96 | My body is his. My heart is his.
The car hums through the dark. The forest is a blur of shadows as we drive away from the warehouse, its rusted walls fading in my mind like a bad dream.
I feel lighter, like a weight's been cut from my soul, the air easier to breathe.
We were there for hours, watching Leonardo suffer in a hell Luciano crafted. Luciano did things to him, dark, unspeakable things. He forced him to choke down Ciara's flesh, sliced off his balls, broke him until he begged for death, his sobs a twisted lullaby.
I didn't flinch. I didn't cry. Not for him, not for her. Ciara's cruelty scarred me. And Leonardo's plans, the car accident he rigged, justified every scream.
Therapy's made me strong, and Luciano's love, his darkness, makes me whole.
I glance at him, my heart a wild thing. Luciano's driving, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on my thigh. Warm. Possessive.His dark gloves are gone, tossed in the back. His hands are clean but still carry the weight of what he did for me, always for me.
His profile is sharp, his jaw tight, his eyes focused. But there's a softness when he looks my way, a love so heavy it drags me under, and I don't want to come up for air.
I lean back as Luciano pulls into the mansion's drive. The Costa estate is quiet.
He opens the car door, and the moment my feet touch the ground, his hand finds the small of my back. He guides me forward, through the quiet house, up the staircase, every step a silent claim.
We don't speak. We don't need to. By the time we reach our bedroom on the second floor, the air between us is thick.
The door swings open, and I freeze. My breath catches because everything's changed. The balcony's new, sleek. The floor gleams. The walls are fresh, like the past was erased.
"Did someone renovate it?" I ask, turning to him. My voice is soft, curious, but already knowing his heart.
Luciano steps closer. His suit jacket is open. His eyes burn into mine, fierce.
"I don't want Ciara in our world, in our life," he says, his voice is low, a vow carved in blood and love. "I had it torn out, rebuilt, every inch clean, for you, Principessa."
His hand cups my face. His thumb brushes my lip. And I feel it. The weight of his devotion. The way he'd burn the world to keep me safe. To make this ours.
I step into him, and my hands rest on his chest. I feel his heartbeat, steady, mine.
"You did this for me," I whisper, my voice is thick. Love and awe mixing with the darkness we share.
"Always for you," he murmurs, and I melt. My body is his. My heart is his.
We're Mrs. and Mr. Costa. Forged in blood. Bound by love. Forever.