21. Gilly
Gilly
Luca was never the monster I thought he was.
But it’s too late.
Because I might have already destroyed everything.
I sit at the edge of the bed, staring at my hands as if they hold the answers to the war raging inside me. The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows across the room, stretching over the walls like ghosts of my mistakes.
The truth is a razor-sharp thing, slicing through the years I spent hating him.
Luca wasn’t the killer. He never was.
I should feel relief. I should be grateful that the man I feared, the man I ran from, isn’t the monster I built in my mind. But the weight pressing against my ribs isn’t relief.
It’s guilt.
Thick, suffocating guilt.
I ran. I stole years from him. I kept his son from him.
And worse—the real monster has my son instead.
A hollow ache spreads through my chest as my mind replays everything I thought I knew.
I see myself in that Boston office, gripping that goddamn photo, my heart hammering with fear.
I see the way my hands shook as I shredded every legal document tying me to my old life.
I see myself running, not realizing I was playing right into Renzo’s hands.
I drag in a shaky breath and press my fingertips against my forehead.
Luca doesn’t know I finally understand what I’ve done.
He doesn’t know that every glance, every rough touch, every whispered threat—every moment I fought him—was built on a lie.
I don’t know how to fix this.
Maybe I can’t.
The sound of approaching footsteps makes me stiffen.
I turn just as Luca steps into the doorway.
He’s wearing nothing but his black dress pants, his white shirt draped over one shoulder. His tie is loose around his neck, and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms.
I swallow hard, my stomach twisting.
His eyes find mine immediately, assessing.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmurs.
His voice is calm, but I don’t miss the edge in it. The way he sees right through me.
I force a small smile, though my hands tremble in my lap. “Didn’t realize my thoughts were up for discussion.”
Luca tilts his head slightly, his gaze lingering on me for a beat too long. Then, in one smooth movement, he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him.
He leans against it, crossing his arms, the muscles in his biceps flexing slightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, little hellcat.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”
He doesn’t speak, just watches me. Studying. Measuring.
I hate how easily he does this—how he can strip me bare with nothing but silence.
I shift my gaze to my hands, gripping them tighter. I should tell him. I should open my mouth and let the words spill out.
But I can’t.
Because what if he doesn’t forgive me?
I ran from him. I fought him. I swore I hated him.
And now?
Now, I know the truth.
I was wrong.
I trusted the wrong person.
And Luca paid the price.
My throat tightens. I press my palms against my thighs, trying to ground myself, trying to find the right words.
But when I look up, Luca is still watching me.
Waiting.
I can’t do this.
I can’t say the words.
So instead—I stand.
Luca’s expression doesn’t change, but I don’t miss the slight shift in his stance. The way his shoulders tense just a fraction.
He’s expecting me to push him away.
To fight him like I always do.
But I don’t.
I step closer.
Then closer.
And before I can overthink it, I reach up and press my lips against his.
It’s soft at first.
Hesitant.
Luca doesn’t move for a split second.
Then—like a storm breaking over the horizon—his control snaps.
One hand tangles in my hair, the other grips my waist, and suddenly, I’m being pulled against him.
The kiss turns desperate. Brutal.
I gasp against his mouth, my fingers curling around his shoulders, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Luca’s grip tightens, dragging me closer. He’s warm, solid, real.
I melt into him.
For the first time, I don’t fight.
I just fall.
Luca’s kiss is a wildfire, consuming me whole.
It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.
It’s claiming.
His fingers tighten in my hair, tilting my head back, forcing me to take more, to feel more. His lips part against mine, his teeth scraping my lower lip, a silent demand for surrender.
And I do.
I surrender.
To the fire. To the pull. To the truth I’ve been too much of a coward to admit.
Luca was never the monster.
I was.
I was the one who ran. I was the one who ripped him away from his son. I was the one who believed the lie.
And now, I have no words to fix it.
So I use this.
My hands slide up his chest, fingertips tracing over the hard ridges of muscle, over the faint scars that mar his skin. He shudders beneath my touch. The way his body reacts to me sends a sharp thrill through my veins.
Luca doesn’t break for anyone.
But with me?
With me, he lets the cracks show.
His hands leave my waist, moving to the back of my thighs. Before I can even breathe, he lifts me effortlessly, his grip firm, his body unshakable.
