If exhaustion had a name, it would be Aurora Achilles. No, not Achilles. Vivaldi.
Technically, Achilles is still on my social security card, but only because both Giorgio and I agreed it made legal matters easier and safer for Tristan, so now I have two last names.
I prefer Vivaldi, though. In my heart and on paper, Giorgio Vivaldi is my husband. I want the world to know I belong to him and he belongs to me.
Concern spears through me when I rise from sleep and find myself alone in the hospital bed. Despite three transfusions, a slew of other medications, and the doctor and nurses doing all they can to make me comfortable, I still feel like death warmed over, but the pain in my body is nothing compared to the angst in my soul when I realize Giorgio isn’t in the room.
I rub the grit from my eyes. Confusion spears through me. There are no IV lines tugging at my arms.
Tristan softly snores from the cot along the wall. The low lighting offers me a vague picture of him lying on his side. I push my hair back from my face and grimace in vain, expecting tangles and grime but finding my scalp clean and locks brushed.
Soft fabric caresses my skin as I struggle to a sitting position. Looking down, I blink in confusion at the pink scrubs covering my body until my brain works.
Snippets of memories flutter through my mind. Giorgio and a nurse gave me a sponge bath and dressed me in clean clothes when my wounds finally stopped bleeding.
I don’t know how long it’s been since then. Pain and fear warp time until I wonder if it was all a dream.
The door opens. Giorgio and Fiero stalk in on silent feet. Other men hover like wraiths in the dark hallway.
Although moving stiffly, Fiero gives no other sign of his injury as he continues across the room toward Tristan. Giorgio flips the blanket off me and swings my feet over the side of the bed.
“Time to go, mia topolina. We’ve stayed here too long,” he says as he tucks shoes onto my feet.
They aren’t my shoes, but they fit.
I wonder why he even bothered when he scoops me into his arms and kisses my temple. My feet haven’t touched the ground since Otello Tempe shot me.
He’s dead. The man I instinctively hated my entire life, who terrorized my mother and murdered mia zia, is dead. Giorgio killed him. I don’t know what that means for my family, but I do know it means Tristan and I are much safer.
The tense atmosphere seeps through my brain fog and slowly clears away my confusion as Giorgio carries me down the hall and through the reception area. Shadows creep along the empty space and fill me with dread.
Several cars’ headlights gleam in the front roundabout. A man dressed in all black opens the glass door and ushers us toward the backseat of the nearest vehicle.
Gunshots sound as Giorgio pulls my seat belt across my lap. He curses, abandons my belt, and pushes me to lie down on the seat while reaching behind himself and tugging Tristan onto the floorboard.
“What’s happening?” I ask as I reach for him, but my husband cups my hip and grabs his pistol from his waistband.
“My uncle found us. Stay down. This’ll be over in a moment.”
He shuts the door and pats the side of the vehicle. The driver rolls forward until the car in front of us shields us from the parking lot.
Tristan lifts his head, but I push him down. He tries to rise again.
“I need to—”
“You need to stay hidden, Tristan. Our job is to be invisible. We can’t be the distraction that gets them killed,” I hiss.
His little body vibrates with fear and fury. I gentle my hand on his shoulder and lean down to whisper in his ear.
“Once Giorgio teaches you the skills you need to survive out there, I won’t stop you, but for now, we’re just a liability. Prove to him you’re smart and stay out of sight,” I say.
He blinks up at me.
“You mean it? You won’t stop me?”
I take a deep breath before responding.
“I won’t stop you. I trust Giorgio, and I trust you, so you should trust me to keep you safe right now. If he thought you were ready, he would have taken you with him, right?”
“Right,” he grumbles.
Time stretches on and on. Each heartbeat feels like a million years, so even though the fighting only lasts a few seconds, my nerves fray and fear pounds in my ears.
When the door opens and broad shoulders fill the frame, I know it’s Giorgio, despite the darkness.
“Are you okay?” I ask without thinking as I search his face and shoulders with my hands.
“I’m fine. Get up and buckle in, Tristan. We’re going home,” he says as he gathers me against his chest.
I soak up his strength as he holds me, and after a moment, an uncomfortable suspicion creeps into me, but he lifts me into the center seat and slides in beside me. He shuts the door and commands the driver into motion.
