Chapter 6
Emily
I wake before sunrise, the silk sheets cool against my skin. For a moment, I allow myself to bask in the afterglow of the previous night, remembering Vince's touch, his taste, the way he made me feel. But reality soon comes crashing back, bringing with it a wave of conflicting emotions.
I turn to find Vince already awake, his dark eyes watching me intently. "Good morning," he murmurs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.
"Morning," I reply, my voice still husky with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Early," he says, a small smile playing at his lips. "But I have a busy day ahead. Care to join me for breakfast?"
I hesitate, knowing I should leave, should put some distance between us. But the pull I feel towards Vince is stronger than any sense of propriety. "Breakfast sounds great," I hear myself say.
An hour later, I find myself in his sprawling kitchen. Vince moves with easy confidence, preparing coffee and setting out an array of pastries.
"I didn't take you for the domestic type," I tease, accepting a steaming mug of coffee.
Vince's eyes glint with amusement. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Emily."
The words hang between us, laden with unspoken truths. Before I can respond, the elevator dings, and voices fill the penthouse.
"Boss? You up here?" a gruff voice calls out.
I watch as Vince's demeanor changes instantly. Gone is the relaxed man who made me coffee; in his place stands Vincent Russo, the man whispered about in courtrooms and back alleys alike. His jaw tightens, eyes hardening as he calls out, "In the kitchen, Marco."
Two men enter, both dressed in impeccably tailored suits. The first, a burly man with salt-and-pepper hair, stops short when he sees me. The second, younger and leaner, merely raises an eyebrow.
"Emily," Vince says, his voice carefully neutral, "meet Marco Bellini and Giovanni Buccini. They work with me."
I know enough about Vince's world to understand what "work with me" really means. These are his lieutenants, his inner circle. I straighten, suddenly very aware that I'm wearing yesterday's cocktail dress at 7 AM.
"Gentlemen," I nod, aiming for professional detachment.
Marco recovers first, offering a tight smile. "Ms. Bennett. Heard a lot about you."
Giovanni remains silent, his eyes darting between Vince and me with undisguised curiosity.
Vince's hand comes to rest on the small of my back, a gesture both protective and possessive. "What's so urgent it couldn't wait, Marco?"
Marco's expression grows grave. "It's the Colombians, boss. They're making noise about the shipment. Say they want to renegotiate terms."
I feel Vince stiffen beside me. "Like hell they will," he growls. "The terms were set. If they think they can strong-arm me—"
"Vince," I interrupt softly, acutely aware of the tension in the room. "Maybe I should go."
His eyes soften as they meet mine, a stark contrast to the steel in his voice when he addressed Marco. "If you’d like," he says. "I'll walk you out. Give me a minute," he adds to the men.
In the elevator, Vince pulls me close. "I'm sorry about that," he murmurs. "It wasn't how I planned to start the day."
I look up at him, studying the lines of his face. "Vince, what's going on? Who are the Colombians?"
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Nothing for you to worry about, Emily. Just business."
The elevator doors open to the private garage. As I step out, Vince catches my arm. "Have dinner with me tonight," he says. It isn't quite a question.
Against my better judgment, I nod. "Okay. But Vince... be careful."
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Always am, sweetheart."
As I drive home, my mind races. I'd known, of course, about Vince's alleged criminal activities. But seeing it up close, meeting the men who carry out his orders... it makes everything so much more real.
That evening, Vince picks me up in a sleek black Aston Martin. He's quiet as we drive, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"Rough day?" I venture.
He glances at me, his expression softening slightly. "Nothing I can't handle."
We end up at a small Italian restaurant in Little Italy, the kind of place that doesn't have a sign out front and probably isn't in any guidebooks. The owner greets Vince like an old friend, ushering us to a secluded booth in the back.
As we eat, I can't help but notice the deference with which the staff treats Vince. The way conversations hush when he walks by. The respectful nods from other diners.