A gasp leaves my lips as my legs wrap around him on instinct.
My back meets the bedroom wall, the cold surface shocking against my overheated skin. Luca’s body presses into mine, heat radiating from him like a fever.
His mouth moves to my jaw, then my throat. He bites. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make me feel.
I moan softly, my fingers threading through his dark hair.
“This what you want, little hellcat?” His voice is gravel, his breath hot against my skin. “Or is this another game?”
I freeze.
Luca still doesn’t trust me.
And why should he?
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze.
I expect anger. Suspicion. A wall between us.
But instead, his green eyes burn.
Not just with desire. Not just with control.
But with something deeper. Something dangerous.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “No games,” I whisper.
Luca doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. He just studies me, searching for cracks.
I let him see them.
All of them.
Something in his expression shifts.
Then his lips crash back to mine, and the world tilts.
His kiss is a wildfire, and I am dry kindling.
The second our lips collide, everything ignites—his hands in my hair, my body pressing into his, the heat between us licking at my skin like flames.
Luca doesn’t just kiss. He consumes.
His lips part against mine, his tongue sliding deep, demanding, and I open for him without thought, without hesitation. His taste is whiskey and heat, something dark and dangerous, something that burns all the way down.
I clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. He’s all raw strength, sculpted and unshakable, the ridges of his chest hard beneath my palms.
His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel all of him—his warmth, his need, the solid weight of his desire pressing into my stomach.
My breath stutters.
Luca feels it.
He exhales roughly, his mouth trailing from mine, down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my throat. His stubble scrapes my skin, a delicious friction, and when his teeth graze the spot beneath my ear, a soft moan slips free.
He stills.
Then his grip tightens.
“I love that sound,” he murmurs, his voice dark, dangerous. “Make it again.”
Before I can respond, his lips are on me—his mouth open, wet, sucking a bruise onto my throat, branding me his.
I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. His growl vibrates against my skin, a warning and a promise all at once.
My robe is already loose, slipping from my shoulders, baring more and more of me to him. Luca drags his knuckles down my arm, following the curve of my waist, lower, lower—
A slow, torturous descent.
Then his fingers curl around the fabric and rip it away completely.
I gasp as cool air kisses my bare skin, but Luca is already there, already covering me.
His hands roam possessively over my body, palms smoothing over my ribs, my stomach, mapping the curves he once thought he’d never touch again.
“Jesus, Gilly,” he breathes, his eyes dragging over me, dark and starving. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
I do.
Because I’ve wanted it just as long.
My hands move to his chest, finding the undone buttons of his shirt, sliding it from his shoulders.
The moment his skin is bare, my breath catches.
He’s gorgeous.
Bronzed skin, stretched taut over sculpted muscle. A constellation of scars, faint but present, each one a story I’ve never heard.
And ink.
Dark tattoos snake over his forearms, curling around the thick muscle of his biceps, marking him in ways deeper than skin.
I reach out, tracing the inked lines over his chest, my fingers skimming the smooth ridges of muscle beneath.
Luca shudders.
His eyes snap to mine, bright, burning, feral.
Then suddenly, I’m off my feet.
A gasp tears from my lips as he grips my thighs, lifts me effortlessly. I barely have time to clutch at his shoulders before my back is pressed to the wall, his body locking me in place.
The power in him is terrifying—not because I fear him, but because I don’t.
Because I trust him with this.
With me.
Luca’s mouth crashes against mine, but this time, it’s slower—deeper. His lips part over mine, his tongue sweeping inside, a slow, thorough claiming that has my head spinning.
“You feel this?” he murmurs against my lips, rocking his hips forward, pressing the hard length of him between my thighs. “This is what you do to me.”
I whimper, my legs tightening around his waist.
“Luca—”
“I need you,” he rasps, his voice raw, almost broken. “Tell me you need me too.”
I don’t just say it.
I show him.
My fingers slide down, finding the buckle of his belt, yanking it free, pulling his slacks open.
His breath shudders against my lips.
Then he grips my chin, forcing my gaze up.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
The order is quiet, but it holds me captive.
I do as he says, keeping my gaze locked on his as I push his pants lower, my hand sliding between us, wrapping around the thick, heated length of his cock.