I rock up harder, chasing the pleasure. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
My fingers dig into his shoulders. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps against his lips. When the pleasure starts to coil tightly in my belly, he shifts just enough to change the angle, the next thrust sending sparks racing up my spine.
I cry out softly, muffled against his mouth.
“There?” he asks gruffly.
“Yes, God, yes—” I choke on a gasp.
He stays right there, grinding now instead of thrusting, letting the pressure build and build until my thighs tremble and my toes curl tightly.
“Come for me,” he whispers against my ear. “Let me feel you.”
I shatter around him with a broken sob, clenching tight around him. He groans my name like a prayer, hips stuttering once, twice, then he buries himself deep inside me. He comes with a jolt, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as a moan escapes past his lips.
His lips brush my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth, soft, endless kisses that make the corners of my eyes burn. Eventually, he carefully eases out of me, wincing when I make a small sound at the loss. He reaches for the duvet folded at the foot of the bed and drapes it over us both, then settles beside me.
“Sleep,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I believe him.
For the first time in years, I close my eyes and let myself drift, safe in the circle of his arms listening to the steady sounds of his breathing.
Even though I plan to run, a stupid, stubborn part of me still hopes he’ll give me a reason to stay.
When I wake again, the room is brighter.
Mid-morning light spills across the floor in warm rays, climbing slowly up the side of the bed and over the duvet covering me. For a few disoriented seconds, I don’t remember where I am. My body feels heavy, my side throbbing in a dull, distant way that reminds me I’m still healing.
Then my memory settles back into place.
My hand drifts across the sheets automatically, searching for him, finding them cool to the touch. He must have left a while ago. A small, childish disappointment pricks at me before I can stop it. I swallow it down. Of course he left. He has a syndicate to run. Enemies to eliminate.
Getting out of bed is a chore. My muscles protest as my side pulls sharply when I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. The world tilts for a second and I pause, breathing through it before pushing myself upright.
The bathroom feels miles away.
Somehow, I make it there anyway.
The shower exhausts me more than I expect it to. Steam curls around me while warm water eases some of the tension lockedbetween my shoulder blades. For a brief moment, I let myself stand under the spray and pretend this is just another ordinary morning.
When I step out, toweling off slowly, my limbs feel like they belong to someone else. I’m grateful Dante’s nurses have decided to leave me alone for now. I can only take so much fussing, so many sympathetic looks. My mind is too loud with too many racing thoughts to be courteous while I’m poked and prodded at.
By the time I pull on a soft robe and tie it carefully at my waist, exhaustion sinks into my bones again.
I find the medical suite empty with no sign of Luca anywhere. Though normally that would panic me, with Dante missing too, I can only assume he woke him up and brought our son down to breakfast, leaving me to sleep in.
The gesture tugs at my chest. It’s such a small thing but one that shows me that despite the way Luca came into his life, Dante still cares deeply about him.
I shut the door behind me and head over to the dresser next to the bed. Nicolo’s card is tucked at the very back of the top drawer. It’s plain and unassuming, no logo depicting his title or his name. It’s just a phone number typed out in a plain font on a neutral background.
I suppose that’s fitting for a man who disappears people for a living. The more unremarkable he appears, the easier his job must be.
My hands shake so badly while entering the number into my phone that I nearly drop it. I steady myself against the dresser, inhaling slowly before pressingCall.
Nicolo answers on the second ring. “Hello, Elena.”
