Chapter 31
Dante
Even in my sleep, she haunts me.
A warm, wet heat wraps around my cock, and I groan, sinking deeper into the mattress. The sensation is fucking sinful, pulling me into the kind of dream that leaves a man wrecked. I don’t want to wake up. Not yet. Not when it feels this good, her lips stretching over me, her tongue teasing along the slit, hot and wet and fucking perfect.
But then, my eyes crack open.
Not a dream.
My wife kneels between my legs, her mouth around my cock, eyes locked on mine. A satisfied little smirk plays at the corner of her lips as she takes me deeper, swallowing around me.
Fuck.
I let out a ragged groan, tangling my fingers in her hair.
“You're insatiable, leonessa.”
She hums, the vibration shooting straight through my spine.
“You complaining?”
“Not a fucking chance.”
I grip the back of her head, guiding her down, watching her take me inch by inch. Her mouth is hot, sucking slow, teasing, driving me insane. I jerk my hips up, hitting the back of her throat, and she moans, her nails biting into my thighs.
I lose it.
My grip tightens. I take control, fucking her mouth, growling as she hollows her cheeks, sucking me down like she was made for this. My stomach coils tight, heat building, sharp.
“Look at you, so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”
I murmur darkly, watching her eyes glaze with need.
She moans, dragging her tongue over the length of me before taking me even deeper. Pleasure claws through me like fire, and then I yank her back, just before I explode. She gasps, licking her swollen lips, eyes flashing with defiance.
“Why did you stop me?”
she pants.
I clamp a firm grip around her waist, rolling us effortlessly until she’s sprawled beneath me, bare and mine, just as she should be. My voice is a rough murmur against her heated skin.
“Because when I come, it’ll be buried deep in my wife’s pussy, right where it fucking belongs.”
I drive into her in a single, unrelenting thrust, tearing a moan from her throat, raw and unfiltered. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me closer as I pound into her, dragging her hips to meet every brutal thrust.
She claws at my back, gasping, shaking. I fuck her like I own her, like I need her more than air, because I do. And when she finally shatters around me, my name a breathless cry on her lips, I follow, emptying myself inside her with a growl.
For a moment, neither of us move, the air between us thick with the remnants of pleasure.
Then, a slow smirk curves my lips.
“Now that’s what I call a proper morning.”
She exhales a breathless laugh.
“You’re so insufferably full of yourself.”
I brush a lazy hand down her thigh, my voice dripping with satisfaction.
“Full of you, actually. Or rather—you’re full of me. My seed, to be exact.”
I pull her into the shower, grinning like the smug bastard I am as I press her against the tiles, letting the hot water cascade down our bodies. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, soft, content.
And fuck, I could live in this moment forever.
But then, my phone buzzes on the counter.
I don’t move at first, still lost in the way her skin feels against mine, the way she tilts her head up to let me drag my mouth along her throat. But when it rings again, urgency pricks at my spine.
Reluctantly, I step out, grabbing the towel and swiping my phone off the counter. One look at the caller ID, and my mood shifts.
I answer, my voice cutting. “Speak.”
“Boss, it’s the Albanians. I suspect an ambush.”
A muscle tenses in my jaw.
“How many?”
“At least a dozen. We need reinforcements.”
A frigid stillness settles over me, lethal in its restraint.
“I'm on my way.”
I end the call, grabbing my clothes in record time.
Harlow, still draped in a towel, watches me with narrowed eyes.
“Is everything all right?”
I stride over, fingers curling beneath her jaw as I claim her mouth in a searing kiss.
“No. But it will be.”
Before she can ask more questions, I turn and walk away.
***
The instant we step onto the port, gunfire shatters the silence. Chaos erupts. There’s no time to assess, no room for hesitation, bullets tear through the air, men diving behind cargo containers as the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood thickens the air.
I move with lethal precision, my gun spitting rounds as my men return fire with merciless efficiency. Leonardo and Mario flank me, methodical. Bodies drop. Agonized screams carve through the fray.
Amid the smoke and carnage, my gaze locks onto one of the Albanians, familiar. Wounded. He drags himself toward cover, desperation in every sluggish movement. I don’t give him the chance.
One shot. Right between the eyes.
The fight rages on, until a raw, feral scream tears through the chaos. I pivot, weapon still raised, just in time to see a man charging through the haze, blind with fury.
