His hand combs into my hair, his other finding my hip as he pulls me firmly against him, and it steals my breath away.
“I think it’s high time I take you to bed,” he growls, steering me backward, and my core clenches with anticipation, my pulse quickening.
As we stumble down the hall toward the bedroom, it’s like gravity itself pulls us there.
Clothes trail behind us like breadcrumbs as our hushed laughter mingles with soft moans.
And by the time Leo spills me back onto the bed, covering my body with his, I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.
We don’t rush. We never do anymore—not because we don’t want to, but because we can take our time now. There are no looming threats, no betrayals waiting to detonate between us, no ghosts clawing at our heels. Just us.
Leo’s mouth is everywhere, hot and passionate and sinfully pleasurable as he worships me like I’m something holy. And as his swollen tip finds my throbbing entrance, I’m already on the brink of release.
“Tell me you want me, Princess,” he breathes.
“Please, Leo,” I whimper, arching into him as I roll my hips. “I want you so bad.”
And when he presses inside me, burying himself to the hilt in my depths, a deep, achingly satisfied moan rushes past my lips. We move together—slow, hot, intoxicating—and it feels like a promise.
He kisses my collarbone, my jaw, my lips. “I love you,Cattiva,” he whispers, the words like silk on my skin. “I’ll love you until my dying breath.”
My heart clenches with happiness so fierce it’s almost painful. “I love you too,” I whisper, pleasure surging through me as my emotions tangle with my senses, setting my soul on fire.
This is the perfect ending I never saw coming. I never knew I could fall in love with a husband I never wanted, but now, I’m certain I couldn’t live without Leo.
He’s the anchor to my ship, my reason for existence, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m exactly where I belong.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
MIKO
Intense satisfaction surges through me as the hulking Russian slowly slides off my blade, his hand still clutching at the fabric of my shirt as he struggles to stay on his feet.
But even as he clings to me, I can see the light leaving his eyes.
If a man ever deserved to die at my hands, it’s this bastard, and I watch him collapse to his knees in a heap, his lifeblood pooling around his body from the numerous holes I punched in him.
But he’s still clinging to life, his sharp gaze staring up at me with such shock and fury, he looks like he wants to stand back up.
“You don’t mess with the Chiaroscuros,” I growl, swinging my arm in an arc that opens his throat in a deep crimson smile.
He tumbles backward, a gurgled choke escaping him as his last breath rushes from his lungs.
Breathing heavily, I loom over him. I haven’t been matched that well in quite some time.
Aside from my brother Sandro, no one holds a candle to my close combat skills, but this bastard gave me a run for my money—even if he’s got a bit of a belly on him.
He was big in every sense of the word.
And now, he’s dead.
Stooping to wipe my blade on the shoulder of his shirt, I take deep breaths, slowing my heart. And the sound of a soft squeak makes my eyes snap up to find striking blue eyes peering out at me from under the dining room table.
I recognize her immediately, even when she’s crouched in shadow, curled into a frightened ball.
Anika Novikov.
She’s a classic Russian beauty—with pale blonde hair that falls down to her shoulders in soft waves, smooth, delicate porcelain skin, high cheekbones that frame a straight button nose, and full, red lips that are slightly parted to reveal the hint of a gap between her two front teeth.
