CHAPTER 37
MARCELLO
The days blurred.
Roxanne avoided me—not with hostility, but with precision.
She moved around me like I was furniture—present, tolerated, irrelevant. A punishment that hurt more because I knew I deserved it.
Vihaan lingered more than usual, trying to reclaim space that no longer belonged to him. Her mother stayed in Kyra’s room, keeping the house full—and guarded.
It was clear: Roxanne didn’t want me making a move. Not with her daughter and mother around. Not yet.
There were glances. Quiet ones. Her eyes would flick to mine and then away, like they’d touched something too hot. Sometimes the look lasted a second too long, just enough to keep me hopeful, just enough to break me.
Her mother tried to bridge the gap—gentle nudges, shared meals, small talk.
One morning, I decided to win her over through her stomach. Literally. I woke up early and made breakfast for all the ladies. Roxanne’s mother helped with chai—the one thing I still hadn’t mastered. But I’d get there. For her.
Roxanne woke late, walking into the kitchen—hair tousled, eyes half-lidded. Her oversized tee slipped off one shoulder, barely covering her micro shorts.
It should be illegal to walk into a room and steal a man’s sanity like that.
“Ohh… something smells delicious. Have you made French toast?”
She picked up a warm French toast, drizzled honey and took a bite.
“Umm… Ma, you’ve outdone yourself today.”
The sound she made—soft, indulgent, obscene—went straight to my cock.
“It wasn’t me. Marcello made breakfast and even packed Kyra’s lunch,” her mother said.
Roxanne froze. Then nodded, mouthing “Thank you.”
She held my gaze longer than necessary. Her thank you landed like a touch I was starving for. Damn those eyes. They didn’t just look—they branded. Getting through breakfast was going to be harder than I thought.
Once all the women had left the house, I decided to meet with the security team assigned to protect Roxanne and her family.
I stayed in touch with Antonio, Santino and Martin—tracking Lorenzo’s movements, bleeding his businesses dry.
Ensuring other warehouses where he held women hostage were also exposed.
If I couldn’t erase Roxanne’s pain, I could at least bury the man who caused it.
Her family left for the wedding on Wednesday. We’d join them tomorrow. I stayed back just to keep her company. This was my chance at being alone with her, to talk to her. Ask for forgiveness.
She came home late, tired. I met her at the door. She looked beautiful.
“I made pasta. Your favourite.”
“I’ll shower and join you,” she replied.
The apartment was dimly lit. Almost romantic. She wore a t-shirt dress that skimmed her thighs. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra—her breasts swayed freely, teasing with every movement. I shouldn’t have been noticing these things. But I was. God, I was.
We ate in silence—occasional questions, nothing deep. She washed the dishes while I dried them. Our hands brushed one too many times. She didn’t flinch.
Once we were done, I moved closer, hands on either side of the counter, trapping her between them.
“Why won’t you even look at me?”
She closed her eyes and spoke.
“Because it hurts too much.”
She pushed my hand away and stepped back, putting distance between us.
“You walked away. Then showed up in China. Gave me the necklace. Gave me hope. And vanished again. How do you expect me to forgive you? To look at you without hating you?”
“I did it for you. To keep you safe.”
Her voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes.
“But you couldn’t. Where were you when my company was being torn apart? Where were you when Lorenzo cornered me in his office and touched me like I was his whore?”
The word whore hit me like a bullet and lodged somewhere between my ribs. It sliced through me. I saw black. My body trembled, like rage and shame were fighting for the same breath. When I opened my eyes, I saw fear in hers—for the first time.
I stepped closer and pressed my forehead to hers. Drew in her scent.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve come sooner.”
I bent to kiss her. She turned away.
“It’ll take more than sorry.”
I nodded, stepping back.
“I’ll keep trying. Even if it takes me a lifetime.”
With that, we quietly went to our rooms. I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning in bed. She was so close to me, yet far away. This distance she was putting between us was killing me. She was a room away, but it felt like an ocean.
I swung out of bed and dropped onto the living room sofa, lighting a cigarette. I took a burning drag and let out a cloud of smoke, thinking of ways to win her heart.
I didn’t realise she’d walked in until she snatched the cigarette and bent over to stub it out.
