Chapter 29
MARA
“Do you think we’ll see Daddy today?” Sylvie asks, kneeling next to me in the grass as we dig weeds from my backyard.
“I’m not sure,” I tell her. “He’s very busy. But I promise, it’s for a good reason. And I believe him when he says he’ll have more time for us soon.”
Sylvie looks at me with that grown-up expression she often gets, her perceptive eyes looking deeply.
She considers this, then nods. It’s been two days since he left us at the safehouse.
A few hours later, Livia told us that we were able to return to the city, but we’d need to stay elsewhere while the estate was cleaned.
When I offered this old place, it was half a joke. But Livia touched me on the arm, lighting up like I couldn’t have imagined when we first met, and said, “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Now, we’re staying in the house my aunt left for me.
I didn’t realize how wild the garden was becoming until we arrived.
Sylvie insists on helping, bright and enthusiastic despite everything she’s been through.
But I know what kids are like. I know it’s still in there somewhere.
I just hope I’m around long enough to help her through it.
“Lemonade?” I ask.
“Uh, duh,” she says, winking at me.
I go inside, shaking my head in disbelief. “Is everything okay?” Livia asks from the table, focusing on her crossword.
“That girl is made from steel. Until she isn’t.”
“She’s a miracle,” Livia says. She suddenly looks up at me. “You’re a miracle, Mara.”
I try to laugh it off as I pour the lemonade.
“I mean it,” Livia says, ignoring my laughter. “Before you, they were different people. Sylvie has really come out of her shell. And Ettore seems to… to care, Mara. To deeply care. To care on a level I’ve never seen in a mafioso. It makes me wish I’d tried harder, all those years.”
I go to her, squeezing her arm. “You did your best, Livia. You protected them. You cared for them. That’s all we can ever do.”
“Will you stay?” Livia asks, voice breaking. She squeezes my hand. “For the long term, Mara. Will you?”
I swallow a lump. “If he’ll have me.”
Livia smiles. “He’s already chosen you.”
I return to the lemonade, glancing out the window. Sylvie is standing under the shadow of the tree, practicing one of her ballet stances. My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Ettore. It’s the first text he’s sent me that hasn’t been about logistics. The previous ones are—
Ettore: I’m putting security on the house, though we’re safe now.
Ettore: I’m in the city handling business.
Ettore: The official story is a home invasion gone wrong.
Ettore: No police fallout.
Now, the text differently.
Ettore: I’m almost done cleaning up this mess.
I’m almost ready to come home and be with you.
I drove past a jewelry store, and it made me think of how this started, what’s at stake.
Then I started thinking about going in there and getting an engagement ring.
I imagined proposing to you in front of Sylvie.
Imagined us all dancing around in pure joy. I wanted to do it, Mara.
I bite my lip, heart thundering. Part of me wants something like this too, a storybook brightness that makes everything else fade into the background, an adventure we can launch into and never look back.
Mara: So, am I getting a big sparkling ring?
Ettore: No.
I don’t know why, but his reply makes me laugh. He sends another text. I glance up before I read it, checking Sylvie is okay. She is, twirling, enjoying her freedom.
Ettore: I want something realer for us, something more genuine, something raw.
I want the chance to try, Mara. That’s it.
Just to try to make this work, to let it grow naturally.
I WANT to claim you, to own you, to let the darkness take over and dominate you, to MAKE you mine.
But I NEED to be realistic, mature… even if you’re the mature one.
I need you to know I’m here, willing to work, to build something concrete.
So that when that day finally comes, when I’m on one knee, you know we’ve earned it.
Tears fill my eyes. I let out a sob, shoulders trembling.
Livia walks up behind me, touching my arms. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I wouldn’t normally share texts,” I murmur. “But look.”
I show her my phone. A breath catches in her throat, and then she wraps her arms around me. “Jump in,” she whispers. “With both feet. This is something not any mafioso would offer. This is a chance at a life, Mara. Not to be a trophy. Not to be a pawn on the board. At a real, wonderful life.”
I text him back.
Mara: I want that more than anything. Now, come home to us.
I struggle to sleep, as if this bed isn’t my own.
It’s like the bed at Ettore’s estate has become mine.
I toss and turn, thinking of him out there in the city.
In hushed whispers, Livia told me he has a lot to arrange.
He needs to make sure that the Calvis don’t retaliate, square things away with the police, and deal with the families of his men who fell protecting the estate. It’s a lot for one man to carry.
He’s doing the right thing. But I miss him so badly. I ache for him, my heart… and everywhere else.
When I hear the door creak, I sit up, chest tight. I think it might be Sylvie sleepwalking, though she hasn’t done that since that one night. When I see Ettore’s huge silhouette, my breath catches.
He steps into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Moonlight shafts through the window, bouncing off his solid form. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans and smells like he showered recently.
I switch on the lamp, just looking at him for a moment. He looks back at me, his jaw tight, looking emotionally drained. I jump to my feet and he pulls me into a fierce hug, clinging to me. He buries his face in my hair and inhales as if he’s been waiting to do that.
