“Me? When I could give you the world?” His intense eyes bore into mine, and his brows furrow as if not comprehending that he could give me everything, yet I’d choose him.
“You’re my world,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes for a second as if to absorb my words. I’d show him every day what he means to me if I could. Yet someone else dictates my life. Responsibility, duty. Love doesn’t have a place at the table in the Mafia. The exceptions are rare and in-between, causing even more bloodshed. In our case, it would cause pandemonium.
We’re so close, I inhale his breath. I couldn’t be any closer to him physically or emotionally, making me wonder how I will ever be able to sell our connection as a friendship, a sibling one, to my brother again. I am afraid that at his name alone I will light up, broadcasting my forbidden feelings in neon colors.
“You’re tearing me apart, fiber by fiber, baby girl. You terrify me.”
A smile teases my lips, loving that I have this effect on him.
“You’re enjoying my torment?” he groans.
“I’ll make it better,” I promise.
“You so will.”
A delicious shiver skitters down my back, eager for him to own my body and control my pleasure. Caught in his sexual spell, I forget where we are as I squirm in his lap.
His palm comes down on my thigh, his thick and long fingers spanning over my skin, making me feel tiny in comparison and even safer. That hand would cause irreparable damage to anyone who threatened my well-being.
“Thank you,” I gulp, watching the lights dim and the chatter vanish.
“I have to show the world to my queen.”
“Never stop.” I plead, hoping for a miracle.
“You’ll get whatever your greedy little heart desires.”
“What do you truly want?” I ask, genuinely curious. He could get everything with the snap of his fingers.
“To die while in your pussy, wrapped in your arms.”
I slap him playfully on his arm, biting down on my lip to muffle my amusement. His needs are basic. He might appear like a god, but he’s still just a man. My man.
His smirk remains plastered on his face, but every trace of playfulness vanishes, replaced by stony solemnity. He cups my cheek, softness reflecting in his eyes, mixed with pure need. “You. Day in. Day out. Every night. For all my life and beyond if possible.”
I’ve never doubted that he cares for me. But while I hoped he’d love me, he has been just as in love with me as I with him. Never unrequited. I can’t even be mad at him for hiding his feelings so proficiently. We were too busy battling our demons to see the other’s perspective.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” I murmur, brushing a kiss to his lips.
He holds me to his chest, breathing me in as he kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry I ever gave you the impression that you’renot the center of my world. Because that’s what you are to me. The center. My world. My fucking heart.”
His confession leaves me speechless, too busy locking them in the treasure room of my heart—for safekeeping, guarding them with every fiber of my being.
The concert begins, and I relax further into his arms, feeling lighter.
I imagine being there on the stage. When I was younger, I fantasized about traveling the world, performing on the most renowned stages, and playing with the most illustrious orchestras. The idea hasn’t completely lost its appeal, but I am happiest at home.
Occasionally, sure, but I need my familiar space to recharge. Surrounded by my piano, him, and my family, I have everything I need to feel fulfilled.
The music takes me somewhere else—to a faraway land where music is God, and the worshipers praise every note.
“Not better than your music. No wonder they want you,” he mumbles behind me.
Do I love how much he loves my music? Definitely. But these are some of the best classical musicians in the world. And I am just one of them.
“You insisted I’d spread my wings.”
