Chapter 39
Exile
THE REQUIEM | Past
Idon’t recall when I finally slept, or when he finally stopped. The memory of the night is a beautiful blur of moans, whimpers, and sex, followed by the suffocating weight of my husband’s body pinning me to the sheets until the early hours of the morning.
I blame the wine.
When my eyes flutter open, a throbbing fullness sits between my thighs. Our bodies are entangled under the duvet, and as I try to shift, a soft, involuntary groan escapes me into his bare chest.
He is still inside me.
Even in his sleep, the sheer roughness and girth of him keep me stretched open, reminding me of who I belong to.
I look up at his sleeping face, and a mixture of disbelief and fondness tugs at my heart.
This shameless man. When will he understand that it is not hygienic for a man to stay inside a woman for this long?
It could cause an infection, for heaven’s sake.
But my husband doesn’t understand that—or rather, he chooses to ignore medical science.
When I brought it up last night, he just tightened his grip and told me it was his right, that staying buried deep inside me was the only way he felt truly close to me.
As if sensing my thoughts, Zagreus’s long eyelashes flutter, and his stormy grey eyes find mine, clear of sleep’s usual grogginess. A lazy smile touches his handsome face that was buried between my legs a few hours ago.
Instead of moving, he arches his hips just a fraction, making me gasp as he slides a millimeter deeper.
“Morning, Dolcezza,” he rasps, leaning forward to press a kiss right to the tip of my nose.
My heart aches.
For a second, the dangerous mafia don vanishes, leaving only the man who holds me like I am the center of his universe. But the tender moment doesn’t last long before his hand slides down to cup my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin as he hardens against my inner walls.
“Zagreus, no,” I complain softly, placing my palms flat against his chest to push him back. “Stop. I’m sore.”
He chuckles amusedly, his chest vibrating beneath my hands.
He doesn’t pull out, but he hovers over me, bearing that wicked glint in his eyes.
“Sore? That’s strange. Because I distinctly remember a certain beautiful girl weeping into my chest last night, begging me to go faster. Begging me not to stop.”
My cheeks flame. Mortified, I hide my face in his neck. “Stop it. Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” he teases, completely brazen as he leans down to bite gently at my earlobe. “I can say whatever I want to my wife. Especially when she looks this beautiful stretched out under me, still dripping from what I did to her hours ago—”
Smack.
I bring my hand down on his chest. “Zagreus Vitale, shut up!”
He chuckles and finally relents. With an agonizingly deep slide, he pulls out of me, leaving me cold and empty. He rolls off the bed and stands up, entirely unbothered by his nakedness. He leans down one last time, pressing another kiss to my lips.
“Go take a warm bath,” he commands softly, tracing my jaw. “I’ll have breakfast ready for you when you’re done.”
I watch him walk toward the door before I slowly push myself off the bed, holding the tattered sheets around me.
As I walk into the adjacent bathroom, a small, helpless giggle escapes my lips.
Despite the madness, the terror, and the absolute chaos of our lives, our love hasn’t died.
It’s still there, burning just as bright, even if it’s wrapped in thorns and lies.
I sink into the steaming, bubbly water of the bathtub, letting the heat soothe the ache between my thighs.
There are things I can’t forget. Things I can’t entirely forgive.
He killed my Father.
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the marble edge.
If anyone else had done it, I would want them dead.
But with Zagreus… it was a mistake. A brutal, horrific misunderstanding born from the twisted, violent politics of our world.
My Father was a nice man; he did not deserve the pain.
He was just trying to save me, and so was Zagreus.
In the mafia, blood demands blood. Looking at it rationally doesn’t erase the grief, but it validates the cold, hard logic of why it happened. It was a casualty of war, not an act of malice against me.
But what do I do with this future now?
Vane is out there somewhere. He’s probably gone into hiding, and I don’t even fully understand the depths of the blood feud Zagreus has with him, but I know one thing—it won’t be easy.
This world is a shark tank. Zagreus killed Ronan Novak, and then killed his daughter too.
In the eyes of the underworld, that is blasphemy.
It’s an act of supreme defiance that should have brought an entire army to our doorstep.
