CHAPTER 17
Roxanne
The sound of the motorcycle grew louder. Closer.My jaw tightened. Heat rushed through me—anger, relief, and something uglier tangled in between.
The engine cut and silence followed.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The door opened. Santino stepped in like nothing had happened. Like the last twenty-four hours hadn’t existed.
He looked wrecked. Knuckles split. Blood dried into the collar of his shirt. Shoulders heavy, like the night had dragged him through hell and spat him back out.
His eyes found me instantly. Always did.
A beat passed. Then—
“You were supposed to stay put.”
His tone was too calm. That was worse. He looked like he was hanging onto his patience by a thread.
Tick. Tick. Boom.
My hand moved before I could think. My palm stung as the slap cracked across his face—sharp, loud, echoing through the room. He barely shifted, only his head snapping to the side with the impact, surprise flickering in his eyes.
He didn’t move otherwise. Just looked at me.
“Fuck you,” I snapped. “I stayed. Longer than I should have. Waiting like an idiot.”
I spat, each word edged with venom.
“It took longer than expected.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
He might’ve tried to sound calm, but I caught the way his eyes darkened, holding back a storm.
I shoved hard at his chest.
“You disappeared!” My voice rose. “You didn’t answer your phone!”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I was busy handling things.”
The normalcy of his tone snapped the last string of my patience. I shoved him again. Harder.
“That’s what you’re good at. Leaving.
You don’t get to do that to me again,” I rasped, shaking.
“You don’t get to put me through that again—”
“Volpi.”
I swung again. He caught my wrist firmly mid-air before I could shove him again.
“Don’t touch me.” I snapped.
I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go. His thumb circled the inside of my wrist. Once. Twice.
Like he was trying to steady me. Or maybe himself. It sent tingles through my entire body.
“You’re overreacting.”
“Ha,” my laugh came out sharp and brittle. “Overreacting?”
I tried to pull free. “You vanish. Don’t answer. Then walk in like I’m the fucking problem?”
I was seething now.
“Do you know what it feels like? Waiting? Not knowing if you’re dead.” I took in a sharp breath. “Thinking you’d just—left again?”
His expression changed. The anger disappeared so quickly I almost thought I’d imagined it. A stillness settled in its place.Regret. Raw enough that I wished I hadn’t seen it.
His grip tightened. “I told you to stay where it was safe.”
“I’m not your fucking dog.” I spat.
I shoved him again with my free hand. This time he didn’t move. He just stared down at me.
“Roxanne—”
“What are you going to do?” I challenged. “Bind me? Lock me up? Hide me?”
His expression darkened with a twitch in his left eye. His jaw ticked. A muscle flexed in his cheek.
Oh. Shit.
For a second, I thought he might actually consider it. The silence between us was heavier than any threat.
“Careful,” he warned.
I shoved him again. “Or what?”
“Or that mouth is going to get you into trouble.”
My face was now closer to his, almost nose to nose, instead of backing off.
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
“No.” His voice dropped lower. “It’s supposed to warn you.”
“About what?”
His gaze held mine. “About me.”
The answer came like a whisper; I almost missed it.
Before I could react, he caught my other wrist and pinned it behind my back, pulling me flush to him.
This position made my back arch and pushed my breast out, pressing them against the hard contours of his chest. Every nerve in my body woke at once, awareness crackling through me. A breath punched out of me.
“You look beautiful, all angry and flushed.”
The way he looked at me was different. Not like a friend. Not like someone he was protecting. Not even like an enemy.
Like we’d known each other on a deeper level—a soulful level, and he’d spent years noticing things he was never supposed to notice. And now he had finally stopped pretending otherwise.
He lowered his head to my ear.
“You hitting me,” he said, voice low, rough, dark enough to make my stomach drop, “is only making me harder.”
Awareness unfurled humiliatingly low in my stomach.
“Disgusting,” I snapped.
“Yeah?” he said.
He brushed his nose on the shell of my ear before licking the lobe.
“Then stop grinding against me.”
My body went still. Because I realised I was. My hips had been moving against him without permission. And immediately felt him. Hard.
God.
One second I was fuming with anger, wanting to hit him again. The next—I couldn’t breathe.
I hated that. I hated him for it.
My eyes dropped instinctively to where our bodies pressed together. I could feel the embarrassment climbing up my throat so fast I felt it in my cheeks.
“You’re unbelievable,” my voice barely a whisper.
He pushed back slightly and tilted his head to look at me.
“Am I?”
I tried to wriggle free, but it only made me push into him further. His grip loosened slightly. Just enough for me to twist free and take a step back.
“You think this is funny?” I said.
“No.” His voice was low, steady. He stepped closer, eyes burning.
“I think you’re angry.”
I laughed bitterly. “Kind of you to notice.”
“But I don’t think that’s all it is.”
My brows pinched.
“You aren’t just upset that I disappeared on you.”
His thumb brushed my wrist again.
“I think you’re terrified to admit how your body reacts to me and how much you wanted what almost happened under that bridge.”
A shiver rolled through me. I swallowed hard, my throat closing on itself. My nipples tightened painfully, making them peak under the thin tee. His gaze dropped to them briefly before returning to mine slowly.
“You wish.”
The words came out weaker than I intended.
My mind immediately supplied me images of us under that bridge. The heat. The proximity. The way every instinct had gone strangely quiet beneath that bridge. And judging by the look on Santino’s face—he knew it too.
His eyes dropped to my mouth. Stayed there.
