Chapter 19 - Viviana
I sit on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the drop. The Chicago skyline glints in the distance, a jagged line of lights, while fire paints the horizon where the container yard smolders.
Broken bricks press rough against my palms. An old mattress sits nearby, dragged close to the ledge, its fabric worn thin and patched with stains.
Dario stands behind me, his boots crunching soft on the gravel. He watches the flames we set, the glow catching in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t say a word.
My breath flows steady, deep, matching the quiet wind fluttering over us. The cold bites my skin, crisp and clean, laced with the faint sting of smoke.
We don’t speak at first. Our chests rise and fall together, a rhythm tying us to this night, to the ashes we’ve scattered below.
“You did it,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “You burned it down.”
I turn my head, find his gaze still fixed on the distant blaze. He shifts, stepping closer, hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets.
“If you want out,” he says, “this is your window.” His words land soft but heavy, an offer I feel in my bones.
I reach for his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles, warm against the chill. I tug him down, and he sinks beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“You think I lit that fuse for you?” I say, voice calm, steady as the river glinting below. “This is mine, too.”
He exhales, a long rush that feels like years unwinding. We sit there, pressed close, the city sprawling out beneath us like a map we’ve rewritten.
“We just signed our death warrant,” he says, staring at the flames licking the horizon. His tone’s flat, but I hear the edge beneath it.
“No,” I say, lifting my hand to brush ash from his collar. “We tore theirs in half.”
He looks at me then, eyes catching the far-off firelight. “You could leave. I wouldn’t stop you.”
I lean closer, my breath warm against his ear. “You’re not the reason I stayed,” I whisper. “But you’re the reason it matters.”
His hand finds mine, fingers lacing tight and sure. The wind tugs at my hair, lifting strands across my face, but I feel rooted here, alive.
I shift, pulling my legs back onto the rooftop. He follows, settling beside me, his knee brushing mine as we face each other.
We sit shoulder to shoulder, the cold seeping through my jeans. Firelight dances on the edge of my vision, a reminder of what we’ve done.
“I’m not scared anymore,” I say, voice soft, tracing the skyline with my eyes. “Not of them, not of this.”
He tilts his head, watching me close. “You’ve changed.”
“Yeah,” I say, fingers brushing the brick beside me. “I stopped running.”
He nods, a small motion, but it carries weight. “Good.”
The wind flutters again, lifting the scent of smoke and river water. I feel it on my skin, cool and sharp, waking me up.
“This isn’t just revenge,” I say, turning to him. “It’s bigger now—Camila, the docks, all of it.”
“I know,” he says, voice steady. “We’re in deep.”
I brush more ash from his sleeve, my fingers lingering. “You gave me this—showed me how to fight.”
He shakes his head, quick and firm. “You already had it.”
I pause, letting that sink in. He’s right—I feel it, the fire that’s been there all along, now blazing free.
I lean back on my hands, bricks biting into my palms, grounding me.
“We’re not safe,” he says, eyes on the flames again. “Not after this.”
“Safety is overrated,” I say, voice light but sure. “As long as we’re together.”
He laughs, short and low, a sound that warms me. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “But you’re here too.”
“Yeah,” he says, resting his hand on the ledge beside mine. “I am.”
I look at him—dark hair mussed, ash streaking his cheek. He’s rough, real, and I feel him tethering me to this moment.
“They’ll come harder now,” I say, voice steady. “Marco, the rest—pissed and scrambling.”
“Let them,” he says, fingers brushing mine. “We’ve got the edge.”
I nod, feeling that truth settle deep. “For now.”
The rooftop stretches around us, a jagged perch above the chaos. I shift closer, my arm pressing against his, warm and solid.
“I used to want out,” I say, staring at the river’s glint. “Back when it was just me and her ghost.”
“And now?” he asks, voice low, eyes on me.
“Now I want in,” I say, turning to him. “All the way.”
He holds my gaze, steady and fierce. “Then you’re in.”
I exhale, a soft rush that feels like letting go. The fire on the horizon fades, smoke curling thick into the night.