“You motherfucker!”
he roars, voice breaking with wrath.
“That was my brother!”
Unfortunate for him.
Mario’s voice crackles through my earpiece, crisp and cutting.
“Boss, that’s him. Luan. The Albanian leader.”
I smirk. The poor bastard just made the worst mistake of his life, choosing to go to war with us.
His eyes blaze with the promise of bloodshed, his hand trembling as he points a finger at me, voice raw with hate.
“You’ve just made an enemy out of me, Salvatore.”
I arch a brow, unimpressed.
“Am I supposed to find that threatening?”
His lips peel back in a snarl.
“Keep your eyes on your family. Because when you least expect it, I’ll be there.”
I lift my gun, finger tightening on the trigger, locked onto him with keen focus. A clean shot. A kill. But just as I fire, a barrage of bullets forces me to shift, my aim thrown off as metal ricochets dangerously close.
Luan vanishes into the smoke, his silhouette dissolving in the chaos.
A growl vibrates in my chest as I reload. He slipped through my fingers.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
By the time I drive back to the estate, night has fully settled, draping the world in shadows. The tension in my jaw is locked tight, my body still thrumming with the aftershock of adrenaline.
I left Mario in charge of the cleanup. Right now, all I want is a goddamn shower.
The drive is quiet, the rhythmic hum of the engine the only sound as I navigate the winding roads home. But just as the gates of the estate come into view, something shifts. A faint rustle from the back.
Every muscle in my body coils tight, my grip firm on the wheel. I don’t react, not yet. A seasoned predator never alerts his prey. But my eyes flick to the rearview mirror, tracking every movement, every shift in the dim interior.
I pull in, cutting the engine. The moment the door clicks open, my fingers close around the weight of my gun. I move slowly, circling the car with lethal intent before yanking the trunk open.
A wiry figure flinches back, scrambling against the interior. A kid. No older than thirteen.
Torn clothes. Bruised face. Wide, assertive eyes that lock onto mine like a cornered animal, half starved, half-feral.
“What the fuck?”
The words slip out in a low mutter, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just clenches his jaw, staring me down with a confidence that would almost be admirable, if I weren’t already in a mood foul enough to put a bullet in something.
I narrow my gaze.
“Who the fuck are you?”
His voice is rough. “I ran.”
I tilt my head, assessing.
“From who?”
His jaw tightens. “Them.”
Silence stretches as I study him. An Albanian? A spy? A runaway who stumbled into the wrong goddamn car at the worst possible time? Whatever he may be, one thing is certain, he’s an unknown variable. And in my world, anything unknown is a potential threat to my family.
I pull out my phone, voice clipped and controlled.
“Mario. We have a situation.”
Gripping the boy’s arm, I haul him from the car and stride toward the house. The estate is eerily silent, too silent. An unfamiliar tension coils in my gut, though I can’t quite place why. I don’t know where my wife or my son are, but for once, their absence is a relief. I need to handle this before they return.
My gaze flicks downward. The boy is watching me like a caged animal, poised to flee at the first opportunity.
Not a chance.
A guard approaches, his stance rigid, awaiting orders.
“Take him to a room in the west wing,”
I instruct, my voice devoid of warmth.
“Far from my wife and son.”
He nods without hesitation, stepping forward to seize the boy’s arm. The kid resists, if only for a moment, until hunger betrays him.
“Bring him food and water,” I add.
The guard gives a curt nod.
“Keep him locked down,”
I continue, my tone edged with steel.
“No slip-ups. I want guards stationed at his door at all times.”
The boy finally speaks, his voice sharp.
“I’m not your enemy.”
I tilt my head, studying him with the detached scrutiny of a man who’s seen too many liars to take words at face value.
“That remains to be seen.”
The guard doesn’t wait for further instruction, dragging him away.
Now, I shift my focus to the only thing that truly matters.
Where the fuck is my wife?
A sharp vibration buzzes against my pocket. My eyes flick to the screen, one of Harlow’s guards.
I answer immediately. “Speak.”
“Sir, we’ve got a problem.”
Every muscle in my body locks tight.
“Where. The fuck. Is my wife?”
“We are a few minutes from the house,”
he rushes, breath ragged.
“But… her stalker got close. Too close.”
Ice floods my veins. “Explain.”
The guard swallows audibly.
“He grabbed her wrist, tried to cover her mouth. We intervened in time, but we lost him.”
