Chapter 10 #2
She starts rubbing her perfect little ass against me, and I release her hair.
She sits on me, her legs on either side, straddling me in place.
She bounces on my lap a couple of times before bending her head back so her breasts are inches from my face.
I palm her breasts through her lacy bra, teasing her hard nipples with my fingers.
“Fuck, you don’t know what you do to my body…” she breathes in a hoarse whisper.
“Get on your knees, Red, and suck me deep in your throat.” My words are impatient, not because I have somewhere else to be, but because my mind is already somewhere else. With her.
Vittoria and her perfect body—God, that mouth. What I’d give for it to be her standing here instead. Those soft, puckered lips wrapping tightly around my throbbing cock while I thrust inside.
Even now, standing in front of another woman, my body on autopilot, she’s the only goddamn thing I can think about.
The soft gasp she makes when she’s flustered. The way her body tenses when I get too close, when she doesn’t know whether to fight or surrender.
She’s in my fucking head.
Red moves to obey, but before she can sink to her knees, I shake my head. “No, Red. Just leave me alone for a bit.”
She blinks up at me, confusion evident across her face. "Is it something...?"
"No." I push a hand through my hair, already regretting this whole damn setup. "I'll call you back in if I need you. For now, there's business I need to settle first."
She nods, lips pressing together, then shuffles out of the room. I don’t watch her leave.
Because I’m a fucking idiot.
Because the entire point of this—the years of plotting, the patience, the rage—was supposed to be about revenge. Ruining Enzo. Taking apart his world piece by piece, making him watch as I ripped everything away from him the way he did to me.
And yet, here I am.
Not thinking about vengeance. Not thinking about how I should be using his wife against him.
Just thinking about her.
The smell of her skin after a shower, that fresh citrus scent that lingers on my clothes long after I’ve left the room. The way she tugs at the sleeves of her sweaters when she’s nervous. The defiance in her eyes whenever I push her.
The way she’s mine when she looks at me like that.
And that’s the problem. She’s not mine. She was never supposed to be.
I grab a glass, pour myself a drink, but the whiskey does nothing to dull the hunger crawling beneath my skin. I shouldn’t fucking want her. Not like this. Not enough to make me hesitate.
Enzo Castelli deserves everything coming to him. And she? She’s collateral damage. That’s all she was ever meant to be. A means to an end.
But instead of plotting my next move, I find myself reaching for my phone.
Fuck.
I dial Rafa.
He picks up immediately, his voice edged with suspicion. “What’s up?”
“Put Vittoria on the phone.”
There’s a pause, then a scoff. "What if she tries to use the call to send a message to Enzo?"
"I need to speak to her, Rafa."
A pause. Then, a resigned sigh. He knows I only call him Rafa when I mean business.
The wait stretches and my pulse hammers against my ribs. And then, finally—
Her voice.
Soft, unsure, but unmistakable. “Hello?”
And just like that, my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Because no matter how much I fight it, no matter how much I remind myself that she’s supposed to be nothing, she isn’t.
She’s everything.
“Having your people give me phones already? Trust me that much, huh?” she says, her stubborn tone igniting something in me.
“Giving attitude already?”
She sucks in a deflated breath. “Well?”
A pause. She’s waiting.
For an answer. For a reason. For something I shouldn’t fucking give her.
But I do.
Because when it comes to her, I never seem to make the right choice.
“I was thinking about you and your body and how much I’d like to fuck you up against the wall right now.”
My admission startles her, and I hear a soft whoosh of breath on the other end. There’s a pause, my words lingering until she snaps back, breathless and distracted.
“What… uh… what are you saying right now?”
I relish the disorientation in her voice; it shows the staggering effect I have on her, just as she does on me. “I just told you, baby. I want to be buried deep inside of you.”
“You’re… far away,” she whispers. “You’re so far away.”
“I know.” I swallow hard, pressing the phone closer to my ear. “That’s why I called you.”
“Okay.” She pauses, then sighs. “I don’t know what you want from me, Dario.”
“Tell me,” I urge.
“What?”
“What you’re thinking right now. Don’t filter it or PG it. Give it to me straight. What are you thinking about?”
She hesitates. When her voice returns, it’s laced with frustration and arousal. “I want to suck your cock and take you in my throat until I gag. I want to have you come in my mouth and all over my tits.”
Loosening her enough to admit this makes me feel almost untouchable. “You know what I want right now? To fuck you so hard in public that everyone hears how loudly I can make you crumble.”
