Chapter 35
I run my finger along the cracked spine of my favorite Dickens novel before placing it on one of the custom-built shelves that line our living room wall.
The late afternoon sun streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting golden rectangles across the herringbone hardwood floors.
Two months have passed since my father's funeral—a somber, sparsely-attended affair that felt more like closing a business deal than saying goodbye.
That's the last of the books.
Our new apartment occupies the entire fifteenth floor of a pre-war building on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
When Alessio first brought me here I was thrilled by the soaring ceilings and the way the space seemed to breathe with possibility.
After spending weeks in his sleek bachelor pad—all chrome, leather and minimalist furniture—this place feels like it could actually become a home.
The kitchen gleams with white marble and brass fixtures, opening to a dining area where an antique table I found at an estate sale now sits. Alessio raised an eyebrow at my insistence on the scratched mahogany piece but relented when I explained how it reminded me of quiet moments with my mother.
I wander through the main living space, past the Italian leather couch that Alessio insisted on ("The only thing worth bringing from my place," he'd declared). The room flows into a library nook where I've arranged my technical books alongside the first editions Alessio surprised me with last week.
Our bedroom faces east, catching the morning light that Alessio claims helps him wake up for his dawn workouts. I insisted on a separate office for myself—a sanctuary where I can work on my cybersecurity consulting business without distraction.
I pause at the guest bedroom door, pushing it open to reveal pale blue walls and a daybed positioned under the window. Leonardo stays here sometimes when he's in town, though he's been spending more time in Italy, rebuilding the legitimate parts of the family business.
The empty moving boxes are stacked by the service elevator, waiting to be taken away.
I flatten the last one, breathing in the scent of fresh paint and new beginnings.
It still feels surreal—this life we're building together after everything that happened with Raymond, my father, and the evidence that brought down their entire operation.
I hear the front door open, followed by Alessio's familiar footsteps on the hardwood.
" Piccola ?" his voice calls out, and despite everything, my heart still jumps at the sound.
"In here," I answer, pushing the flattened box aside as Alessio appears in the doorway. His dark eyes sweep over me, his expression tender in that way that still makes my pulse quicken.
He crosses the room in three long strides, his hand coming to rest at the nape of my neck as he presses his lips to my forehead. "The place looks good," he murmurs against my skin.
"It's finally starting to feel like home," I say, leaning into his touch.
Alessio pulls back slightly, his thumb tracing along my jaw. "Lucrezia's stopping by later. She wants to see the new place."
I nod, a small smile forming. "I'll make some coffee. She liked the blend we had last time."
A week after my father's death the Feretti women returned from their extended ‘vacation’ in Italy. The end of that protective measure has transformed into something I never expected—a circle of friendship that feels perilously close to real family.
"Saturday dinner is still on," Alessio adds, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of my back. "Damiano insists."
The weekly Feretti family dinners have become a fixture in my new life.
Last Saturday I sat between Alessio and Zoe, watching in amazement as Damiano's normally stern face filled with tender adoration while Sofia was in his lap.
Lucrezia argued passionately with Enzo about her new women's shelter project, while Sienna quietly observed everything with knowing eyes.
"Evelyn asked if she could bring her violin," I tell him. "I said yes. I hope that's okay."
Alessio nods. "Noah mentioned she's been practicing again. That's good."
I twist my mother's ring, thinking about how Evelyn confided in me last week, her voice tentative as she admitted she hadn't touched her violin since Ivan. Something in her story resonated with me—another woman whose choices had been stripped away, who was finding her way back.
"They've been so welcoming," I say softly. "All of them."
Alessio's expression turns serious. "You're with me. That makes you family to them."
I still marvel at how easily I've been folded into their circle—how Lucrezia links her arm through mine when we walk, how Sienna quietly passes me extra dessert without comment, how Zoe insisted on helping me choose furniture for this apartment.
They've created a space for me without question or hesitation.
Alessio's eyes darken as he notices me watching him, and I can't help the playful smile that forms on my lips.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, in that rough timbre that makes every nerve jump to life.
"Just admiring the view." My gaze deliberately slides from his face to the wall of windows showcasing Manhattan's skyline, then back to him. "Both views, actually."
His jaw flexes, thumb running along his sensual bottom lip in that way that always makes my breath catch. "Careful, piccola ."
I step closer, emboldened by the possessive gleam in his eyes. "Or what?" I trail my fingers down his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath his shirt. "Are you going to do something about it?"
In one fluid motion Alessio grips my wrist and spins me around to face the windows. His chest presses against my back, his breath hot on my ear.
