her cunt driving me to the edge.
Her nails dig into my back, her legs trembling as she clings to me, and I feel it building—hot, unstoppable.
I bury myself deep, one last hard thrust, and I come, groaning her name as I spill inside her, my cock pulsing, filling her with heat.
We collapse together, her body soft and pliant beneath me, both of us panting, slick with sweat. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I press a kiss to her temple, tasting the salt of her skin. She smiles, soft and sated, her eyes half-lidded as she looks up at me.
“Again?” she murmurs, voice teasing, and I laugh, low and rough, already feeling the stir of want building again.
****
Dantès Estate – Study
The morning light spills across the floor in long ribbons, fractured through high-set windows.
The air smells like parchment and ink, dust disturbed by fresh breath.
I’ve tied my hair back, knotted at the base of my neck.
Lira sits across from me in a white dress that looks as though it might bruise if touched too hard.
Her bandaged palm rests beside mine on the mahogany desk, the mirrored strips of gauze clean but clearly used.
Between us lies the original bond.
The paper is older than both of us. Faded at the edges, worn soft by age but sealed and notarized under my father's name and Chiara Falco's. Stamped. Inked. A document drawn in love and sealed in blood, then locked in a private bank account meant to never be touched—unless destiny demanded it.
Matteo stands behind us, arms folded. His shirt is tucked neatly today, which means he expects trouble. He lays a slim leather folder on the desk and opens it slowly.
“It’s done,” he says. “Went to the bank this morning. Told them I was collecting on behalf of Lira Falco. Had the legal affidavit ready. No one asked questions. I showed them her ID and the code tied to the account. It’s hers. Officially.”
He nods toward the old paper. “And now… it’s yours.”
Lira’s fingers twitch slightly beside mine.
I offer her the pen.
She takes it.
Her handwriting is neat. Smoother than I expected, firm where it should waver. She signs her name first. Lira Falco. Then a pause—long, still. Her gaze flicks to me. I tilt my head slightly. She nods again and adds the final stroke. Falco-Dante.
My signature is already there. I never removed it.
Matteo exhales.
“Let the games begin,” he mutters, voice flat as cold steel.
I look over at her. Her eyes are sharp—not with fear, but focus. The kind of focus that makes queens out of daughters and predators out of prey.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
She lifts her chin. “I am.”
Matteo leaves the room silently and returns three minutes later. The door clicks . Two lawyers step in first—both briefcases, clean suits, oily smiles. Behind them, Maksim and Mina.
They do not look pleased.
Mina’s arms are already crossed, her fingers clenching the silk of her sleeve. Maksim slumps into the nearest chair without a greeting.
“Why do we need to be here?” he grumbles, glancing between the documents and my face. “Make it quick.”
I smile, fingers resting on the signed bond like it’s a loaded weapon.
“Oh, I intend to.”
Mina slides into the seat beside Maksim like she owns the air between them. Her legs cross at the ankle, her voice calm and clipped.
“Brother,” she says, lips curled into something between a smile and a warning, “be nice to our little brother. Maybe he wants to play nice and concede his place.”
I return her look with a grin that feels easy. “Thank you for showing up on such short notice.”
I don’t let them sit comfortably in their assumptions. With one smooth motion, I push the signed bond across the table to the lawyers. The older one adjusts his glasses, while the younger begins unfolding the pages.
“This,” I say, tilting my head toward Lira, “is Lira Falco. The third heir named in the original bond. And as of this morning, she is also my wife.”
The words echo.
Maksim jolts upright, the chair legs scraping the floor.
Mina’s smile vanishes. “What did you just say?”
“You heard him,” Matteo replies flatly from his place behind me, arms crossed, eyes never leaving them.
The lawyers lean in, skimming the text. The older one nods slowly, his thumb brushing the embossed seal near the bottom of the bond.
“It’s real,” he murmurs. “And binding.”
“You can’t be serious,” Maksim barks. “This—this isn’t possible. She’s a—she’s an outsider. A civilian. You can’t just drag some woman into this and hand her everything!”
Mina’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t fair. She has no history here.”
Matteo steps forward and produces the second document—the marriage certificate, still warm from being filed. He lays it on the table like the final card in a hand they didn’t know they were losing.
“This morning,” he says. “Official. Witnessed. Stamped.”
The younger lawyer lifts it, scans the lines, and nods. “It’s all here. Registered through the proper municipal office. No legal loopholes.”
The older one flips to the closing clause of the original bond, tapping twice.
“Clause 3-C states clearly,” he says, “that full consolidation of assets and control passes to the bloodline of the female heir—Chiara’s descendants—if joined by marriage to a Dante heir. That bond now rests with Lira Falco-Dante. And by extension—” he glances at me—“you.”
