Chapter 43
Dante
Getting Sofia back to the house is a blur of carrying her up the rocky path, her body still shaking from the cold, my jacket wrapped around her like inadequate armor against the October wind.
She's practically hypothermic, her lips blue and her teeth chattering, but she's here. She chose me. She fucking chose me.
The moment we're through the front door, I'm kissing her again, unable to help myself. Her mouth is cold but warming under mine, and she tastes like salt and courage and everything I thought I'd lost forever.
"You're insane," I murmur against her lips, my hands framing her face. "Absolutely fucking insane."
"Says the man who just drove three hours to pull me out of freezing water," she laughs, and the sound goes straight to my chest, filling up all the empty spaces that have been aching for days.
"You could have died, Sofia. What if I hadn't gotten here in time?"
"But you did." Her eyes are bright, alive in a way I've never seen before. "You came for me."
"Always." I press my forehead against hers, still not quite believing she's real, that she's here, that she wants this. "I'll always come for you, princess."
She shivers again, and I remember she's still freezing, still wrapped in nothing but my jacket. I need to get her warm, get her dry, take care of her the way she deserves.
"Come on," I say, scooping her up again. "Let's get you warmed up."
I carry her upstairs to what I assume is the master bedroom, setting her down gently beside the bed. The room is elegant but comfortable, all warm wood and soft fabrics that somehow suit her perfectly.
I look around, taking in the space properly for the first time. Rich mahogany furniture, expensive artwork, the kind of understated luxury that screams money and power.
"This has got to be Vito's house," I say, my old humor starting to creep back in. For the first time in days, I feel like myself again instead of some broken shell of a man.
"Yeah, why?" Sofia asks, tilting her head.
A grin spreads across my face, the kind that used to get me in trouble when I was a smartass kid on the streets. "I totally have to fuck you in it."
"Oh my God, Dante!" She laughs, scandalized and delighted at the same time. "You're terrible."
"I'm practical," I correct, stepping closer to her.
"Think about it—Vito Rosso's personal retreat.
His sanctuary. The place where he comes to think and make important decisions.
" I trace my finger along her collarbone where my jacket has fallen open.
"Seems like the perfect place for us to make some very important decisions of our own. "
"Sofia..." I'm trying to be the responsible one here, the one who takes care of her first, but she's looking at me like that and my brain is short-circuiting.
"What? Are you going to tell me you don't want to?" She reaches up and traces the line of my jaw with one finger. "Because I can feel exactly how much you want to."
She's right. I do want to, with an intensity that's almost painful. But she's cold and probably still in shock and—
"Dante." She says my name like a prayer, like a promise. "I've spent four days thinking about what I want my life to look like. This is it. This moment, this choice, with you."
And just like that, all my noble intentions evaporate.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring four days of fear and longing and desperate love into the connection between us. She responds immediately, her arms winding around my neck, pulling me closer.
"You're still freezing," I murmur against her mouth.
"Then warm me up," she whispers back.
I scoop her up again and carry her into the en suite bathroom. It’s nice. Big. Clean. Marble. But I barely see any of it. My focus is on her. Only her.
I turn the shower on full blast, hot water pouring from a rainfall head like it was designed for moments like this. Moments where you come back from the dead, and the only thing that makes you feel alive again is someone else's skin.
"Sofia," I whisper as I peel the jacket off her shoulders. "You okay?"
She nods, but it's a lie. She's trembling. Her body is cold, but her eyes are molten—locked on mine like she already knows what’s coming.
“You trust me?” I murmur, standing and tracing my knuckles along the side of her face.
“With everything,” she whispers.
That’s all I needed.
I strip in record time, the chill biting at my skin until the heat of the shower beckons like a fucking promise. I lead her in first, and the moment the water hits her, she gasps—then moans.
“Better?” I ask, stepping in behind her, my body brushing against hers from shoulder to thigh.
She leans back into me, and I wrap my arms around her waist.
"Getting there."
I reach for the soap, lather it between my hands, and then trail it across her skin, slow and deliberate. I start at her shoulders, down her arms, over the swell of her breasts, her stomach, her hips. Every inch I touch, I worship. She whimpers when I slide one hand between her thighs.
“You’re so warm here,” I growl in her ear. “Already soaked—and not from the water.”
She arches against me, her ass pressing into my cock, which is already hard and straining against her skin. “Dante…”
“Turn around for me, baby.”
She does, water cascading over her back, soaking her hair, turning her into something elemental—wild, dripping, untouchable. Except she’s mine.
I lift her easily and pin her back against the shower wall. Her legs wrap around my waist without hesitation, and I take my time now—my mouth trailing across her throat, her collarbone, down to her breasts, where I suck one nipple into my mouth and roll the other between my fingers.
She moans like it hurts to feel this good.
“You want me inside you?” I murmur against her skin.
