92 | He's my madness
The ballroom hums with life, a glittering whirl of my Shakespearean dream, candles casting shadows, violins weeping love and loss.
But the moment Luciano slips away, his kiss lingering on my lips, a promise to return, I'm restless, my heart pounding with fear.
His eyes were too sharp, his touch too urgent, like he's chasing a ghost I'm not allowed to see.
I try to stay, to bask in the praise for the ball, but my legs won't still, my mind spiraling.
I need him. I need to know what's pulling him from me because he's my anchor and without him, the panic claws, whispering I'm losing him.
I stand, my crimson gown rustling, and head for the stairs, the music fading behind me.
Two guards block the way, their faces stern under the dim lighting.
"Mrs. Costa," one says, his voice firm but cautious, "Luciano told us to keep you safe. You should stay in the ballroom."
My pulse spikes because safe feels like a cage when he's out there, hiding something.
"Why are you stopping me from seeing my husband?" I snap, my hands trembling.
The second guard shifts, uneasy, glancing at his partner.
"It's for your protection," he says, softer, like he's trying to calm a storm he doesn't understand.
I step closer, my eyes narrowing, and play a card I hate but need.
"Move," I say, "before I cry and make Luciano think you hurt me. You know what he'd do."
It's a dick move, manipulative but I'm desperate.
They exchange a look, then step aside and I rush past, my heels clicking on the stairs, my gown trailing like blood.
The second floor is a labyrinth of closed doors, off-limits to guests, and I search, my breath shallow. Guest rooms. The therapy room with its gray calm. Bathrooms echoing silence.
But he's not here, and the panic grows.
Suddenly I hear voices coming from our bedroom, and I walk towards the room, slipping quietly inside.
There's nobody inside, but the balcony doors are open, curtains fluttering.
I slip inside the balcony and freeze, my world fracturing.
Luciano is on the balcony... But he is not alone, he is with Ciara, my older sister.
Who is alive...
Ciara's blonde hair is loose, her body draped in a white wedding dress, glowing like a bride from a nightmare.
My knees buckle, shock stealing my breath, and I duck behind the curtain, my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp.
She's supposed to be dead. She's not supposed to be here.
My fear screams he'll choose her, that he will toss me aside. Because she's always been the brighter star. The one who took everything.
I'm hidden, my eyes locked on them, unable to move, unable to scream, as Ciara steps toward him, her voice thick with delusion, catching the moonlight.
"I love you so much," she says, her dress shimmering, a mockery of purity. "I'm so glad you came back to me. Now let's get married, start over, like it was meant to be."
Luciano's still, his face unreadable, and my heart twists, terror choking me. What if he listens? What if her lies pull him away?
But his voice cuts through, encouraging her madness.
"Go on," he says, stepping closer, slow, deliberate.
Ciara's voice softens, forgiving.
"You were with my younger sister," she says, like she's granting mercy. "I can forgive you for that because I faked my death, so I understand. You needed to marry Aurelia or else you'd lose your position. But I'm here now."
"Okay," he says, his voice smooth, his shoes silent.
I'm shaking, my nails digging into my palms, because it's a game. But I don't know the rules. Don't know if he's playing her or me.
She rambles, her eyes distant, lost. "I met my father, my real one, and he helped me.
I lived with him in Italy after I faked my death, then came back to New York.
It was so hard, Luciano, being thrown aside.
My mom loved me, but Mr. Nash hated me, and my brother didn't care. But you care about me, right?"
He's in front of her now, the balcony railing at her back, and I'm frozen, my heart screaming. Don't believe her. Don't leave me.
Luciano's voice turns cold, stripped bare, each word a blade.
"Ciara," he says, "I don't care why you faked your death. I don't care if you were running from enemies or seeking attention. I don't care if you love me or hate me. I don't care if you're the victim or the villain. You could be the most innocent person in the world, and it wouldn't matter to me."
Her eyes light up, delusional, desperate, and she breathes, "You love me?"
My chest tightens, tears burning. I'm waiting. Dreading.
But he shakes his head, his lips curving, not a smile but something lethal.
