Chapter 21
GIANA
I forget how my lungs work.
All the air’s trapped, and I’m alive for the first time since I last saw him. Every bit of darkness that’s consumed me the last few days fades, and I’m overwhelmed with relief and love, and something starts to glow inside me.
“Caelian,” I whisper.
My skin tingles from his touch as he drapes his jacket over my shoulders. “You don’t listen to me, do you, Giana?”
Swift heat engulfs me, scorching my skin as everything constricts. “I didn’t choose this.”
“Didn’t you?” He raises a brow.
“No. I told you?—”
“And I told you we’d work something out if you wanted to.” His voice is pitched low, just for me. “I’d say nice dress, but…”
“But what, Caelian?”
“It’s not you.”
I grab his jacket off my shoulders and shove it at him. “Did you come over here to mock my fashion sense?”
“More, the lack thereof.”
I glare at him. “Go away.”
“No, I’m gonna stay.”
“And what?” I snap. “Be my personal fashion police spokesperson?”
“Giana, if I was that, I’d arrest you, strip search you, do some mutually beneficial mauling, and dress you properly.”
“So, Mr. Fashion Cop,” I say, sarcasm high, “you don’t like the dress?”
“Didn’t say that. I appreciate the dress. I just don’t appreciate how every man in this place is getting an eyeful of what’s mine.”
“I’m not?—”
“I just think, since you’re calling me out on my fashion police credentials, that you could do this better,” he says. “Though, how you’re looking at me, the lust under the anger? It turns me the fuck on. Dial on high, electricity-to-cock situation flowing. Because you want me.”
“You’re seeing things.”
“I saw him touching what isn’t his. That get you off?”
“Fuck you, Caelian.” I shudder, remembering Aurelio’s finger pushing into me unwanted. Hurting me.
“So, why let him? Why let him anywhere near you?”
“I don’t?—”
“I swear to God, New York.” Caelian steps right up to me, looking down, raw power radiating from him. “If you say you don’t have a choice one more time, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
His gaze roves over me, smoldering and intense. I can't look away from him or ignore the possessive flare in his eyes. He’s looking at me like I’m perfect, lush, his. Like I make his world turn. He’s so infuriatingly sure of us, of our place together, while I’m fighting him, fighting the very essence of my soul screaming that he’s right. That we’re meant to be together. But that doesn’t change the impossible situation I’m in.
I harden my heart because, otherwise, I might fall apart. “What do you want?”
“You mean why am I talking to my wife? Maybe wondering why you’re here with another man?” Once more, his eyes graze over me. “You letting him dress you now?”
“Stop.” I glance around. “You need to leave. If he sees me with you?—”
“He’ll hurt you?” He grabs my chin and turns my face, studying me. “Wearing a lot of make-up, New York.”
“Stop.” I pull away.
“Did he hurt you?” There’s venom in his voice.
“Please leave me alone.”
“Where is Cristiano? Your father?”
“Cristiano’s at home. My father, too. He’s meant to be here.” I try not to let the disgust show in my face. “But…” I shrug. “He wasn’t feeling well.”
“Is he dying?”
“What? No.”
“Pity.”
“Caelian,” I snap, “don’t be a jerk.”
“Come back to me, New York.”
My breath leaves me when I feel his hand on my waist, urging me closer to him.
His touch is fire, his presence euphoria, and my body vibrates with a humming energy, a yearning that’s far too dangerous. I’m caught up in him, his compelling orbit, and it’s something I crave. And as he looks at me like I’m the drink he needs, shame burns.
For weeks, I’ve waited for him to come to me while he mourned his mother. For weeks, I yearned for him to just do something. To love me. And now that he does, now that he’s finally decided to fight for what he wants—me—I’m forced to step away.
“Caelian.” I pull his hand away from my waist. I can’t be this close to him. It makes him a target for Aurelio. The man already shot Alexius. I’d die before he hurt Caelian, a breathing, living personification of my aching heart. “I’m sorry. But you should go.”
“No, I shouldn’t.” He turns to face the bar and orders two drinks, but I refuse the one he places in front of me.
“Go away, please.” God, it hurts.
“The note in your voice, your eyes, says, ‘Please come closer.’ Fuck, New York. Here I am, basically doing the Caelian version of begging.”
“You need to go. I don’t want Aurelio hurting you.”
