She's staring at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. "The lottery. The house. Giuseppe's debt—"
"All carefully arranged."
"That's impossible. The Italian government lottery—"
"Is administered by regional officials who understand the value of cooperation with local business interests."
I watch her process this information, see the moment she realizes the scope of what I'm telling her.
Suddenly she jumps out of the car and rushes back into her house with me right behind her. “Madison, wait!”
She whirls around, furious with me. "You're saying you orchestrated everything? My winning the lottery, buying the house, the debt that tied me to you?"
"Not everything. I'm only saying that when someone with my resources wants a particular outcome, that outcome becomes inevitable."
“You watched me build a life on lies and never said a word. You let me believe this life was mine!”
I don’t step back. “It was always mine. Including you.” I let the sentence hang between us, simple, true.
Her hand comes up before I can react. The slap is clean and hot across my cheek, a sound sharp enough to slice the quiet. For the fraction of a breath afterward, I almost taste surprise. No one in my world dares to strike me. I catch her wrist as it comes back, fingers closing around bone and tendon.
She backs against the wall. Ragged breaths leave her and I watch the quick flare of something in her eyes that isn’t only anger.
“You hate me for the truth,” I say, my voice low. “But you still want me. Even now. You can’t deny what we have between us.”
Her answer is a surrender. “I hate that you’re right,” she whispers. It comes out raw, ragged, honest in a way that twists something inside me open.
I close the distance between us. I don’t kiss her to soothe; I kiss her to take. My mouth finds hers hard and fast, not askingpermission. She struggles, the small, furious resistance that says no and means maybe, and it sets fire under my skin.
Her fingers dig into my shirt, into my hair, as though tearing at me will change the truth between us. I tilt her head back until I can see the pulse of her throat. One hand slides under the edge of her sweater, fingers warm against skin; the other holds her where she is. She arches into me with a low moan.
The wall is cold against her spine; my body is everything else. There are no soft words here, no promises. Just the raw friction of anger and want crossed so tightly they’re indistinguishable in this moment of truth.
“Say it,” I demand between bruising kisses. “Say you want me.”
She shakes her head, gasping, but her body betrays her when I drag my hand up her thigh and she arches into me with a broken sound. My mouth finds her neck, biting hard enough to mark, and her protest shatters on a gasp that turns into my name.
“Enzo—”
That’s all I need.
Her lips on my name is a match to tinder. I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing any protest she might make, but there’s none to hear. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer.
I slide my hands under her thighs and lift her against the wall. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, and I grind against her, letting her feel my hard cock. "See what you do to me?" I growl against her neck, my voice rough with want. "You're all I can think about. Every fucking hour. You have no idea of the lengths I will go to keep you safe, to keep you here."
A sharp gasp escapes her lips, her head falling back against the cool stone. My mouth leaves hers to attack the exposed column of her throat with teeth and tongue, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down to the hollow of her collarbone.
The wall isn't enough. I need her beneath me, need to see her body splayed out and wanting. I pick her up and carry her through the cottage, her body pressed tight against mine. When I reach the bedroom, I set her down on the mattress and follow.
My hands are everywhere at once, pushing her sweater up and over her head, making quick work of her bra. When her breasts are bare to me, I take one peaked nipple into my mouth, sucking hard while my hand kneads the other. She arches beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me to her. Her whole body is trembling, a low hum of pleasure vibrating through her.
"Enzo," she whispers, her voice a desperate plea.
I move to the other breast, biting gently before soothing with my tongue. She's making those little sounds that drive me insane—half gasps, half moans that tell me she's already lost in sensation. I trail hot kisses down her stomach, the line of her muscles taut beneath my lips, while my hands work at her jeans, pulling them and her underwear down in one swift motion.
She’s naked beneath me now, flushed and panting, and the sight of her steals what little restraint I have left. I spread her legs wide and settle between them, my hands gripping her thighs to hold her still. The first touch of my tongue against her makes her cry out, her hips bucking off the bed.
"Don't stop," she begs, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Please, don't stop."
