The tires squeal as I stop on the lawn of the Achilles family home. Smoke billows out around the bent hood of my vehicle, but I don’t give a fuck.
They didn’t open the gate fast enough and I need to be inside the looming mansion. Now.
Big red numbers blink on my watch’s screen. Aurora pressed the emergency beacon almost four minutes ago.
Too long.
I don’t care how far away I was or how much destruction I wrought to get here; four minutes is an eternity during an emergency, and my wife needs me.
A smaller set of numbers blinks underneath the first. Less than a minute after Aurora hit her alarm, Tristan engaged the emergency beacon on his watch.
As I bolt up the steps to the front door, three other vehicles screech to a halt in the grass. I don’t wait for Fiero or the rest of my crew to join me before I slam through the front doors and stalk across the foyer.
Tristan looks up while rushing down the stairs. When he sees me, he turns and heads back up, yelling over his shoulder as I vault up after him.
“Rora’s door is locked, but mamma isn’t home, and she sounded weird when I told her I was ready to go.”
“When’s the last time you talked to her?” I ask as I pass him.
“Before I pressed the button. Something’s not right. The house is never this empty,” he calls up the stairs at me.
I reach the landing and run down the hall to Aurora’s room. Her door handle cuts into my palm but doesn’t budge, no matter how hard I yank on it.
“Aurora? Open the door,” I demand.
She takes too long to respond, and when she does, the strain in her voice raises my hackles.
I pull my pistol from my belt holster, step back, drop my weight, and pour every ounce of power into kicking the door, driving the sole of my shoe into the wood near the handle.
Wood cracks and metal snaps, but the frame remains intact. I kick again and rush through the doorway, catch the door bouncing back with my shoulder, and snap my muzzle toward the masculine form on the far side of the bed.
Otello Tempe tugs Aurora between us, shielding himself with her body. He wraps his fist around her throat and yanks her back against him as he lifts his pistol and aims at my chest.
She grabs his wrist and rises onto her tiptoes when he squeezes her throat.
Fury tinges my vision red as I take in her lack of clothes.
Her bra hangs off her shoulders with the front clasp undone. Only her panties remain on her body.
Otello Tempe is a dead man walking. He’ll never leave this room. I’ll kill him.
He knows it, too, but he’s too much of a weasel to die quietly. The moment his eyes harden with the knowledge of his imminent death, I step forward, ready to take a bullet at point blank range just so I can wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.
He presses his muzzle to Aurora’s temple.
I freeze.
“Drop the gun and tell the men in the hall to stand down,” Otello demands.
I move my finger off the trigger, extending it along the smooth metal, and lift both hands in the universal sign of surrender.
“Fiero, you heard him,” I call over my shoulder. I slowly squat and place my pistol on the floor.
“Drop your other weapons while you’re down there,” the old man sneers.
I meet Aurora’s shiny emerald eyes and pull a second pistol from my chest holster. She shifts her grip on his arm and leans away from him. He hisses and pulls her closer.
“Be careful, Otello, before I decide to make your death as slow and painful as possible,” I say as I set the pistol beside the first.
He chuckles and digs his fingertips into Aurora’s jugular. Her face turns purple before he relents, but she doesn’t gasp or fight for breath. Instead, she holds eye contact with me.
“Keep going, Giorgio. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you have more weapons. Where are those infamous knives?”
His goading won’t work. I pull the third pistol from my chest harness and place it beside the others on the floor.
“Really, though, is she worth all this fuss?” he mocks as I take the first knife from my chest harness.
Aurora grimaces as he presses the muzzle harder against her temple. I clench my fist around the hilt of my knife, struggling to remain in control.
She lifts her finger, indicating Otello’s forearm, but I scowl and give a slight shake of my head.
She’s watched too many movies. I’m not throwing a knife anywhere near her, especially not with her face so close to the target.
He grinds his cock against her back and speaks with his mouth next to her ear.
“Unless he doesn’t know? You haven’t told him yet, have you, darling?”
The disgust and sense of violation filling her expression ensures Otello will not have a quick and painless death. When his words register, her pupils shrink.
