The Dervishis are encroaching. The Lucanias are losing faith. The men are restless. And instead of leading and rebuilding, I’m obsessing over a girl I should kill.
Do I put on the ring, take my revenge, and move on with becoming Don Vici? Lead my men to destroy the Montonis like they destroyed us?
I open a desk drawer and take out a velvet box. Inside is the eagle-and-raven necklace I commission for Adora as an engagement gift. I imagine fastening it around her slender throat and murmuring to her how beautiful she is.
Across the city, in another too-quiet house, Adora Montoni is probably still on her knees, trying to piece together what I ripped apart.
Do I give her this necklace and make her mine? Claim her as my bride the way my father wanted and put the desire for revenge behind me?
I sink into my father’s chair and stare at the two pieces of jewelry.
Two paths. Two futures. And I don’t know which one to choose.
I don’t remember fallingasleep.
One moment I’m sitting in my father’s chair, staring at the ring and the necklace. The next, I’m in the laundromat again. But this time it’s different. Clean. No bodies. No blood.
Just Adora.
My body cages hers, and she’s pressed against the washing machines, her back arched into mine. Her honey-blonde hair is loose around her shoulders. She’s wearing that same pale blue hoodie, but it’s sliding off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her neck.
“You owe me a kiss,” I murmur against her throat.
“I know.” Her voice is breathless and wanting. “Take it.”
So I do.
This kiss is slow and deliberate. Consuming. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer. She tastes like honey and forbidden fruit.
My hands find her waist, her hips, sliding beneath the hem of her hoodie to caress her bare breasts. Her nipples tighten against my palms. I pluck them, and she gasps against my mouth. The sound goes straight through me like chain lightning.
“Vincenzo.” She breathes my name like a prayer.
I lift her onto the washing machine, stepping between her thighs. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me flush against her. I’m so hard, and my cock is tight against her sex. The friction makes us both groan. Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat, and I trace it with my lips, and then with my teeth, marking her.
“Mine,” I growl against her pulse point.
“Yours,” she agrees, her fingers threading through my hair.
I capture her mouth again, deeper this time, more possessive. Her tongue meets mine, stroke for stroke, her inhibitions gone, replaced by raw need. One of her hands slides down my chest, lower and lower, until she finds my waistband.
Adora plays with the button on my jeans. She puts her lips against my ear, and whispers, “Make me yours.”
I jolt awake, gasping.
The study is dark except for the moonlight streaming through the window. I’m still in my father’s chair, but I’m no longer just sitting. I’m hard as steel, my jeans uncomfortably tight, and my heart is pounding like I’ve been running.
The dream hasn’t faded. Adora is still with me, eager and tempting. Desire courses through me, and I realize I haven’t come in seven weeks. I’ve been dead inside ever since the massacre. Without stopping to consider whether this is a good idea, I unzip my jeans, thrust my hand inside, and grasp my cock. I groan in desperation as my thumb caresses my swollen head.
I can still feel Adora. Taste her. Hear her voice saying my name with breathy desperation and promising herself to me.
Yours.
I imagine her parted lips sucking the tip of my cock, her amber eyes teasing me. I gather her honey-colored hair into my fist, and she opens her lips wider to take me all the way to the root of my cock, my veiny length disappearing into her mouth. She sucks me in long, languid strokes, her tongue caressing me in ways that make my vision blur and my control shatter. Everything narrows to the heat of her mouth.
“Mine,” I pant, fisting my cock up and down with desperate, hungry strokes. “Mine.”
I come in an explosive rush, my cum spurting all over the front of my shirt, and melting over my still-moving hand.
