Chapter 12
12
NICOLAS
The room is eerily quiet now, but the echo of her scream lingers in my mind, haunting me. The man’s body lies motionless on the floor, blood already pooling on the polished wood. My men exchange glances, silent but clearly uneasy. It’s obvious—they’re unsure what to do next.
This situation is foreign to all of us.
Usually, anyone outside the family who witnesses any of our ‘activities’ doesn’t survive more than an hour. But Aria—Aria is family now, isn’t she? She’s my wife, mine, and she just saw a man’s life taken in the most brutal way.
For a moment, I don’t know how to react either. But that moment is brief. It passes.
I see the man's fingers twitch, and instinctively, I turn to Matteo. He hands me his silenced pistol, and I put another bullet through the man’s head. Then I utter, “Get rid of him.”
The men nod, and without a word, they move into action. Two of them drag the body toward the back exit, while others disappear into another room. They return shortly with cleaning supplies and begin their work.
“And his brother?” I ask.
“We found him holed up in a motel. The men are bringing him in now.”
I nod, absently watching as the blood on the floor is slowly absorbed by the cloths. Then Aria’s face flashes before me again—the way her eyes widened in terror, the way her scream tore through the silence, It won’t leave me.
I tell myself to move past it. She’ll have to adjust to this world, just as I did. This is who we are now. She may have lived in a bubble, kept away from the brutality by her brother’s overprotectiveness, but I know better. She’s stronger than he thought.
Yet, something in me won’t let it rest.
If this is her first experience with this kind of violence, it won’t be easy to process. The thought gnaws at me, and the unease only deepens when I hear another sound—a scream, quieter this time, but sharp and piercing in the quiet of the house. I know the sound is coming from upstairs, from our room.
“Handle it,” I tell Matteo, the words slipping from my mouth like the routine they’ve become. I turn to leave, but stop just shy of the door. I look back, my voice hardening. “Do it outside the house.”
“Yes, boss,” he responds, and I don’t wait to hear any more.
I make my way up the stairs, each step bringing me closer to the tension that sits like a heavy weight in my chest,
When I reach the door, I hear her.
The faint sound of crying, muffled by the rush of water, carries from the bathroom. It’s not loud, but it’s enough to make me pause. Only for a second. Then I shove the bathroom door open.
The sight before me hits like a punch to the gut.
Aria stands under the relentless flow of water, her naked body silhouetted by the steam swirling around her. Bloodstained clothes lie discarded on the floor. Her arms are scratched, streaks of raw red marks. The water is scalding, but she doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps, she welcomes it.
She’s shaking violently, as though she’s standing in the coldest snow, not in the heat of the shower, Her hair clings to her face, wet strands tracing the contours of her jaw.
She looks smaller than usual. Fragile. The sight of her like this—the weight of it—pulls something deep inside me, like a knot unraveling in the pit of my stomach.
I don’t think. I just move.
All I want is to hold her, to take care of her. I step into the shower without a second thought soaking my clothes through in an instant. But I don’t care.
“Aria,” I say softly, reaching for her.
She flinches, eyes wide with panic and for a moment, she doesn’t move. Then, when I try to touch her, she fights me.
“Don’t touch me!” she cries, her voice breaking like glass. Her eyes are red, swollen, and I realize her tears are mixing with the water pouring down her body.
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her away from the water. She fights me, her fists pushing against my chest, but I don’t let go.
“Stop,” I say, my voice low, but firm.
“You’re a fucking monster!” she screams, her hands still clawing at me, desperate to escape.
I take a deep breath, my resolve steeling. With little effort, I lift her off the floor, her wet skin slick against me. Her body is warm from the heat of the water, but the trembling doesn’t stop.
My jaw tightens, fighting the surge of emotions that threaten to overtake me. Every part of me is drawn to her, but I fight to stay focused.
I’m always affected by her.
She’s trembling uncontrollably, her sobs jagged and uneven. When it comes, her voice is barely above a whisper, fractured by the storm of emotions raging inside her.
“You’re a monster,” she says again, quieter this time, her words cracking as though they’re breaking her apart.
I hold her close, my arms steady even as her sobs wrack her small frame. My steps are measured as I carry her to the bedroom. I've been called worse than a monster, but hearing it from her—a word so laced with pain—doesn’t sit right. It twists in my chest, unexpected and unwelcome. I pause, glancing down at her tear-streaked face.
“Let me take care of you, Bambina,” I murmur, my voice soft but firm.