Threats are near; I know. Zagreus might not tell me directly, but his late-night phone calls, unexpected meetings, and tight security say otherwise.
Yet, I remember who my husband is. Zagreus has the throne.
He sits on a seat made of bones and iron, and no one is blind enough or foolish enough to poke the beast while he’s awake. To challenge him right now is a death wish. He is untouchable, and by extension, so am I.
I let out a long, shaky breath, letting my body sink deeper into the water.
My mama was right. In this life, you don’t get a fairy tale. You get what you’re given. I should find happiness in whatever is offered to me, even if it’s found in the arms of a beautiful and dangerous monster who broke my world just to build me a new one.
Sighing, I realize something.
It isn’t the time for this. It isn’t the time to sit here and drown myself in a sea of useless guilt.
Mama had told me it was okay. She had looked into my eyes and told me that forgiveness wasn’t a sign of weakness but a choice to survive.
Mama wouldn’t lie to me. She would never make me walk a wrong or wicked path.
If she could find it in her heart to absolve the sins of this world, then I have to trust that finding peace in Zagreus’s arms isn’t a betrayal of my blood. It is just my reality.
Pushing the heavy thoughts away, I drain the tub and step out, wrapping a plush towel around myself. It’s only when I finish drying off that the stark reality of my situation hits me.
I look at the bathroom counter, then back at the floor. I don’t have a single thing to wear.
“That absolute savage,” I mutter under my breath, my cheeks warming as I remember him ripping my lace dress on the roof, followed by the complete destruction of my underwear in the elevator. He tore every single stitch of clothing off my body.
Cursing his name in three different languages, I pad back into the bedroom.
My eyes land on the white button-down shirt Zagreus had discarded on the floor last night.
Shaking my head, I pick it up, smoothing out the wrinkles, and slip my arms into the sleeves.
It is massive on me, the hem pooling mid-thigh, and the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with cedarwood and raw masculinity instantly envelops me.
I button just enough of the middle fasteners to keep myself decent.
Barefoot and entirely defenseless against the chill of the hardwood floors, I make my way toward the kitchen.
The apartment is quiet, save for the sizzle of a pan.
I stop at the archway. Zagreus is standing at the kitchen counter, completely focused on the stove.
He’s thrown on a pair of dark grey slacks he wore last night, low on his hips, his broad back entirely bare and mapped with the faint, silver scars given by his Father. He is flipping eggs.
I blink.
Where did he even get groceries?
He owns the entire building; he could have pressed a single button on his phone and had a Michelin breakfast delivered by white-glove service in five minutes. But no. The head of the terrifying Vitale family is standing over a hot stove, personally making me breakfast.
I suppress the smile threatening to break across my face, determined not to let him see how much this silly view affects me.
Adopting a neutral expression, I walk right past him, keeping my eyes forward as I reach for the large refrigerator.
“Smells good,” I murmur, opening the door to grab a cold bottle of water.
Before my fingers can even twist the cap, a yelp escapes my throat.
A pair of large hands wrap around my waist. Zagreus hoists me up into the air as if I weigh nothing at all.
My feet dangle uselessly above the floor for a second before he spins me around and deposits me directly onto the edge of the counter.
The stone is freezing against my bare thighs, and I gasp, but the chill is instantly obliterated as Zagreus steps into the space between my knees, crowding his massive, heated body against mine.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. His stubble scrapes against my sensitive skin, and my eyelids grow heavy. He stays like that for a long time, just breathing me in, his large hands resting flat on the counter on either side of my hips, effectively locking me to him.
“You smell like me,” he murmurs, vibrating right against my throat.
“You tore my dress,” I accuse weakly, though my hands have already found his bare shoulders. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to steal your shirt.”
Zagreus pulls back just enough to look at me, his grey eyes unusually soft, devoid of the edge he shows the rest of the world.
A tiny, rare smile tugs at the corner of his lips as his gaze travels down the oversized white shirt swallowing my frame. “Keep it. It looks entirely too dangerous on you anyway.”
He reaches up, using the side of his index finger to gently trace the dark purple bruise he left on my collarbone last night. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I think about how lawless you are,” I whisper despite the erratic beat of my heart.