CHAPTER 33
Santino
Sleep didn’t come easy. It came in fragments.
Images. Sensations. Her skin soft beneath my calloused fingers.
The marks I’d left on her skin. In flashes of her writhing under me, pulling me closer, wanting me deeper.
The way she’d finally stopped fighting it.
The sound of my name on her lips—broken, breathless, real.
It wrapped around every dream, every memory, every second of the night until it blurred, bleeding directly into reality. And when I woke, I was hard.
My hand dragged over my face as I exhaled slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to me. For a moment, I didn’t move. I could still feel her. Taste her.
Grey light seeped through the curtains, dull and cold—early morning in Ireland, the kind that never fully committed to day. The room was quiet. I reached for her instinctively, but the bed was empty. Cold. The kind of cold that told you she hadn’t just stepped out. She’d been gone a while.
A mirthless laugh escaped me as I stared at the empty space beside me. Of course she ran. She didn’t bother facing me. Didn’t even try. My teeth ground together.
I’d thought I’d worn her out last night, orgasm after orgasm, until her body stopped knowing where she ended and I began.I only let her sleep around four. Not because I was done—but because I knew she wouldn’t be able to take more.
Should’ve tied her to the bed. Bound her so she couldn’t escape me, couldn’t run from what we both knew was already ours.
I dragged a hand down my face again, a grim scoff escaping me.
Who was I kidding?
Roxanne wasn’t someone you could tie down. Not with ropes. Not with promises. Not with me. But I wanted her close. Always. In my space, in my arms, woven so deeply into my days that I wouldn’t know what to do without her.
Maybe that’s why I risked not using any protection, being well aware that she wasn’t on birth control. None of it mattered in the moment. I wanted to feel nothing between us. And watching my cum drip out of her did something no amount of nicotine or any drug ever could.
She was the breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.
But she was always choosing control over chaos. Even when she was the chaos. Even when she’d been shaking apart in my hands just hours ago, she still fought for control. And that was what made me want to break it all the more.
I pushed myself up, grabbing my shirt from the floor, irritation simmering low and steady.
“You can run,” I said, pulling it over my head. “But you can’t hide, Volpi.”
I knew exactly where she’d be. The site. The one place she could pretend everything was normal. Structured. Controlled. Predictable. Her world. The version of herself she showed everyone else. Not the woman who had come undone in my arms hours ago.
I leaned against my bike, staying in the shadows, far enough that she wouldn’t notice me immediately.
Close enough that I could watch. She moved through the space like nothing had happened.
Flipping through plans. Giving instructions.
Correcting measurements. Her voice clipped, composed, professional.
And I loved it. I loved that fire. Loved that she thought it could shield her from me. Like I hadn’t already seen what lived underneath. Anyone else would’ve believed it. I didn’t. Because I’d seen the pieces she kept hidden from everyone else. And this was her rebuilding the walls.
My gaze dragged over her slowly, taking in every detail. She was wearing a turtleneck and a skirt with sneakers. Practical. Efficient. And hiding.
A quiet irritation coiled in my chest. She was covering up.
I waited. Watched. Until she stepped into one of the finished guest rooms alone. Then I moved.
“You ran.” My voice cut through the quiet.
She turned around and froze, caught off guard.
“Jeez—” she exhaled, recovering too quickly.
“I’m working. Furniture delivery came in early.”
She spoke sharp and defensive, pretending none of last night had happened. Pretending I hadn’t happened.
I stepped closer. My hand came up without thinking, fingers hooking lightly into the collar of her turtleneck, tugging it forward just enough to expose the skin beneath.
“You’re hiding,” I said.
Her hand came up instantly, pushing mine away.
“It’s cold,” she snapped.
“Right,” I scoffed.
My fingers brushed the fabric near her throat again, slower this time. Not pulling, just a lingering touch to remind her.
“Has nothing to do with the marks under here.”
She stepped back, her back meeting the wall.
“You left,” I said, my voice dropping, losing whatever trace of humour it had left.
“You don’t get to disappear after last night.”
I stepped closer. “I will find you. Every time.”
“Fuck you. And I didn’t run.”
Fire flashed in her eyes. I caged her in, stepping closer. Close enough that if she took a breath, she’d feel me.
“We can do that,” I murmured.
There was a flush climbing her throat now. She was angry. Embarrassed. Guilty. My mouth found the exposed skin beneath the turtleneck, pressing slow kisses there. Just below her ear. Her head tipped back before she could stop it, lips parting softly. Beneath the knit, her nipples peaked instantly.
And despite the fight still burning in her eyes, a small sound escaped her. Because beneath all of that—she was still mine.And I intended to remind her.
“But you wouldn’t want the entire site to hear you screaming my name now. Would you?” I added, licking the lobe of her ear.
My hand slid up her skirt, slowly, parting her thighs.
“Haven’t you had your fill?” she shot back, brows furrowed. “Gotten me out of your system?”
My blood stirred at her comment. My other hand came up—settling around her throat. Firm. Possessive.
“There’s no getting you out of my system,” I said, voice low, lethal.
Her pulse jumped under my thumb.
“The only way that happens—” I pressed lightly. “—is when I’m six feet under.”
Her chest rose sharply.
“Even then,” I continued, leaning closer, “my ghost would come looking for you. The universe would tear itself apart before it kept me away from you again.”
She shook her head slightly. “This is madness—”
“Madness is you, in my blood,” I cut in. “In my system.”
My thumb stroked slowly over the frantic beat of her pulse beneath my fingers.
“And even if you drained every drop out of me—” my voice dropped to a whisper, “I still wouldn’t be free of you.”