“She’s just another piece of ass, Giorgio. She can’t give you that heir you’re so desperate to have.”
I methodically place the knife next to the pistols and pull the last blade from my chest harness.
“There’s no point to any of this if she can’t pop out a few brats for you, is there? You should just forget all this and go find yourself a worthy wife,” Otello continues.
I lift a brow and pause with my fingers still on the hilt of my longest knife.
“Then what would we do with Aurora?” I ask.
The stronzo smirks and releases her throat to trail his fingertips over her collarbone. His muzzle shifts away from her temple.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her,” he murmurs into her hair.
She slams the back of her head into his face and drops her weight. He grabs her hair and pulls the trigger as I throw my knife and lunge forward.
Otello screams. Blood sprays. I swing. As he stumbles backward from the force of my blow, I grab his wrist and punch the hilt of my knife, burying it deep into his arm so over an inch protrudes from the other side. His pistol clatters to the floor as I sever tendons and muscles, ruining his use of his hand.
Aurora twists, trying to free her hair from his grasp. I yank my knife from his arm and bury it in his shoulder. He screams and reaches for the hilt. I push Aurora out of harm’s way and swing.
My knuckles crack against his cheek and fresh blood spurts from his nose and mouth. I follow through and thrust a left hook from the hips, connecting with his ear so hard shockwaves travel throughout my body.
He drops. I follow him down, straddling his prone form and unleashing my fury on his face, raining blow after blow on his increasingly uglier mug, until Aurora’s shouting breaks through my mania.
“Giorgio, stop! You’ll kill him,” she pleads.
Less than a foot away, she stands with one hand on the back of her head and the other hovering between us, almost as though she can’t bring herself to touch me.
I stand and shake out my arms, flinging blood onto the floor, and meet her gaze.
“That’s kind of the point, mia topolina,” I snarl.
She shakes her head and winces.
I run my fingers over her scalp, needing to assure myself she’s okay. She hisses when I find the lump on the back of her head from where she headbutted her uncle. The size concerns me, but maybe it just seems bigger than normal because she’s so small?
“Where else are you hurt?” I demand.
“I’m fine,” she lies.
With splatters of blood on her bare flesh and her hair tangled from another man’s hand, I need to mark her as mine and assure myself she’s okay.
I cup the base of her skull, avoiding the contusion while holding her in place for my inspection. She shivers and clings to my lapels as I run my hand over her shoulder, hip, and back.
When I pull away, silent tears trail down her face, and her entire body shakes as her adrenaline drops.
Shouting echoes down the hall.
I shrug out of my coat and drape it over her shoulders. She threads her arms into the sleeves and overlaps the front. She’s so tiny the fabric covers her from collarbone to mid thigh.
I guide her away from her uncle as he coughs and gurgles his way back into consciousness.
Fiero steps into the doorway, but before I can pass Aurora over to him, the telltale click of a hammer cocking sounds behind me.
I push Aurora forward, blocking her with my bulk, and hiss when fire streaks into my side. Fiero and I pull her down to the ground and cover her with our bodies as bullets pepper the wall. My consigliere passes me his favorite hand piece before pulling a second pistol from his belt.
With a nod toward Aurora, I tell him to get her the fuck out of danger. He lifts his chin in acceptance and grabs her arm.
The emptied gun clatters to the floor.
I surge upward and stalk around the bed. Otello lifts a loaded pistol from my discard pile and pulls the trigger a millisecond before my bullet pierces his brain. White-hot agony slices through my hip, but I continue forward and send bullet after bullet into his head and chest until his disfigured body lies in a pool of dark red crimson.
I kick his foot. He doesn’t move. Blood oozes from his wounds. I tuck Fiero’s pistol into my waistband and turn toward the door. My heart freezes in my chest.
Aurora’s arm slips from Fiero’s grip as they both fall to the ground. She lands on her knees and looks down at herself. When she opens my coat for a better look, red pours down her side.
Fiero’s curses stream in the background as I lunge across the room and grab Aurora. I push my coat and her unlatched bra out of the way and inspect her wound.
