CHAPTER 29
Roxanne
Those four words felt like a gun to my head.
It was never good when someone said we need to talk.It was the death of silence. The death of the fragile illusion of peace I had carefully built inside my head.
I had avoided him.
Avoided this. Avoided the truth sitting between us, waiting to be acknowledged. I’d sidestepped the obvious, pretended the fire licking at our heels didn’t already exist.
The silence stretched longer than it should have, thick and oppressive, gnawing at my insides.
I turned off the stove and slowly faced him.
He stood there at the counter, arms folded across his chest, ankle crossed like he had all the time in the world—while I was running out of it.
But his eyes—they never left mine, darkening with something unreadable.
And that was worse than anger, because it meant he was holding it in. Waiting to unleash it.
My heart pounded against my ribs at the sight of him.The flex of his muscles sent a slow, treacherous shiver down my spine—settling low—traitorous.
Nope.
I couldn’t do this. He had already messed with my head enough. Talking to him now would only make it worse.
I let out a humourless laugh.
Deflect. Always deflect.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
The lie slipped out easily. My voice came out flat. Indifferent. Like none of this mattered. Like he didn’t matter. But inside, I was already spiralling, already unravelling thread by thread.
“There is.” He said through clenched teeth. “About the last four days.”
He took a step toward me.
“About the motel.” Another step. “About the fact that you’ve been avoiding me like I did something wrong.”
“Didn’t you?” I snapped back.
It was sharper than I intended to. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
“Say what you mean.”
I stepped forward before I could stop myself. “Fine.”
My chest rose sharply.
“You left.” The words tasted bitter.
“You don’t get to—”
“No,” I cut in, closing the distance further, jabbing a finger into his chest.
“You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened and act like I’m the one avoiding something.”
I took a deep breath.
“You left me once already.”
My voice shook—but I didn’t stop.
“And I broke in ways I didn’t know how to fix. I had to put myself back together,” I continued, my voice unsteady. “Piece by piece. Alone.”
My throat tightened, tears threatening to spill.
“And I’m not doing that again. So yeah,” I exhaled, gesturing between us. “Distance? Feels safer than whatever this is.”
He moved fast, caging me in, trapping me. My back hit the counter before I could react, the edge biting into my spine. His hands braced on either side of me. He was just there—all heat, fury, and inevitability.
“Safe?” he repeated softly, which somehow sounded far more dangerous than if he’d shouted.
“You think staying away from me is what’s keeping you safe?”
His face dipped closer.
“I stayed away for two years thinking just that,” he said, each word measured, controlled. “And look where that got us.”
His jaw flexed. “You think I don’t know what I did?”
His eyes searched mine.
“Believe me, Volpi, I know. I wake up with it. I live with it. Every. Fucking. Day. And if I could undo it, I would. But I can’t. So don’t stand there and tell me I don’t know what leaving cost you. Because it cost me too.”
My chest constricted. His throat bobbed.
“I did that for you,” he continued. “I thought it would protect you.”
“It didn’t. You’ve brought trouble at my doorstep.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He huffed. “If you haven’t noticed, trouble always follows you, Volpi. You just never realised it.”
I shook my head and pushed at his chest.
“You hurt me,” I said, voice breaking through anger. “You erased me. Like we were nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”
“I know.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging them at the top.
Something flickered across his face. Close to guilt. Real, ugly guilt.
“Christ, Volpi, I know.”
My breath caught. His hands held my face, stroking my cheek gently with his thumb.
“And I’m sorry.”
I looked at him through glassy eyes and blinked. A tear escaped me.
“You know what was worse?” My voice cracked. “I still missed you anyway.”
His thumb brushed the stray tear from my cheek, and the air locked instantly in my throat.
“And now you’re back, and everything is chaos again.”
I shoved him harder this time.
“And then you kissed me.”
His head tilted slightly, eyes sharpening. His hand moved fast, gripping my wrist mid-air, pulling me into him.
“And you kissed me back.”
The words were immediate. Certain. They felt like a sharp slap across my face, but they were true. I had.
“Let go,” I said, trying to pull free.
“No.”
I pushed again. His grip on my wrist tightened, just enough to stop me. And that’s when his other hand settled around my throat. His fingers flexed once at my thrumming pulse.
I took in a sharp breath. His thumb traced a slow circle over my pulse. My breath faltered and he felt it. Heat flooded through me, sharp and confusing. I swallowed and pushed again.
“You hit me again,” he added softly, leaning closer, “and you know what happens.”
The memory slammed into me.
You hitting me only makes me harder.
My hand—half-raised, before it dropped like it had a mind of its own. His lips curved slightly.
“Good girl.”
A shiver rolled through me.
Damn him.
Two words. Two stupid words, and suddenly my knees didn’t feel entirely reliable. Melting like butter. Falling apart—for him.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured against my jaw. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He inhaled slowly along my neck and pressed a kiss below my ear. And I tilted my head without thinking.