Her hips moved against me without thinking. Unconscious. Needy.
“You keep fighting me, Volpi,” I murmured against her skin.
My lips brushed the shell of her ear.
“And every time…”
I pressed another kiss beneath her jaw.
“...your body comes home. To me.”
I moved the fabric of her underwear and pushed two fingers in her. A broken breath escaped her, and her nails dug into my arm, the warm walls of her pussy pressing against my fingers.
God.
She still didn’t understand. Didn’t understand that she’d been undoing me for years.
“You’re mine.”
The words left me quietly, carrying no anger or possessiveness—just absolute certainty.
“You were mine when you were with him. When you were building a family. When I was halfway across the world trying to forget you.”
“Santino—”
“You’ve always been mine.”
Her body moved against my hand, chasing friction,
“I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I wasn’t built for things like this.”
My forehead rested against hers.
“Love. Peace. A life that didn’t hurt.”
I swallowed.
“And then you happened. And suddenly, I wanted things I’d spent my whole life believing weren’t meant for me.”
Her expression softened. My grip flexed gently around her neck.
“So maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve finally lost my fucking mind.” A rough breath left me. “But there’s a part of you that knows me, Volpi. The same way I’ve always known you.”
My thumb stroked her pulse.
“And maybe that’s what scares you. Because when I say you’re mine…”
I held her gaze.
“I don’t mean I own you. I mean there has never been a version of my life that didn’t end with me finding you. And I think…”
I exhaled softly. “I was always going to.”
I slowly thrust my fingers in her pussy, scissoring. In. Out. In. Out. Her desire slicked my fingers, dripping down her thighs.Her thighs trembled.
“And when I say I want you—” my thumb circled her clit, “—I mean all of it.”
Her grip tightened on my shoulder.
“Your laughter. Your tears. Your nightmares.”
I slowed. Stopped. Right when she needed it most. Her eyes snapped open, a soft sob escaping her.
“Everything that breaks you,” I murmured. “Everything that makes you feel alive.”
I pressed my thumb down on her clit, curling my fingers, pressing down on her sweet spot.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted into a silent ‘O’, a soft sound slipping free as her forehead fell against my shoulder.
And fuck—even now she trusted me enough to fall apart.
That realisation nearly brought me to my knees.
I didn’t slow down even as a knock sounded at the door.
Her body convulsed around my fingers, her mouth opening in a broken cry that I swallowed whole in a deep kiss.
I wrung the aftershocks from her body, relentless, wave after wave, until she broke apart completely.
And when she sagged against me, breathless, wrecked—I kissed her forehead.
“No more hiding.”
My fingers slipped from her, and I licked them clean, holding her gaze as I did.
“You made me miss breakfast,” I added lightly. “Consider this payback.”
She shoved at my chest. I just kissed her again, consuming.
Because that was what she was. Consuming every thought, every breath, every reason for me to live.
Her phone buzzed. And everything shifted instantly. I saw it happen in real time. The colour drained from her face first. Then came the fear. Her grip tightened around the phone like it might brand her. My eyes narrowed.
“Who is it?”
“No one.”
Lie.
I caught her chin, forcing her eyes to mine.
“Try again.”
Her jaw clenched.
“Someone I used to know.” She let out a breath. “Family.”
The word came out hollow.
I tilted my head slightly, watching her. “Are they bothering you?”
Her expression shut down instantly. “That’s none of your concern.”
My mouth curved. Slow. Dangerous.
“Everything about you is my concern.”
Her eyes flashed. “You’ve caused enough damage already.”
So now I’m to blame. Interesting.
She pushed past me, brushing my shoulder like she could shake me off. Like I’d let her. I didn’t follow. Because whatever had just rattled her, I already knew where to start.
My jaw tightened. My first instinct was to hunt him down. Know how far he’d pushed. How close he’d gotten. And when I found out what he’d done… I wouldn’t ask. I’d tear him to shreds.
I watched her walk away—fast, controlled, already rebuilding whatever walls she’d let slip with me. Completely ignoring the fact that my fingers weren’t buried inside her minutes ago. Like I couldn’t still taste her on my tongue.
A muscle ticked in my jaw. She really thought distance would fix this. That if she put enough space between us, it would disappear. That I would.
A quiet, humourless breath left me. Not happening. Because this—whatever the hell this was—it wasn’t something you walked away from. It had already settled skin deep. In my blood. In my bones.
I dragged a hand down my face, eyes still fixed on the doorway she’d disappeared through.
I’d never felt like this before. Ever.
Want? Sure.
Obsession? More times than I cared to count.
But this was different. This wasn’t just about having her. I wasn’t trying to get her out of my system anymore. I was trying to make sure nothing else touched her. It was about needing to know what the fuck he’d done to make her look like that—like the ground had just shifted under her feet.
My tongue pressed against the inside of my cheek.
“Fuck.”
I never believed in love. Didn’t trust it. Didn’t need it.
Love made men predictable and reckless. Weak. Easy to break. I’d seen what it did to Marcello. Watched him burn for it. So I stayed away. From promises. From forever. From anything that looked remotely like love.
Then she happened, without permission. Her happiness had started mattering more than my own.
She’d become the first thing I thought about in the morning. The last thing I checked before sleeping. The reason I stayed. The reason I left. The reason I came back. And somewhere between walking away from her… and finding my way back, she’d become home.
I let out a slow breath.
If seeing the worst parts of her and staying anyway meant love—
If wanting to protect her even from herself meant love—
If watching her walk away hurt worse than any knife ever had—
Then I fucking loved Roxanne Talati.
And maybe it was time, she knew too.