“You want me, Matteo. So stop pretending you don’t.”
For a heartbeat, I say nothing. I just stand there, jaw tight, breathing hard like she’s physically shoved me against a wall.
Because—fuck. She’s right.
She’s always been right, and that’s the problem.
My fists clench at my sides because if I don’t hold on to something, I’m going to grab her—fist my hands in her hair, drag her close, and kiss her until neither of us can speak. But I won’t. I fucking can’t.
Because wanting her is dangerous. Wanting her makes me weak. And if I give her that much power, if I let her see just how badly I still crave her—she could destroy me.
But God help me, she’s standing there in those fucking clothes, all fury and heartbreak and heat, and I want her more than my next breath.
And yet, none of it matters.
I force the words out, voice low, cold, deliberate. A sentence meant to cut her throat with a whisper. A dagger aimed at her heart.
“One woman already claimed my heart. There’s nothing left for you.”
The silence that follows is deafening. It’s not shock—not really. Maria has known this truth for longer than she cares to admit. It’s the reason she tries so damn hard, the reason she puts on dresses I might like, cooks meals I never asked for, touches me like she still has the right.
She knew. Of course she knew. But hearing it from my mouth—as a weapon—still slams into her like a fist to the ribs.
She stiffens, her throat working as if swallowing down a sob. Her nails bite into her palms, a desperate attempt to hold herself together when everything inside her is coming undone.
But inside? Inside, something cracks wide open.
Because no matter how hard she tries, no matter what she wears, what she says, how much of herself she’s willing to offer—she knows she will never be her.
And I? I will never let her forget that.
But it’s not just that.
If she knew the truth—what I’ve done, what my hands are stained with—she wouldn’t just hate me. She’d run.
The thought slams into me like a wrecking ball, twisting in my gut, making it harder to breathe. My hands clench into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms as I fight the urge to reach for her—to take what I can never have.
Because the truth isn’t just ugly. It’s damning.
I didn’t just betray her by loving another woman.
I destroyed her family.
Maybe not with my own hands, maybe not in the way that would leave blood on my skin—but the stain is still there. Permanent. Unforgivable. And if she ever finds out—when she finds out—this fire between us will turn to ash.
She will hate me.
She will leave.
And for that reason alone, I force myself to do what I do best.
I push her away.
The air between us hums, so thick with unsaid words it’s suffocating. For one wild second, maybe she thinks I’ll take it back. That I’ll reach for her, pull her close, kiss her like it’s the only language we still understand.
But I don’t.
I cover the want with anger, drown the ache in cruelty.
I just stand there.
A man holding back a hurricane. A man fighting a storm, I know will win.
And Maria?
Maria has no choice but to become the storm.
The low rumble of thunder pulls me from my sleep, the remnants of my nightmare clinging to my skin like a second layer. My jaw clenches as I sit up, pressing my palms against my face. The room is too quiet, too still, and for a moment, I feel the weight of the past pressing down on me.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair before pushing the sheets aside. Sleep won’t be coming back anytime soon. I can feel the heaviness in my chest settling in. I need something to take the edge off.
Pulling on a pair of sweats, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, my bare feet soundless against the cold marble. The storm outside is intensifying, flashes of lightning illuminating the dimly lit hallway. It’s fitting, really—my mind is just as chaotic as the weather outside.
Reaching for a glass from the cupboard, I fill it with water, taking slow sips as I lean against the counter. My thoughts are a jumbled mess. The scent of her lingers in my sheets, taunting me, reminding me of the night we spent together. Of how she felt beneath me, how she looked up at me with something dangerously close to trust in her eyes.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply.
I never should’ve touched her.
A soft sound breaks the silence.
Footsteps. I hear them move across the marble floor, just barely audible beneath the crack of thunder.
I turn my head just as Maria appears at the entrance, dressed in one of those silk nightgowns that shouldn’t be allowed around a man like me. Flashes of her in the red lingerie invade my mind, and I have to push them back forcefully so I can focus.