I carry her to the bed and lower her gently, but the moment I release her, she jerks upright, stumbling back until she’s pressed tight against the wall, trembling. Her wide, tear-filled eyes flick between me and the room as though searching for a way out.
“This is the world you’re part of now, Aria,” I say in a low voice, steady but not unkind. I don’t want to frighten her, but I need her to understand. The scratches marring her skin and the redness around her eyes are hard to ignore. “This is the world you’ve always been a part of, Bambina. You just didn’t want to see it.”
Her head shakes violently. “That’s not true,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
“It is,” I reply, taking a step closer. My words are deliberate, heavy with truth. “You’ve just been hiding from it.”
She shrinks further against the wall, her back pressed hard enough that I can almost hear her bones protest. Her breathing hitches, shallow and rapid, as her gaze drops lower—to the hunger I’m no longer bothering to conceal. Her cheeks flush, but I know it isn’t just embarrassment or fear—it’s something else she doesn’t want to admit.
I stop a foot away, close enough to watch every flicker of her reaction but far enough to give her the space to decide. I don’t want to misread the signals because once I have her in my arms, I’m going to fuck the daylight out of her. She needs to understand—her body is mine to cherish, to protect, and to punish if she dares to harm it again.
“Does it help,” I say, my voice low and deliberate,” if I tell you he was a bad man?”
Her eyes narrow and she scans my face, her frown deepening with each passing second. “What?”
“He was caught trying to rape a woman in an alley,” I say, my voice even but unyielding. “And when we looked into him, we discovered it wasn’t the first time. He’s hurt a lot of women. Women walking home alone. Women who didn’t deserve what he did to them. The things he did…they were unspeakable.”
Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. I can see the conflict warring in her eyes, the emotions crashing over her like a tidal wave.
“And sometimes,” I continue, letting the weight of the truth settle between us,” he wasn’t alone. He was with his brother.”
She squeaks, a sound so small yet so full of shock and fear that it makes my chest tighten. I tilt my head, studying her reactions carefully, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses her face. “Does that make it better, Bambina ?” I ask softly, “Knowing he deserved it?”
She swallows hard, her throat working against the rising tide of panic. The heaving of her chest slows as she forces herself to take a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes lock onto mine, filled with a desperate need for answers. “Are you lying?” she whispers.
I shake my head slowly, deliberately, keeping my gaze fixed on hers. “Why would I lie to you?”
The words hang between us, heavy and unspoken truths pressing down like a weight neither of us can escape. Somewhere deep down, I realize that I care if she hates me. A small, stubborn part of my heart doesn’t want her to see me as a monster.
Her chest rises and falls, her breaths uneven and shallow as she tries to process what I’ve said. She bites her lower lip, pulling it between her teeth, her gaze darting over my face as if searching for something solid to hold onto in the chaos.
I don’t look away.
Finally, she closes her eyes, her shoulders sagging as though the fight has drained out of her completely. The tension in her body begins to ebb, replaced by something else. Defeat? Horror? Grief? I can’t be sure.
She looks down at her hands, trembling in her lap, then lifts her eyes to mine. The anger is gone now, but in its place is a raw vulnerability that cuts me deeper than I expected. The weight of what she’s seen—of what I’ve done—is crashing over her.
“I… I was covered in his blood,” she mutters, her voice small and fragile. Her lips tremble as the words tumble out, almost as if she doesn’t want to say them aloud. “I’m not sure, but I think some brain matter splashed over my…”
Her words falter, her voice breaking. Her trembling starts again, harder this time, until her knees buckle and she collapses. I reach out instinctively, catching her before she hits the floor.
Her trembling frame feels light in my arms, and now that the water has dried from her face, I notice the tears—silent at first, a single drop sliding down her cheek, then a steady stream.
My fists clench instinctively, and I shut my eyes for a brief moment, forcing myself to steady the rage bubbling inside me. I hate seeing her cry. It claws at something deep within me, something I wasn’t prepared to feel.
I scoop her up again, and this time she doesn’t resist. Her body sags against mine, a surrender I wasn’t expecting but one I can’t help but crave. I carry her to the bed, sitting with her cradled in my lap. Wrapping my arms tightly around her, I hold her close as though I can shield her from everything.
She’s stiff at first, her body rigid against mine like she’s bracing for something. I tighten my hold, pressing my lips close to her ear as I whisper, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, she doesn’t respond. Then, slowly, I feel the tension drain from her body, melting into mine. The softness of her surrender sets every nerve in my body alight. The warmth of her skin, the way her strawberry scent wraps around me—it’s intoxicating. I’m not sure how long I can keep up this gentle act.
