Chapter 14 – Almeria
There’s a silence between us now that isn’t cold—but it isn’t peace either.
It’s the kind of quiet that follows a confession too raw to ignore, too fresh to process.
Gaspare told me he loves me.
That he wants me. That this marriage, once a strategy, has become something sacred to him.
And I believe him.
His words – hook, line and sinker.
That’s the part that unsettles me most.
Because love shouldn’t be this complicated. It shouldn’t come wrapped in the shadow of old wounds and bloodied oaths. It shouldn’t make me feel like I’m being drawn toward both healing and ruin at the same time.
I’m not a naive nineteen year old anymore.
I know what it means to love someone like him.
The cost of what we share.
And yet, I’m not trying to escape it.
But the thought still crosses my mind.
Running.
It’s not something new to me.
It’s a well-worn habit. A second skin.
I’ve been running since before Luca was even born—ducking from shadows, slipping through cracks in the world where no one would think to look for a Spadafora girl.
Always moving. Always looking over my shoulder.
It’s how we survived.
It’s how I kept him safe when I had no one else to turn to. No one but myself.
And maybe—maybe part of me will always believe that running is the safer choice. That staying still, letting myself grow roots, is just inviting someone to come and rip them out again.
I shift where I sit, the ache of that thought pressing against my ribs.
If I left now—if I packed up our lives again and disappeared—maybe I could protect Luca from the inevitable fallout.
From Gaspare.
From the Colosimos.
From the war that will always cling to this name, no matter how pretty the mansion or how lavish the lies.
But then I think about him.
My sweet boy.
I think about the way he smiled the day he ran through the garden, his little wooden sword clutched tight in his hand.
The way he wolfed down his dinner without fear for once, not constantly flinching at every sound, not sleeping with one eye open.
He's found stability here.
A sense of safety.
A home.
If I uproot him again—if I snatch that from under his feet because of my fear—what would that do to him?
Would he ever forgive me for it?
Would I ever forgive myself?
A lump rises in my throat.
Because the truth is, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise, I’m still a Spadafora.
A living relic of a dead dynasty.
A survivor of sins too old and bloody to ever fully outrun.
As long as I draw breath, that curse follows me.
Maybe it always will.
And maybe Luca…
Maybe he’ll have to learn that one day too.
Learn that safety, for us, isn’t a place.
It’s a person.
And I’ll be his place of safety for as long as I live.
Today, I wake before Luca does.
A yawn escapes me, reminding me of how little sleep I got. Luca had come to my room at night as usual, getting into my bed and cuddling up to me while thoughts of the man who saved his life filled my head.
I’d brought him back to his room after he’d fallen asleep again. But on a second thought, rather than go back to my room with my thoughts, I sidled into bed with him. A change of environment or sleeping space would do me a world of good, even if just for a night.
Or so I thought.
The light pouring through the tall windows of his bedroom bathes everything in warm gold. But it doesn’t chase away the weight still sitting at the center of my chest.
I slip out of bed quietly and make my way to the balcony. The early breeze brushes against my skin like a whisper, and I wrap my arms around myself.
I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.
Below me is everything I used to be. Everything I used to believe. The girl who wore her heart too openly. Who thought a crush was something innocent and harmless.
And ahead of me? A fall. Or maybe flight.
But I don’t know which it’ll be yet.
And I don’t know if there’ll truly be anybody there to catch me.
***
It’s late afternoon when Gaspare arrives at the mansion today.
I hear his voice before I see him—low and smooth, giving the guards some instruction before stepping inside.
When he enters the sitting room where I’m folding laundry, he pauses in the doorway.
He looks like he hasn’t slept. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, dark stubble shadows his jaw, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes.
But when he sees me, his expression softens.
“You look tired,” he says gently.
“I could say the same to you.”
He walks closer, then stops when he sees my face.
“What is it?”
I try to shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Almeria.”
The way he says my name—firm, but not harsh—makes me lift my gaze.
I don’t know what makes me speak, but the words fall out like a dam breaking.
“I’m scared,” I whisper. “Of how I feel about you. Of what it means.”
He doesn’t interrupt. He just waits.
“I’ve spent years running,” I continue, “and now I’m standing still in the middle of everything I tried to escape. And the worst part is… I don’t want to run anymore. I want you. But I don’t trust what that means.”
He kneels in front of me, his hands gently resting on my knees.
“I don’t blame you,” he says. “You shouldn’t trust easily. Especially not me.”
His eyes lock with mine. “But I’m not asking you to forget what happened. I’m asking for a chance to make it right.”
“You can’t undo the past,” I whisper. “I don’t think anything truly can.”
He furrows his brows, wrinkles breaking out on his forehead as if in thought. The silence between us lingers for a moment, making me uncomfortable and I’m about to get up and leave when he speaks again.
“I can’t undo the past, I know,” he begins. “And if there was any way at all to make it go away, I’d take the chance in a heartbeat, Almeria. I swear it. But I... I know what I can do. I can give you justice.”
