Chapter 31
Vivi
LUCA’S ABSENCE WAS a living, breathing thing, like the cool wind rising and settling at my feet. My heart ached while I waited for his return. Hours bled slowly together, and I trudged through each minute finalizing Sofia’s wedding plans.
If daylight was purgatory, then night was hell.
I hadn’t slept, I prayed. Those prayers were answered when Luca returned as dawn crested over the horizon in strokes of gold and purple.
I rolled away from the window, finding him in the doorway to our room, watching me with empty pools of blue.
He was already barefoot, and on his way to bed, he stripped.
His shirt was first; then his abs rippled as he shoved his pants and boxer briefs to the floor.
There was no time to appreciate his sleek frame or bobbing dick.
He ripped away the covers and rolled me onto my already naked stomach, aligning his body with mine.
The soft cotton beneath my cheek contrasted against the rough scrape of his fingers on my throat.
Every point of contact was so hot and so electrifying that I trusted him to do whatever he pleased.
Even press his thumb into my pulse and the melody that thrummed only for him.
My hand met his nape as he buried his nose in my hair.
“I need,” he groaned in the most painful tone.
That lingering ache pierced my heart. I held him closer, breathing in the sun, that sweet scent of sweat, fresh air, and exhilaration—yet death clung to his skin.
This job ate away at his very existence; I knew that deep in the marrow of my bones, just as I knew I was his salvation.
Killing broke him apart, and only I could put his pieces back together. “Then take, il mio amore.”
He didn’t respond other than to slip the wide crown of his dick through my slit and push inside.
I gasped. He hissed. We’d been together countless times now, but I still wasn’t used to his size.
Or maybe it was his single-minded intensity that stole my breath.
Having sex with Luca was like being caught in the middle of a storm.
Flashes of lightning and booming thunder.
Terrifying and uncontrollable, but beautiful all the same.
I only had a minute to acclimate. As dawn gave way to the day, he caged me in and held me still until his hand dropped, squeezing my breast and clipping my nipple with the perfect amount of rough pressure.
A diversion while he pulled out to the tip.
The silence was broken by a sharp thrust that pushed a grunt from my lungs.
Then he rose above me, hands bracketed next to my shoulders, and he fucked me hard and fast. Each stroke hit the soft spot that lit my blood on fire, liquid heat flowing through my veins.
“I need,” he repeated, and this time my response was staccato and incoherent.
His weight shifted so he could use one hand to pinch and pet my clit.
The angle of his hips tilted. I moaned into the sheet, fingers clenching the cotton to keep my body in place to bear the brunt of his force.
The orgasm came just as he fucked me, hard and fast. Stars burst behind my eyelids and stole my next breath.
“I need you, uccello,” he moaned in that tormented tone.
Then all his muscles tensed, and he exploded in a rush of wet heat inside me.
We collapsed in a heap of limp limbs on the mattress, his slick skin covering my own.
He buried his forehead into the curve of my shoulder, his breathing easing by the minute.
When our thundering hearts quieted, he kissed my shoulder, rolled over, and pulled me against his side.
I looked up, but his eyes were closed, and his chest evened into a steady rise and fall.
He passed out before I could ask any questions.
Every day after that was a repeat. Vigo tested Luca’s loyalty, as he would mine sometime soon.
Until then, I immersed myself in my husband as much as I could.
When he was home and we were alone, he fucked me with the kind of passion I’d become addicted to.
We had spent our honeymoon learning about each other’s pasts, but Luca was circumspect in his answers then, and with any questions I asked about where he was and what he did now.
Yet, it didn’t matter that I only knew the very edges of his existence.
Every moment I fell deeper under his spell.
I loved him. I was so in love with him I couldn’t see anything but Luca.
I couldn’t think about anything other than the next time he would lose himself inside me.
I was obsessed. Not the healthiest mindset, but I wouldn’t change a minute because for once I was deliriously happy—most of the time at least. On the third morning, I woke alone, sore and grumpy.
I dressed and trudged into my kitchen for an espresso.
The first bitter sip had just touched my tongue when I focused on Rosy and Zeta arguing in Mama’s garden.
