“Well, now you’re definitely getting laid.”
His grin is pure predator. “Then let’s go home,cara, and bring in the New Year with a bang.”
Right on cue, a black SUV pulls up to the curb. Sleek, silent, and utterly discreet.
Lorenzo opens the door for me, murmuring, “It’s supposed to rain soon. I thought this might keep us warm on the way home.”
We climb into the back, the door thudding shut behind us. The cabin is dark, plush, and private—thick tinted windows cocooning us from the world. The partition between us and the driver slides up with a soft click. We’re alone.
Lorenzo shifts, his knee brushing mine. Then his hand finds my thigh, possessive and warm, and suddenly his mouth is on mine.
“I need you,cara,” he breathes against my lips, voice ragged with restraint. “Now.”
I don’t answer. I just move.
His jacket is already off, my hands pushing beneath his shirt, his palms sliding up my legs, my dress hitched above my hips. I straddle him when he pulls my panties aside, sliding slowly onto his cock. We both moan as he fills me completely. There are a million things I should ask him. What are we doing? Is he going to end things with Francesca?
But all thoughts leave as he kisses me again.
“Ride me,cara. Show me how much you needed my cock.”
And, so, I do.
The SUV rocks faintly as we lose ourselves in everything we’ve both been holding back.
Outside, the rain begins to fall.
Inside, we burn.
21
Lorenzo
I leave Elizabeth tangled in her sheets, her golden hair fanned across the pillow like something out of a dream I don’t deserve. For a moment, I linger in the doorway, watching the rise and fall of her chest, memorizing the peaceful way she sleeps when she thinks she’s safe.
Then I slip out, quietly shutting the door behind me.
There are three missed calls on my phone, all from Federico Marino. I knew they’d come eventually. I can’t put him off forever. Not without drawing more suspicion. But that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the conversation.
In my study, I pour myself two fingers of whisky and sit behind my desk. The house is quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that usually means power or danger, and this evening it’s danger.
I light a cigar, take a slow drag, then hit call back.
He answers on the first ring.
“Conti,” he barks in that gravel-edged voice of his. “Why are you ignoring my calls?”
I exhale a slow stream of smoke.
“I’m running an empire, Federico. You know how it is. What did you need?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. We both know why I’m calling.” His voice is taut with fury barely masked by civility. “Fran is upset. Which means my wife is upset. Which means?—”
“You’re upset,” I finish flatly.
He doesn’t deny it.
“How long do you plan to keepthat girlin your home?” There’s a pause loaded with unspoken threats. “It’s bad optics, Lorenzo. People are talking. You’ve missed events. Fran is fielding questions she shouldn’t have to answer. You promised us?—”