Her chameleon eyes widen slightly when she notices me, but she doesn’t turn away. Instead, she walks to the fridge without a single word, pulling out a bottle of water. The tension between us is thick and tangible, and for a moment, I consider letting her leave without a word.
There is no need to try and bring her to a stop. All that needed to be said was said last night. My words have pricked and scarred her little heart. I should let her go.
But I don’t.
“Maria.”
She stills. I see her back visibly tense, and my heart clambers to a pause in the middle of my chest. I deserve her coldness. I had been too harsh with her last night. She was only trying to take steps toward something real. The only problem? I didn’t want anything real. I can’t allow this to happen.
“Look at me, please.” The words are meant to come out as order but instead they are much softer.
Slowly, she turns, gripping the bottle in her hands as if it’s her only anchor. “What do you want?”
I hesitate, the words forming before I can stop them. “About last night…”
Her lips part slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face. I brace myself for her anger, for her disappointment. I deserve all of them.
“I thought maybe—just once—you’d remember what you have. What’s right in front of you. And maybe—just maybe—you’d see me as something more than duty. More than some contract you’re bound to.” I was a monster. She told me something so heart-wrenching and I brushed it off like it meant nothing. She never deserved that from me.
She steps closer, hesitating only slightly before lifting her chin. “The next words that should come from your lips are either ‘I am sorry’ or ‘Forgive me’. If those aren’t the words you have for me, then I would rather just go back to bed. I have faced enough humiliation for one day.”
On cue, thunder cracks outside the window and shakes the kitchen window. I can see the silhouette of the city just beyond the horizon. Even in the darkness, New York has a certain beauty.
I set my glass down with more force than necessary, my fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. The words are foreign, almost unnatural on my tongue—but when I meet her eyes, I know they need to be said.
“I’m sorry, Maria.”
At first, she looks a little stunned. As if she cannot believe that I just apologized to her. My heart clenches in my chest. I have been an asshole to her all this time, and last night simply proved that to me.
She stood there, vulnerable in her lingerie, practically begging me to take her, to want her. And I had looked her in the eyes with nothing but cold brazenness and told her I didn’t want her.
I had lied. I want her, I want her so badly that it physically pains me how hard I have to hold myself back.
“What I did last night, it was wrong. I shouldn’t have turned you away the way that I did. You didn’t deserve my harshness. I should have been more kind and understanding with you.”
She casts those doe eyes to the floor and she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Okay… I just wish things were different.”
She wants this to be real, but I am not in the space or the capacity to give her that, and I don’t think I ever will.
I want to tell her these words, but for some reason, they lodge themselves in my throat.
“Look, Matteo.” She steps toward the center island and sets her bottle down. “I get it, okay? I was never meant to be yours. This whole marriage thing threw you for a loop the day Daniele decided to run away.”
She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair as if trying to steady herself. “And I know you’ve been trying to make the best of it, just like I have. But let’s be honest—neither of us chose this. We’ve just been playing our parts, pretending like any of this makes sense.”
Her voice wavers, but she doesn’t back down. “I was the foolish one to think that maybe this—us—could be something real.
Her words hang in the air above us. They move through the kitchen with a thick tension that hits me in the middle of my chest.
Her eyes hold mine, never once leaving my gaze.
I lick my lips, preparing to speak. I am a man who has stared down the barrel of a gun and never once did I flinch. But here I am looking at my wife, and my knees feel like they are buckling.
“I had a wife before you.” The words slip past my lips before I can speak. “I loved her deeply and I lost her unexpectedly. The things that you want from me, I cannot give you. I won’t apologize for that. But what I can say is this, I should have been more gentle with you. You deserved better.”
The silence passes between us. She muses over my words again, digesting them one by one.
“I didn’t want you to be kind or understanding. I simply wanted you to fuck me. Last night, I was under no impression that you would give me love or anything like that. I simply wanted you to have sex with me the way you did the night of the gala. You did things to my body that I never felt in my entire life. I… I want that again.”
