Carlo makes a strangled sound that might be protest or might be something else entirely.
“And New Year’s Eve,” I continue, completely carried away now. “Just the two of us after the children are asleep, dancing in our kitchen to music only we can hear. No more pretending we’re just family friends. No more careful distance. Just us, being exactly who we are together.”
I sigh happily. “Then you can bend me over the kitchen island and rail me until I scream and you have to put your hand over my mouth, so we don’t wake the children.”
I turn back to look at him, and his expression is so conflicted it makes my heart ache. He wants this, I can see it written all over his face, but he’s fighting it so hard. All those years of conditioning, all that internalized shame about what other people might think.
Carlo’s jaw works silently, like he’s fighting some internal battle. I love watching him think, love seeing all the emotionsplay across his features when he thinks no one is looking. He’s so much more expressive than people realize.
“And the best part,” I whisper, moving back to the bed and settling beside him again, “is that it’s all real. Not some fantasy or daydream, but actual possibility. I’m here, you’re here, and we have all the time in the world to figure out exactly how we want our life to look.”
“We are going to be so happy together,” I whisper, reaching out to trace a finger along his collarbone. His skin is so warm, so perfectly smooth except for the small scars that tell the story of his dangerous life. “No more pretending, no more keeping distance between us. Just us, here, building something beautiful.”
His breath hitches at my touch, and I smile because his body always tells the truth even when his mind is being stubborn.
“Just think about it,” I say, settling back to give him space to process. “Think about never having to perform in your marriage, never having to be the big bad mafia man with me. You can just come home and be taken care of. I can give you that, Carlo. I can give you everything.”
I can practically see the war happening behind his eyes, denial fighting against something that looks dangerously like longing. It’s exactly what I hoped for.
“Eventually, when you’re ready, we could even travel,” I add casually. “Italy, obviously. I’d love to show you the village where my nonna grew up. There’s this little church where she was married, with the most beautiful frescoes. And France, maybe Scotland. Anywhere you want to go, as long as we’re together.”
The mention of travel seems to hit him differently, maybe because it implies freedom rather than captivity. Choice rather than coercion. I can see him trying to reconcile the image of voluntary vacation with his current restrained state.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say gently. “You’re wondering how we get from here to there. But all the best relationships require some initial adjustment period, don’t they? Some time to really understand each other without outside interference.”
Soon, he’ll stop fighting and realize that this is exactly what he’s always wanted.
He just needs a little more time to accept it.
Chapter five
Carlo
He is insane. Completely and utterly fucking batshit bonkers. Abducting me was one thing, but marriage,children? Talking about being some kind of deranged psycho tradwife?
He has seriously lost the plot.
I need to get out of here. As soon as possible.
“Oh! Is that the time?” Ginni says, looking at his wrist.
My blood pressure spikes. My headache intensifies. Ginni isn’t wearing a watch. He is staring at the bare skin of his wrist.
But at least he has stopped talking about kids and dinner parties and me fucking his tight little ass over the kitchen island.
“What time is it?” I ask. I need to keep him on this track. It is much safer.
He looks up at me and hits me with a truly dazzling smile. One that lights up his impossibly blue eyes.
“It’s blowjob o’clock!”
My mouth opens. It snaps shut again. “What?”
“Blowjob o’clock!” Ginni exclaims happily. “Part of our new routine. Coffee. Breakfast. Quiet time while I tidy up. Then a lovely blowjob for you so you can start the day really happy, and with all your needs met.”
I shake my head to try to clear it. To try to chase away this bewildering situation. It does no good. I’m still in Ginni’s basement being threatened with blowjob o’clock.
“I don’t need a blowjob,” I say. Words I never thought that I, or any healthy man, would ever say.
