Chapter 15 #3
I roll her onto her back, careful of my shoulder, and she arches into me. Her hands are everywhere—my face, my neck, sliding down my chest. When she reaches for the button of my jeans, I catch her wrist.
"Francesca." My voice is rough. "You sure?"
"I watched you kill for me." Her eyes are fever-bright in the dim light. "I watched you take a bullet for me. I watched you wade through hell to get to me. Yes, I'm sure."
I release her wrist and she makes quick work of my jeans, shoving them down. I pull her shirt over her head, unclasp her bra, peel off her pants and underwear until there's nothing between us.
For a moment, I just look at her. Bruised, shaking, beautiful. Mine.
"I thought I lost you," I say, my hand sliding up her thigh. "When I woke up and saw they’d taken you—"
"You didn't lose me." She pulls me down, her legs wrapping around my hips. "I'm right here."
I position myself at her entrance, feeling the heat of her against my cock, then push inside—slow, deliberate, watching her face as I stretch her open inch by inch. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting on a gasp that turns into a moan as I sink deeper.
She's so fucking tight, her pussy gripping me like a vice, slick and hot and clenching around me.
I feel every ripple of her inner walls as they adjust to take me, feel the way her body opens for me, yielding and accepting until I'm buried to the hilt.
Perfect. She feels perfect—like her body was made specifically to take mine, to be filled by me, to be claimed this way.
"Look at me," I order.
Her eyes open, locking with mine.
"You're mine," I say, pulling out and thrusting back in, deep. "Say it."
"I'm yours." Her nails dig into my back. "Luca—"
I start moving, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and measured.
I want to feel every inch of her, want her to feel every inch of me.
This isn't the frantic fucking from before—this is different.
This is claiming and being claimed, two damaged people finding something whole in each other.
She moves with me, her hips rolling to meet each thrust, her breath coming in short gasps that I feel against my neck.
I watch every expression that crosses her face—pleasure, need, desperation, something that looks like surrender.
Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from my kisses, and the sight of her like this—undone, vulnerable, mine—makes my cock throb inside her.
"Harder," she whispers, her voice breaking. "Please, Luca, I need—"
I give her what she needs. I drive into her hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall, pulling her hips up to take me deeper. She cries out, her back arching off the bed, and I feel her pussy clench around me, inner walls rippling and squeezing my cock.
"That's it," I growl against her throat, my teeth grazing her pulse point. "Take what you need from me. Take everything."
Her hands fist in my hair, pulling my mouth to hers.
The kiss is messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth and raw need.
I can taste the salt of her tears and don't know if they're from pleasure or everything else—the fear, the violence, the terror of almost losing each other.
I kiss her harder, swallowing her moans.
I shift the angle, hitching her leg higher over my hip, and drive in deep. The new position lets me hit that spot inside her—that place that makes her gasp and her whole body shudder. She breaks the kiss, head thrown back, throat exposed, and I take advantage.
My mouth moves down her neck, across her collarbone, to the swell of her breast. When I take her nipple between my teeth and bite down—not hard enough to truly hurt but hard enough to make her feel it—she whimpers and her pussy clenches so tight around me I almost lose control.
"Luca, I'm—" Her voice is ragged, desperate. "I can't—I'm so close—"
"I know, baby. I can feel it." I slide my hand between our bodies, fingers finding her clit, slick and swollen. I circle it with my thumb while I continue to thrust into her, hard and deep and relentless. "Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart around my cock."
She shatters. Her whole body goes taut, every muscle locking as the orgasm tears through her. Her inner walls clamp down on me so hard it's almost painful, rhythmic pulses that milk my cock.
She cries out my name, nails scoring down my back hard enough to draw blood, her legs trembling where they're wrapped around my hips.
I fuck her through it, each thrust prolonging the waves of pleasure, watching her come undone beneath me—face flushed, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut as she rides it out.
The sight of her—completely lost, completely mine—pushes me over the edge.
I bury myself as deep as I can go and let go, coming so hard my vision whites out.
The pleasure is almost violent, ripping through me in waves that seem endless.
I feel myself pulsing inside her, filling her, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible.
I collapse on top of her, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks. My shoulder throbs where I was shot but I don't care. Nothing matters except the feel of her beneath me, around me, her heart racing against mine.
After a moment, I start to pull out and she stops me, her legs tightening around my hips, keeping me locked inside her.
"Not yet," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "Stay. I need to feel you."
So I stay, shifting my weight onto my good arm so I don't crush her, still buried deep inside her, our hearts racing together in the aftermath. I can feel the flutter of her inner muscles around my softening cock, feel the mix of us starting to leak out where we're joined.
"Mine," I murmur against her temple.
"Yours," she breathes back.
"Marry me," I say.
She blinks up at me. "What?"
"Marry me. Not for protection. Not because of the situation. Marry me because I love you and I want you to be mine in every way that matters."
Her eyes fill with tears. "Luca—"
"You've seen the worst of me. You watched me kill eighteen men without hesitation. You watched me strangle someone with my bare hands. And you're still here." I brush her hair back from her face. "So marry me, Francesca. Say yes and wear my ring and be my wife."
