Chapter 10
Sophie
Iwas back in the warehouse, Falco's knife tracing patterns across my skin. "He's not coming for you," he whispered. "You're nothing to him. Just a pawn."
The blade pressed deeper. Blood welled beneath its edge.
"No one's coming," he hissed.
I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat as I bolted upright in bed. My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted to escape. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, my nightgown to my skin.
For a moment, I couldn't place where I was. The silk sheets, the moonlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows—none of it registered through the fog of terror.
The bedroom door burst open. Vittorio appeared, gun in hand, eyes scanning for threats. When he saw me alone, trembling in bed, he lowered the weapon.
"Sophie," he said, his voice rough with sleep. He wore only sweatpants, his chest bare in the moonlight. "You're safe."
I couldn't catch my breath. My lungs refused to expand, like steel bands had tightened around my chest. The room tilted and swayed.
"I can't—" I gasped. "I can't breathe."
He moved to the bed, setting his gun on the nightstand. "You're having a panic attack," he said, sitting beside me. "Focus on me. Just me."
His hands cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. "Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
I tried to follow his rhythm, but terror still clawed at my throat.
"I was back there," I whispered. "He said you weren't coming."
Something flickered in Vittorio's eyes—something raw and unguarded. "I will always come for you."
"Why?" The question escaped before I could stop it. "I'm nothing to you. Just Antonio's leftovers. Just a problem."
His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"Is that what you think?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "I didn't believe you'd come. When I heard the gunfire, I thought—I thought it was Falco's men, finishing the job."
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I raised my eyes to his.
"I killed eleven men to get to you," he said. "I would have killed a hundred more."
The intensity in his voice made me shiver. This wasn't the cold, calculating Vittorio who'd kept me prisoner. This was something else entirely—something dangerous in a completely different way.
"I didn't think I mattered," I whispered.
His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. "You matter."
The simple words hung between us, heavy with meaning. I studied his face in the moonlight—the sharp angles softened by shadows, the ice-blue eyes that had once terrified me now warm with something I'd never expected to see.
When I was in that warehouse," I said slowly, "when I thought I might die, the only thing I regretted was never telling you…" I stopped, the words catching in my throat.
"What?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
I looked away, suddenly terrified. "I can't. It's too soon. Too complicated."
"Sophie." His hand found mine. "Tell me."
"Somewhere between hating you and fearing you… I stopped knowing where the line was. I don’t even know what this is anymore."
The confession hung in the air like a live wire. Vittorio went perfectly still, his eyes searching mine as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard.
"Sophie," he said, my name a broken sound on his lips.
"I know it's complicated. I know it doesn't make sense. But when I heard those gunshots, when I thought I might never see you again…" I reached up to trace the hard line of his jaw. "I realized that you're not my captor anymore. You're my choice."
Something cracked in his expression—a wall finally crumbling.
"I was terrified," he admitted, his voice rough.
"When I found that empty room, when I realized they'd taken you… I felt the same helplessness I felt years ago when I lost someone I cared about. Her name was Livia, and I’m almost certain that my brother had her killed.
But this was worse. Because losing you would destroy everything I've become.
" "You won't lose me," I whispered. "Not unless you push me away again. "
"Never," he said fiercely. "Never again."
My breathing slowed, matching his. The panic receded, replaced by something warmer, more urgent.
"Vittorio," I breathed.
I placed my hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. His skin was warm, his muscles taut beneath my touch. “I need you,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
For a moment, he froze, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a reason to refuse.
But then, his control fractured. His hand slid down my back, pulling me against him, his body hard and unyielding.
I felt the heat of him, the strength, the raw power that seemed to radiate from every inch of his being.
“Sophie,” he growled, his voice thick with restraint. “Are you sure you're ready for this?"
I was. I needed this—needed him. My hand slid lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, my touch deliberate, needy. “I’m ready,” I whispered, my lips brushing against his.