“You’re safe,” I murmur softly, my lips brushing the top of her head.
Her arms move hesitantly, rising slowly before her hands rest against my chest. Her touch is tentative, uncertain, as though she’s still deciding whether I’m worthy of her trust.
That’s it.
I’ve reached my breaking point. I’m a man with needs, and with her naked and vulnerable in my arms, they are clawing to the surface.
My hands slide down, gripping her ass firmly, pulling her flush against me. A soft moan escapes her lips, and it’s enough to undo me.
She pulls back slightly, her wide eyes locking onto mine.
“Straddle me,” I say, my voice low and rough. I don’t expect her to comply, but to my surprise, she does.
She shifts, straddling me fully, her knees resting on either side of my hips. Her bare skin presses against my clothed cock, the warmth bleeding through the fabric and driving me mad.
I glance down, taking in the curve of her breasts, perfect and tempting, before lifting my gaze back to hers. There’s a fire in her eyes now, a challenge, and I know I’ve just crossed the line I can’t come back from.
Wrapping my arms around her neck, I bring her lips down to meet mine.
There’s no softness in the kiss. No hesitation, She needs to know— feel —that I’m starving, and the only thing that can sate me right now is her. Not just a woman. Not just sex.
Her. Aria Paolo. My wife.
I grab a fistful of her hair, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss, pressing harder until our lips crush together. My tongue sweeps between hers, claiming her mouth, devouring her like a man possessed. I want her to understand, with every movement, that I’m not only taking her, I’m claiming her. Aria’s taste is intoxicating, sweet and maddening, leaving me greedy for more.
Addicting.
She’s pure fire on my tongue.
My hand moves from the nape of her neck, tracing her delicate skin until it rests at her throat. My fingers curl gently, squeezing just enough to draw a sound—a soft, throaty moan that reverberates straight to my core. Her hips jerk once, and I almost think she’s shifting for comfort. But when she bucks again, pressing harder against me, I realize the truth.
She’s grinding her clit against my erection.
Fanculo.
The thought sends a wicked smile to my lips even as I continue devouring her. This doesn’t mean she loves me. Hell, it might not even mean she hates me any less. But it does mean she wants me .
And for now, that’s enough.
Her arousal soaks through the fabric between us, and the sensation has my control fraying at the edges. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, her silent plea igniting every dark primal part of me.
Her lips crash against mine with a fervor I didn’t anticipate. This isn’t just a kiss—it’s a storm, a release of everything she’s been holding back: fear, anger, frustration, and desire. Every ounce of tension that’s built between us since the day we met seems to pour into this moment.
The way she responds, the way her mouth moves against mine; it’s like she’s caught between resisting me and surrendering entirely.
My hands roam upward, tracing every curve of her bare body, memorizing her with my touch. Her eyes lock onto mine when I pull back to catch my breath. They’re wide, searching, and full of emotions I can’t entirely decipher—vulnerability, longing, and something darker, unspoken.
I press my lips to her collarbone, letting them linger there before whispering, “You’re driving me insane.” My voice is low, rough, but filled with truth. Then I pull her back to me, needing her closer.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask, my voice softer now, testing her.
She bites her lip, hesitating only momentarily before shaking her head.
A dark chuckle escapes me. “Good, bambina ,” I say, my tone edged with possession. “ Because I wasn’t planning to.”
My gaze drops to her breasts, and I can’t resist the temptation. I take one into my mouth, my tongue circling and teasing her until I feel the peak harden against me. Her soft gasp fuels the fire roaring in my chest.
My free hand slides to her neck, fingers wrapping firmly but not too harshly. I tighten my grip just enough to hear the faintest hitch in her breath—a delicate choke that sends shivers through her body. She bucks slightly against me, the tension in her frame translating into raw desire.
Releasing her neck, I move my hand lower, cupping her breast briefly before continuing downward. My palm grazes her ass, the skin still warm from earlier, and she winces slightly at my touch. I don’t stop; instead, I squeeze, reveling in the reaction it draws from her. My fingers trail back up her spine, sending little tremors through her.
I shift my mouth to her other breast, savoring the way she arches into me, a sigh of pleasure escaping her lips. She’s giving herself to me now, piece by piece, and I’m taking all of her.
Tonight, she’s mine—in every possible way.