Gloomy weather, skyscrapers that block the sky by day and swallow the stars at night, endless traffic and noise. That’s Chicago.It’s nothing like Rome. Everything here is steel and stone, even the people.
Even with the car window rolled down, I can’t breathe. The blaring sounds of traffic only make it worse. When my guard silently rolls the window back up, I don’t argue.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t risk being recognized.”
His apology doesn’t matter. I don’t even look at him.
The moment we get home, I head straight to the shower. I turn on the hot water and sit on the white marble floor beneath the stream.
There’s no peace here either. I don’t know which idiot designed this place, but I feel trapped in a glass prison. Every corner, even the bathroom, opens to a view of Chicago’s cold, soulless skyline.
The entire penthouse is floor-to-ceiling glass. I’m completely exposed. There’s no privacy. I feel like I’m always being watched, like the whole world can see me.
It’s past midnight, and I’m still tossing and turning in bed. It’s been two weeks since I left Italy with Tony. Two weeks since I left behind a land I’m not sure I’ll ever set foot on again.
The longing for my homeland sits heavy in my chest, like the grief of losing a beloved family member. I’ve left everything behind—my country, my brother, my husband—everything. I’ve put everyone in danger, all for my own sake.
I’m sick with worry for all of them, and Tony won’t tell me anything. He’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t know when he comes or goes, or if he comes at all. The only time I’ve seen him was early one morning when he walked into the apartment. That’s it.
Finally, the anxiety gets the better of me. I slip on my robe and head barefoot toward Tony’s room. Pressing my ear to the door, I listen carefully. The sound of running water tells me he’s home.
I knock softly a few times, and when there’s no response, I hesitantly open the door. The moment I step into his room, the water shuts off. A second later, Tony walks out of the bathroom and looks straight at me.
He’s fully dressed. Water drips from his dark hair onto his neck, and his eyes are bloodshot. My gaze drifts to his shirt, which is splattered with blood and torn at the cuff.
The full-length glass window behind him frames his silhouette against the city skyline, filled with towering skyscrapers. He looks like a villain—a dark, ruthless antihero of this iron city.
He averts his gaze and walks to the bedside cabinet. From the drawer, he pulls out a blister pack of pills, pops one into his mouth, and tosses the pack onto the table before sitting on the edge of the bed.
As he begins unbuttoning his bloodstained shirt, I step into the bathroom and return with a dry towel. Standing directly in front of him, I gently rub the towel over his wet hair.
He doesn’t protest my actions, silently continuing to undo his buttons. He shrugs off the shirt and tosses it aimlessly into a corner.
Perhaps any other woman in my place would have been terrified and demanded answers. But the similarities between our families unite Tony and me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen my father or brothers come home covered in blood.
“How was the baby?”
His voice pulls me from my thoughts. I pull the towel away and meet his tired eyes. “The doctor was happy with everything. He prescribed some pills and vitamins for my nausea and gave me a long lecture about eliminating stress from my life.”
He loosens my robe and kisses the small curve of my stomach through the lace.
“It’s growing,” he murmurs, eyes closed. “Not moving yet?”
I toss the towel onto the bed, and run my fingers through his damp hair. “No, it’s still too early. But the next time I go for a checkup, I’ll find out the gender.”
“Good. This time, I’ll make sure I’m there.”
His strong arms coil around me like a serpent, pulling me close before settling me onto his lap. One hand slides up, weaving through my long hair, coming to rest against the base of my skull. He applies gentle pressure, tilting my head downward so he can kiss me.
I wrap one arm around his shoulder and the other around his neck, returning his kiss. His fingers press into my skin and scalp, grounding me in the moment. His kiss is soft, filled with emotion.
I close my eyes and surrender myself to the pleasure. For all his roughness, his lack of emotion, and his cruelty, this man is the only love I’ve ever known.
We fall into an easy rhythm, like we’ve done this a hundred times. We take turns savoring each other’s lips, tasting each other’s mouths.
He tightens his grip on my waist, pulling me flush against his groin. The hardness of his arousal pressing against mine draws a moan from both of us, swallowed by each other’s mouths.
Months have passed since the last time we were together, yet I want him with the same passion and intensity.