“The bullet bounced off your ribs; it didn’t puncture your lungs. You’re okay, mia topolina.”
“Damn straight it ain’t in her ribs. The fucking thing is in my back,” Fiero hisses.
I yell down the hall for my men and realize Tristan’s voice has echoed from the bottom of the stairs since before Fiero appeared in the doorway.
Aurora grabs my forearms and lists to the side. I murmur a string of words, half-comforting, half-stern, as I guide her onto her back.
“I’ve got you,” I say as I yank my long-sleeve shirt over my head and ball it up to press against her side.
She pushes me away.
“You’re bleeding, too.”
She’s right. Fire streaks through my side and hip.
“It’s nothing. I’ve had worse. Mio Dio, why are you bleeding so much? Stop fighting me. Let me apply pressure,” I snarl.
She shakes her head and pushes me away again.
“Desk. Top drawer,” she says.
Her words make no sense. Panic threatens to strip away my ability to reason as her blood soaks my suit coat at an alarming rate. I grab her wrists and move them out of the way before pressing my shirt to her side.
As she hisses, two of my men reach us. One kneels to assess Fiero while the second squats on Aurora’s other side.
Tristan skids into view.
“Go back downstairs, Tristan.”
Despite the warning in my tone, he ignores me. His eyes go wide as he sees the blood soaking Aurora’s side. He jumps over Fiero in the doorway and weaves around me.
I can’t spare a hand to stop him.
Aurora relaxes, and although she shakes from pain and shock, her eyes shine with relief.
Tristan drops beside me and tears open a sterile medical pouch. He reaches for my wrist, but after glimpsing the label, I lift my hand and the shirt away from her wound before he touches me.
She grits her teeth as he pours the entire packet of white powder into the gash. He jerks my hand back into place.
“Press hard,” he demands.
Aurora closes her eyes and digs her nails into the back of my fingers. I shift my hand, keeping her wrists pinned to the floor, but offering her a better grip. I press my shirt against her wound.
Fiero passes his phone to the soldier helping him and tells him to speed dial the guy labeled doc. The man starts the call and puts it on speaker.
“It’s not stopping! She’s bleeding too much,” Tristan panics.
Aurora shakes her head.
“Another. On my back.”
Fuck, she’s going into shock. She’s too pale. Too lethargic.
She hasn’t lost that much blood, but there’s no denying her condition.
I roll her onto her side and, with the help of my soldier, pull her arm out of both my suit sleeve and her bra strap, and curse at the long, shallow laceration across her shoulder blades. I pass the rib compression over to my man and cup her shoulder to hold her in place as Tristan tears open another pouch.
“You’ll be okay, mia topolina.” I don’t know if I’m reassuring her or myself, but I need to say something as Tristan pours the powder into her wound. “We’ll patch you up and get you to my doctor—”
“She needs the hospital. Papa’s physician couldn’t help her at home, so she always had to go to the hospital,” Tristan demands as he whips his shirt over his head and presses it to her back.
She groans and passes out for a few seconds before shivering awake.
“What’s her condition called?” the doctor asks through the speaker.
Aurora’s sluggish answer lodges a rock in my chest.
“Congenital sideroblastic anemia.”
After a slight pause, my personal physician answers in his calm, no nonsense manner.
“Bring her to my clinic. I’ll have a blood transfusion ready. Keep pressure on her wounds, even if you think the bleeding has slowed.”
I curse and growl a confirmation before leaning forward and hooking her arm around my nape, preparing to roll her into my arms and stand.
“I’m sorry, Aurora. This is going to hurt,” I apologize.
She shakes her head.
“No, get someone else. You’re bleeding. Don’t carry me.”
“I’m not letting anyone else put their hands on you, and I need you in my arms where I can assure myself you’re okay, so be still and let me take care of you,” I snarl.
At my nod, my soldier helps roll her side against my chest, maintaining pressure on her wound as I wrap my arm around her back—over her laceration—and curl her tight to me. When I squeeze too hard, she wheezes and digs her nails into my nape, so I loosen just enough for her ribs to expand over a comfortable breath. I thread my other arm under her knees and rise.
