Chapter 20 #2
But I felt him hard against my hip, and I wasn't having it. I pushed at his chest until he rolled onto his back, then I straddled him carefully, mindful of my changing body.
"My turn," I said firmly.
I kissed down his chest, his abdomen, took my time exploring the scars I'd traced a hundred times before. When I reached his waistband, I looked up and found him watching me with such love it stole my breath.
I freed him carefully, wrapped my hand around his length, and watched his eyes flutter closed.
"Valentina—"
"Shh. Let me worship you too."
I took him in my mouth slowly, learning what made him gasp, what made his hips jerk involuntarily. I didn't rush, didn't try to push myself. Just loved him the way he'd loved me—thoroughly, devotedly, with my whole heart.
His hand found my hair, not directing, just touching. "Amore, I'm close—"
I doubled my efforts, wanting to give him this release, this pleasure, this proof that I loved him just as fiercely.
He groaned my name as he came, and I took everything he gave me.
When I crawled back up his body, he pulled me close and kissed me deeply, tasting himself on my lips.
"I love you," he said against my mouth. "So much it scares me sometimes."
"I love you too." I settled against him, our legs tangling together. "So much."
We lay like that for a while, just breathing together, hearts syncing.
Then his hand slid down my body, found me still wet and ready.
"Again?" I breathed.
"I need to be inside you." His eyes were dark, intense. "Need to feel connected to you completely."
He rolled me onto my back carefully, settled between my thighs, and positioned himself at my entrance.
Our eyes locked as he pushed inside—slow, filling me completely.
"Okay?" he asked, always checking, always careful.
"Perfect." I wrapped my arms around him. "You're perfect."
He moved with the same unhurried devotion he'd shown all night. Long, deep strokes that made me feel worshipped rather than claimed. His hand found mine, fingers interlacing, pinning them gently beside my head.
"Look at me," he said softly. "Stay with me."
I held his gaze as pleasure built again—different this time, deeper, tied to the emotional connection between us rather than just physical sensation.
"I'm here," I whispered. "Always here."
"Always," he echoed, rhythm never faltering.
When the orgasm came, it was gentler than before but somehow more profound—rolling through me in waves that seemed to synchronize with his own release, both of us crying out quietly, breathing each other's names.
We stayed joined for a long moment after, neither of us wanting to break the connection.
Finally, he carefully withdrew and pulled me against his chest, his hand settling protectively over my stomach where our babies grew.
Protective. Reverent. Gentle in a way that made my throat tight.
"When you said you loved me," I whispered, voice still raw from everything, "after the crash, with Caldwell unconscious and blood everywhere—I thought I might be hallucinating. That the crash had scrambled my brain and I'd imagined the whole thing."
His arm tightened around me. "You didn't imagine it."
He shifted, turned me to face him in the darkness. His hand cupped my jaw, thumb stroking my cheekbone.
"I meant every word," he said quietly, fiercely. "I love you, Valentina. Not because of adrenaline or crisis. I love you because when I look at you, I see the future I never let myself imagine."
Tears slipped down my cheeks. "I love you too. So much it terrifies me."
"Promise me something," I said.
"Anything."
"Promise me we'll face everything together. No more secrets. No more protecting me by keeping me in the dark. We're partners. Equals."
His forehead pressed against mine. "I promise. No more secrets. We're in this together—all four of us."
His hand remained on my stomach, thumb tracing slow circles over where our twins were growing—too small to feel yet, but undeniably there. Real. Ours.
"Two reasons to survive whatever's coming," I said, covering his hand with mine.
"Three reasons," he corrected, bringing my hand to his lips. "You. Them. This future. I'm fighting for all of it."
When we broke apart from another kiss, his voice was rough with emotion. "When this is over—when Marco's in prison and we're safe—I'm going to marry you. Properly."
"Is that a proposal?"
"It's a promise." His eyes held mine. "You're already mine in every way that counts. But someday, when we're free, I want the world to know it too."
"Then yes," I whispered. "Whenever you ask, the answer is yes."
He settled me back against his chest and pulled the blanket over us both.
