Chapter 33
The wedding finally ended, and here we are in my apartment after my colleagues left his grandfather and Alexander still very much invested in embarrassing my husband.
I chuckle softly, and both of them turn their heads toward me like I’ve just announced free entertainment.
Lorenzo is standing in the middle of the living room, sleeves rolled, hair a mess from a long day of rituals, flowers, and stolen kisses. He looks exhausted. He also looks lethal in that quiet, coiled way of his.
Which makes it even funnier when Alexander claps him on the back.
“So,” he drawls, eyes glinting, “married in a temple. Did you survive without your guns and shadows, boss?”
His grandfather hums thoughtfully. “I give him two hours before he forgets he’s a husband and goes into commander mode.”
Lorenzo shoots them both a warning look. “You’re both still in my house.”
I step closer to him, slipping my fingers into his hand. He stiffens out of instinct then relaxes when he realizes it’s just me. The way his thumb rubs over my knuckles is soft, unguarded.
“He behaved very well today,” I say, smiling. “Not even one threat.”
Alexander raises a brow. “Miracles do happen.”
His grandfather laughs, the sound warm and proud. “She tamed you, ragazzo.”
Lorenzo exhales through his nose, resigned. “No one tamed me.”
I glance up at him. One look. Just one.
He clears his throat. “Fine. She… convinces me.”
Alexander bursts out laughing. “Convince? That glare could end wars.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “You’re both impossible.”
His grandfather reaches out, resting a hand on my shoulder, eyes kind. “Thank you for bringing light into his life, child. He pretends he doesn’t need it. He always has.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightens, emotion flickering before he masks it. I squeeze his hand, grounding him.
The old man nods, satisfied, then claps his hands. “Enough. Newlyweds need rest. Or—” his eyes twinkle “—other activities.”
“Nonno,” Lorenzo groans.
Alexander snorts. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave before I’m traumatized.”
They finally head out, still throwing playful jabs over their shoulders. The door closes behind them, and the apartment falls into a rare, peaceful quiet.
It’s just us now.
The city hums outside the windows. The lights are soft. The air still smells faintly of incense and flowers.
I turn to him. “You survived.”
He steps closer, crowding my space until my back brushes the wall. His hand comes up to my cheek, thumb tracing the curve like he’s memorizing me all over again.
“I didn’t just survive,” he murmurs. “I won.”
My breath stutters.
He leans in, forehead resting against mine. “You’re my home now, Ruhi.”
The words settle deep in my chest.
I smile, slow and certain.
“Then come in, husband.”
And for the first time tonight, the world outside stops mattering.
"As my wife commands" His words linger between us, soft and dangerous in the way only truth can be.
Then his mouth finds mine.
It isn’t rushed. It isn’t wild. It’s slow, deep, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken promise into the space between our breaths.
My hands slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palms. For a man who commands storms, he trembles when he kisses me like this.
I melt into him, letting the wall hold me while he holds me closer.
The world narrows to the warmth of his body, the quiet of our apartment, the way his forehead rests against mine between kisses as if he needs the pause to breathe me in.
We move together without thinking steps slow, familiar—toward the bedroom where the lights are low and the city glow spills in through the curtains.
He presses a kiss to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my lips, each one softer than the last.
I thread my fingers into his hair, smiling when he closes his eyes like he’s finally letting himself rest.
There is no rush tonight.
Only warmth.
Only us.
We sink into the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, laughter and whispers blending with the quiet. The night holds us gently as we hold each other closer, and for once, there is nothing to fight.
Just love steady, certain, and finally ours.
His breath stutters against my ear.
“Ruhi…” my name leaves his lips like a prayer, soft and broken at the edges. “Are you okay?”
I nod, because words feel too heavy right now. My hands move on their own, tracing over the strength of his shoulders, the warmth of his back. I feel the way his body tenses, the way he exhales when I hold him closer.
“I’m here,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m with you.”
The room fills with quiet sounds shared breaths, the soft rustle of sheets, the rhythm of two hearts trying to find the same pace.
I let my nails trail lightly along his skin, not to hurt him, just enough to remind him that I’m real, that this moment is real.
His eyes meet mine, dark and unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before.
And in that look, I understand this isn’t just desire.
It’s need.
It’s trust.
It’s him choosing to be vulnerable with me.
So I hold him there, grounding him the way he grounds me, until the world outside our room disappears and all that’s left is the quiet, aching closeness of us.
Morning finds me still.
Not because I’m tired
but because she’s here.
Ruhi is tucked into the hollow of my chest, warm and real, her breath brushing my skin in slow, sleepy rhythms.
One arm is thrown over me, possessive even in sleep, like she’s claimed this place as hers. Her hair is a dark spill over my shoulder, tickling my jaw, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and the city outside her window.
For a man who sleeps with weapons within reach,
this kind of peace feels dangerous.
I don’t move.
