Page 10

My eyes close again. I don’t remember opening them.

The black lace has twisted around my torso, the clasp digging into my ribs in a way that should hurt more than it does. I’m lying down, I realize dimly, stretched across the charcoal sheets like something washed up on a shore.

I try to push myself up, but my arms have become something else, heavy and distant, not responding to the commands I send them. The ceiling is very far away, or maybe my eyes won’t focus properly.

Sleep pulls at me like a tide I can’t escape, even as I think I hear the door open, but it might be a dream, might be hope, might be my own heartbeat misinterpreted.

“Domenico?” The word comes out slurred, barely sound at all.

4

Domenico

The elevator rises through the darkened building, and I roll my shoulders against the weight of the suit I’ve worn since yesterday morning—since I stood in a church and claimed what my son threw away.

Leaving Kira wasn’t part of the plan, just like marrying her wasn’t. But Gio called just as she finished showering. I heard the bathroom glass door open as he told me he was on his way to check on tonight’s shipment.

One of my men picked up a rumor a few weeks back. Apparently, some low-level crew might try their luck with one of our shipments. So, I made Gio circle back and pick me up just in case the rumor turned out to have some truth to it.

I shouldn’t have bothered. Everything went as expected, and after spending hours waiting, we got the crates of Kalashnikov rifles and ammunition just as planned.

The elevator makes a ding as it opens directly into the penthouse, and I move through darkened rooms I know by heart. I don’t stop until I reach my bedroom where I find her curled on her side in the center of my bed—our bed now.

My cock hardens the second I notice what she’s wearing. See-through and sexy as fuck lace covers her upper body. Well, most of it. One breast is completely exposed where the black fabric has slipped from her shoulder.

The dress, or whatever she’s wearing, is twisted around her torso. There’s a clasp fastened beneath her other breast, and I’m fucking tempted to undo it. But instead of giving in and taking the offering clearly presented for me, I lower my gaze to where a black thong rides high on her hip.

Her full ass is on display and slightly pushed out from how she’s thrown one leg over the duvet. Her hair spreads across the pillow in dark waves, and her mouth is slightly open, her breathing soft and even.

She’s fucking stunning.

It pisses me off that I left her like this to go protect a shipment that was perfectly safe. If I ever find out who planted that rumor, I’ll kill them just for taking me away from Kira when she so clearly wants to play.

Kicking off my shoes, I climb into bed next to her. The movement dips the mattress, causing her to stir and her hand curls into a loose fist against the sheets. I reach out and let my palm skim down her bare arm. Her skin is cold and soft in a way that makes my fingers want to linger.

Kira startles awake with a gasp, sitting up so fast the lace falls completely open, and she scrambles to catch it, to pull the straps up, to cover herself with hands that shake.

I can’t help smirking as I watch her correct herself, especially as a flush climbs up her throat.

“Domenico,” she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips goes straight to my cock. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was waiting—”

I cut her off with a look. She swallows hard and goes quiet, her hands still working at the straps like she can somehow make herself less exposed.

“Did you wear that for me?”

The question hangs between us. She pushes her hair back with both hands, fingers catching in the tangles from sleep, and nods. Her hazel eyes are wide, the flecks of green and gold catching the thin light from the window.

“Use your words, Kira,” I demand.

“Yes,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me why.”

Her flush deepens as she drops her gaze to the sheets, to the space between us where the duvet has pooled. I’m not a man who likes repeating himself, and if she’s brazen enough to wear something like this in my bed, she can answer a simple fucking question.

“Because…” She swallows audibly. “Because we’re married.”

I tilt my head. “That’s not an answer,” I say. “That’s a fact. Try again.”