20. Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
I wake to another body pressed against mine. For a moment, I’m disoriented until the events of last night flood back.
Isabella.
My wife.
She's curled against me. Sleep has softened her features, erasing the guarded expression she wears. She looks so young. So vulnerable. Guilt rises, but so does a fierce protectiveness.
Mine.
The sheet has slipped down, revealing the curve of her shoulder, down along her side to her hip.
Small bruises from my fingers appear on her skin.
Redness from where my lips suckled show where I’ve marked her as mine.
The memories of last night filter through my awakening mind and begin to stoke the need to have her again.
I trace my finger along her shoulder, savoring the softness of her skin. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake as she presses closer to me.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She was meant to be a business transaction, not an all-consuming need that shatters my control.
I lean down, unable to resist pressing my lips to her shoulder. My hand slides over the curve of her hip, remembering how it felt to grip her there as I drove into her.
Her breath catches, though her eyes remain closed. I know she's hovering on the edge of wakefulness, and I should stop. Let her rest. She'll be sore from last night's activities.
Instead, my mouth travels to her neck, then the sensitive spot behind her ear that made her moan last night. My restraint crumbles as my hand moves to cup her tit, feeling the nipple harden against my palm.
What is it about her that destroys my self-control? I've had beautiful women before. I've had passionate nights that left me satisfied. But this need that borders on desperation is crazy. Terrifying. Electric.
I roll her onto her back, watching as her eyes flutter open, confusion giving way to recognition, then to heat. This woman who challenges me, who resists me, who surrenders to me… she’s becoming my weakness. It’s all the more reason to stop.
I part her thighs, trailing kisses down her stomach. Her skin is warm under my lips. She shifts beneath me, half-asleep, but her body knows what's coming. When my mouth finally finds her clit, her back arches slightly off the bed.
"Alessandro..." My name falls from her lips, though her eyes remain closed.
I take my time exploring her with my tongue, savoring her taste, the way her thighs tremble against my shoulders. Her quiet moans fill the room as I work her body.
There's something intoxicating about drawing pleasure from her semi-conscious body. Does she think she’s dreaming? Or is she just surrendering again?
When I slip two fingers inside her, she's slick and ready, her inner muscles clenching around me. I curl my fingers upward, finding that spot that makes her gasp, and increase the pressure of my tongue against her clit.
Her orgasm hits, an intense wave that has her crying out, her body shuddering. The taste of her pussy juices is divine, and I keep feasting, prolonging her pleasure until she's trembling.
Her eyes fly open. Her gaze locks with mine as I continue to work her through the aftershocks, my face still between her thighs.
"Don't stop," she moans.
I rise above her, positioning myself at her entrance. Her eyes never leave mine as I push inside her in one long, slow thrust. The sensation is overwhelming, tight, wet heat enveloping me completely.
"Fuck." I drop my forehead to hers. “So fucking good.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I let go of what little control I have left. I take her hard and fast, driven by a wild, uncontrollable need.
“Yes,” she chants each time I plunge into her.
It drives me wild. I can't get enough. Not deep enough. Not fast enough.
I know I should slow down. Be more careful. Her body must be sore after last night.
But she grips my hips, moves with me, and I’m powerless to do anything but chase release.
"Tell me if I hurt you," I manage to say.
"You won't,” she says, lifting her hips to meet mine.
Emboldened, I hook my arm under one of her knees, changing the angle, driving deeper.
Her gasp tells me I've found the sweet spot inside her. I focus there, watching her face as pleasure overtakes her, the way her lips part, the flush spreading across her cheeks.
"Alessandro," she sighs, and something about the way she says my name undoes me. This isn’t like the frenetic claiming of last night. This is intense, but deeper. Dangerous. The connection feels too intimate, too real.
I want to look away, to break the spell. But I can't.
Her fingers thread through my hair, pulling me down until our foreheads touch.
Her body tightens around mine, pulling me deeper into her, pulling me over the edge, sending me into a haze of bliss. I pump into her, wanting the sensations to last forever, never wanting to stop.
But eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I collapse over her.
For a moment, we stay connected, my weight braced on my elbows.
Without thinking, I press my lips to hers, not in passion, but in something deeper that terrifies me.
Tenderness is a weakness. A weakness that I can’t show to the daughter of my enemy.
I’m bombarded with dual urges, one to hold her close and the other to run away. When my phone rings, relief slides through me. I have an excuse to disengage.
