Chapter 25
Damiano
The softness of her body pushing against me is the only thing keeping me anchored to the real world.
One day.
I spent one day avoiding her—one day of staring at the security monitors just to catch a glimpse of her wandering around my house—and it nearly drove me insane.
I have run illegal operations across three continents for years. I have never once tried to run or hide from anything in my life. And then this woman walked into my world and turned me into someone who takes the long way around a fucking hallway to avoid her.
Last night I held her in the garden until her breathing evened out and her grip on my shirt finally loosened.
I carried her to bed and lay there watching her sleep for longer than I should have.
She looked so small. So peaceful. Nothing like the woman who had just cried herself to sleep, and nothing like the woman who, an hour earlier, had been retching in the dark because of something I did.
When I left, I told myself I was protecting her by keeping my distance.
I told myself a lot of shit.
The truth is, I can’t believe I told her I loved her.
Out loud.
Three words I have never said to any woman in my life except my mother.
And I said them like they had been sitting in my chest for so long, just waiting for her to crack me open.
And then I spent the entire next day in my office, staring at my files that I’ve read seventeen times without absorbing a single line, because I didn’t know what a man like me does the morning after saying something like that.
Now I have her pinned against a wall, her back against the concrete, her eyes dark and alive, and every carefully constructed wall I have ever built is rubble at my feet.
My pulse is hammering. It couldn’t stay steady since the moment she picked up that gun and shot four fucking holes in a target without flinching, and I realized I was completely, catastrophically head over heels for her.
“What else did Mateo teach you?” I whisper after tasting her mouth.
Katarina stares at my eyes, then my lips, before she breathes.
“He taught me how to survive when the gun is taken away, too.” I let out a short, disbelieving huff.
“Combat? You’re telling me you can fight?” In a way, it makes sense; she did survive her kidnappers.
“Try me,” she smirks before reaching out to wrap her hand on my nape.
“You’re still healing. I’m not getting into a ring with you.”
“Stop treating me like I’m breakable,” she counters. “Let me show you I can protect myself, too. I can be useful.”
“No,” I say, leaning in trying to kiss her, but she pulls away.
She tilts her head and whispers, “Are you afraid?”
The mockery hits its mark. I groan, my hand sliding from her neck to her waist, pulling her flush against me until she can feel the frantic rhythm of my heart.
“Fine. The gym. But the second you look like you’re in pain, it’s over.” She grins.
The gym’s lights are bright as we stand in the middle of the mat. I’ve shed all my clothing except my trousers. Katarina has taken off her shirt and pants and is now just wearing a sports bra and cycling shorts. If it were up to me, I’d rather be fucking her on the mat. But I’m quite intrigued.
She bounces on the ball of her feet, her movements fluid and centered, completely locked in. Ready to fight.
“I really don’t want to do this,” I complain, pacing the edge of the mat. “You’re going to get hurt.”
“Stop talking and make a move.”
When I don’t, she moves fast, throwing a jab. I sidestep, avoiding her first strike, but she pivots, and her foot tries to sweep my left leg. She misses, but I’m surprised by her strategic move. Mateo clearly taught her how to fight someone bigger than her.
I hold back, my movements stiff, afraid I’ll hurt her if I so much as throw a fake jab. Every time I reach for her, my body just can’t do it. My eyes keep fixating on her bruised shoulder and jaw. So I stay on the defensive, keeping my hands up to block.
“You’re holding back!” she yells, lunging with a quick jab that I barely catch with my forearm.
“I’m not.” I lie.
And I shouldn’t have, because it pisses her the fuck off.
“Fight me!” her voice echoes in the gym, and it scares me a little. She’s shouted at me many times, but not like this. She’s clearly trying to prove a point.
Geez.
She comes at me again in a blur of motion. I try to grab her shoulders to pin her, but she twists away. I catch the little wrinkle of her nose as she takes a sharp breath, telling me her shoulder just protested the movement. I stop, my hands hovering mid-air.
“That’s enough,” I say, stepping toward her. “You’re in pain.”
“No, attack me!” she snarls.
