72 | Will you leave me for him?
The balcony overlooks the Costa estate, a sprawl of vineyards and stone walls bathed in the silver glow of the full moon.
I grip the railing, the cool metal grounding me as my mind churns, restless, consumed by my wife.
The night air is sharp, carrying the scent of olive trees, but it does nothing to cool the heat in my blood, the ache that's been building since the kitchen, since that almost-kiss that's haunted me for days.
I'm supposed to be focused, on the attack, on the enemy that is still lurking, the empire I'm meant to protect, but all I can think about is her.
Footsteps, soft but deliberate, break the silence, and I know it's her before I turn. My pulse quickens, a traitor to my control, and I glance over my shoulder.
Aurelia steps onto the balcony, her silhouette framed by the doorway, her red hair catching the moonlight, her eyes glinting with that fierce, searching look that undoes me.
She's wearing a thin silk robe, the fabric clinging to her curves, and I have to clench my jaw to keep my thoughts from spiraling into the filthy, desperate place they've been all week.
"Are we going back to New York soon?" she asks, cutting through the night as she stops beside me, close enough that I can feel her warmth.
I turn, leaning against the railing, my hands needing to reach for her.
"We'll stay another week," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "I still haven't found the bastard who attacked us."
It's true, but it's not the whole truth, and I hate myself for it.
New York means Franco, the man who knows her in ways I don't, who shares a bond I can't touch or understand.
The thought of her near him, laughing with him, trusting him, twists something dark in my gut, a jealousy so raw it's almost pain. I don't want to go back, don't want to watch her slip into his orbit, where I'm just the husband she never chose, the one she might leave.
My chest tightens, and I stare out at the estate, trying to hide the storm inside me.
"What is it?" she asks, her voice sharper now, like she sees right through me, and I curse how well she knows me.
"Nothing," I mutter, but it's weak, and I know she won't let it go.
Her hand lands on my chest, her palm warm through my shirt, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up, my heart slamming against my ribs.
I love this, crave it, the way her touch grounds me and sets me on fire all at once.
"We have to communicate, remember?" she says, her voice a mix of challenge and care, and it's enough to crack me open.
I grunt, a low sound of frustration, because she's right.
"There's another reason I don't want to go back," I say, the words clawing their way out.
Her brows lift, curiosity flickering. "What other reason?"
I swallow, my throat tight, and force myself to meet her gaze, to let her see the fear that's been eating me alive.
"I'm jealous," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Of your bond with Franco. He's known you forever, Aurelia.
He knows you in ways I'm still fighting to learn.
If we go back, will you..." I pause, my heart pounding so loud I'm sure she hears it, the question tearing me apart. "Will you leave me for him?"
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, there's silence, just the night and the weight of my confession.
Out of nowhere, she smiles and bursts out laughing, a sound so bright it catches me off guard, easing thetightness around my chest.
"No," she says, shaking her head, her laughter softening into something warm. "I won't leave you."
I stare at her because there's something in her voice, something final.
"Is that your answer?" I ask, my voice cracking, desperate for clarity. "To my confession?"
She goes still, her eyes locking on mine.
The silence stretches again, heavy with everything we've left unsaid, until she speaks, her voice soft but sure.
"Yes," she says."That's my answer."
Relief crashes over me, sharp and overwhelming, and I feel the tears, slipping down my cheeks, because she's choosing me, choosing us.
I can't hold back anymore, can't fight the need that's been burning since the kitchen, since the beach, since the moment I knew I love her.
I move, pulling her into me, my hands framing her face, my fingers tangling in her hair.
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away, instead she leans in, her hands gripping my shirt, and I crash my lips to hers, desperate, hungry, a kiss that's been building for too long.
Her lips press to mine, taking everything I offer and giving it right back.
I taste her and it's not enough, never enough.
My hands slide down her back, pulling her flush against me, her body molding to mine like she was made for this, for me.