"Yes." The word comes out on a sob. She pulls me down, kissing me hard. "Yes, yes, yes."
I kiss her back, feeling something in my chest crack open. Something that's been locked away for years, maybe my whole life.
When we finally separate, I pull out carefully and gather her against my chest. She curls into me, her hand over my heart, our legs tangled together.
"I should have run when I had the chance," she murmurs against my skin.
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I fell in love with the monster." She tilts her head back to look at me. "And I'd do it all again."
I hold her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we start planning."
"Planning what?"
"Everything. The wedding. The new apartment. Our life together." I kiss her forehead. "All of it."
She falls asleep eventually, exhausted from fear and trauma and adrenaline crash and what we just did. I stay awake, watching her breathe, cataloging every bruise. The Bratva did this. Vlad is dead but there are others. They'll come for revenge.
Let them come.
I'll kill every single one before I let them touch her again.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from Sal:
Warehouse is ashes. Clean.
I text back:
Good. Take a week. Then we prepare for war.
Another text comes through from Don Marco:
We need to talk.
I don't respond. We'll talk when the time is right—after she's had time to heal, after I make sure the Bratva knows the cost of touching what's mine.
Francesca shifts in her sleep, murmuring my name. I move closer, careful not to wake her.
I should feel guilty for dragging her into this world. For making her watch that violence. For chaining her to a life where she'll always be a target.
I don't.
She saw the monster. She saw me strangle a man with my bare hands, watched me wade through carnage without hesitation. And she still said yes.
That's not innocence. That's complicity.
And I'll take it. I'll take every dark corner of her soul that chose me, that chose this, that looked at what I am and decided to stay anyway.
The war is coming. The Bratva will retaliate. The Commission might demand answers. There will be violence and consequences.
But she'll heal. And when she does, she'll wear my ring. She'll have my name. She'll be mine in every way that matters.
And I'll burn the world down before I let anyone take that from me.
The next morning, I wake before dawn. Francesca is still asleep, curled against me. My shoulder throbs but the pain is manageable.
I slide out of bed carefully, pull on my jeans. In the kitchen, I make coffee and check my phone. Messages from Sal, updates from our guys on the street. The NYPD is all over where the warehouse used to stand, shifting through the ashes. No leads yet. Good.
Another message from Don Marco:
Today. Social club. Noon. Not a request.
I text back:
I'll be there.
I pour coffee and carry it back to the bedroom. Francesca is awake, sitting up against the headboard.
"Morning," I say, handing her a cup.
"Morning." She wraps her hands around the warmth. "You're going somewhere."
"Don Marco wants to see me. Noon."
"About yesterday."
"Yeah."
She nods. "What happens now? With us, I mean. We can't stay here forever."
"No." I sit on the edge of the bed. "I've got one of Don Marco's real estate guys looking at secure buildings. High floors, controlled access, proper security. Better than the old penthouse."
"When do I get to see it?"
"When I've found the right one." I reach for her hand, thread my fingers through hers. "You'll like it. I know what you need."
Her lips quirk. "Do you."
"Yes." I squeeze her hand. "And if you don't like it, you'll tell me. And I'll make adjustments. But we're not living in unsafe places anymore, Francesca. Not after yesterday."
"So you're making decisions for both of us."
"I'm keeping you alive." I lean in, my voice dropping. "You want a say? Fine. Tell me what you need. But the security is non-negotiable. The location is mine to choose. The building has to meet my standards."
"Your standards."
"Our enemies know about you now. That warehouse proved they'll use you to get to me." I cup her face with my free hand. "So yes. My standards. I don't care if you love the place or just tolerate it—you're going to be safe. That's the only thing that matters."
She holds my gaze for a long moment. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I trust you to keep me safe." She leans into my palm. "Just... don't make me live somewhere that feels like a prison."
"You'll have all you need. I promise." I kiss her forehead. "And after that? After we're settled?"
"What happens after?"
"I get you a ring. A real one, not something grabbed in a panic. Then we plan the wedding—small, just us, when the time is right." I look at her. "And we live, Francesca. We build something in the middle of all this violence."
"You really think we can do that?"
"Yeah." I pull her close, her pulse steady against my chest. "You said yes. That's all that matters. Everything else, I'll handle."
She's quiet, then: "Will it always be like this? The violence, the wars, the killing?"
"Probably." I won't lie to her. Not about this. "But you'll be safe. I'll make sure of it."
"And if I can't live with it? If it's too much?"
I tilt her chin up, force her to meet my eyes. "Then you'll learn to live with it anyway. Because you're mine, Francesca. And I don't let go of what's mine."
She should be scared. Should pull away.
Instead, she kisses me.
The kiss isn't gentle or tentative—it's hard and claiming and just as possessive as I am.
When she pulls back, her eyes are clear and certain.
"Then I guess we're doing this."
"We're doing this."
And just like that, I know it's going to be okay—not easy, not clean, not anything close to normal, but okay.
Because she chose me knowing what I am and seeing what I'm capable of. She chose the monster and decided to stay.