Instead of backing down, she powers through it, using the adrenaline to mask the sting. She feints a high punch, and when I raise my guard, still trying to protect her, she drops her center of gravity. She catches me off guard and wraps her leg around mine.
Then the world flips.
One second I’m standing, and the next, my feet are horizontal, and the ceiling lights are rushing toward me.
What the fuck just happened?
I hit the mat with a heavy thud that vibrates through my teeth.
My dignity hits the floor a split second later.
I’ve been in street fights with men twice her size, I’ve survived hit squads, and yet, here I am, flat on my back because a woman who spends most of her time smiling and acting on camera turns out to be a trained fighter.
If Andreas or Lucian saw me right now, I’d never hear the end of it.
Before I can even process the bruise forming on my ego, she’s on top of me. Her knees pin me to the mat, her hands pressing into my chest. She’s breathing hard, some of her hair coming loose and falling over her face like a red curtain.
She looks down at me, her eyes blazing with triumph, and for the first time in my life, I don’t care that I lost a fight. My cock instantly strains in my pants, my loss already forgotten.
“See. Still think I’m helpless?” she whispers, her chest heaving.
I watch as her adrenaline dissipates, replaced by a suffocating need. I reach up, my hands tangling in her hair, and pull her down until our lips are inches apart.
"No," I rasp. “I think you’re the most dangerous thing in this house.”
My mouth crashes against her, and I devour her. When she pulls away to take a breath, the gym is silent, except for our labored breathing. We both stay still on the mat for a second, staring into each other’s eyes.
“We’re a mess,” I mutter after a beat, my voice rough from suppressed lust. I reach out, my hand lingering near her face before brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“You’re going to be sore tomorrow. You should rest... that shoulder has had enough.”
She crawls off me, and I rise, offering her a hand. She takes it, her palm warm against mine. I pull her up, and she stumbles into my chest, her body already punishing her for exertion. I catch her, my hands resting on her waist, and the heat between us flares right back up.
“Wanna shower?” I ask, trying to sound practical while my cock turns to steel. “The hot water... it’ll make sure your muscles relax. You don’t want to seize up.”
She looks up at me, her golden eyes turning dark, her lips still swollen from the kiss, and nods.
I lead her towards the gym’s private bathroom.
The walk is short, but it felt too far. I almost decided against it and undressed her in the middle of the gym.
If I weren’t worried about other people walking in on us, I wouldn’t bother.
But I wasn’t going to risk anyone seeing her that way. My eyes only.
When we reach the door, I open it and step back, letting her go in first. The click of the lock as I close it behind us sounds like a starting gun.
I reach past her and crank the handle. The water drums loudly against the tiles, drowning out the rest of the world around us. I rip the buttons of my shirt open, my eyes never leaving hers. She reaches for the hem of her sports bra, her fingers shaking.
I step into her space and shove her hands aside. I strip the fabric over her head and toss it. The hot water hits us, soaking through my clothes, sticking my pants to my thighs.
I’m about to pull her under the spray, but she drops to her knees on the wet tile.
The sight of her there, looking up at me through the rising steam, was enough to make my head spin.
She doesn’t hesitate. She undoes my belt and pulls my pants and boxers down to my feet.
When her warm hand wraps around me, my head hits the wall behind me with a dull thud.
She leans in, her breath hot against my cock, before she takes me into her mouth.
I groan, my fingers tangling deep in her wet hair as I push my hips into her.
The sensation of the scorching heat of her mouth is a violent contrast to the spray of water hitting my back.
She works me with a desperate rhythm and hunger, her tongue swirling around the head of my cock, looking up at me, taunting, until I’m seeing fucking stars.
“Kat—fuck... stop,” I rasp, my voice breaking. “I’m going to lose it if you don’t stop.”
I can’t let it end like this. I’ve embarrassed myself enough today. I need to be inside her.
I reach down and haul her up, spin her, pressing the side of her face against the cold tile. I strip her underwear and kick my own clothes out of the way, and put her hands flat against the wall on either side of her head.
