Page 53 of The Hidden Heir

The rhythm accelerates.

He slaps my buttock again. It hurts so good that I clench tightly around him. It makes him go even harder, even faster, until I come gushing around his cock.

“Yes!” I scream in sheer ecstasy. “I deserve this, Luca…”

“You’ve been a little too naughty as of late.”

“I have, Oh, God, I have!”

Harder he goes, every thrust dismantling me down to my purest form. I remain soft and trembling in his grip, so slick and so welcoming that he loses his control.

“You’re mine,” he groans and stiffens for the longest, sweetest moment. “Mine, Valentina.”

“Yours,” I manage.

I feel him pulsating deep inside me, his seed heating me up. His climax dissolves into mine as he thrusts a final time, squeezing out every drop of our union, until there is absolutely nothing left of either of us.

“Mine,” Luca says.

He loosens the tie from around my wrists, then spins me into his arms. His naked body, hard and hot against mine. As crazy as it sounds, as irrational as it may seem, I will take this abandonment of myself a thousand times over.

“Mine to keep safe,” Luca reminds me, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

“I am safe with you,” I agree.

Earlier, I survived a terrible ordeal. Now, I’m soft and dazed, wrapped in my husband’s arms, drowning in his deadly shadow while my core trembles from his delicious brand of punishment. If this is going to be my hell, the price I have to pay for my past mistake of trusting Stefano Petrucci, then so be it.

16

LUCA

“When the council comes together next month, they will bring this up,” Victor warns as we cross the street from my car to the crime scene.

There’s another incident that requires my attention, because whoever is plotting my downfall is orchestrating something increasingly complex. The truck sits idly on the side of the road while patrol cops take notes to pass along at the station.

The driver is dead and slumped over the wheel.

Riddled with bullets.

Blood splashed all over the cab.

“As they should,” I tell Victor. “It points to a perceived weakness of mine, doesn’t it? My inability to keep my business together. My lack of suitability for that seat at the head of the table. It’s what the Camorra is all about.”

“They’re doing this on purpose,” he says. We reach the truck, and one of the two patrol officers, an Officer Dempsey, turns around to greet us. “Morning.”

“Victor,” Dempsey replies with a casual nod.

He’s one of ours, on Victor’s payroll, therefore, his loyalty is to the Petrucci family. We have a few of them planted in the Chicago PD for obvious reasons. Thankfully, Dempsey got to the scene first when the call came through from dispatch, which gives us a few minutes before the detectives come in to assess the scene for law enforcement.

“What are we looking at?” I ask him.

“As you can see, this is a pretty isolated part of Canaryville,” Dempsey says. “Mostly abandoned buildings and factories on this side. Was your driver supposed to be coming through here?”

Victor nods once. “It’s part of his usual route, yes.”

“It means someone either knows your patterns from following your people around, or you’ve got a mole in your organization,” Dempsey concludes with a stern frown.

I need a moment to think this through. The back of the truck is wide open, the doors hang from their hinges, making an occasional squeal as a gust of wind rushes through. It’s nearly empty. They left a few cardboard boxes behind, but the product is gone.