12. Alessio
Alessio
The sunset paints the Boston skyline in bruised shades of violet and crimson as I push the mahogany doors of the master suite open, pausing on the threshold to appreciate the stunning vision occupying my bedroom.
Caterina stands before the gilded full-length mirror, smoothing her hands over the hips of a magnificent, backless emerald gown that fits her body with scandalous perfection.
The fragile silk cascades down to the floorboards, but the entire back of the dress is dramatically scooped, exposing the smooth, pale expanse of her spine.
I remain near the doorway for a long moment, thoroughly mesmerized by the elegant slope of her shoulders and the confident, aristocratic tilt of her chin.
The violent hostility that previously defined our interactions is slowly transforming into a captivating, addictive game of seduction, and watching her prepare for the evening sends a rush of hot, undeniable desire straight to my groin.
I cross the plush carpet with unhurried strides, stepping directly behind her so our reflections merge in the glass.
I wrap my arms around her narrow waist, pulling her back flush against my chest, dipping my head to press a soft, incredibly sweet kiss into the sensitive curve of her neck.
She sighs, leaning into the embrace instead of fighting my touch, a miraculous concession that makes my chest swell with a dangerous, unfamiliar warmth.
"You are wearing a dress designed to make every single man in this city envy my existence," I murmur against her skin, my lips grazing her jawline as my hands slide over the smooth silk covering her stomach.
"If we actually make it out of this suite tonight without me tearing this fabric to pieces, it will be a monumental test of my self-control. "
Caterina offers a coy, wicked smile to my reflection in the mirror, turning her head just enough to drag her mouth against my cheek.
"You specifically requested that I look the part of the untouchable mafia queen for the Commission's charity gala, Alessio.
I am merely following your instructions to project a flawless, united front.
It would be a tragedy to ruin Italian couture before the photographers even manage to capture a single picture of us arriving at the venue. "
"The photographers can go to hell, and so can the Commission," I whisper playfully, biting her earlobe and relishing the tiny gasp that escapes her lips.
"I am inviting you to a high-society masquerade, and I am already plotting exactly how quickly I can drag you away from the champagne towers so I can peel this emerald silk off your beautiful body.
You are driving me completely insane, wife. "
She laughs, a genuinely melodic sound that banishes the shadows from the room, turning in my arms to fix the lapels of my tailored tuxedo jacket. "Patience is a virtue you desperately need to cultivate, husband. We have a political performance to deliver."
We descend the grand staircase together, slipping into the back of the armored Maybach waiting in the circular driveway.
Dante and Silvio ride in the lead vehicle, orchestrating the security detail for the evening, ensuring the neutral territory of the downtown plaza hotel remains free of any uninvited hostility.
The gala is a mandatory gathering for the elite families controlling the eastern seaboard, a rare occasion where weapons are theoretically checked at the door and enemies exchange polite pleasantries over plates of expensive caviar.
My primary objective is to parade Caterina through the ballroom, proving to the whispered gossips and the scheming traditionalists that my bride is not a tortured hostage, but a willing, radiant partner in my newly forged empire.
The moment we step out of the vehicle and onto the red carpet, the flashbulbs erupt in a blinding, chaotic frenzy.
Caterina navigates the intrusive paparazzi with effortless grace, linking her arm through mine, offering the cameras a dazzling, confident smile that masks the treacherous political landscape we are about to enter.
We surrender our coats in the grand vestibule and walk into the sprawling, opulent ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, prismatic glow over hundreds of guests clad in expensive designer wear, the environment infused with the scent of expensive perfume and imported champagne.
I keep my hand firmly planted on the bare skin of her lower back as we mingle with the elite, utilizing every available excuse to trail my fingertips across her spine.
I cannot hide my attraction, my eyes constantly dropping to the plunge of her neckline, my thumb tracing small, distracting circles against her flesh while I exchange meaningless pleasantries with the politicians on Niccolò's payroll.
Caterina handles the socializing flawlessly, engaging the wives of the port commissioners and the influential judges with a charismatic charm that proves she was born to rule this environment.
Yet, every time I pull her closer, burying my face near her ear to whisper a filthy, degrading promise about what I plan to do to her when we finally get home, her breath hitches, her cheeks flushing with a beautiful, telling heat.
"You are playing a dangerous game, Alessio," she warns softly, accepting a crystal flute of champagne from a passing waiter, her brown eyes flashing with a mixture of annoyance and unmistakable arousal. "You are deliberately trying to fluster me in front of the mayor."
"I am simply reminding you who owns the woman wearing this dress," I reply, tracing the edge of the silk where it dips dangerously low on her hip.
"You look so fucking beautiful it actually hurts to look at you, and pretending I care about municipal zoning laws when all I want to do is taste you is an excruciating form of torture. "
We continue our progression through the crowded room, eventually reaching a secluded alcove near the sprawling floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline.
Dante approaches to brief me on a minor logistical issue occurring at the coat check, requiring my undivided attention for a fraction of a minute.
I reluctantly drop my hand from Caterina’s waist, stepping a few feet away to converse with my Capo, keeping her firmly within my line of sight.
It only takes twenty seconds of separation for the vultures to begin circling.
I watch a man separate himself from the crowd and approach my wife.
He is a lieutenant for the Volkov syndicate, a Russian faction that constantly tests the northern boundaries of our territory.
Grigori is a massive, brutish man wearing an ill-fitting suit, clutching a tumbler of vodka, and looking at Caterina with an undisguised, repulsive hunger that makes the blood freeze in my veins.
He steps far too close to her, invading her personal space, his gaze dropping blatantly to her chest before attempting to rest his filthy hand on the bare expanse of her back.
A blinding, homicidal fury erupts in my chest, completely obliterating any concept of diplomacy or neutral territory.
I cut Dante off mid-sentence, stalking across the marble floor with the singular, terrifying focus of a predator preparing to slaughter its prey.
Caterina sees me coming, her eyes widening slightly as she registers the murderous intent rolling off my frame.
I reach her side before the Russian can even complete his introductory sentence, inserting my body between them and wrapping my hand bruisingly around Caterina’s waist, pulling her flush against my side.
"Is there a specific reason you are crowding my wife, Grigori?
" I ask, my voice a menacing, gravelly scrape that causes the surrounding guests to nervously back away.
"Because if you are incapable of keeping your eyes focused on your own glass, I will gladly pluck them out of your skull and feed them to the stray dogs in the alleyway. "
Grigori pales, the arrogant leer melting off his face as he registers the uncompromising danger radiating from my posture.
He holds his hands up in a placating gesture, taking a clumsy step backward.
"My apologies, Underboss. I was merely paying my respects to the new bride. No offense was intended."
"Walk away," I command, the words slicing through the ambient noise of the jazz band playing in the background. "And if I catch you looking in her direction again, your boss will be collecting your remains in a trash bag."
The Russian lieutenant practically scurries away, disappearing into the throng of people. I maintain my punishing grip on Caterina's waist, my chest heaving with the exertion of containing my violence, my gaze scanning the room to dare any other man to test my possessive boundaries.
Caterina shifts closer, pressing her soft curves seamlessly against my side, completely unbothered by the terrifying display of aggression. She leans up on her toes, her lips brushing against my ear, her breath warm and incredibly inviting.
"You are acting like a beast, husband," she whispers, the seductive purr of her voice sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
"But watching you threaten to dismember a man simply for looking at me is remarkably distracting.
I am soaking wet beneath this silk, Alessio, and unless you intend to drag me somewhere private and do something about it right now, you need to stop teasing me and keep your hands to yourself. "
Her provocative, filthy admission completely severs the final threads of my restraint.