A knot tightened low in my stomach. Suddenly my lips felt dry. I poked my tongue out and licked my lips without thinking.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
And before I could understand what was happening, his mouth crashed onto mine.
For a second my brain simply… stopped.
What the fuck!
My heart slammed violently against my ribs, a rush of blood coursing through my entire body so fast I thought I was about to pass out. Instinct told me to shove him away—to break the contact, to remind him who the hell he thought he was.
But instead my hips rolled into him before I could stop it. I squeezed my thighs, wanting some friction. His grip on my hand loosened and my hand found its way to his shirt—twisting, pulling him closer.
What the hell was I doing?
His mouth moved against mine again, teeth biting my lower lip, tongue licking at my lips, demanding entry. I opened my mouth to gasp for air and he took the chance immediately, his tongue sliding past my lips before I could stop him.
My thoughts scattered. This was wrong. I should push him away. I wanted to push him away. And yet my body… didn’t listen.
A traitorous warmth spread low in my stomach, sharp and shocking enough to make my breath hitch. Desire coiled low and mean where anger had been seconds ago. My hands moved of their own accord, sliding into his hair, gripping tight—fingers tangling in the shorter hair at the nape of his neck.
This only made him push deeper, demanding in a way that made my pulse spike.
He made a rough sound against my mouth—a sound so deep and guttural that it reverberated in my chest. He backed me onto the counter, hands squeezing my ass, mouth not separating from mine.
The next second he lifted me onto it, like I weighed nothing. The movement was quick, effortless. My thighs hit the cool stone and suddenly he was standing between my legs, one hand gripping my nape, the other sliding around to my back as he pulled me flush against him.
My thighs locked around him automatically without permission. The contact stole the breath from my lungs. The hard length of him pressed against my throbbing clit, and my body reacted instantly. Each slow grind pulled another helpless sound from my throat.
It didn’t feel new, which was the terrifying part. It felt familiar. As though we’d been moving towards it for years without ever speaking its name.
Every argument. Every look held too long. Every goodbye that lasted longer than it should have. All of it seemed to collide at once.
“You’re killing me, Volpi,” he groaned against my mouth.
The words moved through me like a melody. My head spun as the kiss deepened, messy and consuming and far more desperate than anything it should have been. His hand slid from my hip up my side, fingers tracing slowly until they reached my ribcage.
My stomach flipped with each thrust of his tongue.
My pulse hammered wildly in my throat. Every sensible thought I had seemed to unravel a little more.
My back arched. My breath broke. My body betrayed me again, answering him before my pride could.
I wanted to stop, but I wanted more.
It felt like my body recognised his hunger—the way years of restraint shattered in one moment—and some traitorous part of me wanted to be consumed too. And it felt as though he wasn’t the only one losing control. Something in me was answering him.
He yanked my ponytail suddenly, tilting my head back as his mouth moved from mine to the curve of my jaw.
His mouth dragged over the pulse in my neck, biting and sucking, leaving fire in its wake.
The sensation shot through me, sharp and disorienting.
His other hand found my breast, palming and squeezing until I pressed further into his touch.
The sound I made was rough, almost desperate, and it only made him squeeze harder. I felt his cock twitch through his jeans.
“Santino.”
His name came out as a moan.
My heart was racing. Too fast. Too loud. I could hear the blood swishing in my ears.
Him kissing me this way, like he had been starving. Like he had been holding it back for years and his dam of restraint just burst open, flooding us with buried desires.
And I responded to him with equal hunger and fervour like I was a completely different person. I barely recognised the woman who was chasing his fire.
Santino bit down lightly at the curve of my neck, drawing out a sharp mix of pleasure and pain. My fingers tightened in his hair as my body writhed against him, thighs pulling him closer.My breath came out in broken pieces as my heels dug into him, blackening my vision.
Marcello.
His image flashed behind my lids, slamming into me like ice water. My eyes flew open.
I shoved hard against Santino’s chest.
“Stop.”
The word came out breathless. He froze instantly, his hands loosening as he stepped back.
The sudden space between us felt wrong, my body instantly aching for the warmth it had just lost—even as my mind screamed otherwise. And I hated it.
I slid off the counter quickly, my pulse still racing, my lips tingling.
“This was a mistake.”
My voice sounded steadier than it felt, words landing heavier than I meant them to.
He didn’t answer. Just stood there, breathing hard, expression dark and unreadable. His grey eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them. Silence filled the kitchen. And suddenly the room felt far too small for both of us.
I stepped back slowly toward my room, eyes not leaving his, then turned around and bolted.
I didn’t know what would’ve happened if I’d stayed a second longer. Probably would’ve succumbed to the lust coursing through my veins. This was wrong all the way to Sunday and I didn’t want to think about it any further.
Santino was dragging something reckless and hungry out of me, pulling me toward forbidden lines I hadn’t even known existed. And the worst part was how badly some traitorous part of me wanted to follow.
He was peeling back layers I had spent years building around myself—responsibility, motherhood, maturity—until I no longer recognised the woman underneath.
I reached the door and shut it harder than necessary. I was angry at myself. Angry at how my body reacted to him—like it recognised his touch and wanted to give in.
For the first time, I locked the door. The click echoed louder than it should have. I leaned back against the door, chest rising, pulse still out of control.
Silence pressed in. But it didn’t feel empty anymore. It felt dangerous. Because he was still out there. And for the first time since he’d come back, I wasn’t sure I wanted him gone.