Not even when my arm starts to go numb.
Not even when the morning light creeps in through the curtains, painting her face gold.
Because if I move, I might wake her.
And if she wakes, this moment will become real life again—noise, plans, obligations, eyes watching us.
Right now, it’s just us.
I trace slow circles on her back, barely touching, just enough to remind myself she isn’t a dream. She stirs, nose brushing my collarbone, and mumbles something I can’t hear. Then she settles again, closer, like gravity itself is pulling her into me.
I’ve held people before.
I’ve shared beds before.
But this—
this feels like being chosen without words.
My gaze drifts over her face. The soft crease between her brows. The lashes resting against her cheeks.
The tiny scar near her lip she thinks I haven’t noticed. Every detail is familiar now, memorized the way you memorize something precious because you’re afraid the world might take it away.
A dangerous thought curls in my chest.
I don’t want to let go of this life.
I don’t want mornings that don’t begin with her breath against my skin.
I don’t want nights where her laughter isn’t the last sound I hear.
My thumb brushes her cheek. She sighs, turning her face into my palm, trusting even in sleep. The simple weight of that trust hits harder than any bullet ever has.
“Ruhi,” I whisper, just to feel her name on my tongue.
She doesn’t wake.
But her grip tightens.
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead to her hair, breathing her in like I can anchor myself here. For years, my life has been movement forward, ruthless, never looking back. Standing still was never an option.
Until her.
If the world knocks, it can wait.
Right now, the only thing that matters is this quiet morning, this woman in my arms, and the promise I make to myself in the silence,
As long as she fits against my heart like this,
I will build a world where she never has to leave.
After a moment I hear her the small, reluctant groan, barely more than a whisper. My eyes open, taking her in before she notices me.
She’s stretching, turning over slightly, and that tiny wince of discomfort draws a smirk from me.
“Back pain, piccola?” I murmur, leaning closer, letting my lips brush the shell of her ear. Her hair spills across my arm like silk, warm and tangled.
She stiffens instantly, a little gasp escaping her lips. I can feel her pulse picking up, the warmth of her breath against my neck.
“Maybe you need… a better reason to stay in bed,” I whisper, voice low, teasing, dangerous.
Her cheeks flush immediately, heat rushing like wildfire. She shifts, trying to hide it, but I feel it in every tremble, every tiny movement.
I press a little closer, careful, deliberate, my lips brushing her earlobe. “I could… make it better,” I murmur again, letting the words linger, watching her squirm under my weight of attention.
Her hands twitch to push me away, but her body doesn’t follow; it’s rooted against mine, betraying her own reactions.
The small, unguarded noises she makes tiny gasps, soft groans make my chest tighten. I pull back just enough to look at her face, flushed and betrayed by her own senses, and the smirk grows.
“Ruhi…” I whisper, letting my fingers trace her spine gently. “You know you like it when I tease you like this.”
She glares at me, though her lips are already tinged pink from embarrassment. “Lorenzo…” she warns, breathless.
I chuckle softly, low, knowing full well I’ve won this morning’s war. “Oh, I know, piccola. And I’m not stopping.”
Her heartbeat against me is fast, erratic, and it’s all I can do not to laugh and pull her back into me again, letting her warmth be my morning, my world, my calm after every storm.
Even her back pain suddenly seems like the perfect excuse to keep her close, and God… I never want to let go.
She’s still flushed, eyes stubbornly refusing to meet mine, when I ease back just enough to give her space to breathe.
The room is quiet, sunlight slipping in through the curtains, dust motes floating like they’re part of some private, fragile universe we’ve built.
I brush a loose strand of hair away from her face, slower now, softer than the teasing seconds ago. My thumb lingers at her jaw, tipping her face up until she finally looks at me.
“Ruhi,” I murmur, the edge in my voice melting into something steadier, realer. “Tell me something.”
Her brows knit slightly, cautious. “What?”
I lean my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling. “Are you ready for it?”
“For what?” she asks, though her eyes already know the answer.
I smile, small and dangerous and honest all at once. “For my world. For the chaos. For the loud, dramatic, very annoying Italian mafia wedding my family will throw for us.”
Her eyes widen, the blush deepening, and then she laughs—soft, breathy, the kind of laugh that loosens something tight in my chest.
“You’re warning me now?” she murmurs.
“I’m offering you an escape route,” I say lightly, though my hand tightens at her waist without me meaning to. “Once you say yes to that wedding, there’s no going back. There will be too much food, too many opinions, and a lot of dramatic relatives who will decide they love you more than me.”
She studies my face, something warm and sure settling into her gaze. Then she nods, slow and steady.
“If it’s your world,” she says quietly, “then I’m already in it.”
My breath stutters before I can stop it. I pull her closer, pressing my forehead to hers again, smiling into the small space between us.
“Good,” I whisper. “Because I plan to show you every part of it. Starting with the madness.”