“Get me a blanket or something to cover her with,” I snarl.
I know she’s injured, but I don’t like knowing other men’s eyes roam over her naked body. She’s mine.
“No. Cold is good. Slows bleeding,” she murmurs.
I demand my soldier drape the blanket over her anyway.
“Hey, boss, toss me one of them packets. I’ll stay behind and oversee clean up,” Fiero says.
When I nod, Tristan balks.
“But you’re shot!”
“It missed all the vital things, so I’ll be fine for a few more minutes. Go get the boss lady fixed up, and I’ll be there before you know it, ready for a little pinch and pull.”
I question my choice in consigliere. Slice and dice for a killing spree? Pinch and pull for bullet removal? This pazzo needs a lingo update.
“Thanks, consigliere.” The soldiers look between us in shock as I call him my second for the first time, but I continue as though it’s old news. “I expect to see you at the clinic in less than thirty minutes,” I snarl.
“Yes, boss,” he answers as he pushes himself up off the floor.
Tristan stands with several more packets of coagulant in his hands, glancing between me and Fiero, obviously torn on where to go.
“Come with us, Tristan. I might need you if she passes out again,” I say.
He nods and hands the pouches to the nearest man before rushing to my side.
To the tune of Fiero delegating tasks to the men, I start down the stairs and shorten my stride so Tristan doesn’t hurt himself trying to keep up, somewhat reassured when Aurora remains alert enough to dig her nails into my nape. I settle into the back seat of whichever car is ready to go, careful to keep pressure on Aurora’s wounds, and let my soldier shut the door. As he and Tristan rush around the car to their seats, she turns her face into the crook of my neck and shudders.
“You’re okay, Aurora. We’ll get you patched up in no time,” I murmur.
She nods and passes out. Tristan pats her shoulder and keeps her awake with random trivia, offering me a deeper glimpse into their lives before our unexpected betrothal. Favorite colors, shapes, sounds, time of year, and TV series episodes. Specifics surrounding key moments in their shared experiences. Jokes. Everything highlights how much they love and rely on each other.
I want to experience this intimacy every day for the rest of my life. I want to be someone who these two amazingly resilient souls can trust and love for the rest of their days. Neither one will ever hurt like this again.
The moment the driver parks outside the clinic, three nurses and my personal physician emerge. Tristan jumps out and runs around to open my door, but a male nurse reaches me first and leans in to take Aurora from me.
“Get your hands off. I’ll carry her in,” I snarl and stand, forcing him to move out of the way.
Tristan stays right on my heels as I rush into the building. When my physician leads us straight to a room, I follow him inside and stop beside the bed.
“Sit. Keep pressure on her wounds,” Dr. Karl demands.
As I turn, he gestures for a nurse to lower the bed and grabs Aurora’s wrist. He straightens her arm and cleans the crook of her elbow before starting her transfusion with practiced ease. With a few curt words, he sets his team into coordinated chaos. In less than two minutes, they’ve hooked Aurora up to several machines and monitors, coaxed her to take a few pills, gathered a ton of supplies, asked a few pertinent questions, stationed a nurse on either side of me, and prepped my physician for what looks like surgery.
He wheels his stool so close his knees brush against mine before he leans into Aurora’s view. She gives him a slow blink. Although still sluggish and pale, she seems more alert than in the car.
“Have you ever been injured like this before?” he asks.
She croaks out a no.
“We’ll wait a few more minutes for the oral coagulants to work and for your vitals to stabilize before I check your wounds.”
She nods.
Dr. Karl leans to the side and lifts a brow.
“Mr. Vivaldi, you’re bleeding all over my bed. Stand and I’ll bandage you while we wait.”
When I hesitate, Aurora digs her nails into my nape and traps my gaze within hers. The worry shining from her emerald orbs matches the fear thundering through my veins, so I stand and allow my physician to treat the wounds on my side and hip.