“What happened? Where’s Fiero?” Tristan asks.
“Following my uncle.”
“He got away?”
The incredulity in Tristan’s voice reveals how deeply he looks up to Giorgio.
“You let him get away,” I say.
He gives a slight nod.
“Why?” Tristan asks.
I connect the dots.
He’s using his uncle as bait for whoever is behind the cyberattacks.
“What’s important is that he and my father are no longer a threat. They have no power anymore,” Giorgio says into my hair before lifting his head and directing the rest of his words toward Tristan, “so we just need to focus on settling you into your new room. Capisci?”
Tristan nods before going ramrod straight.
“Wait, you have a room ready for me?”
“I do, but you can change anything you want,” Giorgio says.
“But you just said I could live with you the day before yesterday,” Tristan argues.
I chuckle and squeeze Giorgio’s thigh as I speak the truth.
“He’s a man of his word. When he invited you to live with us, I bet he was already readying a room for you. When did you start prepping for us to move in?” I ask.
“The moment I realized you wouldn’t leave the Achilles household without him,” Giorgio responds. He pulls me tighter against his side and tilts my chin up.
“You’re not gonna kiss, are you? Because I’m still an impressionable little kid, you know? I—”
“Precisely. Watch and learn, mio ragazzino. Worshipping what you love is the joy of life and your biggest strength, not a weakness,” Giorgio murmurs as he lowers his lips to mine.
Every cell in my body wakes as he invades my mouth, filling me with delicious heat and turning the pain of my wounds into a tantalizing sting. I squirm in my seat and hiss when the movement pulls my bandages tight against the torn flesh across my shoulder blades. Giorgio lifts his head with obvious reluctance and wraps his hand around my throat to prevent me from chasing him.
“Not yet, mia topolina. You need to heal.”
I sigh and curl up against him as his words drain my excitement to a low simmer, allowing my fatigue to take center stage. When he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, I study my husband’s face in the passing streetlights.
Tristan said Giorgio made his declaration the day before yesterday, so I slept for almost three days in the clinic. Did Giorgio sneak away and get a vasectomy like he threatened? Certainly not, right? He wouldn’t do something like that without discussing it with me further, right?
Except, as I study his face, the pain bracketing his eyes tells me otherwise.
I sigh again as I realize how stupid I’m being.
Of course he already followed through on getting snipped. He was dead serious when he said he’d do anything to protect me.
It’s partially my fault for being so weak. Hell, I slept for three days. He had three days of staring at my pale and pathetic ass lying in the hospital bed to solidify his convictions.
Too many emotions hide within the realization, so I tuck it all away for later and wrap my arms around him, careful to avoid his bandages, and rest my ear over his heart.
He ghosts his fingers over my hip and cups the side of my face, holding me to his chest as though I’m the most precious thing in the universe. Tears gather on my lashes.
Less than two weeks ago, I planned to run away with Tristan and live the rest of our lives hiding from my mafia family, but now, I cling to the most dangerous and ruthless mafia don in New York City.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
***
Nervous flutters fill my stomach as I study my reflection. The simple sundress looks nothing like the floor-length gown I’ll wear next month at our fancy-shmancy ‘official’ wedding—which I’d happily skip. But Giorgio insists he must ‘show off his beautiful bride’, which just means he wants to stake his claim over me in public—which I’m oddly not mad about—but despite both dresses being comfortable, this one feels more like me.
Which is absolutely terrifying. The fancy gown is a persona. A shield.
This dress is me. I’m exposed, and not because of the sleeveless top or the hem teasing just above my knees.
The colorful pattern and simple cut fit my personality. It represents the true me. The sibling Tristan relies on, the sister-in-law Serenity adores, and the woman Giorgio loves.
I take a deep breath and relax my fingers before I crush my bouquet.
The door opens behind me.
I meet Giorgio’s eyes in the mirror and twirl around.
“No. Out,” I demand.
He quirks a brow as I stalk across the room and attempt to straight-arm him toward the door.
“Yes. In,” he counters.
I gasp when he grabs my wrist and twirls me around. With my bouquet in one hand and the other stretched across my body and trapped in his grip, I have no choice but to stumble forward as he guides me to the vanity with his bulk.
