We both knew the answer. No. He wouldn’t.
The ride back started peacefully. Late afternoon light slanted golden through the trees lining the forested stretch of road.
The bike purred smoothly beneath me, the recipe card tucked safely in my jacket pocket like a fragile promise I didn’t know what to do with. Wind cooled my heated skin. For a few precious miles, the knot in my chest loosened.
Then I saw the tree.
It lay across the narrow road, trunk thick, leaves still vibrant green. Freshly fallen, too fresh. Too perfectly placed.
I slowed, heart slamming against my ribs. The engine’s idle sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden, oppressive silence. No birdsong. No rustling leaves. No distant traffic. Just the low thrum of the motorcycle and the screaming instinct that I was being watched.
I fumbled for the phone Santino had given me. No signal.
A branch cracked somewhere in the dense trees to my left. Then another. Closer.
Real fear, metallic and sharp, flooded my mouth. My hands shook on the grips.
Engine roar behind me. A motorcycle, coming fast.
The Devil.
He flew around the curve like vengeance incarnate, no helmet, black shirt plastered to his powerful frame from the ride. Fury etched every line of his face. His eyes locked on me, relief flashing for a split second before they found the tree.
The fury shifted into something colder. Deeper. Terrified anger.
He killed his engine beside me in one fluid motion. Before I could speak, his hand clamped around my arm and hauled me onto the back of his bike.
My stolen motorcycle was abandoned without a second glance. No discussion. No negotiation. No choice.
“Hold on,” he growled, the only words he spoke.
The ride back was silent hell. His body was rigid steel against mine, one large hand gripping my thigh hard enough to bruise, as if terrified I would vanish into thin air. Every muscle screamed tension.
The silence between us was worse than any shouting. I pressed my cheek to his back, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat, and wondered how everything had spiraled so fast.
The estate gates slammed shut behind us with finality. He dragged me off the bike and straight into the study, the heavy door crashing closed like a cell door.
“You don’t own me!” I exploded the second we were alone, voice echoing off dark wood paneling.
“The fuck I don’t,” he snarled, rounding on me like a storm.
His eyes were wild, chest heaving.
“You stole my bike. You left without a goddamn word. You could have been taken, Aurora. Do you understand what that means? What they would have done to you?”
“I needed air!” I shouted back, stepping closer despite the danger radiating off him. “I needed to feel like I still have a choice in my own life! You can’t just decide everything for me, my body, my future, my everything!”
“You almost didn’t have a future!” His voice cracked with something raw. “That tree wasn’t an accident. That man following you wasn’t coincidence. You walked right into it because you’re too stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”
The fight burned hotter, words flying like knives. We circled each other, accusations piling up until I couldn’t hold back the real wound anymore.
“I found the condom, Santino.”
Silence crashed down like a guillotine. He went perfectly, dangerously still.
“You weren’t joking,” I whispered, voice trembling. “About any of it. The babies. The family. Keeping me forever. You actually meant every word.”
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until I had to tilt my head back to meet his burning gaze. The devil was gone. This was Santino: raw, certain, terrifying in his honesty.