I frown. “What?”
His voice drops lower. “That night. The alley. The man who hurt you—I should’ve never left you there.”
“You think?” I sniffle and wipe at my face, surprised that tears are gathering in my eyes. “You should never even have taken me there.”
Anger has replaced confusion and worry in my mind now. And I tell myself that this is what I should be feeling toward Gaspare. Not love.
“I thought you were trying to manipulate me. That your family was using you to get close to me. I was paranoid. Angry. Stupid.” He shakes his head. “But none of that excuses what happened next. And if it takes me tearing the world apart to find the man who did that to you—I’ll do it.”
I can’t speak. My throat is tight. My eyes sting.
“I’ve already started looking,” he says. “And when I find him, I’ll make sure he pays. Not for me. Not even for Luca. But for you.”
Tears roll silently down my cheeks. I make no effort to stop them from coming this time.
He reaches up and gently wipes one away with his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” he continues, his voice soft and full of genuine remorse. “I’m so fucking sorry, Almeria.”
I don’t know how it happens. I don’t know why his apology touches me the way it does right now.
I don’t remember leaning in.
But suddenly, my mouth is on his.
The kiss starts soft.
But it builds quickly.
His hands grip my waist, anchoring me against him. Mine slide into his hair, tugging gently, feeling the silky strands between my fingers. His mouth devours mine like he’s starved for it, each brush of his lips sending a fresh surge of heat pooling low in my belly.
He pulls me into his lap, and I straddle him on the couch, my knees bracketing his thighs, our bodies pressed tightly together. I can feel every hard, unyielding line of him through my thin shorts.
I grind against him without meaning to, a low moan escaping my throat. Need slams into me like a tidal wave.
“I shouldn’t want you this much,” I whisper against his mouth, my breathing ragged.
“Then we’re both guilty,” he growls, before kissing me again, deeper this time—messy and hot, like he’s past caring about control.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms gliding over the naked skin of my back, making me shiver against him. I arch into the contact, craving more, craving him.
I moan again when his lips leave mine to trail down my jaw, nipping at the delicate skin of my neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.
“You feel like fire,” he murmurs against my throat. “Every time I touch you, I lose myself.”
He finds the sensitive spot just beneath my ear and sucks lightly, making my hips jerk against his instinctively.
“Gaspare,” I gasp.
He growls low in his throat and grabs my hips, pinning me to him, grinding up against my core with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips that makes me whimper.
But then he stills.
His forehead presses to my shoulder, his breath coming in short, heavy pants.
“I need to slow down,” he mutters, like he’s reminding himself as much as me. “I want to make you feel good, Almeria. I want to show you what you deserve.”
Before I can respond, his hands are back on the waistband of my shorts, slipping them lower, exposing more skin to the cool air and his burning touch.
“Is this okay?” he asks roughly, his hands pausing.
“Yes,” I breathe, my voice barely audible.
That’s all the permission he needs.
Slowly, he slides his hand inside my panties, his fingers finding me soaked and throbbing.
He groans into my neck, his entire body shuddering as his fingers brush against my swollen clit.
“Jesus Christ, you’re so wet for me,” he rasps.
He circles the sensitive bundle of nerves slowly, teasing, just enough pressure to make me whimper and dig my nails into his shoulders.
I grind into his hand shamelessly, chasing every spark he’s igniting.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice dark and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”
He teases me, circling, rubbing, until I’m panting into his neck, my body trembling with need. Then he slides one thick finger into me, slow and careful, making me cry out at the sudden stretch.
He works me open gently, curling his finger just right, dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision go blurry.
“Oh my God—Gaspare—” I sob against his shoulder.
“That’s it, angel,” he whispers. “Let me hear you.”
He adds a second finger, stretching me wider, thrusting deep and slow, his thumb pressing against my clit in perfect counter-rhythm.
My body is shaking now, every nerve ending lit up, every breath a broken moan.
The pleasure builds fast, tight and overwhelming, a tidal wave cresting higher and higher.
“Come for me, Almeria,” he growls into my ear, his voice wrecked with need. “Give it to me.”
With a choked sob, I shatter around him, clenching down on his fingers, my entire body locking up as the orgasm tears through me.
I ride it out on his lap, gasping, trembling, my head thrown back, fingers clutching his hair like a lifeline.
He doesn’t stop until I’ve wrung every last shuddering wave from my body, until I sag boneless against him, spent and trembling.
He withdraws his fingers slowly, carefully, and presses a kiss to my temple.
I’m still trying to catch my breath when he cups my face and tilts my head up to meet his gaze.
The look in his eyes floors me.
Possessive. Tender. Worshipful.
He leans in, his lips brushing mine as he whispers:
“No more tears, angel. From now on, the only tears you’re ever going to shed… are ones of joy and pleasure.”
My heart breaks open at the fierce promise in his voice.
And for the first time in years, I believe it might be possible.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someday soon… I won’t just survive.
I’ll live.