I gasped, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders.
“Vincenzo—”
But he didn’t answer.
Didn’t slow down.
He carried me across the garage with steady, confident steps, as though I weighed nothing at all.
As though I belonged there.
In his arms.
At the Lamborghini, he opened the rear door one-handed without setting me down.
Then carefully—deliberately—lowered me onto the leather seat.
Before I could speak again—
He leaned in.
And slammed the door shut behind him.
The world outside disappeared.
Then his mouth found mine.
The kiss hit hard.
Urgent. Unrestrained.
All the control he’d been holding onto—
Shattered in that one moment.
His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer.
His lips moved against mine with desperation—teeth, breath, need tangled together.
A low sound escaped him—half groan, half relief—that vibrated against my mouth.
“Elena,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak.
His forehead rested briefly against mine, breath uneven.
““Let’s start over... our marriage, from the beginning.”
The words hung there between us.
“Properly this time,” he added.
His hand slid up along my side, slower now.
Intentional.
“My wife.”
A pause.