More than arguing. Zeta wielded a mini shovel as if it were a dagger, pointing it at Rosy’s heart.
Mio Dio. I abandoned my mug and rushed outside.
“Basta!” I yelled, stomping through the pristine lawn. At least that was trimmed and perfect.
Zeta held the weapon higher, not giving up the fight. “è una vecchia, brutta tiranno, Signorina Vivienne.”
I rolled my eyes and snatched the shovel from her hand. “Rosy is not old and ugly. Now apologize.”
She snarled, but her lips trembled. “Non finché l’inferno non sarà ghiacciato.”
“Jiminy Crickets.” I rolled my eyes to the sky, then to Zeta. “Consider hell as frozen over and say you’re sorry. Violence is not the solution.”
“But she expects too much,” Zeta cried.
“Too much?” Rosy screamed. “Pulling weeds is too much? You get on your knees twice a day for Lorenzo, but you cannot do the same for your work in Simone’s garden. Dio riposi nella sua bella anima. We’re almost done, yet you’re sunning yourself like a primadonna. Pigro, inutile—”
“Enough. Good God, both of you go.” I threw my arm out and pointed to the house with the shovel. “Ask Francesca about what you can do inside. I’ll finish here.”
They swatted at each other on the way in, grumbling under their breath.
I sighed, then tilted my head into the beaming sun.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Fresh air, vitamin D, and physical activity would ease the Luca addiction flowing through my veins.
I dropped to my knees, the burn and scrapes on my skin reminding me that I was in the same position last night for a much different reason.
I laughed and allowed the filthy memories to keep me company while pruning and laying mulch.
Sweat rolled down my neck, soaking into my shirt when Francesca called about lunch.
I promised to come in after finishing the last little bit.
The section by the newest lilac bush. Mama’s cryptic note came to mind, and then ice shot through my veins.
A guard walked by, leaving only a few minutes before the next would follow.
This was my chance to see if I’d guessed right all those nights ago.
To see if Mama left some silly trinket buried in her garden.
I dug like the devil got ahold of my hands.
The dirt was loose and easy to move; it sunk under my nails and stained my skin black.
I shifted the plant and reached under the roots, grabbing a plastic bag wrapped tightly over what felt like another book.
What the hell? There was little time to admonish Mama’s decisions, and I shoved it into my tote.
Everything was back in place seconds before security strolled by, and I stood and stretched like I hadn’t just dug up a mystery.
Luca had eliminated the cameras, but the tingling sensation at my nape said I was watched by eyes that didn’t belong to him.
I walked into my suite as if I were a master gardener—no big deal—and tucked the bag in my closet.
A quick shower and change into a silk jumpsuit followed; then my growling stomach demanded lunch.
The house was charged with excitement for tomorrow’s party.
Staff were everywhere cleaning and constructing a pergola in the yard.
The reception tent was already erected, filling the view from the back windows.
I settled at the kitchen island while Francesca set plates in front of me.
“Join me, per favore,” I insisted, placing a napkin on my lap.
She shook her head, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth. “I can’t,” she said after swallowing. “I’m watching my figure. I’ve got a second date with Giovanni tonight.”
“What?” My hand fell to the counter, clinking the silverware together. “You didn’t tell me.”
“How could I? You were on your honeymoon, then working on everything for Sofia. Besides, an old lady dating is hardly news.”
“It’s the best news.” Surprising too. Francesca’s husband died fifteen years prior, and she mourned for about the same amount of time.
Benny was killed by another family, execution style.
After that, she swore she’d never get involved with a made man again.
“How did this happen? When did Gio ask you out? Where did you go?”
“So many questions.” She laughed as she began slicing oranges for the sangria. “He stayed late after a meeting, and I fed him as I always do. He asked, I said yes, and guess what he did?”
“Ravage you in the backseat of his car?”
She laughed. “Better than that. He picked me up, took me to his house, and cooked dinner. I didn’t lift a finger.”
I clapped my hands, then held them out for her to hold and squeeze. “I’ll talk with him about his intentions at the wedding.”
“Ah, the wedding. Two in one week.” She released my fingers to fan her flushed skin, but the blush had more to do with Gio than it did the added work. “Yours will always be my personal favorite. Are you happy?”