Tristan shuffles forward and takes Aurora’s hand as my physician takes the nurse’s spot at my side. Aurora blinks at him and attempts to give him a small, reassuring smile, but she passes out halfway through the motion. I tighten my arms around her, and Tristan squeezes her hand as she lies limp between us.
“She’ll be okay, Tristan,” I say, willing it to be true.
He nods and lifts worried eyes up to mine, but when he meets my hard gaze, he squares his shoulders and returns my nod.
“Yeah. We’ll protect her together, just like we promised.”
Emotions clog my throat, but I affirm our pact by saying, “Yes. Together.”
She wakes and gives an unsteady sigh before closing her eyes and squeezing both my nape and Tristan’s hand.
“I’m okay. Really. I already feel a little better,” she mutters.
With clinical movements, my doctor tugs down my waistband and studies the oozing wound on my hip. His unimpressed expression reveals his thoughts. By the incessant throbbing and fire streaking through my hip, not only is the laceration deep in the muscle, but the surrounding flesh must be burned, too. The gash on my side bleeds freely.
He cleans and bandages me in record time before checking the monitor and studying Aurora’s face.
Tristan squeezes her hand again before relinquishing his spot to my physician.
Two nurses help situate Aurora’s IV lines as I lie her face down on the bed. She clings to my nape, but I duck out from under her arm, encompass her chilly hand in mine, and squat so my eyes are level with hers. I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, wishing I could gather her into my arms.
Dr. Karl and his nurses set to work again, cleaning, inspecting, and treating her wounds with seamless teamwork. She grits her teeth and closes her eyes until I nip the back of her hand and murmur her name. Even though the machines show her improving vitals, terror gnaws at my insides at the thought of her closing her eyes and never opening them again. She lifts her lashes and focuses on my face for a moment, but pain creases her brow and steals her attention.
Dr. Karl announces her bleeding has slowed but says pressure bandages for an hour or two would be best. She gives the tiniest nod before biting back a groan as they lift her off the mattress and wrap a bandage around her ribs and over her shoulders to compress both wounds. When they roll her onto her side and prop her up with pillows, sweat glistens on her pale brow.
A nurse pulls a chair up behind me, so I scoot it closer and sit at Aurora’s bedside. Her hand still feels cold within mine, so I request a blanket and tuck our joined hands underneath when they settle a warmed sheet over her.
“I’ll be back in an hour to check her bleeding, but the nurses will keep a close eye on her. The best thing for her right now is to rest, so we’ll turn down the lights and bring in a cot for her brother.” He gestures for the male nurse to fetch the mentioned cot before ensuring he has my attention. “Once the transfusion is complete, you can join her on the bed, but for now, it’s safer to let her sleep solo.”
I hate the logic, but I’d do anything to see her recovered, so I grind my teeth and nod my understanding. She belongs in my arms where I can feel her breathing and smell her scent, but with the IV lines, monitor hook ups, and her bandages, it would be too easy to hurt her instead of comfort her, so I rub my thumb over her wrist and prop my other elbow on my thigh.
As they settle Tristan along the wall on Aurora’s other side, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the screen before answering Fiero’s call. The male nurse offers me a pair of scrubs, which reminds me I’m shirtless and wearing bloody pants. Another nurse offers Tristan a clean pair of clothes, too. I put the call on speaker, set it on the edge of the bed, and thank the man with a nod as I take the clean clothes from him.
“We found Madona Achilles bound and beaten in her closet. Otello obviously r—”
“You’re on speaker,” I snap.
Two pairs of wide eyes stare at me. The anguish in Aurora’s glazed gaze hurts my heart.
“I sent her to the hospital with half a dozen of our men for protection,” Fiero says. His strained voice relays his pain. “The rest of the house is empty. Every single one of the staff is gone. Not even a guard at the gate.”
Which explains why I had to smash it with my car.
“Where’s Horatio Achilles?” I ask.
“I sent two men to confirm his whereabouts, but rumors say he’s at his office. We’ll make sure he hears about this from your perspective,” Fiero replies.
“Thanks, consigliere. Anything else?”
“Cleanup is almost complete, so I’m heading your way. How’s the boss lady? The men are asking about her,” he says.
