93 | Unapologetic
The shower's warmth envelops us, steam curling like a lover's whisper.
The Costa Ball a fading echo beyond the glass door, its glittering masks and violins irrelevant now.
My red dress lies in a pile on the floor along with his suit that's stained with blood.
Luciano stands before me naked, his body a map of muscle and scars, water streaming over his skin as he lathers soap, washing away the night's sins.
Ciara lies dead on the balcony, Nico and his men erasing her from our world, and my mind spins, wondering what he'll do with her body? Where her venom will rest?
But the thought's fleeting, drowned by him, by the way his eyes, dark and possessive, lock on me, promising a love so deep it's a fucking abyss.
"Luciano," I murmur, stepping closer, my hands brushing his chest, fingers tracing the soap's path.
He hums slowly, setting the soap aside to pull me under the spray, water cascading over us, hot, cleansing.
His hands move, washing me, his fingers gliding through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp. The scent of lavender mixing with his heat, his touch.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he whispers, his voice rough, as his hands slide down, soaping my shoulders, my arms, lingering on my tits, his thumbs circling my nipples, making them harden, making my pussy throb despite the questions clawing my mind.
"What... what'll you do with her body?" I ask, the water drowning my hesitation.
He pauses, his hands still on my tits, his eyes meeting mine, unapologetic.
"I'll give her to her father," he says, like it's the simplest thing, and my breath catches, confusion spiking.
"To Mr. Nash?" I ask, my hands gripping his wrists, needing clarity.
He shakes his head, his lips brushing my neck, kissing, sucking, water streaming over his face as he murmurs, "Her biological dad. Leonardo. The bastard who's been after us, who wanted to hurt you."
His hands move again, washing lower, soaping my stomach, my hips, his fingers grazing my pussy, teasing, making me gasp, my body betraying my mind's need for answers.
"How long did you know?" I ask, my voice trembling, half from his touch, half from the betrayal of his silence. "About her. About Leonardo?"
His eyes darken, but there's no guilt, only that relentless love.
He leans closer, his lips trailing kisses along my jaw, his hands still washing, now between my thighs, fingers slipping over my pussy, gentle but possessive. "A month... I've been tracking them. Planning. Waiting."
I swallow, hurt flaring, and I push against his chest, water splashing.
"Don't you feel bad? Keeping it from me?" My voice cracks, my thoughts a mess but his touch, his eyes, silence them.
He kisses my neck again, deeper, his tongue flicking, his hands cupping my tits, squeezing, his thumbs teasing my nipples, making me moan despite the ache in my heart.
"I don't feel bad," he says, his voice raw, honest. "Because Ciara was already a ghost, someone who was gonna die. I didn't want to worry you."
"You would've spent a month spiraling, thinking I didn't love you, thinking I was slipping away, planning to leave you.
You would've questioned every look, every touch, every second we shared.
And I couldn't let you drown in that, not when you were finally healing.
So I kept my mouth shut. I carried it alone.
I hunted her in silence. And when the time came, I didn't hesitate.
I killed Ciara, not just for you, but to protect the only peace you'd finally found in your life," He admits, his hand trails lower, fingers circling my clit slowly, and I'm melting, my pussy pulsing under his touch.
His touch is everywhere, washing, claiming, his fingers sliding over my pussy, dipping inside, then back to my clit, making me shudder, my hands gripping his shoulders.
"What will you do to her dad?" I ask, my voice a moan, my body arching into his touch, needing answers but needing him more.
He groans, his hand tightening on my hip, his fingers still working my pussy, his lips at my ear, hot, dangerous.
"Whatever you want, principessa... Or I'll make his death painful, for trying to touch you.
For that car accident he rigged to take you from me.
" His thumb presses my clit, and I cry out, my pussy clenching, the threat of everything fading under the heat of his promise.
I want to say more, to demand details, but he spins me, pressing me to the wall, my tits against the tiles, his hands roaming, soaping my back, my ass, his fingers slipping between my cheeks, teasing, filthy.
"You're mine," he murmurs, his cock hard, brushing my thigh.
I moan, my pussy aching, my heart surrendering to this love. Dark. Consuming. Eternal.