He takes a swallow of his drink. “You think I’m scared of that prick? He’s a coward. I say bring it the fuck on.” He slams back his entire drink, turning his head in my direction, those amber irises blazing with fierce determination. “You want out of this?”
“I want my brother safe.”
“Not what I asked.”
I can’t do this. Not here. Not with him. “Goodbye, Caelian.” I turn, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back so close I can smell the bourbon on his breath.
“I can drag you out of here, and no one can stop me. Why?” His grip on my elbow tightens. “Because you’re still my wife. He can piss on you all he wants, mark you, but my claim on you is the one that counts.” His voice resonates with a dangerous possessiveness, making my pulse race. The rawness in his eyes sends shivers down my spine.
“I’m not territory to be claimed.” I jerk my arm free. “I’m a person. Flesh and blood, with a mind of my own. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
He doesn’t stop me this time as I turn and stomp off. It’s the hardest thing, to walk away from him. It’s like there’s this invisible thread between us, and it’s pulled tighter and tighter the farther I get from him.
I walk into the ladies' room, relieved to find it empty. I lean over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The harsh fluorescent light glares down at me, illuminating the desperation in my face.
My eyes are bloodshot and puffy from strained tears that refuse to fall. The grim line of my mouth looks foreign—a stark contrast to the soft features I used to recognize. The woman looking back at me is different now, hardened by demands and threats, by love that simply can’t be.
My heart is a treacherous drum in my chest, betraying the facade I put up in front of him—in front of everyone. It’s exhausting trying to act strong and resolute while my insides crumble.
I turn on the faucet, letting the cold water cascade over my trembling hands. The chill is a welcome distraction, grounding me, keeping me tethered to the moment as my mind threatens to spiral out of control. I’m so close to breaking, but not here.
I just have to make it through tonight, and once I’m home, in the confines of my room, I can crack and shatter.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself to feel the oxygen expand my lungs. With an exhale, I harden myself and weave fingers through my curls, letting the waves cascade over my shoulders. I straighten my back, lift my chin, and lock away all the vulnerability in a corner where no one can see it. My reflection stares back defiantly, a silent vow etched in the set of my jaw.
“I can do this.” Another breath, and I walk out, heels clicking across the tiled floor.
For the next hour—maybe two, I’ve lost count—I’m an actress putting on a performance worthy of an Oscar. I laugh at the right moments, smile politely when introduced to new faces, and tell charming anecdotes with practiced ease.
Caelian’s there, always close by, his gaze fixed on my every move. It’s like a heady stroke of his hand every time I look in his direction only to find him watching me. Besides being in deep conversation with Isaia for a while, he’s not mingling with the other guests.
I can only imagine the whispers and gossip going around—Mrs. Caelian Del Rossa is the plus-one of another man, but the divorce isn’t final yet.
I tried to convince Aurelio and my father to wait, but neither of them cares. As far as Aurelio is concerned, Caelian’s humiliation only adds to his victory. A part of me thinks he’s doing this to get a reaction from the Del Rossas—to have them make the first move. Pride and all that shit. If they act first, he has every right to react as he sees fit. Violence and bloodshed.
Aurelio still isn’t back, and I’m silently thankful for that. He’s probably in a room somewhere snorting cocaine and fucking hookers. I really don’t care. Another half an hour, and I’ll leave without him, go home, and drown in a pool of pity, only to do this all over again tomorrow, slap on a perfectly composed face and continue playing my part in this perpetual theatre of charades—mafia princess version.
Tired of keeping up appearances and suffocated by having to maintain a facade, I slip into a darkened corner, lean against the wall, and shut my eyes.
The coolness of the stonework seeps through my dress, grounding me, reminding me of the reality underneath all the layers of pretense. I’m still trying to steady my breathing when I feel him, my instincts spiking as his imposing figure towers over me like a shadow.
He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head with one hand.
“Caelian.”
“I’m done playing, love.” His face is inches from mine.
“I’m not—” He puts a palm over my mouth, shutting it, then leans closer.
“Seems like you need a little convincing.” He slides his thigh between my legs, forcing them wider. “So, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to give you my cock, right here right now?—”
My eyes widen, and I try to speak, but it’s all muffled against his hand.
“Then, after you’ve come to your senses, you’re going to leave with me—whether it’s willingly or not. Nod if you understand.”
I shake my head.