"You're very well-known here," I observe.
Vince smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I've been coming here since I was a kid. My father used to bring me."
I hesitate, then decide to push. "Your father... was he in the same line of work as you?"
Vince's eyes harden for a moment before he visibly relaxes. "You could say that. He built the foundation. I've... expanded the business."
Before I can respond, a commotion erupts at the front of the restaurant. A man bursts in, wild-eyed and disheveled, shouting in rapid-fire Italian while waving a knife in the air. He storms towards our table, his eyes locking onto me.
Vince is on his feet in an instant, but not before the man grabs my arm roughly. I gasp in shock, my heart pounding.
"Let her go," Vince says, his voice low and dangerous. The calm in his tone is somehow more terrifying than if he'd shouted.
The man spits out something in Italian, his grip on my arm tightening as he points the knife in my direction. I wince, fear coursing through me.
What happens next is almost too fast for me to process. One moment, the man is glaring at Vince, and the next, he's on the floor. Vince stands over him, his fist still clenched. I didn't even see him throw the punch.
The restaurant falls silent. Vince turns to me, his eyes softening as they meet mine. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, reaching for my hand.
I nod, still too stunned to speak. My arm throbs where the man grabbed me, but I'm more shaken by the speed and efficiency with which Vince took him down.
"We're leaving," Vince announces, his arm wrapping protectively around my waist. As we walk out, I hear him murmur something to Marco, who seems to have materialized out of nowhere.
In the car, the adrenaline finally hits me. My hands shake as I fasten my seatbelt. Vince notices, reaching over to squeeze my knee gently.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I never wanted you to be in danger. I’ll take you home."
I turn to look at him, really look at him. His jaw is clenched, eyes dark with barely contained fury. But there's something else there too – fear. Not for himself, I realize, but for me.
"Take me to your place," I hear myself say.
Vince's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, guiding the car smoothly through the city streets.
The tension in the elevator is palpable. Vince stands close to me, his presence both comforting and electrifying. The elevator doors slide open, and I step into Vince’s penthouse, my heart still hammering from the adrenaline rush of earlier. The city’s lights shimmer through the massive windows, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is the tension crackling between us, thicker than ever. Vince follows me into the apartment, his presence looming large behind me.
The door clicks shut, and suddenly, it’s just the two of us. The air feels charged, heavy with everything we’ve left unsaid. I don’t even have time to process it before his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs, “You’re safe now, Emily.”
His words send a shiver down my spine, but it’s not fear I’m feeling. It’s something else entirely—something dark and thrilling that has been building inside me for weeks. I turn in his arms, looking up into his eyes, and what I see there makes my breath catch. The need in his gaze is raw, feral, and it ignites something deep within me.
Before I can say anything, his hand is in my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is searing, almost brutal in its intensity. There’s nothing gentle about it—it’s all hunger, all need.
He starts walking me backward, and I follow blindly, too consumed by the taste of him, the feel of his hard body pressing into mine. When my back hits the cold glass of the window, I gasp, but he doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He deepens the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, staking his claim, and I can’t help but moan into him.
His hands are everywhere, sliding under my shirt, burning a trail across my skin. Every touch sends jolts of electricity racing through me, making me arch into him, desperate for more. But it’s not enough—not nearly enough. I need him closer, need to feel him against me without any barriers.
As if reading my mind, Vince pulls my dress off, tossing it aside. He steps back just long enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over my body. “You’re mine,” he growls, the possessiveness in his voice sending a thrill through me. I’ve never heard him sound like this, so primal, so commanding, and it’s turning me on more than I ever imagined.
He’s on me again, his lips crashing down on mine. He unhooks my bra and it falls to the floor. The cool surface against my bare skin only amplifies the heat between us, and I can feel the hardness of his body pressing into me, reminding me just how much he wants this. Wants me.