My stomach churns as I realize his hidden message. She left too much blood behind.
“She’s stable and resting,” I answer.
“Thanks, I’ll relay that. See you in a few.”
Just before I end the call, his hiss of pain and string of expletives fill the air as he curses the backseat of whichever car he’s trying to lower himself into. I sigh and toss the clothes down onto my chair and move my phone to the nearby tray, refusing to release Aurora’s hand for even a second.
“What’s going to happen now?” Tristan asks.
Aurora lifts her hand to him. He steps forward and carefully takes it.
“You’re going to come live with me. Both of you,” I say.
Tristan swings saucer-sized eyes my way. Aurora’s fingers stiffen within mine.
“Really? I can come live with you?” The excitement on Tristan’s face fills my heart with warmth.
Tears swim in Aurora’s eyes, but she relaxes and nods her head.
“Yes, Tristan. We can’t stay with our parents anymore. It isn’t safe.”
By the worry lines on her brow, she’s aware enough to realize the war she’s tried so hard to avoid has already begun. The moment Otello Tempe put his hands on her was the moment Horatio Achilles lost everything.
I will show him no mercy.
A nurse clears her throat near the door. I turn to find her waiting with her finger hovering over the light switch. Her not-so-subtle reminder of Dr. Karl’s order for Aurora to rest proves I’ve chosen the right medical practitioner. He’s ensured his staff remain focused on the patient’s needs.
“I’ll go change in the bathroom,” Tristan says.
“We have a shower in the on-call suite. I can take you there if you want a quick one,” the nurse says.
Tristan shakes his head, but Aurora encourages him to go. He reluctantly follows the nurse into the hall.
The moment the woman closes the door behind them, Aurora’s breath hitches. I lean down and cup her face, but she digs her nails into my hand and closes her eyes.
“You should change before he comes back,” she whispers through a throat thick with tears. I kiss her brow and caress her cheek with my thumb before rising and unfastening my belt.
No matter how awkward it may be to undress with only one hand, I refuse to release my grip on her, so I shuck out of my ruined trousers and boxer briefs and pull on the scrub bottoms without letting her go.
She watches me with too many emotions to name. Pride. Sadness. Relief. Love.
I give my chest and abs a quick wipe down with the sponge bath items waiting on the bedside tray and towel dry before picking up the scrub shirt.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot let go of her hand. Even if she pushed me away, I wouldn’t be able to release her.
I almost lost her.
Sorrow fills her expression. I drop the shirt and cup the side of her face with my hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, Giorgio,” she whispers.
Tears spill from her lashes.
“Hush, mia topolina. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I murmur.
She closes her eyes, shakes her head, and winces, reminding me of the contusion on the back of her head, but before I can call Dr. Karl back in to check her, she pierces my soul with her sparkling emerald orbs.
“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You don’t deserve this.”
The agony shining from her eyes is too much. Despite the doctor’s orders, I need her in my arms, so I slide under the sheet, replace her pillow with my arm, and carefully intertwine our bodies.
“You’re right, I don’t deserve you. You’re too sweet for me. Too smart. Too honest and pure. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go. I need you, Aurora.”
“But I can’t give you what you need,” she says through a half sob.
“I’ve told you what I need. It’s you. Only you.”
She shakes her head and digs her nails into my shoulder.
“I should never have signed official paperwork, not without telling you I’m sick. If you’d known I was chronically ill—”
I release her hand and wrap my fist around her throat. When I tilt her face up to mine, the misery swimming in her soul shines through her eyes.
“I would have married you anyway, Aurora. You’re mine. No one else can have you.”
“But I can’t give you an heir! It could take years for me to conceive, and even then, there’s no guarantee I’d carry to term. The entire pregnancy will be high risk, and—”
I shift my hand from her throat to her mouth, ending her outburst. Fear and fury battle within me as I process her words. For several tense, uncertain seconds, she stares up at me as I fight the feral beast trapped inside my chest.
“You mean to tell me,” I begin, half thrilled and half miserable over the fear in her eyes, “that you agreed to have my baby even though the pregnancy would endanger your life?”