She speaks with such confidence in her tone, but the blush that tints her cheeks betrays her. She is still innocent, so uncorrupted.
“At some point, I forgot that you were a mafia boss. There is nothing kind or soft about you. You have jagged edges, and I cannot expect you to somehow find softness overnight.”
“For you, I would have.” The words slip past my lips on their own accord. But it doesn’t make them any less true. For her, I would find the gentleness within myself.
“I never wanted it gentle. I wanted you to give me everything you had—and you did.”
No, I didn’t.
I hadn’t even scratched the surface of what I was capable of with her. If I am to give her all of me, she would likely break apart. She isn’t ready—not yet. But part of me thinks she never will be.
The silence is thick, pulsing with something dark and electric. A slow-burning current that hums between us, drawing me in, making it impossible to pull away.
She feels it too.
Her pupils blow wide, her breathing turns shallow, and her lips part just slightly—like she’s already bracing for what she knows is coming.
Then, her voice cuts through the air—soft, but firm enough to own me.
“Kiss me, Matteo.”
Not a plea.
A command.
I exhale slowly, but it does nothing to calm the raging storm inside me.
“If you want to show me you’re sorry—kiss me.”
My jaw clenches, every muscle in my body locking into place, fighting the inevitability of this. Of her.
This is a trap. A trap I should avoid. She wanted me to claim her last night, but unlike then, my resolve is weaker now—shattered. Guilt gnaws at me, but something stronger, darker, hungrier pushes me forward. Unlike last night—I can’t walk away.
I move around the island, each step slower than the last, each one feels like surrender, spelling my own downfall.
By the time I stop in front of her, she’s already breathless, her hands gripping the white marble edge like she needs something to anchor her.
She tilts her chin up, eyes burning into mine, daring me to make the first move.
She blinks up at me through her lashes, those perfect pink lips parting, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
I snap.
In one swift motion, I grab her hips and yank her against me—hard enough that a gasp rips from her lips. Her hands press flat against my chest, warmth bleeding through my shirt, sinking straight into my skin, my blood, my soul.
“Maria Davacalli.” The name rolls off my tongue like it was always meant to be there. The way she shivers at the sound of it sends something wild, uncontrollable, fucking primal through me.
“You think this is a game?” My voice is rough, thick with something dangerous.
Her breath is unsteady when she speaks. “No, Matteo. I think this is fate.”
I curse under my breath, my hand trailing up her spine, fisting into the silk of her nightgown.
Her eyes dart from mine to my lips and then back up again. Her actions send a wave of pleasure up and down my spine.
She leans in, her lips barely brushing mine. “Take what’s already yours.”
Fuck.
And then I do.
My fingers flex against her waist, my restraint snapping thread by thread.
And then her lips crash into mine.
Fire. Destruction. Something unstoppable.
The moment we collide, it’s a detonation. A desperate, all-consuming clash of mouths, of bodies, of everything we’ve been holding back for far too long.
She melts into me on instinct, like she was made for this, made for me, her body curving into mine, fitting against me like there was a space carved just for her.
I growl against her mouth, feeling the way her body molds into mine. My grip tightening on her waist, my fingers fisting the silk of her nightgown, pulling her even closer, deeper, like I could swallow her whole.
She gasps, but I devour the sound, tilting her head back, kissing her harder, deeper, bruising. Her nails dig into my chest, and instead of stopping, it fuels me.
She shivers, but she doesn’t pull away.
No.
If anything—she presses closer.
Her arms wind around my neck, her body arches into mine, desperate, pleading, demanding more. Her tongue flicks against mine, teasing, and I growl, taking control, taking everything, losing myself in her the way I swore I never would again.
Because this is war.
And neither of us are surrendering.
I curse under my breath, my hand sliding up her spine, feeling every delicate dip, every subtle tremble beneath my touch. She’s intoxicating—so damn intoxicating that I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.
Maria fists my shirt, her nails scraping lightly against my skin through the fabric, and it ignites something primal inside of me. I spin us around, pressing her back against the edge of the counter, caging her in.