"You know what I think?" His hand slides around my stomach, pulling me tight against him. "I think it's time you get fucked in front of this view."
My pulse thunders as he guides me toward the floor-to-ceiling glass. The city sprawls fifteen stories below us—buildings gleaming in the late afternoon sun, tiny figures moving along the streets.
The thought of being so exposed sends a thrill spiraling through me. I press my palms against the smooth surface, every cell vibrating in anticipation.
"Is that what you want?" he asks, his hand already sliding beneath my skirt, finding the evidence of my answer. "To be spread out against this glass while I take you?"
"Yes," I whisper, my breath fogging the window as his fingers trace the edge of my underwear.
His other hand comes up to grip my jaw, fixing my head so I'm forced to look at our reflection—my flushed cheeks, his dangerous eyes, the city laid out behind us like a kingdom.
"Then that's exactly what you'll get."
"Look at all the people down there," I command, husking rough against her ear. "And not one of them knows that a beautiful woman is about to be spread naked against this glass and fucked within an inch of her life."
Her pulse speeds beneath my fingers as I trace the column of her neck. The sun catches in her hair, turning the chestnut strands to fire. No view is more captivating—not Manhattan spread out before us but rather Melania's reflection in the glass, eyes heavy with desire.
"You're mine," I growl, yanking her underwear down. "Say it."
"Yours," she gasps as my fingers find her slick heat. "Only yours, Alessio."
I work my belt open with my free hand, never taking my eyes off her ravenous features. The flush spreading across her chest, and lower, beneath my rough fingertips, the parting of her soaking wet lips—I memorize every detail like a man starving for the sight of her.
When I enter her Melania's moan echoes through every room of our Classic 6 apartment. My hand slides up to encircle her neck, not squeezing but holding her in place as I drive into her. The gentle pressure makes her eyes flutter closed, her body arching back against mine.
"Eyes open," I demand. "Watch yourself come apart for me."
She obeys, her gaze locking with mine in the reflection as I set a merciless pace. The city blurs behind us, insignificant compared to the woman in my arms.
"Alessio," she moans, her voice vibrating against my palm. "Please..."
I tighten my grip on her throat just slightly, feeling her pulse rushing beneath my fingertips. The trust in her eyes undoes me—this brilliant, beautiful woman who could have anyone, surrendering completely to me.
"So fucking perfect," I murmur against her skin, watching her reflected pleasure overtake her features. "Made just for me."
Her body tightens around me as she approaches the edge. I can't look away from the sight of her—head thrown back against my shoulder, throat vulnerable beneath my hand, the Manhattan skyline serving as nothing more than a backdrop to her beauty.
I drive into her with controlled ferocity, claiming every inch of her body. My fingers tighten on her hip, leaving marks that will remind her who she belongs to tomorrow. Her reflection in the glass—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes locked with mine—pushes me toward the edge.
"Come for me," I command, my voice animalistic with need. "Now, Melania."
She shatters around me, her body clenching tight as she cries out my name. The sound of it—raw and desperate—triggers my own release. I bury myself deep inside her, growling into the side of her neck as ecstasy rips through me.
For several long moments we remain frozen against the window, our ragged breathing fogging the glass. Then her legs give out and I catch her, lowering us both to the floor. I cradle her against my chest, our bodies slick with sweat as we stare out at the city bathed in afternoon light.
"I never thought I'd have this," she whispers.
I pull her closer, pressing my lips to her temple. The words I've been holding back for weeks rise to the surface, impossible to contain any longer.
" Ti amo , Melania," I murmur against her skin. "I love you."
She goes still in my arms, then twists to face me. Her amber eyes search mine, wide with surprise.
"Say it again," she breathes.
"I've killed without remorse, Melania, but the thought of you getting hurt brings me to my knees. My love for you is violent in its intensity - I'd burn down the world to keep you safe and I'd do it with a smile because your happiness is worth more than my soul."
My thumb caresses her bottom lip with more feeling than I’ve ever done it until now. "I love you. Have since that night at the warehouse when you cried for those victims. Maybe before."
Tears well in her eyes and for a moment I think I've miscalculated. Then she melts into me, arms winding around my neck as she presses her forehead to mine.
"I love you too," she whispers. "So much it terrifies me."
I capture her lips with mine, gentler now, pouring everything I can't say into the kiss. This woman who saved my life in more ways than one. Who sees the darkness in me and stays anyway.
She pulls back, her fingers strumming my jaw. "I never thought I'd find this—someone who wants all of me, not just the parts that are convenient or beautiful."
"Everything," I growl, tightening my arms around her. "I want everything you are."