She gasps into the kiss, a sound that lights me up, and I deepen it, my tongue tracing hers, claiming every inch she'll let me have. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and I'm lost, drowning in the heat of her, the way she kisses me back like she's just as starved, just as gone.
I press her against the railing, my body caging hers, and she arches into me, her robe slipping to reveal the curve of her shoulder.
I want her. I want to tear the silk away, want to feel every part of her, want to give her everything I am.
Then a voice cuts through, sharp and grating.
"What the fuck is going on?"
I freeze, my lips still brushing hers, and turn, my jaw tight with irritation.
Chase Nash. Aurelia's older brother, my best friend, and right now, a fucking nuisance, stands in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the light from the hall, his face twisted in shock and something like betrayal.
Aurelia tenses against me, her breath hitching, and I feel her fear, a flicker of it in the way her hands grip my shirt.
She's scared but I'm not. I'm pissed, hard and aching for her, my blood roaring with want, and Chase is a fly buzzing in my face when all I want is to sink back into her.
I groan, low and frustrated, because I'm throbbing, my body screaming for her, and this interruption is a cruelty I don't deserve.
"Go away, Chase," I say, my voice rough, edged with a warning I mean every word of.
I will take out my gun and shoot him, if he doesn't leave us alone.
He steps forward, his eyes narrowing as he looks between us.
"Why the fuck are you kissing my sister?" he demands, his voice rising, like he's got any right to question this. "What the hell, Luciano?"
I pull back from Aurelia, just enough to face him, but my hand stays on her waist, anchoring her to me, because I'm not letting her go.
"We're married, you dumb fuck," I snap, my patience fraying, because he knows this, has known it since the day we said vows, even if they were born from Ciara's lie.
Chase scoffs, crossing his arms, his bulk filling the doorway like he thinks he can intimidate me.
"You know what I mean," he says, his voice lower now, accusing. "Wasn't this marriage supposed to be a sham? A deal to keep your position? What's this, Luciano? You playing her now?"
The words hit like a spark to gasoline, and I feel Aurelia stiffen, her fear spiking.
"Go away, Chase," I say, my voice cold, lethal, every syllable a promise. "I'm giving you five seconds before I throw you out of this balcony."
He laughs, a sharp, disbelieving sound, like he thinks I'm bluffing.
"I'm your best friend," he says, spreading his arms, a cocky grin flashing. "You'd never do that—"
"One," I start, my voice flat, my eyes locked on his, and I mean it, friend or not, he's in my way, and I'm too far gone for her to care about his feelings. "Two."
Aurelia shifts beside me, and I glance at her, expecting worry, but she's smiling, a small curve of her lips, like she's enjoying this, like she trusts me to handle it.
It's fuel that smile, lighting me up, and I turn back to Chase, my count steady. "Three."
"Fine, fine," he says, throwing up his hands. "I'm going, Jesus. You two are fucking weird."
He backs toward the door, shaking his head, but there's a glint in his eyes, like he's more amused than angry, like he knows he's lost this round.
The door swings shut behind him, the balcony quiet again, just the hum of the night and the pound of my heart.
I turn to Aurelia, my hand still on her waist, and she's looking at me, her smile softer now, her eyes golden in the moonlight, warm with something that makes my chest ache.
"Sorry about him," I mutter, my voice rough, because I'm still hard.
"Don't be," she says, her voice low, teasing, but there's a weight to it, a promise. "He's just... Chase."
I laugh, and pull her against me, my hands finding her face, framing it like she's something holy.
"I don't care about him," I say, because it's true. "I care about you. About this."
Her breath catches, and she leans into me, her lips parting, and I can't stop myself as I kiss her again, softer this time, but no less desperate, pouring every ounce of my love into it.
She tastes like salvation, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue brushing hers, my hands sliding to her hips, pulling her against me.
I'm hers, jealous, flawed, obsessed, and I'll love her until it destroys me, because she's worth it, every risk, every fight, every breath.