Page 109 of Vows of Blood

“Every orgasm. Every fucking sexy little noise that passes through those fuckable lips belong to me.”

My head spins, lost to his filthy words, the delicious sting at the base of my ponytail as he grips it hard, and the bruising pace he sets as he drives into me, over and over again.

"Say it." He punctuates the demand with a sharp thrust. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours." I cry out. "All yours. I love you."

He groans, driving deeper, harder, and I feel myself hurtling toward the edge.

The desk shudders beneath us, folders sliding to the floor, and an empty crystal glass falls to the thick rug with a heavy thud, but neither of us cares. There's nothing gentle or careful about this. It's claiming and possessive, and the raw release of two people who've finally found the courage to admit what they want.

With his body at my back, and his breath at my ear, I shatter, taking him with me, both of us crying out as the pleasure crashes through us. He collapses over my back, his lips pressed to my shoulder, and his hands covering mine.

"I love you, wife," he murmurs against my skin as I lie there, spread across his desk, utterly spent and completely blissful, surrounded by scattered paperwork. “And I can’t wait to make it official.”

34

SIENNA

Carmella’s fussing with the train of my dress when I notice a box on the vanity.

It's small, white leather with a gold clasp, and I know for sure it wasn't there when I sat down for my hair.

Glancing around, I expect one of the stylists to be waiting for my reaction, but everyone’s just milling around, doing their own thing. One girl is steaming my veil in the bathroom, and Rebecca’s pouring champagne.

Carefully, I pick it up, somehow already knowing who it's from.

Nestled against ivory silk, is a note. No gift. He wouldn’t waste money on me, just his handwriting, small, angry slashes on an elegant card.

Remember what I am capable of and conduct yourself accordingly. Discretion and knowing your place are the only things that will keep you alive.

No signature. None needed.

I read it twice, then fold it carefully with trembling fingers before tucking it into the hidden pocket of my dress, the one I insisted on having sewn in, because every girl needs pockets. Especially when you can’t carry a purse.

Smoothing down the front of my dress, I check my reflection, and when Carmella returns, flustered and pink-cheeked with my missing bouquet finally located, I hug her like nothing in the world could ruin this day.

But as I stare at my brittle smile in the mirror, the stark reality that Alfonso Calvano is never going to leave me alone, or let me and Luca be happy, settles over me.

He’ll be a permanent fixture in our lives, always lurking somewhere in the shadows.

“You ready to face them?” Rebecca asks.

She’s talking about more than walking down the aisle.

I nod. “Yes. I think I am.”

I’d walk through fire to marry Luca.

And that might be exactly what I’m about to do.

35

LUCA

The morning of my wedding, I wake alone.

Sienna was taken from our bed at some ungodly hour by Carmella, furious that we didn’t sleep in separate rooms, and an army of stylists who descended upon the house and took over every spare inch of space.