“Mara,” he sighs, kissing the top of my head.
“I missed you so much,” I say.
“I wanted to be with you straightaway,” he says huskily.
“But business… it’s over now. It’s done.
” He cradles my face in his hands, looking at me closely, our noses touching.
“When I did what I had to do, the mafia world thought it was because of what he’d done.
They thought it was about honor and respect and setting a precedent.
And it was, partly. But it was for you too.
It was for what he took from you. It was because I care about you so, so much. ”
Standing on my tiptoes, I press myself against him for a kiss. He returns it with passion, his hands gliding to my hips. He groans through the press of our lips, in that telltale way I’m starting to learn, like he’s been starving and now he finally gets to feast.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans between frantic kisses.
“I know.” I gasp, the pleasure sizzling, so much hotter now that there’s heavy emotion behind it.
“I don’t want to live without you,” he groans, kissing down my neck, his hands gliding to my ass and massaging in a way that makes me shiver. “Never, Mara. It’s me and you and our family now.”
We’re always on the edge of going too far. Of saying I love you. Of jumping in with both feet even if we’re trying to hold something back.
“It’s just us,” I moan, sliding my hand down his body. “That’s all I need, baby.”
He snarls when my hand glides over his pants.
“We have to be quiet,” I whisper. “This house is small.”
“It’s big enough,” he says, but he bites down on his next savage groan.
I stroke my hand up and down the front of his pants, feeling him swell up for me. He grows in real time, getting thick and hard, his cock pressing against my hand. I keep stroking until he backs me up to the bed and I fall on my butt.
“I still remember the gym,” he snarls, grabbing my shorts and underwear in his hands and slowly peeling them down.
“How fucking perfect you looked, with those wide hips, round ass, juicy tits, and gorgeous face, Mara. Your sassy eyes. Your wild hair. I still remember how badly I had to leave, because I was going to fuck you right then on the gym floor.”
His killer’s hands toss my shorts aside, leaving me bare, my core pricking in the cool air. That thought – killer’s hands – should break something in me. But I’m done living in the land of should.
I should’ve had a family. Ettore never should’ve been forced into this life. Lots of things should have happened. All we can do now is choose what happens next.
And I want this so, so badly.
He kisses down my body, then looks at my sex with an expression of awe and obsession. He stares as if he can’t believe how lucky he is, his eyes fixated.
“Mara,” he says my name like a prayer. “Oh, Mara…”
He presses his face against my sex, opening his mouth so that he can lick up and down my folds, then my clit. The whole time, he gently rubs at my entrance, circling it with his finger. I shift my hips against him, feeling hot and urgent and ready for him.
He kisses my clit, then groans and sucks it into his mouth. When he pushes his tongue against it, the pressure is exquisite, a point of pure heat. I push my core against him. He snarls and slips his finger inside, pushing deep, my walls responding instantly, aching heat that swells inside me.
Releasing my clit, he begins to lick me while slipping his finger in and out. I do my best to be quiet, turning my head, biting on my pillow. He groans into the semidarkness, “The way you’re biting that pillow makes me want to blow in my pants.”
I whimper, shivering against him. “You—better—not.”
He laughs knowingly, then returns his full attention to my core. The hottest part is how obsessed he sounds, noises of pure hunger. He groans and snarls, quietly, huskily, but enough to make me understand how badly he needs this… how badly he wants to make me come.
I grind my hips in time with his fingers. He flickers his tongue against my clit, then opens his mouth so he can take all of me in. I know how much he loves my wetness, remembering what he said about my taste that first time.
I sit up on my elbow so that I can look at him. He tears off his shirt, then quickly stands and pulls down his pants. His length springs up, a bead of precome glistening at the tip. He casually strokes his hand up and down his shaft, spreading the wetness.
Then he returns to me, but it’s hotter this time. His groans are more intense, hot breath painting me. He’s got one hand between his legs. That’s what really sends me over the edge, knowing his strong hand is wrapped around his huge shaft, stroking up and down, getting himself ready for—
And then I can’t think anything anymore.
Beautiful heat swells between my legs. His mouth is a ball of fire.
He makes sloppy, wet, filthy noises with his fingers, pumping his arm.
I ride his hand and his mouth, staring down, watching his shoulder catch the light as he pumps his hand up and down his length.
The orgasm makes me clench tightly, every muscle gathering its force, before I finally let loose and my entire body relaxes. I lie with the aftershocks, shaking, shocked at how intense it was.
He stands up, looking down at me for a few moments.
“I want to savor this image,” he moans. “Your legs glistening with your release. Your pussy, wet and swollen. Your needy clit. Fucking hell. And your face, like you’re amazed you get to feel this way.
I know because I feel the same. So. Damn. Lucky…”
“I’m the lucky one,” I murmur, my legs trembling, fixating on the intense lust on his face.
“No.” He steps forward, climbing onto the bed. “It’s me, Mara. I was the luckiest man alive the day you walked into my life.”