“Well, that's too bad,” he says, his face splitting into a wicked grin. “Guess you’re going to have to scream, then, which will only gather us an audience because I will fuck you in front of them. And the fun part,” he leans closer, lips brushing against my cheek, “no one will stop me because you’re still Mrs. Del Rossa.”
His hand leaves my mouth and trails down to the hem of my dress, hiking it up my thighs without breaking eye contact. My body is already primed for him, my blood sizzling while my skin burns. And the second I feel his fingers brush along the edge of my lace underwear, then slide in, parting my folds, the world blurs.
“You're drenched, love.” His voice is rough with a hint of satisfaction. “Now, be a good girl and wrap your legs around me.”
A moan escapes me when he pulls his touch away from where I need it most, only to slip his arm around my waist, his hand under my ass, lifting me, while he unzips his pants with the other.
I’m already panting, my breath hot and rapid as I wrap my legs around him. His body is so close that I can feel every breath he takes, every beat of his heart, and I’m lost in a haze that’s made of only him and nothing else.
The lust, the desire, the need is overwhelming; it’s intoxicating and possesses every thought, every action, and the ache is everywhere at once. In my flesh. My bones. My marrow.
“Caelian,” I rasp, breathless, “I need you.”
“I got you, love.”
With his hand on my ass, he pulls my panties taut and to the side, and I grab his shoulders when the head of his cock nudges against my entrance.
With a single thrust, hard and deep, the thick length of him stretches me in a way that is all too familiar but still manages to steal my breath.
His response is a guttural groan that vibrates against my skin, sending waves of pleasure rippling through me, and his other arm wraps around me, both hands on my ass, lifting and lowering me onto him.
“Oh, Christ,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. “You're so fucking wet and tight, and mine.”
Then our lips crash, tongues dueling, teeth clashing, moans drowned. His taste, like good bourbon and sin, sears a path down my throat, my insides coiled, begging for release.
He withdraws, only to plunge back in, each motion tugging me further into his orbit. I dig my nails into his back muscles, urging him on. The pleasure is maddening, every nerve ending alive with sensations that send me soaring.
“Caelian,” I moan into his mouth, my voice hitching as his rhythm increases, and his hips thrust up, driving himself even deeper, and I can't help but cry out.
His grip on me tightens, and his movements become more forceful, his breaths rapid spurts against my neck. And the pressure, the stretching, the pounding, it all comes together in an exquisite symphony of pleasure.
I’m grabbing at his back, pulling him close, needing him closer, needing…more.
“Harder. Faster,” I beg and gasp, my voice barely audible, and Caelian obeys without hesitation.
His body tenses, like a coiled spring, and then he's moving, his hips snapping up to meet me with a force that has me seeing stars. He's relentless, a battering ram that pounds against my senses and leaves me in tatters, the buckle of his belt pressing against my clit, and I grind against him as much as I can, desperate for the wave of ecstasy that is building, slowly and sweetly, in my core.
Our bodies meet in a slickened rhythm, every touch, every thrust a lightning bolt sparking another wave of desire.
“I’m close,” I whimper, desperate and pleading, the words torn from me as if he's wringing them out.
His response is a low growl that sends shivers racing down my spine, the heat between us almost unbearable.
“Make a mess on my cock, love,” he rasps against my ear. “Let me feel your pussy pulse.”
His words are the catalyst, igniting something so fierce within me, I can't hold back any longer.
My body convulses with a pleasure so intense it robs me of my breath, each wave driving me higher and higher until I'm soaring into oblivion. I cling to him like a lifeline, his name falling from my lips in a breathless chant as euphoria pierces me.
And Caelian follows, losing his rhythm, his thrusts sharp, erratic. His grip on me tightens almost painfully, and he groans against my ear at the same time I feel his cock jerk inside me, spilling his cum deep.
His weight presses into me, comforting and all-encompassing, and he pulls out, slowly lowering me to the ground. Our gazes meet, his eyes hooded with a pleasure that still lingers. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Reality slams into me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I disentangle myself from him, shimmying my dress back down. “You know I can’t.”
Caelian presses his lips together as he tucks his cock into his pants, zipping up. “See, I really didn’t want to do this.”
“Do what?”
“I’m sorry, New York.” He pulls out his phone, swipes across the screen, and practically shoves it in my face, and my entire world grinds to a horrifying halt as I stare at the image.
Bound, gagged, and with a gun pressed against his temple is…my brother.
“Cristiano.”