She furrows her brow in confusion.
It’s too much. I snarl, grab her nape, and duck down to take her lips, pouring my frustration into the kiss, more upset than ever before, but I pull back before my cock stiffens.
It hardens anyway. I ignore the stubborn stronzo and focus on Aurora.
As she recovers from my unexpected fervor, the slight blush on her cheeks contrasts her pallor, but her gaze remains confused.
“I don’t care about an heir, Aurora. Those were my parents’ demands, not mine.”
“But—”
“You keep making me repeat myself, even though I’ve proven I’m a man of my word. Do I need to prove it again, mia topolina?”
“Prove what? How would you—”
“I love and need you, Aurora. You and only you. You come first, no matter what. If having a baby will put you at risk, then I don’t need one. I’ll prove it by getting a vasectomy. Hell, I’ll get snipped tomorrow to make sure you’re safe by the time you’re recovered.”
“But… the other morning, at my desk… when you…”
Realization spears through me.
“When I pushed my cum into your pussy? That wasn’t to get you pregnant, amore mio. That was pure possession. Dominance. My inner feral beast marking his territory. I love watching you writhe in pleasure because of me, and knowing you’d smell of me all day long was the biggest turn on of my life.”
My hard cock pulses against her warmth. With only my thin scrub bottoms and her panties between us, the heat from her pussy emanates along the underside of my shaft, but the fatigue tugging at her features strengthens my resolve.
Her wide eyes and soft oh will forever fill my heart with pride.
“We can pass everything down to Tristan or spread our assets to any nieces or nephews we gain down the line. Or adopt. I don’t need biological children. I need you.”
Fresh tears run across the bridge of her nose and drip down my arm as she studies my face. After looking between my eyes a few times, she skims her palm from my shoulder to my jawline and ghosts her thumb over the stubble on my cheek.
“I believe you. I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful from the start,” she whispers.
“You didn’t know me before, but you do now, so answer me honestly. Capisci?”
She nods.
“Are you hiding anything else?”
She shakes her head. Stops. Closes her eyes and swallows. When she lifts her lashes again, my stomach bottoms out at the honesty shining from her depths.
“There is one thing I haven’t told you yet,” she murmurs.
I reflexively stiffen, turning her makeshift pillow into rock-hard muscles. She winces and presses her nails into my face. Her IV line brushes against my arm. The suspense steals all the oxygen from my lungs.
“I love you, Giorgio.”
The surety in her voice and conviction in her eyes erases the tension from my body and ends the angst in my soul. I don’t need to breathe.
I have Aurora.
She’s no longer an Achilles. She’s a Vivaldi.
My wife. My lover. My partner.
Mine. Mine to protect, cherish, and love.
We may live in a brutal world surrounded by danger and deceit, but nothing will ever hurt her again.
“Prove it,” I growl.
A smile ghosts across her face as she accepts my challenge.
“How do I prove I love you?” she asks.
“Marry me,” I demand.
She chuckles despite the pain of her wounds and the fatigue tugging at her limbs.
“I already have,” she murmurs.
“Yes, you have, but that’s not what I mean. After you recover, and you will wait until you’re fully recovered, we’ll plan the wedding of your dreams. I need to show the entire world how lucky I am.”
She huffs a half laugh and closes her eyes.
“You just want to claim me in front of everyone, don’t you?”
“I do. You’re mine,” I declare.
Her hand relaxes on the side of my face as she dips toward sleep.
“And you’re mine,” she murmurs.
As her exhaustion whisks her away, I hold her tight and whisper the words overflowing from my heart.
“Oh, I’m all yours, mia topolina. You’re stuck with me forever. I’ll never let you go.”
As Tristan returns and settles on his cot, a profound sense of rightness settles over me.
My world revolves around Aurora, but Tristan completes our family. She loves him like a brother and a child.
I’ll protect them both long after my last breath. With my name, wealth, and power, I’ll ensure they live a safe and happy life.
No matter what the future brings, Aurora and I will tackle it just like we promised.
Together.
