Chapter 19
Lorenzo
I leave Elizabeth’s room before dawn, but not before I pause at the edge of the bed and just look at her.
She’s curled beneath the sheets, one bare shoulder exposed where the blanket has slipped.
The golden strands of her hair spill across the pillow like silk, catching the early morning light that filters through the curtains.
Her face is peaceful, softened in sleep with her lashes resting gently against flushed cheeks.
Her lips, still slightly parted, carry the remnants of a dream or maybe a whisper that never made it into words.
One hand is tucked beneath her chin, the other resting where I held her.
She looks untouched by the world in this moment. Fragile. Beautiful, but not aware of it. And entirely mine.
For a man like me who’s known only blood, loyalty, and obligation this is dangerous.
Because looking at her like this makes me want things I was never meant to have.
A quiet life.
A warm bed.
A woman who looks at me like I’m more than the empire I built with blood on my hands.
I tear my gaze away and slip out before the house begins to stir. But the imprint of her lingers. On my skin. On my sheets. And somewhere far deeper than I’m ready to admit.
The penthouse is quiet, save for the low hum of heat through the vents and the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway. Staff won’t arrive for another hour.
In my pocket, her birth control packet presses against the inside of my pants as light as paper, as heavy as sin.
I slide into my bedroom and close the door.
I pull out the pack and flip it open. The pills are pink, organized in neat little rows. The one I’m going to put in her bathroom match but hold only placebo pills. Dr. Lars was quick to respond to my text, helping me put this plan into action in the early hours of the morning.
She won’t notice. Not until it’s too late.
I go to my bathroom, jaw tight as I drop the pills into the trash.
I’m not doing this out of spite. It’s protection. Permanence.
She wants to act like this is temporary, like we’re a fling that ends when she boards a plane to Kansas City. But I know better.
She belongs to me. And soon there’ll be no walking away.
Not when she’s carrying my heir.
I make my way back to her room and slip the placebos into her bathroom cabinet. The moment I shut the door, something sharp and undeniable claws up inside me. A need I don’t bother trying to fight.
I go back to her.
She’s asleep on her side, curled in the blankets like something soft and warm meant to be held. I slide into the bed behind her, fitting my body to hers. She melts into me without waking.
God.
She trusts me even in sleep.
My arm winds around her waist, pulling her closer, breathing her in—her shampoo, her skin, her.
Everything in me settles when I have her like this.
Everything in me wakes up, too. My hand snakes around her waist, going between her legs.
She’s still wet from the last time I fucked her.
Slowly, I spread the wetness around, letting my finger rub against her clit.
She shifts, a soft sound leaving her, and her thighs part slightly in her dreaming haze. The small, unconscious invitation nearly undoes me. I press my mouth into her hair.
“Cara,” I whisper, my voice rough with need. “I need you.”
She stirs, blinking up at me slowly, sleep still clinging to her lashes. But when her gaze meets mine, something sparks.
Her lips curve faintly. “I can tell.”
I move over her, bracing myself with my hands on either side of her head. Not kissing her yet—just letting her feel the weight of me.
I brush my lips against hers once, barely a taste. “You aren’t too sore, are you?”
Her fingers slide up my back, curling into my shoulders as her legs wrap around me, pulling me down into her warmth.
“Never,” she whispers, and there’s nothing shy about it. “Come here.”
Her mouth finds mine, sleepy and wanting and sweetly reckless, and every part of me that knows this is madness and that knows I’ll never let her go goes silent.
Because in this moment, she’s mine. And I’ll take every second I can get.
Her lips part under mine, her breath catching in a way that makes my pulse pound in my throat.
I slide my hand beneath her thigh, lifting her just enough to pull her closer.
Her body fits against mine like it was carved to match, her warmth sliding along every line of me.
When she arches up, seeking more contact, a low sound drags out of my chest.
“Elizabeth,” I murmur against her mouth, barely holding myself back. “You’re mine.”
She shivers. “Lorenzo…”
God help me, the way she says my name hits me harder than any gunshot I’ve ever taken. I kiss her again, deeper this time. The kind of kiss that claims. The kind that promises. The kind that warns her she should run while she still can.
I shift my weight, sliding my hand up her ribcage as her back arches into the touch. My thumb grazes the underside of her breast, and she gasps into my mouth—soft and surprised and trusting.
The trust kills me.
Because she has no idea what kind of man she’s touching. No idea what I’m capable of. No idea that I’m already too far gone when it comes to her.
I break the kiss long enough to look down at her. Her hair is fanned across the pillow, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from my mouth. Her eyes—God, her eyes—are dark with want and something better, something worse: surrender.
My restraint thins to a thread.
“Open your legs for me, cara,” I say, my voice low enough to shake. “I want to feel you.”
She obeys instantly, trusting instantly, wanting instantly—and it hits me all over again what a dangerous thing it is for her to give herself to me like this. Because every time she listens to me…every time she yields…every time she whispers my name with that soft ache in her voice…
I lose another piece of whatever humanity I had left.
I lower myself over her, pressing my forehead to hers, my breath mingling with hers.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper.