Maksim slaps a palm against the table, pushing up from his chair so quickly the wood rocks back on one leg.
“This is madness!” he snarls. “You expect us to hand over everything—just like that? It makes no sense!”
Mina shoots to her feet beside him, face flushed with something darker than shock. “This is a scam. A pretty scam in lace.”
But the older lawyer lifts a hand with patient finality. “You’ve both profited from the estate for years under provisional clauses. This bond supersedes them. Per the inheritance conditions, all holdings—liquid and physical—must be transferred back to the rightful heir. Miss Falco-Dante.”
Mina’s eyes swing toward Lira like knives drawn for war.
“Who even are you?” she spits, stepping forward. “How much did he pay you to lie? To sign some forged paper and play dress-up in our house?”
Lira opens her mouth, startled, but the words don’t make it past her lips.
I step in front of her, one hand rising—not touching Mina, not yet, but enough to shift the weight of the room.
“You’ll back up,” I say calmly, “and remember who you’re speaking to.”
But then—light pressure on my back. A hand.
Lira’s.
I glance over my shoulder. Her eyes burn.
“Let her,” she says quietly.
I step aside.
Mina surges forward before I can second-guess myself. Her hand flies. The slap lands across Lira’s face with a sound that silences the room. Lira stumbles half a step back, the imprint already blooming across her cheek.
“You cheap little thief,” Mina hisses.
Matteo moves first, but I hold out a hand to stop him. Lira straightens. Her eyes are wet but glowing now—strange, furious.
She raises her hand and slaps Mina across the face. Mina gasps. Lira slaps her again, even harder.
“This isn’t your estate anymore,” Lira says, her voice low, cold, and commanding. “You have forty-eight hours to rescind all holdings and transfer ownership. Or we’ll take it through the courts and bleed you in public.”
Mina reels, blinking fast, nostrils flaring. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
Maksim starts forward, but I intercept him easily. One step into his path, and he falters.
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “Stand back M.”
Mina recovers with a breath that sounds more like a hiss. She snatches her handbag from the chair, turning on her heel.
“This isn’t over,” she says to Lira, the words jagged with venom. “Not by a long shot.”
She storms out. Maksim lingers only a second longer before following.
The lawyers—who have barely exhaled—regain composure. The older one straightens his tie and nods with new gravity.
“We’ll begin preparations for the formal transfer and registration. There will be paperwork to validate the name change across accounts, assets, and private titles. We’ll make sure it’s all authenticated by week's end.”
They both bow slightly, not to me—but to Lira.
“Congratulations, Signora Falco-Dante.”
Matteo steps forward and ushers them out, holding the door as their shoes echo down the marble hallway. When it closes, silence blankets the study.
I walk to her slowly, hands in my pockets. She’s still standing near the table, her chin high, her breath steady. The mark on her cheek is red, blooming just beneath her eye. She doesn’t touch it. Doesn’t wince.
I stop in front of her and reach up, brushing the edge of the bruise with my knuckles.
“You were fucking magnificent.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and a slow smile spreads across her lips. It’s not soft. It’s not shy. It’s the kind of smile that belongs to someone who just realized what she’s capable of.
“I think I love this life,” she says.
The grin that pulls at my mouth is immediate. My hand slides along her jaw, tilting her face. I lower my head. My tongue traces the line of the slap, then her cheekbone, then the shell of her ear. She breathes in. I take her lobe between my teeth, then whisper against her skin.
“I have so much to teach you.”
Her voice is low, breath catching just slightly.
“I have so much to learn.”
I grip her waist and lift her easily. She lets out a small gasp as I place her on the edge of the table, her legs parting just slightly to make space for me. I step between them, hands sliding under her thighs, pressing her closer.
Her hands grip my shoulders. Her eyes are locked on mine. She’s not afraid. Not anymore.
She’s ready.
I ease her knees apart, hands firm beneath her thighs. Her palms press against my chest, not to stop me—just to steady herself. Her breathing changes. She looks up at me with something new in her eyes.
Her fingers tighten slightly. I bend closer.
Then the door opens.
Matteo’s voice cuts the moment in half. “Boss.”
I turn my head just enough to see him in the doorway. He’s not flustered, but he doesn’t hide the urgency in his voice.
“It’s Salvatri. He’s outside. Alone. But he looks like he walked through a fire just to get here.”
I step back. Lira slides off the table slowly, smoothing her dress. I’m already reaching for my blazer.
But her hand catches my arm.
“Let me talk to him,” she says softly. Her tone is calm, but her face is tight. She’s bracing for something.
I stare at her. She looks away—just briefly—and I see it. Guilt.
I exhale , slowly. Then I nod.
“I’ll be behind you.”