"Ignore it," Isabella murmurs, nestling closer to me.
But it’s Adriano’s ringtone, and nothing, not even a honeymoon or mind-blowing sex, can take precedence.
“I can’t.” I roll away from her, hating how it feels to lose her warmth against me.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. "This had better be important."
Isabella watches me from the bed, the sheet pulled loosely around her, her expression still one of satisfaction. The sight of her makes it hard to focus on Adriano's voice.
"We've been hit," Adriano says. "Coordinated attacks on three separate operations."
Just like that, the spell is broken. Anger surges. Plans for retaliation fill my mind. "Casualties?"
"Two of our men at the docks. Minimal damage otherwise. Luca and Cristian managed to contain most of it. I don’t think they expected Luca, and you know how he is."
I do. Luca doesn’t have enough feelings of self-preservation and way too much confidence and blood thirst. It’s what got him exiled from the family. But it made him efficient when violence was needed. And it terrified other families.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I'm already pulling on clothes with one hand. “Who knew about all three operations?"
There's a pause on the line. "That's the thing. The only recent change in our security protocols was—"
"The Vitale alliance.” My eyes snap to Isabella, who sits up straighter at my tone. A dark suspicion blooms in my chest. The timing is too perfect. I’m half a world away on my honeymoon, distracted by my new bride.
"The information had to have come from inside," Adriano confirms. "And the only people who recently gained access to our inner circle—"
"Are the Vitales. Mother fucker.” I shake my head at my stupidity. If my father were here, he’d shoot me himself for letting my guard down. “I'm coming back. See how long Luca and Cristian can stay."
I hang up, staring at Isabella. She's pulled the sheet higher, covering herself as if sensing the change in my demeanor.
"What's wrong?”
I don't want to believe she could be involved in this betrayal. But I wasn't raised to trust. I was raised to survive.
"Did you know?” My anger echoes through the room. "Did you know what your father was planning?"
Isabella flinches. Her eyes widen with confusion that looks genuine. "What are you talking about?”
"Don't play dumb," I snarl, fighting against the urge to believe she truly is unaware. "Your family just hit three of my operations simultaneously. The timing is perfect, isn't it? Get me away from New York, distracted with..." I gesture at her in the tangled sheets.
Her face drains of color, and shock, hurt, and then anger flash in her eyes. "You think I slept with you as some kind of distraction?”
"Tell me why I shouldn't think that."
She rises from the bed, dragging the sheet with her. "Because this honeymoon was your idea, Alessandro. You brought me here. You chose Capri." Her voice grows stronger, angrier. "And if you recall, I didn’t want you to touch me.”
She’s right. I had to work hard to seduce her, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t aware of her father’s actions.
“And finally, because my father has never shared his business with me. Ever. I was raised to look pretty and keep my mouth shut. My only job is to be the perfect Mafia bride."
The bitterness in her tone gives me pause.
"For all I know," she continues, "this could be your elaborate setup to justify killing my family."
I run a hand through my hair, conflict tearing me apart. But I quickly remember that this sort of indecision is exactly what is going to ruin me, to get me and my family killed.
"Get dressed," I say coldly. "Honeymoon's over."
Her chin lifts defiantly. "You don’t believe me?"
“Whether I believe you or not is irrelevant. My business was attacked. I have to deal with it.”
I watch her gather clothes, working to maintain her dignity, accepting, once again, that she has little agency in our world.
It again makes me question whether I’m being unreasonable.
Marco wouldn’t have told her his plan if only to make sure she didn’t tell me.
But I know Marco only sees her as exactly what she said.
An asset. He wouldn’t think her worthy of knowing about his business.
I make a decision that could either save me or destroy everything. "I'm choosing to believe you, Isabella. For now. Don't make me regret it."
"I don't need your belief," Isabella says, her voice tight. "But I deserve your respect."
I watch her for a moment, wondering how I’d lost myself in her last night, and now today, we’re back to where we were when we made our vows. Cool. Aloof.
For a moment, I consider pulling her to me, tasting those lips once more before I have to step back into reality completely.
Instead, I say, "When we get to New York, things will be complicated. People will question your loyalty. You'll be watched."
She tilts her chin up. "I'm used to being watched."
"This is different. If my men find even a hint that you've betrayed us—"
"They won't," she interrupts. "Because I haven't."
I search her face for deception. All I see are hurt and anger. "I believe you. Don't make me regret it."