Chapter 37 Mara
MARA
Idon’t knock. I slip through his door quietly, bare feet on cold marble, the silk hem of my sleep shirt brushing my thighs.
The hallway was dark. His room’s darker. But the balcony doors are open, and the glow from the city throws his silhouette into focus.
He’s out there. Leaning on the railing. Smoking. The stars are out. The wind smells like rain and smoke and something expensive I can’t name.
He doesn’t turn when I step outside. He doesn’t tell me to leave.
I stop next to him. Close, but not touching. For a while, neither of us says anything. The only sound is the soft crackle when he takes another drag.
I reach up and pluck the cigarette from his fingers. He lets me.
It’s still warm. I bring it to my lips and inhale—slow, steady, pretending my hand isn’t shaking. I’m not a regular smoker, but I’m not a coward either. He watches me from the corner of his eye.
I offer it back. He takes it…and then cages me in with one arm, his body crowding mine against the railing as he brings the cigarette to his mouth and takes another drag. I feel his chest brush mine. Just enough to tease. The embers glow. His breath fogs the air.
“You don’t smoke,” he says, low.
“I do sometimes,” I mutter.
He huffs—amused or annoyed, I can’t tell. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Then throw me out.”
He doesn’t move.
We pass the cigarette back and forth. Quiet.
Tense. Like a standoff. Each time I raise it to his mouth, his eyes drop to my lips.
Like he’s remembering the last time he had his mouth on them.
Like he’s wondering how much longer he can keep pretending he doesn’t want to do it again.
When it burns down to the filter, I press it out on the ledge and flick it into the ashtray beside us.
I expect him to step back. He doesn’t. His hand comes up to my throat—not choking, just holding. Just claiming. His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says again.
But he leans in anyway. His mouth hits mine hard. Hot. No hesitation. No warning. It’s not a question. It’s a claim. His tongue slides deep, slick and obscene, and a moan slips out from me before I can stop it. He growls when he hears it.
His hands go to my waist, dragging me closer. I feel the railing against my back, the steel cold under my fingers as he grinds against me. His cock’s already hard, straining through his pants, and he’s not even trying to hide it.
His hand slides under my shirt. Skin-to-skin. He palms my thigh, then pushes higher. I bite down on his bottom lip when his fingers brush the edge of my panties.
“Tell me to stop,” he mutters.
I don’t. He slips a finger under the fabric and finds me soaked.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “This what you came in here for?”
I nod.
He slides one finger inside me, slow and deep. Then another. My head drops back with a gasp. My hands fly to his shoulders, digging in for something to hold onto. His fingers curl inside me, thick and rough, and he kisses me again while he works me open.
I moan into his mouth. Loud. Desperate. He eats every sound I give him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine. “So fucking wet for me.”
His thumb circles my clit and I buck against him. The railing digs into my back. My hips grind down on his hand like I’ve forgotten what shame feels like.
“I can’t…” I whisper.
“You will,” he says and curls his fingers harder.
I come with a cry I can’t swallow. My pussy clenches around him, wet and pulsing, and I shake against his chest. He holds me up, fingers still working me through it, coaxing more out of me with every filthy stroke.
“Again.”
He doesn’t wait. He drops to his knees, pushes my panties aside, and eats me out right there on the balcony with the stars above and the Castello’s soft lights below.
I come again. Harder. One hand in his hair, the other braced on the railing while I fall apart on his mouth. He doesn’t stop until I’m shaking. Until I’m soaked. Until I’m leaning on him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Then he stands and wipes his mouth, staring at me like I’m the problem and the solution all at once.
He says nothing. Neither do I.
The call starts like any other. A flicker of blue light cuts across my face as my phone screen lights up, the familiar buzz dragging me out of my half-sleep. Duchess grumbles from the pillow beside me, unimpressed.
I swipe to answer before I can talk myself out of it.
“Finally,” Alessia’s voice comes through first—too bright, too fast. “You’re alive.”
I squint at the screen. Two faces stare back at me: Alessia and Valentina. They’re sitting together somewhere that looks like Valentina’s kitchen, wide marble counters and wine glasses half-full beside them, both of them far too awake for this hour.
“It’s six in the morning,” I mutter. “Some of us still need sleep.”
Valentina gives a small laugh. “Sorry. We didn’t know when you’d be up. We thought Italy’s sunny weather would be motivating. You’ve been quiet.”
“I’ve been fine, and there’s a storm raging, so no sunny weather.”
Alessia smirks. “Fine never means fine, Mara.”
I roll my eyes, sinking deeper into the sheets. “You two have way too much time.”
Valentina lifts her glass. “We call it caring.”
“Sure. With Chardonnay.”
That earns me a real laugh from Alessia, the kind that almost feels normal. For a moment, it’s easy to forget where I am: the cold halls, the cameras, the weight of Nicolo’s refusal to admit that this is morphing into more than sex echoing through every room.
Then Valentina’s expression softens. “You look tired.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan. “That’s what every woman wants to hear.”
She doesn’t smile this time. “I mean it. Are you sleeping at all?”
“I’m fine,” I lie again. “Just…restless.”