"I never loved you," he murmurs, his voice raw, "because my heart was never mine to give. It's always belonged to Aurelia Costa, and I'd carve it out before offering it to anyone else."
I stifle a sob, relief crashing with shock.
His words cut deeper. "And whether you're innocent or not, whether you hurt a million people or no one, I don't care because you need to be dead, or Aurelia will never love me.
I could have the world at my feet, but I'd still crawl to her, because it's her love I crave, like a curse I begged for. "
Ciara's face crumples, despair breaking her. And before she can cry, he moves, the knife flashing as he drives it into her chest, piercing her heart.
I choke on a scream, my hand clamped over my mouth, tears streaming. It's brutal. Final. I'm horrified, frozen, watching her gasp, blood blooming on her white dress, a twisted bride falling.
"I'd do anything for my wife," he says, his voice low, as she collapses, blood pooling, soaking the balcony floor, her eyes dimming. "But I'd never do anything for you."
He twists the knife, pulls it free, and she falls, lifeless.
I'm shaking, my mind fracturing. Ciara is alive, or she was alive and he killed herfor me, because of me.
He wipes the blade on his sleeve, the crimson suit hiding the stain, and steps back, steady, calm, like he feels nothing.
He whispers into the night, his voice raw, "Aurelia Costa, you have no idea the twisted things I'd do, the lives I'd take, just to make you mine and keep you forever."
My breath is a jagged thing, caught in my throat as I crouch behind the heavy curtain, the balcony a frozen scene of death.
Ciara's body crumpled, her white wedding dress a blood-soaked shroud, her blonde hair splayed like a broken halo.
Luciano stands over her, his crimson suit a shadow that hides the blood on his sleeve, the knife now gone, his face a mask of cold resolve, like he's carved from the night itself.
I'm trembling, my heart a storm of shock and relief, because Ciara is gone, really gone, and he did it, for me, because of me.
He steps away, his shoes soft on the balcony floor, moving toward the bedroom, toward the ball below where my Shakespearean dream waits, and I think I'm safe, unseen, my secret horror locked behind my lips.
But he stops, his head tilting, like he feels me, like he always does, and my stomach drops, because I know that he knows.
"Principessa?" he calls, his voice low.
It's not a question, it's a claim, because Luciano Costa is my shadow, my soul, and he senses me, no matter where I am.
My legs shake as I stand, the curtain falling away, and I step into the bedroom, my crimson gown catching the moonlight, my mask long discarded, my face raw, tear-streaked but steady.
His eyes snap to me, shock flashing, wide, then narrowing, a storm of love and danger.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice rough, stepping forward, his presence filling the room, a predator who's just spilled blood for me.
I swallow, my gaze flicking to the balcony, to Ciara's body before looking back at him.
"I knew you were hiding something," I say, my voice trembling but firm, carrying the weight of weeks, his late nights, the dirt on his suit, that blood note. "I followed you, Luciano, because I couldn't take it anymore, the secrets. But I didn't know... I didn't know it was this."
He closes the distance, his face unyielding, no remorse.
"I'm not sorry for keeping it from you," he says, his voice low, a vow etched in blood. "My plan was always to kill her, Aurelia. Ciara was a poison, a threat to you, to us. I'd do it again, every fucking time, to keep you safe."
"Don't you feel sad?" I ask, searching his eyes for a crack, a flicker of regret. "Not even a little bit? She was... she was your fiancé once..."
He laughs, a dark, guttural sound that sends heat racing down my spine, not fear but desire, raw and reckless, because he's mine, this monster, this lover.
"Sad?" he says, stepping closer, his eyes blazing, consuming. "The only woman I've ever cared about is you, Principessa. Ciara was nothing, less than nothing, because she wasn't you. You're my heart, my soul, and I'd slaughter a thousand like her to keep you mine."
He's close now, his heat searing me, his scent flooding my senses, and my breath catches, my body waking, craving him despite the horror, because he's my madness.
"I love you," he says, a confession that breaks me, and then his lips crash into mine, tasting of sin and salvation.
I moan, my hands fisting his suit, pulling him closer, because I'm lost, drowning in him, in the blood and love that bind us, and I need this, need him.
