Salvatore
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says when I look up at him. “Good morning handsome.”
"We're going out today,” he says.
"Like a date?"
"No," he says quickly, with way too much emphasis.
"No? Why did you say it like that? Like you don't date."
"I don't."
"Oh. So… how do you meet women? You just kidnap them as you go?"
"That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking."
He shakes his head as he walks over to a cart in the room I hadn't noticed. On it are two trays, a bread basket, and coffee.
"Rosa already brought breakfast?" I glance at the clock on the mantel, surprised to see it's nearly noon.
"Figured I'd let you sleep." He wheels the cart toward the chaise with ease.
He takes his coffee, black, no sugar, then reaches for mine. I watch as he adds exactly one vanilla creamer, swirling it until the dark liquid turns the perfect shade of caramel.
My eyebrows lift. When did he learn that?
"Rosa told me," he says, catching my expression. A ghost of a smile plays at his lips. "This morning."
"Come." He settles onto the chaise and extends his hand, palm up. "Eat with me, mia regina."
I grab my silk robe from the bedpost, wrapping it around my bare body before placing my hand in his. His fingers close around mine—warm, steady, possessive in a way that no longer frightens me.
He guides me to sit between his legs, my back against his chest. I reach for the croissants, still warm beneath their linen cloth, and hand him one before taking my own.
The coffee is perfect. Exactly how I like it.
We sit there and this feels… natural. Like we've done it a thousand times before. Like we'll do it a thousand times more.
The thought should terrify me. It doesn't.
"So, where are we going later?" I ask.
"A gala. The five families gather quarterly to discuss business, settle disputes, and maintain peace." He straightens his cufflinks. "Normally, I wouldn't bring you. But you're about to be my wife. It's time they all met you properly."
My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips. "The five families?"
The ruling families of the city. The Morettis. The Grecos. The Calabrese. The Volcovs.
One evening of polished suits and public civility. Handshakes, cameras, hollow smiles.
A performance. Because beneath it all, every one of them is searching for a way inside my kingdom.
"That sounds terrifying."
"Don't worry. Any man crazy enough to challenge my queen is making a death wish." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "But to be safe, stay by my side the entire night. Don't accept drinks from anyone but me. And if anyone makes you uncomfortable, tell me immediately. Understood?"
I nod, though my stomach is churning.
He tells me about the different tattoos each of the families have and other ways to identify them at the event and in the future.
My phone buzzes. I glance at the message, holding it away from Salvatore's eyes.
Lindsay: We need to talk. Today. It's important.
My stomach drops. Lindsay's been unusually quiet since I told her about the engagement. Her silence has been more unsettling than her usual barrage of texts.
Me: What's going on?
Lindsay: Not over text. Coffee? Our usual spot? 2 PM?
Me: I'll try.
Lindsay: Don't try. Do. This is serious, Val.
My body tenses and he notices.
"What's wrong?"
"Lindsay wants to meet for lunch."
His jaw tightens slightly. "When?"
"Two."
He's quiet for a moment, and I think he's going to say no. To my surprise, he doesn't.
“I’ll have Nico take you.”
“Or…” I tilt my head, a hint of challenge in my voice. “I could take my new car for a spin. What’s the point of giving me a car I can’t use?”
He studies me for a beat, weighing it.
“Fine. You can drive.” His tone shifts, firm, controlled. “But Nico will have eyes on you.”
“Okay.”
“But, I need to tell you something." He kisses my neck from behind me, tracing circles on my arm. "Your friend has been investigating this family for years. Ever since she saw us together, she's amped up her efforts. She's building a RICO case, Valentina. Against the family. Against me."
"What?" I sit up, turning to face him.
"I'm telling you this because I don't want you blindsided. Not by her. Not by anyone." His expression is gentle but serious. "She's going to ask you to leave me. To testify, probably. You need to be prepared for that conversation."
My mind races. Lindsay and her father have had their eyes on this family for years, but it's never produced anything.
"Does she… does she have anything?"
"Not enough to charge anyone. Yet." He guides me back to his chest, running his fingers through my hair. "But she's persistent. Eventually, she'll have to choose between her career and your friendship."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "Salvatore—"
"I'm not asking you to stop seeing her." His expression softens. "But I need you to be aware. The world we live in, the life you've chosen… it comes with complications. Lindsay is one of them."