I sink my teeth into the crook of her neck. I don’t give her a second to prepare. I enter her from behind in one deep, violent thrust that makes her scream into the tile.
My rhythm is punishing, raw. I grip her hips, my fingers digging into her skin to anchor her against the force of my weight.
“Fucking mine,” I say. “Every fucking inch of you… Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” she gasps, “Damiano...”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” she cries, her voice drowning under the spray of the water.
But I’m not finished. I spin her around and hoist her legs up.
She locks them around my waist, her ankles bolting behind my back as I push her back against the wall.
The steam swirls around us as I drive into her again.
The position lets me go deeper, more intimate, and I watch every flicker of emotion on her face.
“Look at me,” I rasp, my right hand wrapping around her throat until she has no choice. Her eyes find mine, glassy and overwhelmed, and something in my chest cracks open.
“I tried,” I say, my voice barely above a breath. “I fucking tried so hard not to want you like this.”
I move again, slower this time, watching her mouth fall open.
“Didn't work,” I add.
“Good,” she breathes, her fingers clawing into my wet hair. “Don't let it.”
I lose the last shred of my control, my rhythm turning frantic. I fuck her hard and fast like I want to merge our souls.
“You’re going to come for me,” I growl against her lips. “I want to feel you come.”
And she does. Like a fucking good girl, she does.
Her walls start to pulse, clamping down on me in a rhythmic clenching. She lets out a high-pitched cry, her back arching off the wall as she shudders through a release so violent her legs shake around me. I follow her over the edge seconds later.
My world narrows to the pouring water around us and the silk of her skin.
The release hits me with a force that leaves me hollowed out, my forehead dropping to her shoulder as I struggle to fill my lungs.
I keep her pinned there, my weight holding her against the wall while her heart thunders like a trapped bird against my ribs.
In this moment, I’m certain she is the only thing keeping me alive.
The water begins to cool, turning into a silver mist around us. I lower her slowly, my hands lingering on her hips until her feet find the floor. She leans her forehead against my chest, her breath coming in ragged hitches.
The silence is heavy & intimate. Her hand rises, her fingers trembling as they trace the white line of the scar on my left shoulder—the mark from the day my world once ended.
I envelop her with my arms, pulling her into my body.
“How did you get this?” she asks softly, pressing a kiss to my chest, her voice barely audible over the hum of the pipes.
I close my eyes, the cooling water helping me find my words.
“My mother,” I say, the bitter memory settling in my chest. “It happened the day she was killed.
“We were walking to the car when the ambush happened. It was broad daylight. The hit was for both of us. To scare my father out of his power. But she was the only casualty that day.”
She stills against my hold, her palm flat against my heart.
“That's why I left,” I continue, my voice a hollow rasp. “I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t look at my father without blaming him.
He was too deep in this life to protect her.
He refused to punish the people who, I’m certain, did it because of the brotherhood.
So I left, hoping that if I put some distance between me and this place, I could forget. I wanted to leave everything behind.”
I’ve never been this raw. I’m terrified of the way she’s looking at me now, not with the fear she had in the garden, but with a softness that tells me how much she loves me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the water dripping from her dark lashes. “Why are you doing all this? Why are you risking your life for me? You got out, and I dragged you back into this life.”
I look at her. Really look at her.
“Because I’ve never felt like this,” I say, my hands framing her face, those honey-gold eyes looking up at me, my thumbs wiping away the moisture on her cheeks. “It didn’t even matter. I just want to keep you safe.”
I lean my forehead against hers, the steam finally dissipating.
“Why is that?” she whispers, locking her eyes with mine.
“Because I was yours from the moment I saw you,” I say. “The very first time, across a room full of people who didn’t matter, you were the only thing I could see. I told myself it was nothing. I told myself that for a long time.”
She searches my face.
“And now?” she breathes.
“Now I’m done lying to myself.” I pull back just enough to look at her properly, the way she deserves to be looked at.
"Ti vogghiu beni, Kat." My voice drops. “I’m never letting you go.”
She smiles, her eyes full of tears.
“Te amo, Damiano. But you already know that.”