“No.” Her lips twitch. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
I can’t.
Because the moment she opened her legs for me, opened her mouth for me, opened herself to me—she stopped being a woman I wanted. And became the one I’ll never let go.
I brace one hand beside her head, the other sliding down her side, tracing the soft curve of her hip. Her skin is warm, flushed, alive beneath my fingertips. She shivers at the touch, and the sound she makes nearly breaks my control in half.
“Elizabeth,” I breathe, my voice barely holding together. “You’re making this impossible.”
Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging gently, urging me back down to her. “Then stop trying to fight it.”
My jaw clenches. God, if she knew what she was asking. If she understood the line she’s pushing me past—the point after which I won’t be able to let her go.
Her eyes search mine, wide and open and devastating. “Lorenzo… come here.”
She says it like a plea. Like she already belongs to me.
Something inside me fractures.
I lower myself until my chest is pressed to hers, until I can feel her heartbeat pounding against mine, fast and frantic. My lips hover a breath above hers—close enough that I taste the sweetness of her exhale.
“Once I do this,” I whisper, every word rough with truth, “there’s no going back. You understand me?”
This is her last chance. Once I do this I will make sure she carries my heir. She will be mine forever.
Her hand cups my cheek.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I understand.”
My vision narrows. My pulse thunders. Every last thread of discipline threatens to snap.
“Say it again,” I rasp, needing to hear it, needing to believe it. “Tell me you want this.”
She lifts her chin, brushing her lips against mine in the softest, most dangerous touch I’ve ever felt.
“I want you,” she breathes. “All of you.”
And that’s it. The last lock breaks. The last barrier falls. A sound escapes me—low, guttural, nothing human—and I crush my mouth to hers, claiming the kiss I’ve been dying for.
In that moment, right before I give in completely, one truth slams into me with brutal clarity. After this, she’ll never walk out of my life. And I’ll destroy anything that tries to take her from me.
My pace becomes frantic, driven by something deeper than need. Something raw and territorial. The words spill out of me before I can stop them, low and rough against her ear. Not polite promises. Not fantasies.
Truths.
Dark, reckless truths about the future I want with her. The future I intend to take.
I tell her how one day she’ll carry my child, how I’ll watch her body soften and swell with something we created. How I’ll hold her through every breathless moment, every change, every part of her that becomes irrevocably mine.
Her fingers clutch at me, her head thrashing against the pillow as pleasure tears through her. She doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t protest. She takes every word like it’s gasoline on the fire already burning inside her.
Her voice breaks on my name, breathless and desperate, and it only fuels something deeper that’s been building in me since the moment I first saw her.
I can feel her unravel beneath me, trembling, surrendering, giving me everything without even realizing what she’s doing.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t hold anything back.
I tell her exactly what I plan to make real.
What I will make real.
And she moans like she wants every single piece of it. Every. Last. One.
When it’s over, neither of us moves.
My heartbeat is still thundering, hers fluttering against my chest like something wild trying to steady itself. Her lips are swollen from my mouth, her hair tangled against the pillow, cheeks flushed with warmth that has nothing to do with the room.
And she’s looking at me. Not like she’s afraid or confused. But like something inside her has finally clicked into place.
Which is dangerous.
For her.
For me.
For both of us.
I brush a thumb over her cheek, watching the way she leans into the touch without thinking.
That small, unconscious movement hits harder than anything we just did.
She lays her hand over my heartbeat and I almost break.
Because I know what I’m capable of. I know what loving a man like me does to people.
But she doesn’t pull away.
She whispers, “Lorenzo…” like she’s afraid the moment will slip away if she speaks too loudly.
I kiss her forehead, slow and claiming. “Rest, cara.”
Her eyes flutter shut—not because she’s tired, but because she trusts me enough to let go for a second. And that trust hits like a blade to the ribs.
I’ve never been surer of a plan in my life.
Hours later, she pads into the bathroom, wearing nothing but one of my shirts. It hangs loose on her, brushing her thighs, swallowing her whole in a way that makes something primal surge inside me.
She doesn’t know I’m watching from the doorway. She doesn’t know her wearing my clothes is enough to make my pulse spike.
She reaches for the pill case on the counter—her birth control. My placebos.
She pops out a pill and places it on her tongue. I watch—silent, unmoving, predatory—as she swallows. The sight undoes something in me. Her throat works and then she turns to me with a smile.
“We should dress before Rosa shows up.”
I’m still processing what I just witnessed. She doesn’t know she’s taking nothing. She doesn’t know I’ve already made up my mind about our future. She doesn’t know I’m standing here memorizing the shape of her body in my shirt, the softness of her mouth, the trust in her eyes.
But she will.
I close the distance between us, cupping her jaw with a touch that’s gentle only on the surface.
“Perfect,” I say. “You’re perfect.”
Her breath catches just enough for me to feel it.
And as she stands there, unaware she just swallowed a promise she didn’t agree to, I realize the truth settling into my bones.
She thinks last night changed everything for her.
She has no idea how much it changed for me.