He doesn’t stop until the edge of the counter digs into my upper thighs. An inferno rages in my core as he slips his free hand into my dress and cups my breast.
“What is this?” he growls and flicks his thumb over the nipple cover.
I wriggle and stop myself from biting my bottom lip just in time to save my lip gloss.
“I can’t wear a bra with this dress,” I say.
“I know. That’s why I like it,” he murmurs.
He kneads my breast with his massive hand.
I squirm just to enjoy his hard cock rubbing against my back and respond in a breathy voice, “I also can’t flash all our friends and family.”
“But these don’t seem very comfortable. Let me—”
He pinches the patch between his fingers.
“Don’t you dare.”
The breathy quality of my voice should embarrass me, but our reflection is more arousing than any porno I’ve ever watched. He towers over me in his delectable suit. I look so delicate and vulnerable in his arms. He could do anything to me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
I squeak when he rolls the patch between his fingers. My nipple hardens and pulls the pasty tight around my areola.
“What will you do to keep these?”
His suggestive tone and burning eyes melt me to my core. My knees wobble as he rolls my nipple again.
“Anything,” I whisper, but I don’t care about the nipple covers.
I want him.
“Spread your legs and lean forward, mia topolina. It’s been too long,” he snarls.
My insides throb. I’m still sore from two days ago, but my need exceeds my discomfort, so I shuffle my heels farther apart and lean forward.
He releases my breast and wraps his fist around my throat from behind before sliding his feet between mine and forcing them further apart. I squeak when he steals my balance, pinning my wrist between my thigh and the counter while holding me above the vanity so I don’t squash my bouquet, and he flips my skirt up onto my back.
His appreciative groan skitters across my flesh and pebbles my nipples, causing a chain reaction in my core and clit. He hooks his digit under the string of my thong and pulls it away from my ass, tightening the fabric against my pussy. I whimper and writhe. The counter digs into my thighs.
“You’re too fucking gorgeous, mia topolina. Brace yourself. I’ll be gentle next time,” he vows.
I mindlessly nod and shiver as he tugs my panties aside and presses two fingers into me. Pleasure and pain streak through me at the fullness, and even though I’m wet and ready, he works his fingers in and out of me a few times, stretching and preparing me for his cock.
His belt buckle clicks and clinks as he unbuckles with one hand, still supporting my upper half with his grip on my throat. I flex my fingers against my thigh. The vanity digs into my wrist, but I don’t care.
A wanton sound leaves my throat when he presses the fat head of his cock to my entrance. I rise onto tiptoes, my body instinctively trying to escape him even though I yearn for his invasion.
The world bursts into a million sparkly colors as he fills me with one thrust. My entire body clamps down in a tremendous orgasm, and I soar amidst a kaleidoscope of brilliance as he ruthlessly takes me from behind. His demanding thrusts rule my world and reshape my soul.
His pace falters half a second before he surges impossibly deeper into me. The intimacy of his cock spurting deep inside my body releases the floodgates. I ruin my makeup and cry, needing the emotional release.
He sees too much. With our chests heaving and his dick lodged deep inside my pussy, he takes my bouquet and lays it aside before wrapping his arms around me, cocooning me in hard man muscles and surrounding me in his delicious, comforting scent.
“What’s wrong, mio amore?”
He squeezes my hip and cups the side of my face as he meets my gaze in the mirror.
“I’m sorry, Giorgio.”
He scowls and tightens his arms around me.
“Why?”
“You got a vasectomy, didn’t you?”
His scowl deepens.
“Yes, I did, and I’d do it again if it means we can be this close without worrying about you getting pregnant.”
I shake my head.
“But—”
He covers the bottom half of my face with his palm.
“No. The only butt in possible play here is yours, so choose your words carefully.”
I swallow. He’s serious.
A knock sounds on the door. I stiffen. He groans and licks my ear.
“Keep squeezing my cock like that and we’ll never leave this room,” he murmurs against my temple. “Tell them you need another minute,” he demands.
I stutter out a pathetic excuse. Serenity asks if I’m okay. I give a lame response. She pauses. Commotion sounds from down the hall. Someone says Giorgio’s name. Serenity chuckles in understanding before ushering the others away.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks.
Giorgio grinds his hips. I struggle to breathe as his cock hardens inside me.