He breaks the kiss, trailing his mouth down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make me shiver. I feel like I’m going to come apart right here, but Vince doesn’t let up. His mouth continues its descent, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping me like he owns me. And God, I want him to. I want him to take control, to show me exactly how much he needs me.
He drops to his knees in front of me, his fingers sliding under my black lace thong. He tugs it down, his lips never leaving my skin, kissing and nipping at my thighs as he goes. By the time he pulls it off, I’m trembling, but not from the cold. The anticipation is almost too much, and I can feel myself getting wetter, needier with every second.
When I’m finally bare before him, Vince stands, towering over me. He grabs my wrists, pinning them back against the glass, his body pressing into mine, hard and unyielding. “You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice thick with possessiveness as he claims my mouth again, his kiss demanding, punishing, and I love every second of it.
He releases my wrists, his hands roaming my body with a roughness that sends shockwaves of pleasure through me. He’s in control, and I’m powerless to resist him.
Not that I want to. I want him to take me, to dominate me, to make me his in every way possible.
His mouth moves down my body, sucking, biting, leaving marks that tell the world I’m his. I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, my body desperate for more of his touch. When he finally reaches the apex of my thighs, he pauses, looking up at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“You want this, don’t you, baby?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my most sensitive skin.
“Yes,” I gasp, my voice trembling with need. “Please, Vince…”
“Good,” he says, his voice a growl. “Because I’m going to make you scream my name.”
Then he’s on me, his mouth claiming me in a way that’s almost too much to bear. I cry out, my hands tangling in his hair as he licks and sucks, driving me wild with every stroke of his tongue. He’s relentless, pushing me higher and higher until I’m right on the edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion.
But he doesn’t let me fall. Not yet. He pulls back, leaving me gasping, my body aching with the need for release. “Vince,” I beg, my voice breaking.
He stands, his hands gripping my hips as he lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of him pressing against me through his pants. He carries me to the bed, tossing me down with a roughness that makes me gasp. But it’s not fear I feel. It’s excitement, pure and carnal.
Vince strips off his clothes, and I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s all hard lines and muscle, every inch of him screaming power and control. And he wants me.
He climbs onto the bed, covering my body with his own, and the feel of his skin against mine is almost too much. He kisses me again, slower this time, but no less intense. His hand slides between my legs, his fingers finding evidence of my desire.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice filled with dark satisfaction. “You think you can handle this?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my body arching into his touch. “Please, Vince… Please.”
He smirks, a possessive gleam in his eyes as he positions himself at my entrance. “This pussy belongs to me, baby. And I’m going to remind you of that every time I’m inside you.”
Then he thrusts into me, hard and deep, and I cry out at the sheer intensity of it. His huge cock stretches my walls, and it hurts so good as he pounds into me. He’s relentless, his pace punishing as he takes me, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer, deeper, until there’s nothing left between us.
I can feel the tension coiling inside me, tighter and tighter with every thrust, every rough word whispered in my ear. He’s not just making love to me—he’s claiming me, body and soul, and I can’t get enough. The pleasure is almost too much, almost unbearable, but I don’t want it to stop. I want him to keep going, to keep taking me until there’s nothing left of me but this overwhelming need for him.
And then, just when I think I can’t take any more, he drives into me one last time, his body shuddering as he comes, pulling me over the edge with him. I cry out his name, my entire world shattering as the pleasure consumes me, leaving me trembling and breathless in his arms.
He collapses beside me, pulling me close, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks. The only sound is our ragged breathing, slowly evening out as we come down from the high. His hand traces lazy circles on my back, soothing and tender in the aftermath of his dominance.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice filled with a concern that makes my heart ache.
I smile, nuzzling into his chest, feeling safe and cherished in a way I’ve never felt before. “More than okay,” I murmur, my voice still shaky. “That was… incredible.”
He kisses the top of my head, his arms tightening around me.
I know there are questions that I should be asking, should know by now. But all that matters is that I’m here, in his arms, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.