Offering.
God. What was he doing to me?
No—what was I letting him do?
“I’m done pretending this thing between us doesn’t exist,” he said, pressing slow kisses down my neck. Almost reverent.
“Santino…” My voice came out breathless.
His hand left my wrist and landed at my waist. Pulling me closer to him.
It slid upward, from my waist, slow enough that I felt every inch of it—until it settled over my breast. He held it there, like he was giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t. The warmth of his hand seeped through me right to my core.
Logic didn’t disappear all at once. It fought. It reminded me who I was. Who I loved. Who I was supposed to be.
But every warning in my head was drowned out by the heat building low in my stomach. My body answered louder, pulse thudding against his fingers like it was begging him not to stop.
I was losing the fight as this heat, this pull, this overwhelming, consuming need, drowned everything else out.
Guilt. Fear. Consequences.
All of it blurred at the edges, fading under the weight of something far more dangerous.
Hunger.
I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt, anchoring myself to him. And that was the moment I realised—lust wasn’t just winning. It had already won.
His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric first. Testing. The contact sent a sharp, electric jolt through me.
I bit my lip, swallowing the sound escaping my throat. Then—he circled. Slow. Measured. My entire body reacted instantly. An electric jolt coursed through me, and every inch of my body became a nerve ending, sensitive and throbbing with arousal.
I should stop him. I knew I should.
Marcello’s name rose inside my head like a warning—a life built on solid ground. But it slipped through my fingers.
Because Santino’s mouth was still at my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and every kiss he pressed there made it harder to remember why I was fighting in the first place.
Resistance stopped being instinct. And it became effort.And God help me—I was getting tired.
My breath came out uneven as his thumb moved again, and my resolve cracked. Another slow pass—firmer this time. A broken sound escaped me. He smiled against my skin and bit down on the sensitive point below my ear, which made my stomach tighten.
“You react differently to me,” he murmured, voice low, cataloguing my every response.
His thumb circled again, before flicking his finger on it.
“Your breath gives you away.”
My fingers tightened against his chest, gripping, pulling him closer, desperate for more of that touch. My breast felt heavy, desperate, aching to be pinched, sucked, claimed. My body chasing the sensation before I could stop myself.
“There’s this blush,” he murmured, his nose brushing my cheek, “like your body forgets how to lie.”
His thumb slowed over my pulse in my neck, his gaze locking onto mine, knowing.
“There’s something in you that answers to something in me.”
The words shouldn’t have made sense, but they did.
“You may not believe it,” he murmured, his nose brushing mine, “but at some fucked-up, karmic level, I think our souls recognised each other before we ever did.”
His gaze held mine, frighteningly certain.
“And maybe that’s why I was never able to leave you behind. Maybe I was always going to find my way back to you.”
His thumb stroked my pulse once. I choked on my breath.
“I’ve seen it, in your eyes,” he murmured. “And I know you’ve seen it in mine.”
His grip flexed—just slightly.
“That’s what scares you. Isn’t it?”
“Stop—we can’t—” My voice shook.
But even as the words left me, my body betrayed me, breast pressing into his touch seeking. Heat pooled low, blurring my vision at the edges.
“Marcello—” I rasped, but even as I said it, my body was already surrendering.
“I know who he is,” he said, voice rough.
“And he will kill us,” I managed.
He didn’t move away. Didn’t loosen his grip.
“I’d die a thousand times over, for one moment like this.”
I swallowed hard. The conviction in his voice was terrifying. Terrifying because I believed him.
“If he dragged me out of the grave and put me back in it again—” His voice didn’t waver. “I’d still choose this.”
“Stop,” I said again.
It came out like a weak plea. But my hips kept moving.
“Too late for that, Volpi.” His lips brushed my jaw. “You woke something I’d buried for years. And now you’re asking me to pretend it isn’t there. I can’t. Not anymore.”
His breath ghosted over my lips.
“And all I need is for you to stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”
Everything inside me tightened until it hurt. Every place we touched felt like it was burning. My hands moved without permission—over his chest, his abs—solid, warm, real. My palm landed over his heart. It was racing. Just like mine.
“We can’t,” I whispered.
But it didn’t sound convincing. Even to me.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“When I kissed you,” he said softly, “you didn’t stop me. You held me instead.”
I shook my head weakly.
“Don’t lie to yourself,” he murmured.
His grip on my neck tightened slightly.
“Don’t you see?” he said, voice rough. “How well you fit against me?”
His lips brushed the corner of my mouth.
“No more pretending, Volpi.”
My thoughts scattered. Somewhere between the frantic beat of his heart beneath my palm and the look in his eyes, the fight inside me simply grew quieter. I hated to admit that I wanted this even as I denied it.
“I…” My voice broke, lips brushing his.
And that was it. That was all he needed. His mouth crashed onto mine. Hungry and possessive, like he’d spent years denying himself and had finally snapped.
Like this had been coming long before either of us were willing to admit it.