One hand tangles in my hair, cradling my head as if I'm something precious, something he can't bear to lose again.
I'm drowning, falling, burning alive in his embrace.
What am I doing? This man walked away from me and now I'm melting in his arms like some lovesick teenager?
My mind screams caution while my heart yearns to regain what we lost.
I don't know which one to trust anymore.
7
LUCA
The taste of her.
Christ, it's like coming home after years in exile.
My mind empties of everything except Katerina.
The softness of her lips, the small sound she makes in the back of her throat, the way her body fits against mine like it was created for me alone.
I have a son.
The thought ricochets through my head but doesn't fully land.
It can't land, not while Katerina's mouth is on mine, her fingers digging into my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear again.
Outside this room, Alessandro doubts me.
The Bratva plots against us.
My father's killer walks free.
But in this moment, with her body pressed against mine, only one truth matters.
I have a family.
And God help anyone who tries to take them from me again.
Her lips part beneath mine, and I dive deeper into the taste I've dreamed about for seven long years.
My hands slide up her back, pulling her closer until there's nothing between us but our clothes.
"Luca," she whispers against my mouth, half protest, half plea.
I answer by backing her against the wall, my body caging hers.
My hand finds her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek while my other hand grips her waist.
The silk of her funeral dress slides beneath my fingers, and I remember how she used to come apart under my touch.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur, trailing kisses along her jaw. "Tell me you don't feel this too."
It’s stupid to say, and I’m prepared for her to end this now.
But instead of pushing me away, her fingers thread through my hair, tugging me closer.
Her pulse races beneath my lips as I press them to her throat.