“This changes everything,” I say, fingers tracing the edge of the ledge. “They won’t stop.”
“They can try,” he says, voice hard. “We’ve got more moves.”
I nod, leaning into him. “We do.”
The cold bites deeper, but his warmth keeps it at bay. I feel my breath, his, weaving together in the quiet.
“I’m not the same,” I say, voice soft, almost lost to the wind. “Not after tonight.”
“Good,” he says, hand resting on my knee. “Neither am I.”
I look at him, see the shift in his eyes—pride, maybe trust. It mirrors what’s burning in me, steady and bright.
The skyline glints sharper now, dawn still hours off. I feel the night wrapping us, holding us here in this fragile calm.
“We’re a team,” I say, voice firm. “Not just you pulling me along.”
“Never was,” he says, fingers tightening on my hand. “You’ve been leading too.”
I smile, small but real, and it feels good. “Then we keep going.”
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back beside me. “We don’t stop.”
“They’ll rebuild,” I say, staring at the dying flames. “But not fast.”
“Gives us time,” he says, voice low. “To hit again.”
I nod, feeling that purpose ignite anew. “Next time, we take more.”
He turns to me, eyes catching mine. “You’re sure?”
“Surer than I’ve ever been,” I say, voice steady. “This is my fight.”
He brushes ash from my cheek, his touch light. “Ours.”
I lean into his hand, just for a beat. “We need a plan,” I say, voice firm. “Tomorrow.”
“Tonight,” he counters, shifting closer. “We don’t wait.”
I nod, feeling the urgency spark. “Then we map it out.”
He stands, offering his hand, and I take it. My fingers fit into his, warm and sure, pulling me up beside him.
The fire’s a dull streak now, smoke rising thick. I feel it in my chest—the war we’ve started, the one we’ll finish.
“They don’t know me yet,” I say, voice low. “What I can do.”
“They’ll learn,” he says, stepping to the ledge with me. “Fast.”
I look at him, his face sharp in the dim light. “Good.”
We stand there, shoulder to shoulder, the river glinting below. The night stretches out, cold and crisp, but I feel warm, alive, present.
This isn’t fear anymore. It’s choice—mine, ours—and I’m not letting go.
He turns to me, his hand still in mine, fingers rough and warm. “Come here,” he says, voice low, tugging me toward the mattress.
I follow, boots scuffing the gravel soft. He stops at the mattress, turns me to face him. His eyes catch the distant skyline lights, sharp and fierce, and my pulse kicks up.
“Lie down,” he says, voice firm but laced with heat. I ease onto the mattress, springs creaking as I stretch out on my back, staring up at him.
He kneels beside me, pulling his jacket off, letting it drop. “Tonight, I’m in charge,” he says, reaching into his pocket.
I watch, breath hitching, as he pulls out a strip of black fabric. “Eyes closed,” he says, leaning over me, tying it snug around my head.
The world goes dark, the blindfold soft against my skin. I feel the cold bite sharper now, but his presence looms, warm and close.
His hands find my jacket, unbuttoning it quick. “You’re mine,” he says, peeling it open, sliding my shirt up and off.
My chest rises fast, exposed to the night. He unhooks my bra, tosses it aside, and my nipples tighten under the chill.
“Fuck,” he breathes, fingers brushing my breasts, light and teasing. I arch up, a soft moan escaping as he circles the peaks.
“Sensitive,” he says, pinching one nipple, then the other. I gasp, jolts of heat sparking through me, and he keeps teasing, rolling them between his fingers.
“Dario,” I pant, voice shaky, reaching for him. He catches my wrists, pins them down, and I squirm, needy and blind.
“Not yet,” he says, voice low and rough. His hand drifts lower, undoing my jeans, tugging them off with my underwear in one swift pull.
I’m bare, legs trembling as the wind brushes my skin. He spreads my thighs, fingers grazing my pussy, finding me wet and ready.
“Fuck,” he says, teasing my clit with featherlight touches. “You’re soaked.”
“Yeah,” I moan, hips lifting toward him. He circles my clit, fast then soft, driving me wild, and I feel the edge rushing close.