He hesitated again, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. But then, with a growl, he surrendered. His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and demanding. His kiss was fierce, his tongue tangling with mine, tasting of sleep and something darker, wilder.
His hands moved with purpose, sliding down my body, mapping every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. I felt his fingers trace the bruises on my arms, the tenderness in his touch at odds with the raw hunger in his eyes.
“You’re hurt,” he muttered against my lips, his voice a rough whisper.
“I’m fine,” I lied, my hands pulling him closer, my body aching for him.
He didn’t argue; his actions spoke louder than words. His hands slid beneath my nightgown, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I gasped as his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of my waist, his touch both gentle and demanding.
I tugged at his sweats, desperate to feel the heat of his skin against mine. He obliged, his movements slow, deliberate, as if savoring every moment. His body was a work of art, lean and muscular, every inch of him a testament to his power and control.
I pulled him down onto the bed, our bodies pressing together, skin on skin. His weight was a comfort, a reassurance that I was safe, that I was his. His hands roamed my body, his touch both reverent and possessive, as if he were claiming me as his own.
“Vittorio,” I moaned, my voice thick with need.
He growled in response, his hands sliding lower, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips. I felt his hardness against me, a promise of what was to come.
But then, he stopped, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He pulled back slightly to look into my eyes. "Sophie," he said, his voice tender despite the desire burning in his gaze. "I need you to know—this isn't just physical for me. What we have... it's more than that."
My heart swelled at his words. "For me, too," I whispered. "This is real, Vittorio. What I feel for you—it's real."
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, but now the question carried deeper meaning—not just about the physical act, but about choosing him, choosing this life, choosing love. I nodded, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
He kissed me again, his mouth devouring mine, his hands moving with a purpose I couldn’t deny. I felt his fingers trace the edge of my panties, his touch sending a jolt of anticipation through me.
“You’re mine,” he whispered against my skin, his voice a possessive growl.
“Yes,” I breathed, my body arching into his touch.
He slid my panties down my legs, his hands moving with a confidence that left me breathless. I felt his fingers trace the wetness between my thighs, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through me.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction.
I bit my lip, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment and desire. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
He kissed me again, his mouth claiming mine as his fingers slipped inside me, his touch both gentle and insistent. I moaned into his mouth, my body responding to his touch with a hunger that surprised even me.
But then, he stopped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with restraint.
I reached for him, my hands tracing the length of his hardness. “You won’t,” I promised, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
He hesitated, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a reason to refuse. But then, with a sound of surrender, he gave in completely. His mouth crashed down on mine, his body moving with a purpose I couldn’t deny.
I felt him enter me, slow and steady, his hardness filling me completely. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment.
“Vittorio,” I whispered, my voice a plea.
He kissed me again, his mouth devouring mine as he quickened his pace, his body moving with a rhythm that left me breathless. I felt the tension building inside me, a coil tightening with each thrust, each touch, each whispered word.
“Come for me,” he murmured, his voice a command.
I shook my head, my body on the edge, teetering between pleasure and release. “I want you to—”
He silenced me with a kiss, his mouth claiming mine as he thrust deeper, harder, his body moving with a ferocity that left me reeling.
And then, I shattered. My body convulsed around him, waves of pleasure crashing over me as I cried out his name. He followed soon after, his body stiffening as he buried himself deep within me, his release a primal growl against my skin.
For a moment, we lay tangled together, our breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against my ear.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice soft but certain.
I smiled, my body still trembling from the aftermath of our passion. “And you’re mine.”
But as I looked into his eyes, I saw the shadows lurking beneath the surface—the weight of his world, the dangers that surrounded us.
I thought of the secret growing inside me—our child—and felt a fierce protectiveness rise in my chest. Whatever came next, whatever dangers we faced, we would face them together. The three of us.
The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: I was no longer just Antonio’s leftovers. I was Vittorio’s, and he was mine. And in this world of shadows and secrets, that was enough—for now.