“No smoking in the house.”
As she bent forward, her t-shirt dress rode up her hips, exposing the plum underwear on her curvy ass. Her cheeks peeked out, soft and round and something in me snapped.
My restraint burned out with the cigarette. But lust? It rose like a goddamn inferno. I didn’t decide to touch her. My body did.
I grabbed her waist, dragging her down to my lap. Her legs parted instinctively, her heat settling over my arousal. One hand gripped her neck, tilting her face towards me. The other slid down to her waist, fingers splaying across her skin.
My arousal pressed against her, hard and aching. Her breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell like she was drowning in want, and I was drowning right with her.
I grazed her neck with my jaw, then bit the lobe of her ear slowly. She let out a strangled moan. My lips found the spot where her neck met her ear—her most sensitive place. I bit down, slow and hard, knowing it would bruise by morning. I wanted to mark her. Let everyone know she was mine.
She struggled—but it wasn’t a struggle. It was friction. It was need, clawing its way out. Her hips were mindlessly gyrating, grinding against me, and it made me harder. I could feel the heat from her core on my arousal, almost ready to set me on fire.
Keeping a gentle grip on her neck, I grazed her lips with one finger.
My other hand wandered down to her thigh, closer to her core.
I grazed the seam of her panties, tempted to slide them aside and bury myself deep in her, reminding her how perfectly she fit around me.
She trembled as she pushed herself back into me, arching her back.
“You’ve been pushing me away all week. And I can’t resist you anymore. You’ve driven me mad—mad enough to lose sleep, lose sense, lose control.”
My voice came out ragged, almost hoarse, like the sound made by a provoked beast. I bit her shoulder, and slipped the finger grazing her lip into her mouth.
She slowly licked and sucked on it. The warmth of her mouth, the wetness of her tongue—had my cock twitching in my pants. She felt it and pressed harder into me.
Her nails dug into my hands, carving half-moons. I was surely going to ink them into my skin—proof that she still felt me.
If my cock had a mind of its own, it would’ve torn through the thin layers between us and buried itself in her warmth.
“Your scent… it wraps around me. I haven’t touched another woman since you left—haven’t so much as looked at another woman. All I’ve thought about is you, how perfectly you fit against me. How you undo me. How you’ve captured me with steel hooks.”
Lifting the edge of her t-shirt, my hand slid up to her stomach, then cupped her perfect, large breast. I slowly circled her hard nipple and pinched it hard between my fingers.
She threw her head back on my shoulders and let out a guttural moan—hungry, involuntary.
It shot through me like lightning. I wanted to spin her over and take them in my mouth, worship every inch of that body on this couch.
“I still don’t forgive you,” she whispered.
I stopped. Pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.
“Then I’ll wait. I’ll give you everything—except this. I won’t take what you won’t give. Not until you want me. Not until you forgive me. That’s my penance.”
My voice shook from wanting her beyond reason. She pushed off my lap and stared at me—flushed, breathless, furious. Her mind resisted, but her body had betrayed her. The evidence—wetness soaking through her panties, onto my sweatpants.
She wanted it as much as I did. She glanced at my arousal before storming towards her room—her round, curvy ass jiggling with every step.
Damn. I couldn’t think straight around her.
“7 a.m. sharp. We leave,” she said, slamming the door.
I put my head in my hands.
Shit.
I walked back to my room—heart pounding, half-broken, cock still hard. And then I heard it. A soft broken moan, followed by the low, unmistakable hum of a vibrator from her room.
I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. Her pleasure was a knife. And I took it willingly.
Fuck.
I wish it were me making her moan instead. That sound was going to haunt me tonight. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My body was on fire, but I couldn’t touch her. Not yet.
She hated me. Wanted me. Needed me. And I couldn’t have her.
I could still feel her heat on my skin. Her wetness on my crotch. Her moan lingering in my mouth like a ghost I didn’t want to exorcise. And yet, I was alone again.
I wanted to punch something, to beg her to let me in. But I wouldn’t. I’d wait even if it was killing me.
Because when she’d finally let me in—mind, body, soul—I want it to be real. Not reaction or revenge. Real.
And until then, I’d burn. Every night. With her scent in my lungs and her silence in my chest.