Then she moves her hips and I'm lost.
I start to move—deep, measured strokes that have her gasping. Her nails rake down my back and I welcome the sting. Want the pain. Want her to leave marks that will remind me of this, of her, when I'm back in Naples surrounded by violence and power.
"Harder," she breathes. "Don't—don't be careful with me."
Something in me snaps. I bury my face in her neck and drive into her with everything I have. She meets me thrust for thrust, her body arching, her legs tight around me.
It's not sweet. It's not tender. It's raw and desperate and fierce—two people trying to say goodbye in the only language that matters.
This is everything we can't say with words. Every fear, every hope, every feeling we're too afraid to name. It's in the way she clings to me. The way I hold her like she might disappear. The way our bodies move together like we're trying to become one person.
I feel her tightening around me, getting close, and I change the angle, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out. I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing the sound so Elena doesn't wake.
She comes hard, her whole body shaking, and I follow seconds later, burying myself deep as the release crashes over me.
For a long moment we just lie there, still connected, both of us breathing hard. I should move, should pull away, but I can't. Can't let go yet.
She touches my face, her fingers gentle despite the desperation of moments ago. In her eyes I see tears threatening, but she doesn't let them fall.
I finally pull out, rolling to the side and taking her with me. She curls against my chest, her head tucked under my chin, and I hold her tight.
We should talk about logistics. About how she'll manage the farm without me. About when I'll try to contact her. About what happens if I don't come back.
But we don't. We just lie there in the darkness, holding each other, memorizing the feel of this moment.
Because in the morning, everything changes.
In the morning, I have to tell Elena I'm leaving. I have to call Ciro and start the process of becoming Don Rossi again. Then I start the long, bloody road to making Isabella and Elena safe.
But tonight—for just a few more hours—I'm still just Lupo. The man who fixes chicken coops and reads bedtime stories. The man who found something worth living for in a dusty farmhouse with a woman and child who saved him.
The man who's about to break both their hearts to keep them alive.
"I'll come back," I whisper into her hair. "No matter what it takes. I'll find a way back to you."
She doesn't answer. Just holds me tighter, her breath hitching slightly.
And we both know I might be lying.
But we pretend anyway.
Because sometimes, in the darkest moments, pretending is all we have.
Chapter 28: Isabella
I don't sleep. Can't sleep. I just lie in Lupo's arms watching the darkness fade to gray, memorizing the feel of him beside me. His heartbeat under my palm. The rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his skin. The weight of his arm around my waist.
All the small things I'll have to survive without.
When the first light creeps through the window, I feel him stir. His hand tightens on my hip, pulling me closer for just a moment. Like he's not ready to let go either.
"We should get up," he murmurs against my hair. "Elena will be awake soon."
I nod but don't move. Can't make myself leave the safety of his arms yet.
"Isabella." His voice is gentle. "We have to tell her."
"I know." My throat is tight. "I just need another minute."
