Chapter 16 #2
Her dress is soaked, clinging to every inch of her, the fabric molded to her body, outlining the curves of her waist, hips, and thighs.
Her hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders, dark and heavy with water.
Rain tracks down her throat in rivulets, disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress.
Her hands rest loosely in her lap, palms up, fingers slightly curled, as though she’s holding something invisible.
And even from here, there’s a stillness in her. An emptiness. The way she’s folded in on herself, all that fire and fury reduced to embers.
She looks so fragile that it knocks the breath right out of me because I hate seeing her like this. I hate seeing her so small when she should be taking up every inch of space in a room.
All that fire and fury she had the day I married her… every sharp word, every cutting comeback, every time she looked at me like she wanted to gut me with her eyes, that’s who she is. That’s the woman I know. The one who doesn’t bow. The one who always bites back.
Not this quiet, broken thing sitting in the rain because her own family won’t stop tearing pieces out of her.
I hate the thought of her sitting out here alone, with her brother’s fingerprints still fresh on her skin. I hate that Arturo and Luca Serrano can still reach into my house, past my guards and leave her carrying even a second of this weight.
I would take a thousand of her insults over this silence. A thousand fights. A thousand nights of her hating me, if it meant she still had that fight left in her.
I want to kill anyone who hurts her. Luca first, then Arturo.
I want to drag them both into a room and make them understand what it means to touch what’s mine, to break what I’ve sworn to protect. I want to hear them beg, watch the light leave their eyes, and know they died understanding exactly what they took from her.
But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is her.
She doesn’t notice me at first. The rain muffles the sound of my steps, drowning out everything except the roar of the storm and the distant rumble of thunder. When I finally stop in front of her, she still doesn’t move or open her eyes.
My eyes roam over her beautiful face, taking in every detail. The water streaming down her face, her lashes dark and wet against her cheeks, the paleness of her lips. And then I fucking see it.
The marks along the side of her jaw. Faint purple beneath all that pale, rain-washed beauty.
My vision goes white for one brutal second.
Pure, blinding rage floods me, so hot and violent that I have to clench my jaw to keep from roaring into the storm.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, every muscle in my body locking tight.
I can feel it rising in me. The need to destroy, to tear Luca Serrano apart with my bare hands.
But I push it down and force it back. Bury it deep, where it can wait. Because right now, she needs me, not the monster or the man who wants to burn the world down for her. Just me. I’ll deal with Luca later, when the time is right, when I can do it properly.
“Bella,” I say, my voice low. “What are you doing out here?”
She opens her eyes slowly, blinking against the rain.
Her gaze lifts to mine, and for a moment we just stare at each other.
Her eyes hold mine—so tired, yet still so fucking strong it hurts to look at her.
There’s no surrender in them. Just exhaustion and the weight of carrying too much for too long.
Then she says, “My brother was here.”
I reach out and touch the side of her face, my fingers gentle as I trace the edge of the bruise, near but not quite touching it, as though I could somehow make it disappear with my touch. My thumb brushes over her wet skin.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I know.”
“He wanted information,” she says.
“And?”
Her eyes flash with something fierce and defiant, and for the first time since I found her out here, I catch a flicker of that fire I know so well.
“I told him to go fuck himself.”
Of course she did.
A dark, helpless smile tugs at my mouth despite the murder building in my veins and the rage coiled tight in my chest that I can feel it pressing against my ribs. Because that’s exactly what she would do. That’s exactly who she is. Even cornered, even hurt, she doesn’t break. She bites.
“That’s my wife,” I say proudly.
I brush my thumb carefully along the edge of the bruise, tracing the faint purple shadow with a touch so gentle it contradicts everything I’m feeling inside. My jaw tightens as I look at it, memorizing its exact shape and placement so I can return it tenfold to the man who put it there.
“Rafe told me he hurt you,” I say quietly, my eyes still on the mark. “You should know I am going to kill him for that.”
Her lips press together for a moment before she says, “Take a number.”
I almost laugh, but the sound dies in my throat.
“Come inside,” I say, dropping my hand for her to take.
She looks at my hand, then shifts her eyes back up to mine.
“No.”
“Bella—”
“I’m not done.”
“With what?”
“Sitting here until I stop wanting to scream.”
Jesus Christ.
I lower myself onto the bench beside her. She slowly turns her head, her brows drawing together as I do so. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting with you.”
“You’ll get wet.”
“Bit late for that.”
That almost earns me a smile. Almost. The corner of her mouth twitches, barely, and for a second I see something in her eyes soften.
We sit in silence, side by side, as the storm rages around us.
“I meant it,” I say after a long moment. “What I said before. I’m going to kill him for touching you.”
She doesn’t look at me. She just keeps staring out into the rain. “I know.”
After a while, she says quietly, “You’re back early.”
“I am.”
She studies me for a moment—her eyes moving over my face with that careful attention she always gives when she’s trying to read me, to see past whatever mask I’m wearing.
“You found him.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes search my face, too perceptive for her own good.
“You didn’t kill him.”
“No.”
“Why?” she asks.
I could give her the practical answer. The political one. Alessandro. The empire. The careful maneuvering required to keep everything from falling apart. But none of it would be the truth.
I take a breath. “I couldn’t kill the one person who has been the most honest with me in my life.
When I was a boy and everyone else was telling me what they thought I should hear, Matteo told me the truth.
Every time. Even when it hurt.” I pause, my jaw working.
“He never lied to me, and I owe him that loyalty in return. He saved me. He was the only one I could trust when I had no one else.”
She nods slowly, her hand finding mine in the rain.
“And because I saw him with Emery,” I continue. “I understood.”
Her brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across her face. “Understood what?”
I turn, shifting on the bench so that I’m facing her. So she can see everything in my eyes as I say this.
“I understand why he burned everything for her now,” I tell her. “Because some women get into your blood and make the whole fucking world rearrange itself around whether they’re safe.”
Her lips part and I notice her eyes widen just slightly.
“I left this house this morning thinking I had to kill my cousin,” I say. “All day, all I wanted was to get back here to you.”
“Lorenzo…”
I lean in and kiss her. Slowly at first. A brush of my mouth against hers. She kisses me back immediately, her hands coming up to my chest, fingers fisting in my soaked shirt as though she needs something solid to hold on to. As though I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.
I groan into her mouth. The kiss deepens fast, hunger overtaking. Heat chasing heat. My hand slides into her wet hair, tangling in the strands, gripping just hard enough to tilt her head back so I can take more.
I taste rain as the last of her sadness dissolves against my mouth.
She climbs into my lap without breaking the kiss.
I automatically grip her hips, helping her straddle me on the narrow stone bench, the wet fabric bunching as she settles over me.
I can feel her heat even through our soaked clothes, the way she presses against me as if she’s trying to crawl inside my skin.
“Bella,” I murmur against her lips, my voice rough and strained.
Her hands glide to my face, cradling my jaw, her thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “Take me inside.”
“Or,” I say, against her skin, my mouth moving to her throat, tasting rain and her, “I’ll fuck you right here and let the rain wash the rest of him off you.”
Her breath punches out of her.
“Jesus Christ.”
I pull back just enough to look at her, a dark smile curving my mouth. “Not usually who women pray for on my cock.”