REBECCA
The front door clicks shut. I look up from the kitchen table. Alessio stands in the foyer, still dressed in the same black shirt and slacks he'd worn to the raid. His shoulders are rigid. His expression unreadable. But his eyes... I've never seen them so empty.
He doesn't say hello. Doesn't kiss me. Doesn't even seem to notice I'm standing there.
"I need a shower." His voice is rough. Quiet. Like he's scraped it raw.
I nod. "Okay."
He walks past me without another word. I don't ask where he's been.
I know that he went to see Luciana. He went to end it.
Strangely... I don't feel sorry for her.
Not after today. Not after sitting with woman after woman whose stories will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Girls who'd forgotten what their real names sounded like.
Women who flinched every time someone raised a hand or a voice. One who cried because she'd been allowed to choose what to eat for the first time in years.
Charly has pages of notes with names, nicknames, descriptions, and last places they remembered seeing friends who never returned. The list is longer than Santa's Christmas wish list. Too many daughters. Too many sisters. Too many mothers.
Luciana isn't the victim. She's the reason there are so many.
I follow Alessio into the bedroom. He disappears into the bathroom without looking back.
A second later, water begins to run. Steam curls beneath the door.
When I step inside, he's peeling off his shirt.
He lets it fall to the floor. Then his belt.
His holster. His boots. Each piece lands with a dull thud.
"I'll get those."
He doesn't turn. "You don't have to."
"I know."
I bend to gather them anyway. His shirt is damp with sweat.
It smells like smoke. Metal. The faint lingering scent of the ranch.
I drop everything into the laundry hamper before looking back.
He's standing beneath the spray now. Water streams over broad shoulders carved from years of violence and discipline.
Every muscle along his back shifts beneath skin inked with dark tattoos that disappear beneath the steam.
His waist narrows into a hard V before powerful thighs anchor him beneath the water.
The scars catch my eye before anything else.
Thin white lines. Old knife wounds. A puckered bullet scar beneath his ribs.
Another near his shoulder. Each one tells a story he rarely shares.
He braces both hands against the tile. Head bowed.
The water pounds over him. He scrubs at his arms. His chest. His neck.
Hard. Again. And again. As though he can wash away something no soap will ever touch.
"I just need to get clean." His voice barely carries over the water. "I don't want you near this stench."
My heart aches. Not because I smell anything. Because he does. He thinks Luciana somehow came home with him.
I wait. I let him finish. He rinses away the soap. Stands motionless beneath the hot water. Only then do I step forward. Still fully dressed. The water instantly soaks through my shirt.
"Beccs…"
"No." I reach for him. "Let me."
His shoulders tense beneath my hands. For one terrifying second I think he'll pull away.
Instead… he exhales. Slowly. Like he's been holding his breath all day.
I wrap my arms around his waist. Press my cheek against the warm skin of his chest. I don't speak.
There aren't words big enough for today.
So I simply hold him. And after a long moment…
his arms come around me. Not because he needs rescuing.
Because even kings need somewhere safe to lay down their crown.
I sink slowly to my knees in front of him. The water cascades over us both. I look up at him through wet lashes. His eyes are dark, stormy, and filled with everything he's trying to carry alone. I want to take some of that weight. Even if it's just for a little while.
My hands slide up his powerful thighs. I press a soft kiss to the scar beneath his ribs. Another to the one near his hip. Worshipping every mark, every story, every piece of him that still stands.
"Beccs…" His voice is rough, breaking.
I wrap my fingers around his thick cock. He's already hard, heavy and pulsing in my hand. I stroke him slowly, reverently, savoring the velvety heat of him, the way he twitches at my touch.
I lean in and press a gentle kiss to the tip. Then another. My tongue flicks out, tasting him. Salt and heat and Alessio. I moan softly against him.
"Christ, Beccs," he groans, one hand coming down to burrow in my wet hair.