"I didn't choose this life; you chose it for me."
"Valentina, we both know you could have escaped by now. You want to be here, with me. I can tell by the way your body presses against me that you crave this life."
"It's not the life I crave."
He takes a deep breath. "You can't have one without the other, mia regina." He slides from behind me and sits in front of me, looking into my eyes. "Do you want to leave?"
"No." The word comes out raw, certain.
"Why not?"
I meet his eyes, my heart thundering. "Because I love you, Salvatore."
His grip tightens on my hips, possessive, fierce. The hunger in his eyes turns molten.
"Say it again." A command, not a request.
"I love you."
He crashes his mouth to mine, claiming me with a kiss that devours.
His lips drag down my jaw, teeth grazing my throat hard enough to leave marks.
He doesn't ask permission just takes, his mouth blazing a path down my body like he owns every inch of skin.
When he settles between my thighs, his eyes lock with mine, dark and predatory.
"Salvatore, I'm so sore." My protest dissolves into a gasp as his tongue works me with devastating precision. I clutch his head, fingers tangling in dark hair, trembling as he devours me like a man starved.
"Then tell me to stop," he murmurs against my skin, the challenge vibrating through me.
But he knows, knows my body won't be satisfied until he wrings every last tremor from me, until I'm boneless and spent.
His tongue is relentless, perfect, finding every sensitive spot that makes me cry out. Just when I'm trembling on the edge, ready to shatter, he stops.
He stands and spins me around in one fluid motion. My leg is lifted onto the chaise, bending me over slightly, and then he's there, thick and hard, slamming into me from behind.
"Salvatore."
"Oh, baby," he growls against my ear, his hand sliding up to wrap around my throat.
Firm, possessive, holding my back flush against his chest. "Don't worry.
Your body will adjust for me. Your body is mine, your pretty little cunt is mine, you are mine, Valentina.
I. Am. Your. King." He punctuates each word with a deep thrust that makes my vision blur. "Make sure Lindsay knows it."
The mention of her name sends a jolt through me, shame and arousal tangled together.
"Say it," he commands, his teeth grazing my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
"Yours," I gasp, my voice breaking. "I'm yours, my King."
"Good girl." Then he moves, sliding in and out with increasing intensity, his grip on my throat tightening just enough to make me lightheaded.
The pressure builds impossibly fast, and when I come, it's so hard my body goes weak, my legs trembling violently. He holds me up, keeps moving, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until I'm whimpering.
He pulls out, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. "Look how wet you've made my cock, baby." His voice is rough, hungry. "I'm so fucking hungry for you, Valentina."
He guides me down onto the chaise, positioning me on my hands and knees. My body is flat against the cushion when his hand cracks across my ass once, hard enough to make me gasp.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, then slides inside me again.
I try to move, to adjust, but his large hand presses firmly against my back, holding me in place.
"Take it, baby," he says, pushing in to the hilt. The fullness is overwhelming, bordering on too much. He pulls out slowly, then drives back in, and I can barely catch my breath before he's doing it again.
"Fuck," he groans, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and kneading as he continues his relentless rhythm. His fingers find my nipples, pinching and rolling them until the pleasure-pain makes me arch into his touch.
Then his hand slides down, finding my clit, circling it with perfect pressure while he continues thrusting deep.
The dual sensations—his thickness filling me, his fingers working my most sensitive spot, are overwhelming.
Pleasure and pain blur together until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
"Harder," I hear myself beg, my voice barely recognizable.
His hips snap against me faster, his finger pressing down on my clit with more intensity. The coil inside me winds tighter and tighter until…
"Fuck! Salvatore… Oh." I come so hard my legs shake, my entire body convulsing with the force of it.
He pulls out, and before I can catch my breath, I feel him position himself differently. His hand moves down, spreading me.
"Wait." My voice is weak, still trembling from my release.
"Shh, baby. I've got you." His thumb circles slowly, preparing me, while his other hand keeps working my oversensitive clit. "You can take it. You can take all of me."
The pressure is intense as he pushes in slowly, carefully, giving my body time to adjust. The fullness is almost unbearable, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.
"Breathe," he commands, his voice strained with restraint. "Relax for me."
I try, focusing on his fingers still moving against my clit, using that pleasure to ease the intensity. Slowly, inch by inch, he slides deeper until he's fully seated.