Chapter 18 – Almeria
The knock at the door is soft, almost hesitant.
It doesn’t match the man I know who’s waiting on the other side.
Gaspare Colosimo never knocks like he’s unsure.
But tonight, everything feels different.
My heart pounds in my chest as I rise from the couch, crossing the marble floor with slow, careful steps. Luca is already asleep upstairs. The house is quiet, blanketed in a kind of heavy stillness that only heightens my racing thoughts.
When I open the door, he stands there.
And for a moment, I can only stare.
Gaspare looks... wrecked.
His black shirt clings to him, dried sweat staining the fabric. His hair is a mess, pushed back like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His knuckles are split and raw.
But his eyes are what undo me.
No armor.
No walls.
Just raw, soul-deep weariness and something even more dangerous—hope.
"Almeria," he rasps.
I step back without a word, silently inviting him in.
He crosses the threshold like a man walking into a church, full of guilt.
I close the door behind him and lean against it, waiting.
Gaspare turns to face me, jaw clenching, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.
"I’m sorry," he says, voice cracking on the words. "For everything. For not seeing what was right in front of me. For abandoning you when you needed me most."
He moves closer, cautiously, like he’s afraid he might spook me.
"I should have protected you," he whispers. "I should have burned the world down the moment you cried for me."
My throat tightens painfully.
"I was blind," he continues, stepping even closer. "I cost you pain. And it cost you everything. It cost you years we can never get back."
I feel the first tear slide down my cheek.
Gaspare sees it, and it shatters him.
He falls to his knees at my feet without hesitation, his head bowed like he’s waiting for judgment.
"I swear to you," he whispers hoarsely, "there will never be a day you doubt where you stand with me again. I will spend every breath I have making up for what I allowed to happen."
He lifts his gaze, and the broken reverence there guts me.
"I love you, Almeria," he says. "I love you more than I love breathing."
I sink to my knees in front of him, reaching for his battered face with shaking hands.
"You avenged me," I whisper, stroking my thumbs over the bruises marring his skin. "You gave me justice when you could have walked away."
His hand comes up, covering mine, holding it against his jaw.
"I’d never walk away from you again," he says fiercely.
A shudder wracks my body.
"Do you..." he trails off, swallowing hard. "Do you want to see him?"
I blink, confused.
"Stark," he clarifies. "I left him breathing. Broken. He’s in the lowest pit of the prison. I can take you. Let you see what I made of him. Let you see the wreck of a man he became because of what he did to you."
The offer is genuine.
A gift.
Control, returned to my hands after so many years of having it stolen.
I sit back on my heels, staring into his bloodshot eyes.
For a heartbeat, the idea tempts me.
To see him.
To look into the face of the man who stole so much from me.
To see his humiliation, his brokenness.
A part of me—the girl who was left bleeding in that alley—wants it.
Wants it so badly she can taste it.
But another thought worms its way into my mind.
Luca.
What if Stark's face mirrors Luca’s too much?
What if, every time I looked at my son afterward, I saw only the monster who hurt me?
Could I live with that?
Could I live with tainting the purest thing I’ve ever known?
I close my eyes, my heart twisting painfully.
"I never saw his face that night," I whisper. "He made sure of that."
Gaspare says nothing, just holds onto my hands tighter, grounding me.
"And maybe..." I continue, voice shaking, "maybe it’s better that way. Maybe it’s better that the image in my mind stays faceless. Powerless."
I open my eyes.
"I don’t want to risk looking at Luca and seeing Stark instead."
A flash of something—pain, regret, maybe even admiration—crosses Gaspare’s face.
He nods slowly, squeezing my hands.
"You don’t have to," he says. "I only offered so you’d know... really know... that justice was done."
I smile through the tears.
"I already know," I say. "I never doubted you."
His breath catches, his hands trembling slightly around mine.
"And maybe," I whisper, brushing my fingers along his jawline, "I love you too much now to ever doubt you again."
The words hang between us, more binding than any contract, more powerful than any vow.
Gaspare closes his eyes like he’s hearing a prayer answered after years of silence.
When he opens them again, they are full of a hunger so raw, so tender, that it robs me of breath.
Gaspare rises slowly, pulling me gently to my feet with him.
Neither of us speaks.
Words would only cheapen what’s burning between us now.
His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone as if memorizing me all over again.
I lean into his touch, heart pounding, body aching with the need to be closer, to erase the years of pain between us with skin and breath and love.