He pushes me back against the wall, the impact stealing my breath.
"Fuck, Aurelia," he groans, his voice thick, dripping with want, his hands already tearing at my dress, yanking the skirt up, the fabric bunching at my hips.
His fingers find my panties, ripping them off, the sting of lace against my skin making me whimper, my pussy already slick, throbbing for him.
"Look at this pussy," he growls, eyes black with hunger, dropping to his knees, hands prying my thighs apart, my left leg hooked over his shoulder. "So fucking wet, principessa, dripping for my mouth."
I moan, my head falling back, as his lips graze my inner thigh, teasing. His breath hot against my pussy, and then he's there, his tongue flicking my clit, slow, deliberate, sending shocks through me.
"Luciano," I gasp, my fingers pulling on his hair, because it's too much yet not enough.
He groans, the sound vibrating through my pussy, making it clench. His mouth locks on my clit, sucking hard, relentlessly, tongue swirling, lapping, then sucking again, which makes my legs feel weak.
I'm trembling, his hands digging into my ass, spreading me wide, devouring me like I'm his last meal.
His tongue diving lower, licking my slit then back to my clit, sucking slow, then fast, drawing me to the edge. My hips buck, desperate, a cry tearing from me as he flicks his tongue, before sucking my swollen clit again, the pressure perfect, filthy.
"Fuck, you taste like mine," he grunts, pulling back, but I only want more of him, my hips bucking.
He stands up, his lips glistening with me, and kisses me, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
His hands roam, tugging the neckline of my dress down, freeing my breasts, my nipples hard, aching.
"These tits," he rasps, his voice pure sin, and he takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking deep, his teeth grazing, sending bolts of pleasure between my legs.
I moan shamelessly as he switches, sucking the other nipple, biting softly.
"You're so fucking perfect," he murmurs, his lips trailing up my neck, biting, marking. His cock straining through his pants, pressing against my thigh.
He fumbles with his belt, shoving his pants and briefs down to his knees, his cock springing free, the tip glistening with precum, and I whimper, my pussy clenching, needing him.
"Feel this cock," he groans, guiding my hand to it and I stroke him, my fingers barely circling his girth, making him hiss. "It's yours, Principessa, made to fuck this pussy, to ruin you and love you."
He lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his hips, the wall biting my back as he rubs his cock against my pussy, slicking himself, teasing my clit with the head until I'm begging, "Please, Luciano, just... fuck me already..."
He thrusts in with no warning, his cock stretching my pussy, filling me so deep I scream, the burn fuckingperfect.
"Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he groans, his hips slamming into me, each thrust brutal, the wall shaking, my dress tearing under his grip. My pussy grips him, every slide of his cock hitting that spot that makes me see stars, begging for more.
"Touch yourself," he orders, his voice rough, and I obey, my fingers finding my clit, rubbing fast, sloppy, as he fucks me against the wall, his cock pounding, his balls slapping my ass.
"Suck my tits, please," I gasp, needy, and he groans, his mouth seizing my nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast, teeth biting softly.
My pussy tightens, my fingers circling my clit hard. I'm spiraling, screaming his name, my orgasm ripping through, his cock throbbing inside me.
Months of want, and now he's finally fucking me, taking me, our lust too strong to last long.
"Luciano," I groan, the orgasm crashing through me, my pussy pulsing, milking his cock, drenching him while my nails are on hisshoulders now, clawing his skin and drawing blood.
He groans, his thrusts erratic, chasing his own release, his lips on my neck, biting, whispering, "This pussy's mine, fucked raw, filled by me."
It doesn't take long before he comes hard, spilling hot inside me, his hips jerking as he pins me, breathless and spent.
We're panting, his forehead against mine, his hands still gripping, possessive, like I'm his world.
"I love you," he whispers again, and I nod, tears falling down my cheeks, because I love him too, blood and all, my Luciano, my madness.
Ciara's body lies outside, a truth I'll carry, but here, fucked against this wall, I'm his, Mrs. Costa, bound by a love that's dark, filthy, eternal, and I'll burn with him, forever.