Chapter 45 #2
And she explodes. Her cunt clamps down so violently I almost fall with her. She sobs my name—broken, breathless, shaking. And I keep thrusting through it, milking every last spasm.
Then I come. It hits me like a wrecking ball. I bury myself deep, grind against her, let the piercing drag over her as I empty inside her with a groan so low it feels torn from my chest.
We collapse forward, still tangled, panting, stuck together by sweat and cum and everything we don’t know how to say out loud.
I don’t pull out. I lean over her back, kiss her neck.
“You still hate me?” I ask, softer now.
She turns her head just enough for our eyes to meet. “I think I hate how much I love you.”
Same.
We lie there for a bit; I pull out, wishing there was time for another round when she lets out a low moan. Instead of contemplating that, I head into the downstairs restroom and grab a towel, soaking it with hot water. I clean myself quickly before going back to where I left her.
Running the warm towel over her sweat-soaked body, I say, “We need to go. Now.”
She’s still catching her breath, still trembling, but she nods. Putting the wet towel down, I pull my clothes on before helping her put hers back on and grab her hand, leading her out.
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t ask questions. She just follows. Like she finally understands what’s at stake.
We get into the car and I start the engine, pulling out onto the road, heading out of the New Hampshire. We just need to get to Vegas.
She’s quiet beside me. Too quiet. I glance at her, then at the rearview mirror. And that’s when I see it.
A black SUV. Following. Too close.
My jaw locks, my grip tightening on the wheel. I take the next turn fast, watching the car behind us adjust, matching my speed.
I feel Princess tense beside me. She knows. She fucking knows.
I reach for my gun, keeping my eyes on the road. “Stay down.”
She hesitates. “Lucio?—”
“Stay the fuck down.”
She listens.
I press harder on the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement. The SUV speeds up to match, gaining on us.
I roll down the window, one hand steady on the wheel, the other lifting my gun.
I fire. Once. Twice. Three times.
The SUV swerves, the driver trying to dodge, but I see one of the bullets hit the windshield, cracking it. I press the gas harder, pushing the car to its limits.
They don’t stop. Neither do I.
We drive for hours, weaving through backroads, cutting through highways, dodging traffic.
Every time they get close, I fire again.
Finally, after the fifth shot, after pushing the car too fast for too long, they drop back and disappear into the night. I keep driving, white-knuckling the wheel, my pulse a fucking drum in my chest.
Princess slowly sits up, breathing unevenly. She looks at me, wide-eyed, lips parted.
“Lucio—”
I cut her off. “I fucking told you not to contact me.”
She flinches, her throat bobbing.
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. “They know you’re missing now. If they didn’t know before, they do now.”
She doesn’t respond. Because she knows she just made things a whole lot worse.
And now? Now, we’re running for real.
The road is empty, nothing but endless asphalt and shadows stretching ahead.
The SUV is gone. Disappeared. But my grip on the wheel is still tight, my jaw clenched so hard it aches.
We shouldn’t have gotten out of that. They should have kept coming. Should have forced me off the road. Should have taken her from me and ended this fucking mess before it got any worse.
But they didn’t. And that means this isn’t over.
They’re regrouping. They’re waiting. And we’re still running.
The silence between us is thick, tense, drowning.
Then I hear it. A sharp breath. A choked sound.
I flick my gaze to the passenger seat.
She’s crying. Softly, at first. Then the dam fucking breaks. Her shoulders shake, her hands gripping her knees so hard her knuckles turn white. Her breath comes in sharp, uneven pulls, the sound like a goddamn knife pressing into my ribs.
I bite down on my own frustration, my own fucking helplessness.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t give a fuck that she’s falling apart beside me. But I do. I fucking do.
She presses her hands to her face, her voice muffled, broken. “You need to give me up.”
The words are so quiet, so fragile, that I almost think I imagined them.
Then she says it again, her breath shuddering. “Lucio… You need to give me up.”
Something inside me snaps. I grip the wheel harder, my jaw tight, my entire body wired with anger and something worse—something dangerous.
“Shut up.”
She lets out a choked sob, shaking her head. “You know I’m right.”
“I said shut the fuck up, Princess.”
She presses her fingers into her temples, her voice breaking. “They’ll never forgive you. They’ll kill you, Lucio. You’re their family, and they’ll still?—”
I slam my hand against the dashboard, my voice a growl. “You don’t know what the hell you’re saying.”
She flinches, her tears spilling faster, but she doesn’t stop. “You can still fix this. You can still go back?—”
I whip my head toward her, my hands gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles go white. “And do what? Hand you over so they can rip you apart? Let them carve you up piece by fucking piece? You think that’s gonna fix anything?”
She shakes her head, her face twisted in grief, in guilt, in something raw. “I don’t want you to die for me.”
I let out a harsh breath, my chest burning, my pulse pounding in my ears.
I don’t tell her the truth. I don’t tell her that I would. That I already fucking chose her over them. That I won’t regret it. That even now, even when she’s trying to beg me to save myself at her expense, I can’t fucking do it.
Because she’s mine. Mine to protect. Mine to keep. Mine to fucking fight for.
So I say nothing. I just keep driving, keep my hands on the wheel, keep my focus on the road, because if I look at her—if I see the way she’s falling apart—I might fucking break with her.
The silence stretches. Long. Heavy. Suffocating.
Then the headlights appear. Two sets. One from the left, one from the right.
I spot them too late.
Fuck.
They move fast, cutting us off, forcing me to slam the brakes, the tires screeching as the car skids across the pavement.