“Yes.”
“You want me here?” I reach down and drag my hand between her thighs again, sliding two fingers into her soaked, desperate pussy. “Or…” I trail my touch back, pressing the pad of one finger against her tighter hole.
Her breath catches.
Her eyes flare wide.
I don’t push. Not yet.
“Tell me.”
She swallows hard. “Yours. Every part of me. Wherever you want.”
Oh, fuck.
I kiss her, filthy and deep, and slick my fingers in her arousal before pressing my thumb to her clit and easing the tip of my cock into her soaking pussy.
She gasps—sharp—but it's not pain. It's everything. It’s us. It’s days of agony combusting in one devastating thrust.
“Eyes on me,” I growl, my hand fisting in her wet hair to tilt her head. “You watch me as I claim you.”
I thrust in, all the way this time, burying myself to the hilt.
Her mouth drops open, eyes locked to mine as her body clamps around me, wet and tight and fucking heaven.
Her hands scramble over my back, slipping over the tattoos inked into my skin. I hiss when she touches a bruised rib—one still store from the crash—but I don’t stop. I can’t.
I pull back and drive into her again, hard and deep, grinding against her clit with every thrust.
She claws at me now. Moaning, whispering my name like a curse and a prayer. Her legs tremble around my waist, her whole body strung tight.
I can feel her getting close. She's spiraling, wrecked, trembling against the tile as I fuck her through it.
“Come for me,” I hiss. “I want to feel you soak my cock.”
Her eyes snap open, and she shoves at my shoulders.
“Off. I need... I need to taste you.”
I stagger back a step, breathing hard, and she slides down onto her knees, mouth already open like she was made for this moment. She wraps her hand around my cock and licks the tip, slow and dirty, eyes locked on mine.
“Jesus, Sofia—”
She swallows me deep, lips slick, throat tight, spit mixing with the water still cascading over us. She gags on it, takes it again, and fuck if I don’t nearly lose it right then and there. Her mouth is perfect, greedy and fierce, and she’s not just sucking me off—she’s devouring me.
But I won’t let her win.
I fist her wet hair, yank her off with a pop, and flip her around, shoving her chest against the tile.
“You want to be on your knees?” I groan. “Then stay there.”
I grip her hips, slam back into her dripping pussy from behind, and fuck her with everything I’ve got. The slap of skin on skin is drowned out only by the roar of the water and her moans echoing in the tile. She’s crying out now, wrecked and raw, but I’m not done.
I spit on my fingers and trail one down her ass, circling that tight hole.
“Fuck, you’re filthy,” I whisper. “You want it all, don’t you?”
She nods, barely able to speak.
And right when she starts to break, I lean in and press the tip of my finger where she’s never had anyone before.
“Come like this,” I growl. “Fucked open, owned, dripping.”
She shatters.
Her scream is ragged, her orgasm ripping through her so violently it takes me with her. I slam into her once, twice, then spill inside her with a groan that sounds like fucking worship.
We stay like that for a long time. Her trembling breath. My cock still buried deep inside her, pulsing with the echo of everything we just gave each other. The water’s cooling now, but I don’t move. I won’t—not until I’m sure she knows exactly what she’s done to me.
Finally, I pull back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes are glazed, mouth swollen from my kisses, cheeks flushed and dripping.
“Still cold?” I ask, brushing her wet hair away from her face.
She smiles, slow and wrecked and dangerous.
“No,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “I think you burned it out of me.”
My throat tightens. My chest aches. I lean in, press my forehead to hers.
“You haven’t seen what I’ll do when I’m really trying to set you on fire.”
She lets out a shaky breath, hands sliding up my chest, over the bruises she didn’t put there—but will be the only one allowed to touch.
“Then don’t stop,” she murmurs. “Don’t ever stop.”
I kiss her again.
And I swear to God, I never will.
Later, much later, we lie tangled together under the soft comforter, Sofia's head on my chest, her breathing finally steady and warm. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, painting everything in gold.
"So," I say, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare shoulder. "Vito's sanctuary, huh?"
She laughs, the vibration rumbling through my chest. "Think he'll be scandalized?"
"I think he'll be proud that we finally figured our shit out." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Though maybe we don't mention the specifics."
"Probably wise." She shifts slightly, looking up at me. "Dante?"
"Yeah, princess?"
"I love you. Not because you saved me, not because I don't have other choices. Because you make me want to be brave enough to choose happiness."
The words steal my breath. "I love you too. More than I thought it was possible to love anyone."
She smiles, brilliant and beautiful, and settles back against my chest. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"I promise. You're stuck with me now, Dante Mancini."
I tighten my arms around her, this incredible woman who walked naked into freezing water just to prove she could choose her own path. Who chose me, chose us, chose a life that won't always be easy but will always be ours.
"Best news I've heard all week," I murmur, and mean every word.