“Sandro—”
“Shh.” His lips find mine again, softer this time, coaxing rather than demanding. “No more arguing, Sunshine. Or I’ll have to punish you.”
My breath catches, my pulse quickening at the dark promise in his words, and a shiver races down my spine as a bold excitement coils in my stomach. Where I once dreaded thethought, I’ve come to anticipate my punishments now, crave them even. Because in the weeks since Sandro first spanked me, I’ve learned just how good pain can feel.
And still, now, despite his words, his touch is careful, his bruised hands moving over me like I’m something fragile. For a man who spends his nights in cages, fighting until he bleeds, that kind of gentleness feels almost sacred.
He lifts me onto the table, and I let out a soft gasp as his mouth finds the curve of my throat, his breath warm against my skin. I tilt my head back, the ceiling spinning above us, the scent of old wood and candle smoke wrapping around me.
For a heartbeat, I imagine a future where he comes home whole. Where the house is rebuilt, and the ghosts are gone, and I can tell him the truth without watching his expression break.
But the thought slips away when his lips trace my jaw, when his hands slide to my hips.
“Still worried?” he asks, voice rough.
“Always,” I whisper.
He chuckles low in his throat. “Then I’ll just have to distract you.”
My pulse jumps. “You think you can?”
His grin is sinful. “You know I can.”
I laugh softly despite myself. He’s impossible. Impossible and infuriating and everything I didn’t know I needed.
When his mouth captures mine again, the laughter fades. There’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, the faint creak ofthe table beneath us as he leans into me, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
He kisses me like it’s the only language he’s fluent in, all hunger and heat and reverence rolled into one. And as he deepens the kiss, I stop fighting the truth that’s been building inside me since the day we married.
I love him. Completely. Hopelessly. And I’ll love him to my dying breath.
The rest of the world fades into the background until there’s only this, his hands on me, his voice low and rough as he tells me I’m beautiful, his breath against my ear when he says my name like a prayer. And when he lifts me into his arms, carrying me toward the bedroom, my body melts against his.
25
SANDRO
It feels like I’m standing on the edge of something monumental as I watch the bustle of the household staff racing to prepare the final touches for tonight. Raf’s ascent to Don isn’t just another ceremony—it’s the rebirth of our family. The Chiaroscuro name, battered and bloodied, is about to rise from the ashes.
And Evi’s made sure it’ll look damn good doing it.
The house is transformed. And while half of it is still a construction site, scaffolding and tarps swallowing the west wing, the rest looks like something out of a dream. Velvet drapes conceal the broken walls. Gold accents catch the light streaming through the tall new windows. Tables are dressed in white linen and crystal, and a massive chandelier hangs over the grand hall—repaired, polished, glowing like a promise.
She did all of this. And all in just over two months.
When I see Evi standing at the base of the staircase, giving quiet directions to a few of our men moving chairs, I feel that familiar twist in my chest. That same heat that hits me every time she walks into a room.
Her hair gleams in soft curls, and her gold dress clings in a way that’s both regal and dangerous. She looks like a queen—our queen.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I say as I stride over.
Evi turns, her smile bright and effortless, though I catch the faint nervous flutter in her hands before she clasps them in front of her. “It’s not perfect. But it’s enough to make Raf look the part.”
“It is perfect,” I tell her. And I mean it.
The guests start arriving soon after—sleek black cars pulling into the long drive, the chatter of men in suits and women in glittering gowns filling the air. It’s not a wedding, but it might as well be. The same sense of anticipation lingers in the air, that same collective breath before vows are spoken.
And in a way, that’s exactly what today is.
