Chapter Forty-Six
Chiara
This evening, I end up in the kitchen, drawn there by habit. Emma looks up from where she’s sorting produce at the counter, her hands pausing when she notices me hovering in the doorway.
“I was thinking I could cook tonight,” I say, forcing my voice to sound light.
She studies me for a long moment, then nods, the corners of her mouth lifting softly. “If it makes you feel more at home,” she says, stepping aside. “Just don’t burn my kitchen down.”
I laugh and assure her that I’ll try my best not to.
Then I roll up my sleeves and chop vegetables, letting the rhythm steady me.
The simple, ordinary sounds like the knife hitting the board, the hiss of oil in the pan, are grounding me, steadying my mind.
I used to take all this for granted, back when my life was still my own.
Cooking had soothed me, anchoring me in the present, reminding me that I can create something warm and real with my own hands.
That I wasn’t that useless pawn my mother molded me into. I am more.
“You can be anything you want, love.” Lucas’ voice ghosts over my skin, making me shiver. He had suggested I pick up studies if I wanted. He had hired a Krav Maga instructor for me. “You have this strength in you. Let it out, cara mia.”
A couple weeks have gone by since the disastrous gala, and I am making steady progress during our sparring sessions. I even managed to overpower him a few times, and instead of being offended, he praised me, eyes gleaming with genuine pride and tenderness.
Lately, everything with Lucas feels…gentle. He is attentive, tender, lovi—
No! My thoughts come to a screeching halt. No, there is definitely not love on his side.
This marriage was born of necessity, of duty.
It’s a temporary solution to a problem. A shield against an outside threat to the famiglia.
One day, the reasons that bound us will disappear, and when they do, this, whatever this is, will come to an end.
The realization tightens painfully in my chest. Because I’ve now come to peace with the certainty that I’m still loving him.
No, that’s not quite accurate. I’m loving him deeper than before.
And loving him like this feels like standing on thin ice.
It’s beautiful, yet terrifying. Because it’s doomed to break beneath me someday.
I stir the sauce and breathe through the ache, pushing the feeling down.
I am almost done when Lucas steps into the kitchen, face strained.
But it softens immediately when he sees me.
He quietly steps behind me and wraps his arms around me, brushing his lips over my temple.
It reminds me of the time we lived in the small cottage and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest. But I won’t dwell, I’ll live every second for as long as it lasts, and when this is over, I’ll have beautiful memories to cling to.
I am strong, I will stand up after it ends. I just need to survive the fall.
“It smells delicious, I’m ravenous,” Lucas rasps hotly in my ear, plastering himself to my back.
I smile. “Pasta al pomodoro,” I reply. “It’s almost done.”
“Mmh.” Lucas nuzzles my neck now, causing goosebumps to explode all over my skin. “The food smells not too bad, either.”
I can’t hold in my laugh. It sounds so mundane it hurts. He sets the table while I finish cooking. Then we eat in companionable silence, Lucas with his eyes glued to my face while my skin is heating under his gaze.
* * * *
His arms are wrapped around me, and his breath brushes over my ear-shell.
“Now.” His low voice sends a zap down to my toes.
The gunshot skyrockets in the early morning air. Missed.
I wince as Lucas’ low chuckle travels through the electronic muffs and vibrates through my back where he is plastered against me.
“You’re a terrible shot, cara mia.” He nuzzles the crook of my neck and I shudder.
I engage the security and lower the gun like he taught me, then I turn as much as his hold around me allows and glare up at him. “That’s because you’re distracting me. Maybe if you gave me some space, I’d be better.”
He hums noncommittally but doesn’t reply.
I look back at the target. There’s not a single hole in the cardboard outline he’s set up in an outdoor shooting range he erected for me to train. He started to take me out to the field to show me how to use a gun for a month now, since he found out that I’ve never been authorized to touch one.
“You’ll never be defenseless,” he declared. “You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”
“But women in the famiglia don’t use guns, what will people say?”
“Fuck them and what they think. I’ll shoot them if they dare to criticize,” he arrogantly declared, making me snort out a laugh.
And I had tried my best to learn. But Lucas is right, I’m a terrible shot.
But that’s because he is glued to you the whole time, my pride grouses.
His presence is maddeningly distracting.
Every session, he stands plastered to my back, hands wrapped around me as he shows me how to handle and hold the gun.
And all I can register is his cologne, the heat of his body and the low rumble of his voice traveling down my spine straight to my belly.
I let out a frustrated huff, making him chuckle again.
“Enough for today,” he decrees. “Let’s go to the gym.
” He takes the gun from my hands, clears the chamber and puts it back into the hard case, shutting it with a soft click.
Then he removes his earmuffs, then mine, setting them on the range table before lacing his fingers through mine.
We walk back to the villa side by side. Things feel so… normal.
We’ve settled into a rhythm—shooting and sparring in the mornings when he isn’t going to work, then showering before sharing a light lunch.
After that, he takes me out, sometimes to the bookstore, sometimes to the farmers’ market, and sometimes all the way back to the cottage one hour out of town where we spend the night or lose an entire weekend together.
He’s bought up all the land surrounding the cottage and built a guarded wall around it, turning the place into a fortress despite my protests.
“I’m not taking any chances with your safety,“ he declared. But inside the grounds, he’s left everything untouched, the house, the gardens are the same as they were, save for the sunlit library he created for me and filled with all my favorite books.
And when we curl up together on the sofa or on the porch swing, each with a book, it feels so peaceful my heart aches.