I take him into my mouth slowly. Inch by inch. Cherishing every ridge, every vein, every throb. My tongue swirls around the head before I sink deeper, taking as much of him as I can. I hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk.
"Fuck… just like that," he rasps. His fingers tighten in my hair, not forcing, just holding. "Your mouth feels like heaven, babe. So warm. So perfect."
I suck him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, working him with my tongue while my hand strokes what I can't take. Water streams down my face, mixing with the saliva dripping from my chin. I don't care. I want to worship him. I want him to feel loved. Wanted. Safe.
I look up at him through the spray. His head is tilted back, his eyes are half-closed, his lips are parted. The most beautiful sight I've ever seen. For the first time all night, he's relaxing. And a part of me is deeply satisfied that it's me, giving this moment of peace to him.
"If you don't stop, I'm going to come," he warns in a strained voice.
I pull off just long enough to whisper, "I want you to come."
Then I take him back in, faster, deeper, sucking harder. My hand works in time with my mouth. I moan around him, letting him feel exactly how much I love this. How much I love him.
"Beccs—fuck—babe—"
His hips stutter. His fingers tighten in my hair. With a guttural groan that echoes off the tiles, he comes hard down my throat. I swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him, the way his cock pulses against my tongue.
When he finally stills, I pull off slowly, pressing one last soft kiss to the tip. I look up at him, with water streaming down my face, over my swollen lips. He stares down at me like I'm a miracle.
Then he hauls me up and presses me against the tile. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and desperate. He carefully removes my clothing. one piece at a time, before his hand slides between my legs, fingers finding me soaked.
"My turn," he growls against my lips.
He drops to his knees next to me. Water streams down his back as he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me completely to him.
His mouth is on me instantly hot, wet, relentless.
His tongue licks slowly through my folds, savoring every inch of me before circling my swollen clit and sucking it gently into his mouth.
I cry out, and my head falls back against the tile. "Alessio—"
He groans against me, the deep vibration sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my body. Two thick fingers push inside me, curling deep, stroking that perfect spot while his tongue works my clit in firm, steady circles.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmurs, licking me like he's starving for me. "So sweet. So wet. This pussy is mine, Beccs. All fucking mine."
I thread my fingers through his wet hair, holding him against me as my hips rock shamelessly against his mouth. He adds a third finger, stretching me open, fucking me slow and deep while he sucks harder on my clit, his tongue flicking in perfect rhythm.
Every stroke, every lick, every curl of his fingers feels like worship. Like he's pouring every ounce of love and possession into me. The water cascades over us, warm and steady, like the universe itself is blessing this moment.
"Come for me, babe," he growls, his voice sounds muffled against my flesh. "Let me feel you come on my tongue. I want to taste how much you love me."
The orgasm crashes through me so hard my eyes roll back and my toes curl.
I cry out his name, my walls pulse around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure rips through me.
He doesn't stop. He keeps licking and sucking, drawing it out, gentling his touch only when I start to shake and whimper from the intensity.
Only then does he rise, pulling me into his arms, kissing me deeply so I can taste myself on his tongue. The kiss is slow, reverent, full of everything we've been through tonight. He rests his forehead against mine, the water still falling around us.
"Marry me, Beccs."
The words are soft. Certain. Like they've been waiting inside him for a long time.
I blink up at him, my heart pounding from the unexpected proposal. "Alessio…"
"I mean it." His voice is rough, emotional. "Not because of tonight. Not because of the danger. Because I can't imagine another day without you as my wife. My partner. My everything."
He cups my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.
"I love you. I love your fire. Your strength. Your smart mouth. The way you fight for the people you love. I want to build a life with you. A real one. Marry me, mia piccola diavoletta. Let me spend the rest of my life proving I'm worthy of you."
Tears mix with the water on my face. I smile through them, heart so full it hurts.
"Yes," I whisper. "Yes, I'll marry you."
He kisses me again, deep, slow, full of forever. And in that moment, wrapped in his arms beneath the falling water, the world feels right.
Two Days Later…