Alessia leans closer to the camera. “Restless or haunted?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” she says lightly. “I’m asking. There’s a difference.”
“There isn’t.”
Valentina exchanges a glance with my cousin, then looks back at me. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. Emiliano worries. You know how he gets.”
“I know exactly how he gets,” I mutter. “Control disguised as concern.”
The silence that follows tells me they both agree; they just won’t say it.
To change the subject, I ask, “What’s new over there? Any more society events I can pretend to care about?”
Alessia’s smile flickers. “Actually…we wanted to talk to you about something.”
I pause. “That tone is never good.”
Valentina tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should probably hear this from him, but…”
My stomach tightens. “From who?”
“Eli,” she says quietly. “From Emiliano.”
I sit up straighter. Duchess shifts beside me, annoyed at the movement.
“What about him?”
Alessia hesitates. “He’s…making arrangements.”
“What kind of arrangements?” My voice is too sharp, but I can’t help it.
Neither of them answers at first. The silence stretches. They exchange one of those looks that never means anything good.
“Say it,” I press. “Don’t dance around it.”
Valentina finally sighs. “He’s doing it for your protection.”
I blink. “My protection? I’m already—”
“It’s not that kind of protection,” Alessia cuts in, voice gentler now. “He’s…arranging a match.”
For a second, I think I misheard her.
“A what?”
Valentina’s eyes drop. “A marriage.”
The word lands heavy. It takes a full second for my brain to process it.
Then I laugh—sharp, wrong, like it belongs to someone else. “You’re kidding.”
Neither of them smiles.
“You’re serious. He’s actually—”
“He thinks it’s the only way,” Alessia says softly. “After the attacks. After everything—”
“Stop.” My voice cracks. “Don’t defend him.”
Valentina’s gaze lifts, steady but sad. “He’s trying to keep you safe.”
“By selling me off like property?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that.” The words come out low and dangerous. “He’s doing what every man in this family does: dressing up control and calling it protection.”
Neither of them argues. The silence feels heavier than the rain starting again outside. I can hear it through the window. Slow, steady, relentless.
“When?” I ask.
Valentina hesitates. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Two weeks. Maybe three.”
The room tilts. My pulse roars in my ears.
Two weeks. I have two fucking weeks.
I stare at the screen. Their faces blur slightly, the edges warping in the light. I grip the phone tighter just to feel something solid.
“Who is it?”
Alessia looks like she wishes she didn’t know. “Someone connected. Someone who can keep you out of danger better than he can.”
“Someone who can own me, you mean.”
Valentina flinches. “Mara—”
“No. Don’t. I get it now. Protection. Safety. Power. It’s all the same word wearing different suits.”
They don’t respond. They don’t have to. I can see it in their eyes: the pity, the helplessness.
“You should talk to him,” Valentina says quietly. “Before it’s decided.”
“Decided,” I echo. “Like I’m not even in the room.”
“He loves you,” she says, and somehow that’s worse.
I swallow, but it feels like glass. “No, this isn’t love, Valentina. This is control. He wants to control my life and make decision that aren’t his to make.”
For a moment, none of us speak.
Alessia’s eyes glisten. “We didn’t want to tell you like this.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you deserve to know,” Valentina says simply. “Even if you can’t change it.”
That sentence sticks.
Even if you can’t change it.
I stare at the screen until their faces blur again. My throat tightens and my eyes burn, but I don’t cry. I won’t.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Mara—”
The call ends before they can finish.
The silence that follows is deafening. The rain outside gets louder, slamming against the glass like it’s trying to get in. Duchess jumps down from the bed and pads over to the window, tail flicking, curious. I can’t move.
A marriage. Protection. A deal.
It keeps repeating in my head until the words lose meaning.
I push the blanket off and stand. The floor is cold under my feet, grounding.
I need air. Space. Anything but this.
The hallway is dark except for the soft glow of sconces along the walls. My reflection follows me in the mirrors: a blur of gray hoodie and bare feet, hair tangled. The house hums with quiet, but it doesn’t feel empty.
When I reach the landing that overlooks the main floor, I hear voices. Low. Male. One of them is unmistakable: Nicolo.
The sound of his voice pulls something tight in my chest. I move closer carefully, stopping just outside his office door. It’s cracked open an inch.
“…contract’s not negotiable,” he’s saying. “It’s already been discussed.”
A pause. Another man’s voice, muffled. I can’t make out the words.
Then Nicolo again. “She doesn’t know yet.”
I freeze, heart pounding in my throat. My fingers curl against the doorframe. He’s talking about me.
He knew. He’s known this whole time. Every look, every silence, every time he told me to go to bed even when his eyes told me something entirely different…it all makes sense now. He’s been waiting for me to find out.
I back away before I can hear another word. My vision blurs, breath coming too fast. I make it to my room without realizing how. When the door shuts behind me, I sink against it, sliding down until I hit the floor. Duchess meows softly from the window, tail flicking, unconcerned.
I stare at her for a long time before whispering, “He knew.”
The rain keeps falling. But everything feels different now. The one man I thought might see me—really see me—was just another player in someone else’s game.