She looks up at me through heavy lashes, lips swollen from my kiss, breath coming in short, uneven pants. “Matteo…”
My name on her lips sends a dangerous thrill through my chest. The way this woman affects me is unreal. She unhinges my normal restraint.
She’s mine.
And God help me, I want to remind her of that in every way possible.
I lower my head, letting my lips graze the side of her throat. She tilts her head instinctively, granting me more access, and I take it—pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below her ear. Her hands thread through my hair and they pull at the soft strands.
I feel all the blood rush down my cock. It strains against my pants, begging to be let loose into her. The need for her is raw, untamed, and out of control.
I nip at the sensitive spot beneath her jaw. “Tell me to stop.”
Silence.
“I don’t want you to.”
I groan, dragging my teeth over the pulse in her neck before kissing the spot as if in apology. My hands travel lower, gripping the backs of her thighs. In one swift motion, I lift her onto the counter, stepping between her legs.
Maria gasps, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself. “You’re insufferable,” she mutters, but her fingers slide up, threading into my hair.
I smirk against her skin. “And yet, here you are, letting me touch you.”
She huffs, but there’s no real bite to it. Instead, she tugs on my hair—hard. I growl, capturing her lips again, kissing her deeper, slower, drawing out every ounce of tension that has been simmering between us since the moment we met. And it has been there, even though I did my best to deny it.
There has always been something about her that drew me in. Like a siren call that draws sailors into her treacherous waters.
Her hands slip beneath my shirt, dragging across my bare skin. I feel the hesitation in her touch, the way her fingers linger like she’s memorizing me. And damn it, I let her. Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m memorizing her too.
Every soft sigh, every small shudder. Every single piece of her. I want to know every inch of her.
I pull back slightly, ripping my lips from hers. My lips are bruised and tingling from her touch. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to catch my breath.
“We should stop.”
Her brows furrow, her expression shifting from lust to frustration. “You’re kidding, right? Don’t do this to me again, Matteo. Not when you kissed me like you want to fuck me. I don’t want to go through this back-and-forth with you again. Either you take me here and now or we move past this for good.”
The anger that glazes over her tone is warranted. But it still catches me off guard slightly.
I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. “I can’t—I won’t let you get attached to me, Maria. I don’t want you to confuse what this is.”
She levels me with her stare. “Unless you are a little confused, I will tell you. This, what is going to happen between the two of us, is a normal action that occurs between husband and wife. If I’m stuck in this marriage with you, Matteo, then you’re either going to fuck me—or let me find someone who will.”
Her words flare something dark and dangerous within me. I grab her thigh with one hand, grip her chin, and tilt her face up to meet my gaze. “You would let another man have you?”
She sucks in a breath, but her voice doesn’t waver. “The man I want won’t take me.”
My grip on her tightens. Fucking hell.
She tilts her head back, her lips inches from mine, her breath warm and unsteady. “So tell me, Matteo—should I give myself to someone else?”
The words ignite something dark inside me. My restraint—already threadbare at best—tears apart completely.
I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me again. My voice is low, guttural. “You think I’d fucking let that happen?”
Her lips part, and I don’t miss the way her pulse flutters at her throat, the way her body trembles against mine—not with fear, but with anticipation.
“Then do something about it,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.
Her words slam into me, knocking the breath from my chest, slicing through me like a blade.
The image of another man touching her—his hands where mine should be, his mouth claiming what’s already mine—it’s a sickness, a madness I can’t control.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t need her this much.
The thought of her belonging to someone else?
It makes me homicidal.
Maria isn’t a possession. She isn’t mine to keep. But fuck if I’ll let another man have her.
And that’s when I snap.
My restraint shatters, splintering like glass, torn apart by something dark and primal. A slow exhale escapes me—a warning, a surrender, a fucking admission of defeat.
I crash my lips onto hers, hard, punishing, possessive—devouring her like a man starved, like I need to erase the very idea of anyone else touching her.
Because tonight, she’s not just my wife.
She’s mine.