A slow, lethal exhale escapes me, my patience hanging by a fraying thread.
“And no one saw his face?”
“No, sir. He was fast. Disappeared before we could get to him. He was wearing a mask. But…”
I catch the hesitation in his voice.
“But what?”
The pause stretches, thick with something ominous.
“He… left something behind. In her purse.”
A sick feeling coils deep in my gut. “What?”
He pauses as if searching for the right words.
“A pair of panties, sir. Her panties. Drenched in blood. And a note.”
The world around me narrows. My vision darkens at the edges, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. Rage crashes through me, black and all-consuming. I end the call, already moving towards the door.
If that sick fuck were in front of me right now, I wouldn’t waste a bullet.
I’d tear him apart with my bare hands.
The convoy pulls up, the SUV doors flying open. Mattia is the first to launch out of the car, his small hands grabbing onto me before I can say a word. His tiny body shakes, his fingers clutching onto my shirt.
I bend down, holding his face between my palms.
“You okay?”
He nods, eyes wild, furious.
“I tried to stop him,”
he mutters.
“I screamed as loud as I could.”
A sharp pang claws at my chest. I grip his nape, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“You did good, kid.”
He steps back, his small jaw clenched with emotion, but I don’t have the luxury of offering further reassurance.
Because then, I see her.
My wife.
She steps out of the car, her expression eerily blank, shaken, but composed. Except for her hands. They’re trembling. And the moment I register that, I lose it.
I close the distance in two swift strides, pulling her flush against my chest. She doesn’t resist. She simply melts into me, letting me steady her, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt like a lifeline.
My lips graze her hairline, my voice a raw murmur.
“You're safe, baby. I’ve got you.”
She nods, but I can feel her heart hammering against me.
She’s not safe. Not really.
I pull back just enough to cup her face, my gaze sharp, searching.
“What did he leave?”
A shaky breath escapes her as she reaches for her purse, hands unsteady. I take it from her, flipping it open.
I see a delicate pair of panties, soaked in blood. Hers. Recognition strikes through me. He took them from our bedroom.
Every muscle in my body locks up, my jaw grinding so tight I swear I hear my own teeth creak.
Slowly, I unfold the note, my chest tightening with every word.
Your fate is sealed, your time is done.
You’ll be mine, there’s nowhere to run.
My fingers curl around the paper, crushing it in my fist. A low, guttural sound escapes me, something primal, uncontained. Pure, undiluted fury.
I can barely leash the violent urge clawing up my spine, the need to break something. Someone.
Not again.
My head snaps up, my voice like razor wire.
“Find him. I don’t care what it takes. No more fucking excuses.”
I exhale sharply, forcing the rage down.
“Let’s go inside.”
I murmur, my tone softer now, meant only for her.
I carry her up the stairs, refusing to let her take a single step, giving no room for protest. She’s still shaken, a faint tremor in her limbs, a sight I can’t fucking stand.
By the time we reach our bedroom, she finally speaks.
“Dante, I’m fine, really.”
She murmurs. But her voice wavers.
I place her gently on the bed, caging her in with my arms.
I brush my thumb along her cheek, tilting her chin up.
“No, you’re not. Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t argue.
I press a kiss to her forehead before pulling back just enough to slide her shoes off, then help her change, slipping one of my t-shirt over her.
She doesn’t protest, simply allowing me to take control. I ease her back against the pillows, lying beside her and drawing her close. Only then does the tension in her body finally dissolve.
I tighten my hold.
“Sleep, leonessa.”
A quiet sigh escapes her, warm breath ghosting against my throat before she murmurs, barely above a whisper.
“We just wanted to go for a walk… outside the house.”
The simplicity of it fuels my rage. That something so ordinary, so innocent, has been stolen from her because of this pathetic excuse for a man.
But beneath the fury, a darker emotion festers, a raw, unrelenting devastation.
She was almost taken from me today. I could’ve lost her.
The thought is twisting deep, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake.
I press a kiss to her hair, my voice low, rough with everything I can’t say.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
But she’s already asleep.
Me?
I remain wide awake.
My gaze lingers on her, tracking every slow, steady breath. Counting each heartbeat as if I can shield her from the nightmares that lurk beyond these walls. And as I hold her close, I send out orders to every single one of my men.
This fucker has gone too far.
And now?
I’m going to burn the entire fucking world to the ground to make him pay.