"Three men," I growl, sliding two fingers inside her roughly. "I broke the first one's fingers, just like Blair's, but slower. He screamed by the end."
She moans, grinding against my hand, her innocence warring with dark arousal. "More."
"The second one thought he could negotiate." I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her arch off the bed. "I showed him the photos of you, told him exactly what I'd do toanyone who threatened my wife. He was crying when I pulled the trigger."
"Alessandro," she gasps, and it's both protest and need.
"The third one knew your real name. Said it while I had my hands around his throat." I add a third finger, fucking her with them while my thumb circles her clit. "I made sure Emma Pitt was the last thing he ever said."
She comes with a scream, her pussy clenching around my fingers as the violence and pleasure merge into something dark and perfect. I don't let her recover, immediately replacing my fingers with my cock, driving deep in one thrust.
I snarl, setting a punishing pace. "My brave fucking girl."
We fuck with desperate intensity, each thrust a promise and a threat.
"Tomorrow we end this," I promise, my voice rough with exhaustion and determination. "We hunt them down, every last one who threatened us."
She arches her back, showing me her full tits, and I lean down and take one in my mouth.
"The Hewsons first," I tell her, already planning tomorrow's violence. "They started this when they forced you into that wedding dress. Time they learned what happens when you use my wife as a pawn."
Emma's moan comes from her soul. "Make them pay," she whispers. "Make them understand that I'm yours now, not theirs to control."
"Say that again," I growl, rolling her beneath me without losing contact. I still inside her as I wait for her response.
She looks up at me, eyes bright. She knows what her attempts at darkness do to me. "Make them pay for what they did to us. Make them sorry they ever threatened what's ours."
"You want me to destroy them?" I ask, pulling out of her slowly, sitting the head of my cock at her entrance again.
"I want them gone," she corrects, lifting her hips to take me inside. "I want them to see what they created when they turned the servant girl into your wife."
I thrust deep, making her gasp. "Fuck, Emma. You're going to make me kill half of Chicago just to keep you safe."
"Good," she moans, meeting my thrusts. "Do whatever it takes. Show them what happens when someone tries to tear us apart."
The bed slams against the wall with each thrust, competing with the sirens outside. My split knuckles leave blood on her skin wherever I touch, marking her with evidence of tonight's violence. She shivers at the sight but doesn't pull away.
"They're getting impatient," I remind her, fucking her harder. "We're running out of time."
She gasps, her body tightening around me. "We need to figure out who's behind this." Her nails dig into my shoulders. "Before they make their next move."
"You want to face this together?" I snarl, flipping her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up. "Then we do it my way."
I drive into her from behind, the angle letting me go impossibly deep. She screams into the pillow, her pussy clenching around me.
"This is what you do to me," I growl, one hand tangled in her hair while the other grips her hip hard enough to bruise. "Make me insatiable. Make me want to fuck you while the world burns around us."
"Let it burn," she gasps, pushing back against me. "As long as we're together."
The sirens fade into the distance, but neither of us notice. We're lost in our own intensity, our own desperate connection, creating something powerful in the space between danger and desire.
"Soon," I growl against her neck as she comes again, her whole body shaking. "This all ends soon."
22 - Alessandro
The blood under Emma’s collar is mine, a thumbprint I left three hours ago when I gripped her throat while fucking her senseless after dealing with tonight’s third body. Now she sits beside me in the war room, the navy Armani I chose specifically to hide my marks, while Marco slides a manila envelope across the mahogany table like a death sentence.
"Three separate deliveries in the last two hours," Marco says, his voice carrying that particular tone that used to make me look for exits. "Each one more specific than the last. They know about our northern routes, the dock schedules, even which judges we own."