Once we arrive at the gym, he releases my hand and steps on the mats, rolling his shoulders, already slipping into that loose, focused calm he gets when he’s about to fight.
“Today,” he says, circling me slowly, “I want you to stop meeting force with force or speed.”
I square my stance and frown in confusion. “Then what?”
“Distraction,” he replies smoothly. “Anything that makes your opponent lose focus, even for half a second, is an opening.”
I blink at him.
“You’re smaller,” he explains. “Sometimes, speed is not enough to get the upper hand over an opponent who is physically stronger than you. That’s when you’ll have to distract them.”
I nod in understanding. “Okay.” I breathe.
Distraction, got it. Then, before I can overthink it, I grab the hem of my top and pull it over my head, leaving me standing in front of him in my sports bra and yoga shorts.
His reaction is instantaneous. A low, helpless groan escapes him as he drags a hand down his face.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re killing me, cara mia. This was not what I had in mind.”
That half-second is all I need. I surge forward, using his lapse to hook his legs and push him backward. He hits the mat with a surprised grunt, and I’m on him before he can recover, pinning him there, my knees bracketing his torso.
“Sounds like good advice,” I say, smirking down with a triumphant smile.
He laughs quietly, the fight leaving his eyes to be replaced with a heat traveling over my skin like a touch.
His eyes are blazing with intensity, and I feel the heaving of his chest under me when he draws in a shuddering breath.
He slowly raises his hands and encircles my thighs, thumbs brushing my skin under the fabric of my shorts.
The air crackles with electricity, our gazes lock, and suddenly my throat goes dry.
My heart thunders against my ribs as I lean down and brush my lips over his.
Since he started training me, teaching me to shoot, sparring with me, something in me has shifted.
His self-confidence is a driving force, seeping steadily into me until I feel alive again.
Until his strength feels like my own and I become the version of me I never thought I’d become. Strong. Daring. Free.
He lifts his hand to grab my neck and pulls me down, deepening the kiss. Scorching heat is building low in my belly as I slide my tongue in his mouth, tangling it with his. I smile when he groans into my mouth. I lean back slightly.
“I think it worked.” I breathe against his lips, and he shivers, eyes wild. His pupils are so blown that there is barely any blue left around them. His hand is gripping my thigh almost painfully, and his breath comes out in short huffs.
“Fuck, I’m so fucked,” he rasps.
I drag my tongue over his parted lips, retreating playfully when he tries to kiss me back.
“Uh-uh, winner gets to do what they want,” I tease.
“Did we agree on that?” He groans low.
As a reply, I lean down to trail kisses along his jaw while I let my hands roam over him.
His chest is a thing of dreams and I can’t help myself dragging his T-shirt up and sliding my hands over his ripped abs toward his nipples.
I pinch one lightly, smiling when I hear his sharp intake of breath.
Then I trail my mouth lower, taking a nipple in my mouth and sucking lightly. His low hiss is one of pure agony.
I lift my head. “Is this enough distraction? Or should there be…more?”
He quivers again beneath me. “More,” he rasps, chest heaving, swallowing hard.
I disentangle myself from his hands and slide lower along his body. Then I grab his jogging pants and pull them down his legs.
“Looks like I need to step up the game,” I tease, my voice sounding breathless in my ears.
His breathing is erratic now, his eyes crazed as they are locked on me and his fingers grapple helplessly at the mat, searching for purchase he can’t find.
When I pull his boxer briefs down, he is already hard.
His member is jutting up and pulsing. I settle between his legs and take his cock in my hands, slowly dragging my palm up and down the length.
Precum is leaking from the tip, and I bend down to lick it off.
He jerks with a hoarse shout, all his muscles coiled tight.
I lick again, slower this time, chuckling from the pained groan he lets out.
Then I take him in my mouth. He feels so good on my tongue.
I swirl it around the tip a few times, then wrap my lips around his member to take him into my mouth, alternating between licking in long strokes and hollowing my cheeks to pull him in.
He is so big that he pushes at the back of my throat, but still, I want more.
I breathe, forcing my throat to relax and take him deeper.
“Fuck, cara mia, you’re killing me…. I…won’t last.” His words are choppy and the muscles of his neck are strained and taut like cords.
He slides his fingers into my hair and lifts his hips to meet me halfway.
I pick up speed, reveling in the sense of power it gives me over him, seeing him unravel, knowing I make him lose his control.
His breathing comes out in hard, uncontrolled rasps and deep groans, intertwined with incoherent praise words and encouragements. Pre-cum is flooding my mouth, salty and arousing.
“You are incredible…so perfect…your mouth is perfect…you drive me fucking insane.”
My pussy is throbbing with need, my panties are getting wetter by the second.
I bob my head up and down faster now, letting his hands and voice guide me.
I let my tongue glide over his cock in long strokes, trying to accommodate his size stretching my lips wide and the tip of him pushing at the back of my throat.
His groans become louder. I suck harder as his grip tightens in my hair and he throws his head back, starting to shake all over.
He spills down my throat with a loud roar.
I gulp down every last drop while he shudders on and on, hands tugging painfully at my hair.
Red-hot lust is engulfing me like a wildfire and I have to clench my thighs together to alleviate the throbbing of my pussy.
When I rise to sit on my heels, Lucas is breathing hard, and he is staring at me with a mix of awe, hunger and something dangerously close to adoration that makes my heart lurch in my chest. He sits up in a blink, grabs me with a low growl and pulls me flush against him.
Then he kisses me like a dying man holding on to his last breath, before pushing me down onto the mat.