I barely stop before colliding. My pulse slams into my ribs, my fingers tightening around the wheel, my jaw locked as I realize this is it.
I don’t have to look at the license plates. I already fucking know.
The Camorra. My brothers.
The driver’s side door of the first car swings open, and Emiliano steps out. Behind him, Romiro.
I glance at the second car. And Romiro steps out. Emiliano’s most trusted Camorrista.
They didn’t just come to find me. They came to end this.
Princess sucks in a sharp breath beside me, her body rigid, her nails digging into her thighs.
I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on Eli.
Because I already know…
This is about to get very fucking ugly.
The headlights flood the road, casting long shadows across the pavement. The glare makes it impossible to see anything beyond the figures stepping out of the cars, but I don’t need to see their faces. I already know.
I feel it before I hear it: the shift in the air, the weight of this moment settling like a noose around my throat.
Princess goes rigid beside me, her breath coming in short, shaky pulls. I can feel her looking at me, but I don’t look back.
“Out of the fucking car!” my brother shouts.
Flinging the door open, I step out. Princess follows my move, and we both stand in front of my car. I keep my focus ahead.
On Emiliano. On Romiro. On the guns already raised, already aimed. Eli’s stance is relaxed, but the look in his eyes…
Cold. Calculated. Deadly.
“It’s over, Lucio.”
I clench my jaw. My hand inches toward my gun, but I don’t draw it. Not yet.
“Not happening!” I shout, refusing to back down.
Eli lets out a slow breath, like he’s exhausted by my stupidity. “You know how this ends. Give her up, and I’ll forgive this mistake.”
Princess flinches beside me, but she doesn’t say a word. Because she knows just as well as I do that there’s nothing to say.
I should have expected this. I should have known he’d come for me himself.
But he still doesn’t fucking get it.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders, keeping my hands loose at my sides.
“Forgive me?” I scoff. “Fuck off if you think I’m giving up on the only woman who actually cares about me.”
A muscle in Eli’s jaw twitches. His grip tightens on his gun.
“She’s the reason our mother is in a coffin, Lucio. In a fucking coffin . In a grave. Six feet under the fucking ground.”
The words slam into me like a bullet to the chest. My fingers twitch. My muscles coil tight…tight…too fucking tight.
And then I growl, “Don’t you dare put this on her.”
Eli’s eyes flash.
I step forward, my body taut, my teeth bared. “If it hadn’t been for your fucking issues with the Outfit, we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess.”
A sharp breath punches through the air. Princess stiffens, but I keep my focus on Eli.
His expression doesn’t change. Not immediately. But I see it.
The hesitation. The moment of pause. Because he knows I’m right. His beef with the Outfit goes back years, and this attack…this wasn’t just about her.
This was about us. About power. About a war that’s been brewing long before she ever stepped into my life.
And yet he’s putting it on her. Like she was the fucking match that started the fire.
Bullshit.
I breathe heavily, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The air is so goddamn thick, it could snap.
Romiro shifts, his gun still raised, his eyes flicking between us. “Eli?”
A beat. The air shifts. Eli’s gaze stays locked on mine for a long, unbearable second.
Then he lowers his gun. Just a fraction. A small, almost imperceptible movement.
But I see it.
Romiro, though? He’s confused as hell.
“Eli?” His voice is sharp, uncertain.
Eli doesn’t take his eyes off me. Doesn’t even flinch.
“Lower your fucking gun, Romiro.”
Eli doesn’t say another word. He just turns, walks back to his car, and yanks the door open. I keep my eyes on him, my pulse drumming like war drums in my ears, waiting for the next move.
Princess is still frozen beside me, her breath shaky, her fingers digging into her thighs like she’s trying to keep herself grounded. Romiro hasn’t moved either, his jaw tight, his gun still half-raised, unsure, confused.
But Eli? He’s already done with this conversation.
He reaches into the backseat of his car, pulls out two black briefcases, and throws them at my feet. They hit the pavement with a solid thud.
I don’t flinch.
“There’s money in there.” His voice is sharp, final, absolute.
Princess stiffens beside me, her eyes flicking between me and the cases, as if she can’t believe what’s happening.
Eli levels me with a stare that feels like a death sentence. “I don’t want to ever see you in or near Camorra territory again.”
His words cut—precise, merciless.
Princess’s breath catches, her fingers curling around my wrist like she’s afraid I’m going to fall apart right here. Like she already knows what’s coming next.
Eli takes a step closer, his expression colder than I’ve ever seen it. “From now on, you’re nothing. You’re fucking dead to us.”
The words hit harder than a bullet.
“Any Camorrista who sees you has orders to shoot on sight.”
My fingers twitch at my sides.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve been bracing for.
Eli isn’t my brother anymore. Romiro isn’t my brother-in-arms. The Camorra isn’t my family. Not anymore.
They’ve cut me loose. Made me an enemy. A traitor.
I hold his gaze for a long second. Then I smirk.
“Go fuck yourself, Eli.”
His eyes flicker with something unreadable.
Then, without another word, he turns, gets back into the car, and pulls away.
Romiro follows suit, engines roaring, tires screeching against the pavement as they disappear into the night, leaving me standing in the middle of the road with two briefcases full of blood money and the only woman I’ve ever given a damn about.
Princess is staring at me, lips parted, expression wrecked. She knows what this means.
I’m not Camorra anymore. I’m a dead man walking.
I let out a slow, measured breath, roll my shoulders, and look down at the briefcases like they don’t mean shit. Then I turn to her, tilting my head.
“Well, Princess…” I exhale. “Looks like we’re on our own.”