“Did you forget already, mia topolina? I’m a man of my word, and I meant it when I said your health is more important than having an heir. I’ll never regret prioritizing you over everyone else. Capisci?”
My chest aches and sandpaper scratches the back of my eyes, but I nod. He caresses my trembling bottom lip before trailing his fingertips down my throat.
“They’re waiting for us, so be still or I’ll start all over again,” he growls.
I swallow and brace my hands on the vanity. He closes his eyes and covers my hips with his massive hands. After a few calming breaths, he pulls out and wipes up the worst of the mess with a few tissues from the counter before fixing my panties and tucking himself away.
He steps back and lifts me onto my feet before turning me around and wrapping my fingers around my bouquet. With a clean tissue, he dabs at my cheeks and kisses my forehead.
“Don’t be late, mio amore,” he says with a smirk before leaving me gaping after him.
With an annoyed huff, I turn and grimace at my reflection until my flushed cheeks and sparkling emerald irises outshine my smudged makeup. A small smile creeps across my face.
I’ve never felt so alive.
Without a trace of my previous nervousness, I fix my makeup and remain in a daze until I stand in front of the closed double doors at the end of the hall.
I honestly didn’t know what my ideal wedding looked like, but Giorgio figured it out. When I hesitated so long Tristan suggested an internet café, my husband announced he’d decide where we would hold both weddings.
And I’m so fucking glad he did. With my mother in recovery and my father in mental shambles, neither will be here today, which is sadly another thing I’m grateful for.
I take a deep breath and push open the doors.
The heady smell of forest washes over me and the gentle sound of flowing water is the perfect backdrop for the view.
Giorgio stands at the bottom of a set of stairs in the middle of the indoor garden. Serenity sits on the bench near the fountain with Nico standing behind her and Camilla—who I re-met a few days after I recovered from my blood loss—perches on the ledge of the fountain a few feet away from them.
Tristan shuffles from one foot to the other on the opposite side of the clearing, but the flush on his cheeks assures me it’s from excitement and not worry. Fiero, who I haven’t seen in weeks, smiles down at my brother before lifting his gaze toward me.
Besides the guards surrounding the perimeter, I know everyone here except for the woman at Fiero’s side, and I’m not sure what to think of her. She smiles politely until Fiero bumps shoulders with her. Her eyes spit fire at him. But the moment is so fleeting I wonder if the setting sun teasing through the leaves played tricks on me, because when she turns her attention back up the stairs, she’s pure politeness.
Giorgio presses a button on a little black remote. The overhead fluorescents turn off and tiny fairy lights twinkle along the path and in the trees. Tears clog my throat as I realize he also tied small kites along the branches, mimicking the design on our rings.
With joy overflowing my heart, I meet Giorgio’s eyes and start down the stairs. Almost safely at the bottom, I smile and loosen my shoulders, only to squeak in alarm as I miscalculate the last step. My bouquet flies out of my hand as I grab for the railing. I miss.
Giorgio catches me before I hit the ground.
When my heart stops trying to pound out of my chest, an incredulous snort escapes me at how perfect this moment would be in a fairytale.
Pleasure lifts my husband’s tempting lips. The reverence, joy, and filthy promises in his dark chocolate eyes melt my heart. I hook my arms around his nape and pull myself up to join our mouths together.
It doesn’t matter how many times I kiss this man; I’ll always want more.
When he finally peels his mouth off mine and rises, I wrap my arm around his waist, plastering myself against his side, and give a dazed smile and head shake to the woman I’ve never met when she tries to hand me my bouquet back.
“I don’t need it anymore, and you caught it fair and square, so it’s yours now,” I tell her.
She opens her mouth, but Fiero grabs her arm. She clamps her teeth together and glares at him over her shoulder.
Giorgio drags me forward, snapping my attention to the simple wooden altar.
His physician, Dr. Karl, gives a fleeting smile before beginning his spiel.
I haven’t known him for very long, but Dr. Karl has already proven more capable and caring than all the other doctors I’ve had in my entire life. I don’t know how Giorgio thought of him officiating, but it’s perfect.
Giorgio pulls me impossibly tighter against his side. I squeeze him, demanding his attention.
He’s mine. My ruthless mafia don. My trustworthy life partner. My husband. Mine.
And I’m his.
Always.
