I sit at the head of the table, holding a meeting with my most trusted men, but my mind is a thousand miles away.
The men talk numbers that would make most men sweat. But all I can think of is her—Aria.
Last night still burns in my memory, playing on a loop in my head. The way she trembled under my touch. The way she gasped my name when she came apart against my fingers. I should have left her alone and not started what I did.
But it wasn’t just her submission that undid me.
It was her choice.
She didn’t just give in—she asked me to take her. And I did. And now I can’t stop.
I told myself she deserved punishment for her lies, and she did, but the truth is, I did it for me.
I wanted to break her. I wanted to own her.
Instead, she got under my skin, and I’ve only been punishing myself since last night.
“The Turkish shipment needs rerouting,” someone says to my right. The voices blur away and I suck in a breath of air as her half-naked body drives a wedge into my vision, makes my blood heat, weakens my grip on control. How gorgeous she looked, how beautiful, when I had her arms pinned above her head, her breasts rising up to meet my gaze.
She was supposed to be out of my system after last night. I thought I’d teach her a lesson and remind her of her debt. But when I left her trembling and gasping, I realized with sick certainty—I’m not done with her. Not even close.
That’s why I left our bed untouched. Why I used another room down the hall. Because if I had stayed, I wouldn’t have stopped. I would have ruined her. And I wasn’t ready to ruin her under those circumstances.
A stack of papers slides in front of me. I make a show of going through the financial reports and pass them to Nicolo, telling him to do with it what he thinks best, for all I can see is the curve of her neck as she threw her head back, the way her blonde waves spilled across her shoulders, down her breasts.
I had her. Right there. Beneath me. Surrendering.
And I left.
What kind of man walks away from that? The kind who knows that one taste isn’t enough. The kind who recognizes an addiction forming before the first hit fully takes hold. Had I stayed, I wouldn’t have walked away, wouldn’t have been able to stop. The image of Aria’s flushed, tear-streaked, desperate, raw, wild, pleasured face burns into my memory.
“Marco.”
I try to stop thinking of how her lips parted in a gasp. “What?”
Nicolo leans forward, his silver cufflinks catching the light. At forty-two, he’s been with me since the beginning, when I was just a twenty-year-old with ambition to prove myself to my father. He knows me too well, which is why his eyes narrow now.
“You asked for this meeting,” he reminds me. “The Russo territory. Your decision?”
Right. The Russo family. Small-time operators trying to scale up by moving product through our neighborhoods. Normally, I’d have them eliminated without a second thought, but there’s strategic value in keeping them alive while bleeding them dry.
“Double their fee,” I say, the decision made without truly thinking it through. “If they complain, take their shipment and leave one of their men breathing through a tube.”
The room fills with murmurs of approval. This is the Marco they expect—cold, decisive. Not the man who spent last night pacing the halls of his own home, fighting the urge to return to a woman he legally owns. Well—not exactly legally, since Chiara’s name is on the certificate. But Aria is the one I’ve marked. The one who belongs to me.
I force myself to focus on the meeting, but my mind betrays me again.
I left our marriage bed because I recognized the danger. One night with Aria wouldn’t be enough. And I refuse to be at the mercy of anyone, even my wife.
Especially my wife.
Nicolo picks on me again. “You planning on joining us today, boss? Or are you still otherwise… occupied?”
A few of the men chuckle under their breath.
I lift my gaze, fixing Nicolo with a cold stare that wipes the smirk off his face. “Get to the point.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Your marriage. It’s not exactly quiet news. Word’s spreading through our circles fast, and people are curious.”
“My marriage isn’t up for discussion at this table,” I say, my voice a soft warning.
“The thing is, boss…” Luca’s gravelly voice cuts through the room. My head of security rarely speaks in these meetings unless there’s a legitimate threat. “It’s about D’Angelo.”
“What about him?” I keep my voice neutral, though my fingers tighten around my pen.
Luca glances at the others before continuing. “Word is, he’s not happy about your marriage. He knows you’ve taken Chiara Rossi as your wife and believes it means you’re challenging his power. She owed him a debt, and the word is spreading.”
My jaw clenches. Of course. The world thinks I’ve married Chiara, not Aria. The twins were careful with their deception.
And now D’Angelo thinks Aria is Chiara. He thinks the woman in my bed is his to toy with. Rage simmers low and lethal in my chest. D’Angelo was always a problem. But now, it’s not just about power or reputation. It’s about Aria. Instant, protective rage channels into my voice.
“Why would anyone care about that? She is my wife, and we’ve paid off her debt to him.”
“Because it wasn’t your debt to pay,” Luca says bluntly. “He was planning to exploit her on the rising interest, and now he thinks you’ve interfered and will do so with others who owe him. He wants retribution for what you cost him. You see, people who owe him can’t usually afford to pay him back so soon, and the interest adds up. He wanted her in his debt for decades, as he has others. This matter has gotten personal.”
The room feels suddenly airless.
Luca continues. “He’s been asking questions. Digging. It’s only a matter of time before he makes a move.”
I lean back in my chair, trying to keep the cold rage building in my chest from showing on my face. D’Angelo is old school. He’s territorial and vindictive. He’ll come for my wife anyway, even if he learns she’s not Chiara, if only to send me a message for all I took from him. I shut down his operations in my territory, and I’m protecting my people who borrowed from him.
“Let him dig,” I say, my voice arctic. “And make sure he finds exactly what we want him to find.”
Nicolo raises an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“That Chiara Rossi is under my protection.” I tap my fingers against the polished wood. “And if a single hair is harmed on her head, I’ll bring war.”
At this point, if war is what it takes, so be it. I’m going to protect what’s mine. D’Angelo is a predator who takes what he wants, consequences be damned. But I’m the only lion in this jungle.
“Double the security at the estate,” I order. “And I want eyes on D’Angelo. Every move, every call, every breath.”
Luca nods, already making notes on his tablet. “Consider it done.”
“Should we arrange a meeting?” Nicolo suggests. “Cut this off before it begins?”
I consider it for a moment, then shake my head. “Not yet. Let’s see what move he makes first.”
The discussion turns to logistics, but my mind is elsewhere. I picture Aria in my home, probably exploring every corner like the curious creature she is. Does she think she’s safe now that she’s held up her part of the bargain?
She has no idea that she’s not only traded places with her sister, but she’s also put herself in danger with D’Angelo. For a brief moment, I feel sheer rage towards that good-for-nothing sister of hers.
Now I’m going to do all I can to protect her, to clean up Chiara’s mess and keep Aria safe. It won’t be easy, but protecting Aria is all that matters. Aria is mine. Completely, utterly mine.
D’Angelo will learn that lesson. So will she.
I straighten my tie and collect my papers. It’s time to go home to my wife. Time to remind her exactly what it means to belong to Marco Bianchi.
When I get back home, I want no more secrets between us, between husband and wife. I want proper answers to know why she put herself in danger like this. I need to know why she risked it all for her sister, so I can be prepared for when the time comes.