“Come for me,” he says, pressing harder, rubbing tight. I do—hard, crying out, my body shaking as pleasure floods me, hot and wet.
“Fuck,” I gasp, still trembling, blind in the dark. He doesn’t stop, fingers playing with my nipples again, tugging sharp and quick.
“Dario,” I whimper, oversensitive, heat building fast. He moves lower, teasing my clit once more, circling slow, then fast, relentless.
“Again,” he says, voice thick, pinching my nipple as he rubs me. I cum a second time, loud and messy, my thighs slick with it.
“Good,” he says, pulling back, leaving me panting. “On your knees now.”
I shift, blind and shaky, feeling the mattress dip as he guides me up. His hands take mine, leading them to his cock, hard and thick.
“Suck me,” he says, voice rough, pressing himself against my lips. I open wide, taking him in, tasting salt and him, my tongue swirling.
“Fuck,” he groans, hand in my hair, guiding me deeper. “Good girl.”
I moan around him, sucking hard, my throat tightening as he fills me. He thrusts shallow, then deeper, and I gag, choking soft, spit dripping down my chin.
“Yeah,” he says, voice breaking, “just like that, good girl.” I keep going, bobbing fast, gagging again as he hits the back of my throat.
“Fuck, Viviana,” he groans, hips jerking. He comes hard, hot and thick, spilling down my throat, and I swallow, choking through it.
He pulls out, breath ragged, and I lick my lips, blind and buzzing. “Good,” he says, voice soft, stroking my hair. “Now,” he says, flipping me over, “all fours—spread wide.”
I obey, knees sinking into the mattress, thighs parting, ass up.
His hands grip my hips, steadying me. “Fuck,” he says, fingers sliding between my legs from behind, finding me dripping.
“Dario,” I moan, rocking back as he slips two fingers inside. He pumps fast, curling them, hitting that spot, and my legs start shaking.
“Fuck,” I cry, trembling hard, blind to everything but his touch. He adds a third finger, stretching me, thrusting deep, and I’m lost, shaking wild.
“Come,” he says, voice rough, spanking my ass light but firm. I do—a gush soaking his hand, my scream echoing, legs quivering beneath me.
“Please,” I beg, voice raw, body wrecked. “Fuck me, Dario—please.”
He groans, pulling his fingers out, and I hear his jeans hit the mattress. “You want it?” he asks, cock teasing my entrance, hot and hard.
“Yes,” I pant, pushing back blind. “Please, fuck me.”
“Good girl,” he says, thrusting in deep, filling me full. I cry out, stretched tight, and he grips my hips, setting a fierce pace.
“Fuck,” I moan, rocking to meet him. He spanks me again—not hard, just enough—over and over, heat blooming across my ass.
“Take it,” he grunts, spanking me between thrusts. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“Yeah,” I gasp, trembling, the sting mixing with pleasure. He spanks me again, lighter, steady, driving me higher.
“Fuck, Dario,” I cry, feeling another wave crash close. He spanks me once more, thrusts deep, and I come, squirting hard, soaking us both.
“Fuck,” he groans, spanking me through it, relentless. I’m shaking, blind, screaming his name as he keeps going.
“Come with me,” I pant, voice breaking, body spent. He spanks me one last time, thrusts hard, and comes, spilling inside me with a rough shout.
We collapse, tangled and breathless, his chest heavy on my back. He reaches up, unties the blindfold, pulling it free, and light floods in.
I blink, dazed, the skyline sharp against the dark. His face hovers over mine, dark hair mussed, eyes fierce and warm.
“Fuck,” I breathe, laughing soft, still trembling. “You’re too much.”
“Yeah,” he says, kissing my neck, tasting sweat. “So are you.”
He rolls off, pulling me close, and I curl into his side. My ass stings faint, my body hums, and I feel him solid beside me.
The fire on the horizon’s a thin streak now, smoke drifting thick. I catch my breath, his heartbeat steady under my hand.
“We did that,” I say, voice soft, nodding toward the yard. “Together.”
“Yeah,” he says, fingers tracing my arm. “And we’re not done.”