He bends down, his lips brushing mine—softly.
I whimper, clutching the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepens, his mouth claiming mine with a desperate tenderness that shatters the last fragile walls around my heart.
His hands roam my body, slow and sure, like he’s relearning every curve, every scar.
I feel worshiped.
I feel whole.
Gaspare lifts me effortlessly into his arms, never breaking the kiss, and carries me toward the master bedroom.
He lays me down with a reverence that brings fresh tears to my eyes.
He hovers over me, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath ragged.
"If you want me to stop..." he rasps.
I shake my head fiercely, threading my fingers into his hair.
"Don’t you dare," I whisper.
The first touch of his hands on my skin is like a balm, like a prayer.
He peels my clothes away with agonizing slowness, his mouth following the trail of exposed skin, kissing every inch with a tenderness that steals my breath.
When I’m bare before him, he just looks at me for a moment.
As if he can't believe I'm real.
"You’re beautiful," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "You always were."
Tears sting my eyes again, but I blink them away.
I want to feel him.
All of him.
I reach for him, fumbling with his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He helps me, pulling his bloodstained clothes off and tossing them aside until we are nothing but flesh and heat.
He sinks down over me, fitting us together like two missing pieces finally finding their place.
The first brush of him against my entrance has us both gasping.
He pushes in slowly, carefully, watching my face for any sign of hesitation.
There is none.
Only need.
Only love.
Gaspare thrusts into me in one long, slow movement, filling me completely.
I gasp, clutching his shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the sheer rightness of it.
He groans low in his throat, pressing his forehead against mine.
"You're perfect," he whispers, voice shaking.
He begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate.
Not just claiming.
Not just taking.
Giving.
Loving.
Healing.
Every inch of his body worships mine — the slow roll of his hips, the way his hands cup my face like I’m made of spun glass, the way he kisses me between every thrust like he can’t bear to be apart for even a second.
I wrap my legs around him, urging him deeper, needing more.
He obeys, picking up the rhythm, each slow stroke driving the breath from my lungs and building a sweet, aching pressure low in my belly.
"Look at me," he rasps against my lips.
I open my eyes, finding his gaze locked on mine, dark and blazing with everything he can’t say out loud.
"You’re mine," he says, thrusting harder, deeper. "Mine to protect. Mine to love. Always."
The words push me over the edge.
I come with a cry, my body clamping down around him, shuddering violently.
He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning my name like a prayer, like a promise.
We collapse together, gasping, hearts pounding in sync.
Gaspare rolls us gently onto our sides, keeping me tucked tightly against him.
For a long moment, we just lie there.
Breathing and existing.
Healing of all the demons we’ve carried on our backs for years.
He brushes his fingers through my hair, pressing a kiss to my damp forehead.
"I have something else to tell you," he murmurs after a while, voice still rough with emotion.
I tilt my head to look up at him, heart still fluttering.
"I’ve been elevated," he says. "Made Don officially."
My breath catches.
I search his face, half expecting him to look proud, triumphant.
But all I see is steady, quiet determination.
"This doesn’t change anything between us," he says fiercely. "I won’t let it. If anything, it only means I can protect you and Luca even better."
Tears prick my eyes again.
"Congratulations," I whisper, cupping his cheek. "You deserve it."
He closes his eyes at my touch like it’s the greatest blessing he’s ever received.
"But I need something from you," I say softly.
He opens his eyes, immediately alert.
"Anything."
I swallow hard.
"Promise me you'll keep Luca away from that world. Promise me he’ll never have to carry this darkness."
Without hesitation, he leans down and presses his forehead to mine.
"I swear," he says. "On my life. On my soul. Luca will have a better life. I’ll see to it personally."
I let out a shaky breath and nod.
He pulls me tighter against him, wrapping me in his arms, like he’s shielding me from every threat, every nightmare.
"I want you," he says hoarsely. "Not just for now. Forever. I want to be there for every moment. Every milestone. Every heartbeat."
Tears spill over onto my cheeks.
"And I want you too. I always have," I whisper back. "You and no one else."
He kisses me then — slow, deep, claiming.
A binding of souls, not just bodies.
I wrap my arms around him, feeling the final walls inside me crumble.
For the first time in my life, I am exactly where I’m meant to be.
Not running.
Not surviving.
Living.
Loving.
And this time, I know — there’s no storm that can tear us apart.
Not anymore.
We are unbreakable.