“I’m…” I try to speak, but my voice twists into a moan when Luca picks up his pace. It’s maddening—too good, too much. “I?—!”
“Say yes, angel.” He bites hard onto my nipple, and I see stars. “Be mine. Forever.”
Tears gather at the corners of my eyes. I don’t deserve this. I know I don’t. But how could I ever say no?
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, Luca. I’ll be—ahh—your wife. I’ll be yours.”
He kisses me again, rough and deep. I melt into it, the commanding press of his mouth, the savage snap of his hips. It’s perfect.He’sperfect.
For a moment, I feel perfect, too.
Pleasure coils hot and tight in my belly again, sharper this time. My breath hitches, and I feel it coming, impossibly intense.
“Luca,” I cry out. “I, oh,” I moan. “Please…”
“I’ve got you, angel,” he whispers fiercely. “Let go for me.”
I do.
I break apart beneath him with a cry, trembling and clinging to him as the waves crash through me. A moment later, with a raw groan of my name, he follows, burying himself deep as he comes inside me.
I moan higher.
We collapse into each other, bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing, completely undone.
After, he doesn’t pull away. He stays with me, tangled in the sheets, one hand stroking my back, the other twined with mine.
“You’re everything,” he whispers.
And in his arms, I believe it.
14
EPILOGUE: LUCA
THREE MONTHS LATER
It’s strange how quiet a wedding morning can be, especially when you’re a mafia Don.
My apartment is buzzing with voices, movement, anticipation. Riccardo is nursing a scotch he absolutely doesn't need at nine a.m. Alberto is triple-checking the schedule on his phone. Valerio is teasing the caterers, making them blush with that stupid grin he never turns off.
I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror, buttoning a custom-cut suit that took six fittings to get right.
Still, none of it feels real.
“She’s actually marrying you,” Riccardo mutters behind me. “Girl must have a thing for danger.”
I give him a look.
He raises his hands. “I’m just saying, ifIwere Erin, I’d have serious questions about my life choices.”
“She sees more in him than most people ever have,” Alberto adds. “Besides, he looks like he might actually smile today. Sort of.”
I ignore them both. I’m focused on the cufflinks.
Not because I care about the silver or the stupid engraved initials.
Because these are the last few minutes before I walk out there and see her.