I’m stroking my cock through my pants as we talk, convinced I’m too obsessed with her to think about anyone else.
“Dario,” she whispers, and I lose control.
“Fuck! I can't wait to get back home to you, Vittoria.”
“Me too.”
When I hang up, I’m so turned on it practically hurts, but I ride it out. In a few hours, I’ll be home to her, thrusting deep inside her until morning comes. Owning her. Claiming her as mine for everyone to see.
By the time the plane touches down in Chicago, I’m strung so fucking tight I can barely think. Every second away from her has been a test of patience I don’t have. The need to be inside her, to feel her, to claim what’s mine—it’s a raw, burning thing under my skin.
I don’t stop for anything. Not the greetings, not the updates waiting for me. My focus is singular. Her.
When I get home, there’s this gnawing feeling in my gut, like something’s wrong. I ignore it at first. I make my way upstairs, every step louder than the last, until I’m standing in front of her room.
The door’s ajar and that’s when I hear it. The sickening sound of a slap.
I don’t stop to think. My fist is already swinging the door open before the next thought even forms in my head.
And there he is. One of my guys—Tomas, I think—his hand raised, and her cheek turned red from the impact. She doesn’t even have time to react before I’m moving.
Before she can even scream, I’m on him. I grab Tomas by the neck, twist, and shove him hard against the wall. He gasps, eyes wide with shock. Doesn't even see it coming. Doesn't deserve to.
I don’t demand an explanation. There’s no second chances in this world, and there’s no mercy when it comes to her.
Without a second thought, I pull my knife from its sheath and slam it into his stomach. He lets out a garbled noise, and before he can process what’s happening, I do it again.
And again.
And again.
The blood splatters. I don’t care.
The only thing I hear is the wet, sickening sound of steel meeting flesh. The way his breath shudders, his body convulsing as I rip the blade through him. I feel nothing but the absolute certainty that this man was dead the second he laid a hand on her.
A scream shatters through the room and something inside me twists.
I should be feeling regret. I should feel something like guilt, but I don’t.
All I feel is rage. All I feel is the need to make sure Tomas never gets up again, and I drive the knife in one last time, deep into his ribs, and watch the life drain from his eyes.
"Dario, stop!" Vittoria's voice, frantic and horrified, breaks through my fury.
When he goes still, I take a breath, finally, and step back.
I let him crumple to the floor, my own breath coming hard and fast. Blood drips from my knife and is splattered across my shirt, my hands, the floor—her bedroom floor.
I step back and lift my chin to the men outside. "Get the body out of here." My voice is steady, unaffected. I don’t give a fuck who he was to me before this. He’s nothing now.
They move quickly and drag the lifeless body out the door, leaving me alone with her.
Vittoria is pressed against the wall with her eyes blown wide with something I can’t name. Fear. Disgust. Maybe both.
I reach for her.
She pulls back.
Something tightens in my chest, something ugly and unfamiliar.
“Don’t,” she breathes, shaking her head. “Just...don’t come near me.”
The words hit harder than any punch. I freeze as I’m standing just a few feet away from her. I didn’t expect gratitude, not after all this. Hell, I wasn’t looking for any. But to hear her say it like that, to see the fear in her eyes... it messes with me in a way I can’t put into words.
I should leave. Should walk out and let her sit with what just happened. But instead, I step closer, watching the way her breathing stutters, the way she looks at me like she’s seeing me—really seeing me—for the first time.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, voice rougher than I intended.
“I—” She pauses, her hands trembling at her sides. “You... killed him.”
“Yeah, I did,” I say, matter-of-fact. “He deserved it.”
“You don’t get to decide who deserves to die.”
I step even closer, and this time she doesn’t stop me. She just looks away, biting her lip like she’s holding back tears.
“No one gets to hurt you, Vittoria. No one gets away with it.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can see it—the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her shoulders slump as if this whole world I’ve pulled her into is too much.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” she says softly, barely above a whisper.
The words sting, but I don’t let it show.
“You do,” I reply. “And if you think otherwise, you’re wrong.”
Her eyes flash at me. I want to say something, maybe something comforting, but the truth is, I don’t know how. I’m not built for softness, not after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done.
I turn to leave, but before I reach the door, I look back.
“You better get used to this, Vittoria,” I tell her. “Because this? This is what happens to anyone who lays a fucking hand on you.”
She doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t look away either.
She will learn.
She’s mine.
And I’ll kill every last motherfucker who forgets it.
Starting with her damn husband.