I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his hand protective over our growing children, and let myself believe we'd survive this.
That love was stronger than blood debts and vengeance.
That we'd make it to the other side.
Together.
Morning shattered that fragile peace like a bullet through glass.
Alessio's phone rang at 6:47 a.m.—Agent Morris, voice tight with controlled urgency, even through the speaker.
I watched his expression change as he listened. Watched the color drain from his face. Watched his jaw clench with that particular tension that meant catastrophe.
"Understood. We'll be ready." He hung up, sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
"Alessio?" My voice came out small, already knowing this was bad. "What happened?"
He looked at me, and I saw it in his eyes before he said the words.
"Marco escaped federal custody during transport this morning. Killed three guards in the process. Disappeared completely—no trace, no leads, nothing."
The room tilted. I gripped the sheets. "How? He was in maximum security—"
"He had help. Inside and outside." Alessio's voice was flat, emotionless—the tone he used when he was trying not to terrify me. "They found a note left behind in the transport vehicle."
"What did it say?"
He met my eyes, and I saw the fear he was trying to hide.
"'Coming for what's mine.'"
The words hung in the air, heavy with threat and promise.
My father was free. Hunting us. And this time, he had nothing left to lose.
"We need to move," Alessio said, already standing. already standing and pulling clothes from the closet with military efficiency. "FBI is arranging transport to a more secure location. We leave in thirty minutes."
But we both knew the truth.
Marco had spent forty years building networks and buying loyalty. He had resources, connections, and people who owed him favors or feared him enough to help.
FBI protection wasn't enough. Safe houses weren't enough.
Because my father wouldn't stop. Not until we were dead. Not until he'd eliminated the threat we represented.
Not until he'd won.
I stood slowly, one hand protectively over my stomach. Eleven weeks pregnant, nauseous and exhausted and terrified, but refusing to break.
"Then we disappear," I said quietly. "For real this time. New identities, new lives, somewhere he'll never find us."
"Valentina—"
"We have to protect them." My hand pressed harder against my stomach, against the tiny lives growing there who had no idea the danger surrounding them. "Our babies. They matter more than testimony or justice. We get them somewhere safe. That's all that matters now."
Alessio crossed the room and cupped my face in his hands. "We'll figure it out. Together. I promise."
The FBI moved us within two hours.
No time to pack properly. No time to say goodbye to Sofia—just a hurried phone call explaining we were being relocated for our safety, that we'd contact her when it was secure.
Agent Morris coordinated the transport personally—three armored vehicles, armed escort, the whole tactical operation. We drove for hours, heading north and east, leaving Arizona behind.
Montana. That's where they were taking us. Remote location. Isolated. Harder for Marco to reach.
I dozed fitfully during the drive, Alessio's arm around me, his other hand never leaving my stomach. Protective even in sleep.
We arrived at the new safe house after dark—a log cabin on twenty acres, mountains visible as dark shapes against the starlit sky. Beautiful. Isolated. Lonely.
Our third location in as many months.
"This is temporary," Agent Morris said as armed guards swept the property. "Just until we neutralize the threat. A few weeks, maybe a month."
A few weeks. A month. However long it took for them to find Marco or for Marco to find us.
I was so tired of running.
That night, in the unfamiliar bedroom of our newest temporary home, I lay awake staring at the ceiling while Alessio slept fitfully beside me.
His phone was on the nightstand—close, always close, in case the FBI called with news. Good or bad. Marco captured or Marco closing in.
I reached over, interlaced my fingers with his sleeping hand, and felt our pulses sync.
Two hearts beating. Plus two more growing inside me.
Four reasons to survive whatever was coming.
Four reasons Marco would never touch, never hurt, never destroy.
I pressed my free hand to my stomach, felt the small bump there.
I'll protect you, I thought fiercely. Both of you. Whatever it takes. Your father and I will keep you safe.
Alessio stirred, his hand tightening on mine even in sleep.
Together. We'd face this together.
Like we'd faced everything else.
I closed my eyes and tried to believe that would be enough.