Chapter 51
Vee’s body trembled against him, nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“I…God…Luca she whimpered, trembling, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. “Please…don’t stop. I can’t…can’t hold back p>
He had always been a man who took what he wanted—but with her, it was about building, shaping.
“Luca she gasped, “I’m…so close…please p>
“Give me everything Bambola p>
Her body quivered violently, a shiver of surrender racing from head to toe. Her orgasm hit her hard, even harder than ever. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but she didn’t ask for it, so he wasn’t going to.
“Now, see…that?” Luca said as he watched her come down from her high. “That…you cannot fake p>
Vee let out a shaky breath, her body humming, the aftershocks rippling through her in slow, traitorous waves. Her legs felt weak, she was still finding her balance in a world that had shifted several degrees off center. She nodded, unable to summon wit.
“I have to go,” she said. “Can I go p>
Luca stepped away from her at once. He should have asked her to stay. He knew it. Staying would mean intimacy.
He did not trust himself with that.
“Of course,” he said instead, masking the hesitation.
She was just next door. Close enough.
She slid off the dresser. Only then did she notice a darkened patch on the polished wood, unmistakable, impossible to ignore. Evidence. Proof. Her stomach twisted with shame.
She had given herself to him. She had given him permission. She had offered him a yes.
To the man who held her sister’s fate in his hands.
To the man who had just told her there was nothing he could do.
She pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly, steadying herself before the swell of emotion could spill over and embarrass her further.
She had let Luciano Genovese make her cum. She had wanted it. She had needed it. And worse, she knew, with a clarity that frightened her, that this would not be the last time. That soon, terrifyingly soon, she would be the one begging him for more. For everything. She would be begging him to fuck her. Whether her sister was safe or not.
Luca watched her quietly as she gathered herself, noting the way her shoulders straightened, the way she wrapped her robe tighter around herself.
Vee took a step back, then another, putting distance between them. With each step, her thoughts unraveled further.
He was right. She had not stepped into this mad world solely for her sister. That had been the excuse she clung to, the noble reason she fed herself so she could sleep at night. But the truth was darker, messier, and far more dangerous.
This world intrigued her.
The rules that bent instead of broke. The power that did not apologize for itself. The man who called himself the devil and did not ask forgiveness for the things he was capable of. It thrilled her. Terrified her. Drew her in.
She wanted Luciano Genovese. The devil. How twisted was that?
She paused, hand on the handle, and looked back at him one last time. He stood where she had left him, watching her.
Neither of them spoke.
Luca watched her go, watched the way she didn’t even hesitate, just turned and hurried away from him.
He had just given her the best orgasm of her life. If he could say so himself. And he absolutely did say so himself.
And she ran.
“So this is how it feels?” he muttered, staring at the door. “Well, fuck p>
He looked down at his pants.
The outline of his hard cock was unmistakable, straining, offended she hadn’t stayed to finish what she started. His body was still locked in her rhythm, still chasing the ghost of her heat.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
His hand went to it instinctively, fingers closing over the thick length through the fabric. Lord, not again. This was becoming a problem. A real, humiliating problem.
Luciano fucking Genovese. Reduced to a fucking wanker.
He let out a sharp breath and shoved his hand away, pacing once, twice, before stopping short and glaring at himself in the mirror. Marks on his arms where her nails had dug in, red and already blooming darker.
“Fucking great,” he told his reflection. “Absolutely fucking great p>
The dresser still bore the evidence of what she had done, what he had drawn out of her.
That broke him.
His fingers went into his shorts this time without hesitation, without restraint. His palm wrapped around his angry dick, stroking hard, fast, punishing himself. His other hand dragged across the dresser, thumb dipping into the slick she had left behind.
Fuck.
He smeared it between his fingers. Her moans replayed in his head, unfiltered. The way her voice broke when she begged. The way her body locked when she came. The way she said his name.
He grunted, hips jerking forward as his hand worked faster, rougher. He let himself feel the sting of the marks she’d left on his arms.
This was not supposed to happen.
Women didn’t do this to him. He fucked, he finished, he moved on.
But Vee had crawled under his skin and set up camp.
Everything inside him bubbled and twisted, pleasure and fury colliding, until it finally exploded. His release shot hot against the dresser, proof of how far gone he was.
“Shit!” he snarled, head dropping forward.
Then, louder, angrier, “Fuck p>
Even that wasn’t enough.
The pleasure faded too quickly, leaving nothing but raw irritation and a deep, ugly rage that had nowhere to go. Anger at himself for letting her get this far. Anger at her for leaving him like that, for daring to walk away while his body still burned for her.
Anger at Cassidy, breathing on borrowed time and not even knowing it.
Anger at the Genovese legacy, at the men before him who had taught him how to own, how to destroy, how to dominate—but never how to want without losing his mind.
He straightened slowly, breathing hard, staring at the mess on the dresser.
As furious as he was, as humiliated and unmoored—
He already knew he’d do it all again if she stepped right back in that room and still leave him wanting more.
Marco was already at Commissioned when the city was still rubbing sleep from its eyes.
He sat in his office, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Head shining, eyes ringed with exhaustion he couldn’t quite hide. He’d slept maybe an hour. Two, if he was generous. The rest of the night had been spent on a couch that was too short for him, with Valentina curled up, crying until her throat went raw and her tears soaked through his shirt.
He ran a hand over his face now, jaw tight.
He had come here to brief Luca about the meeting with Bastardi, to explain what had been said, what had been done, how he had reacted and the next steps. That was the role. Trusted right hand. The man who did not have feelings.
And yet all he could see was Valentina’s face.
Red-rimmed eyes. Trembling fingers clutching at his sleeve. Her trying so hard to be brave, to stand tall the way she thought grown women did, while everything about her still screamed girl.
He hadn’t understood it until he spent time with her.
That was the part that gutted him.
There really is something about the Scalese girls. Christ.
First it had been the older sister, slipping under Luca’s skin. Now Valentina, getting under Marco’s skin in a completely different way. Not desire. Not like that.
It had been his idea.
That truth sat heavy in his chest, an iron weight he couldn’t shift.
Marco had been the one to suggest Valentina.
He swallowed hard, remembering the moment Bastardi’s gaze had lingered too long on her, assessing, calculating.
For the life of him, Marco didn’t understand how he could have come up with something so cruel.
The Bastione family had always been a thorn in the Genovese side. Old money. Older grudges. Renato Bastione ran his empire without ever tipping his hand, never moving without three contingencies in place. You didn’t touch Bastione territory without consequences, and you didn’t touch Bastione blood at all. Any move against them risked a mob war that would light up half the coast.
Information was everything. And Bastardi had it.
Or claimed he did.
Bastardi had never belonged to the Bastione family, not really. Blood, yes. Allegiance, never. He was Bastione’s mistake, a living reminder of a night that should have stayed buried. The nickname had stuck early. Bastardi. Bastard. The Bastiones kept him on the periphery, fed him scraps, tolerated him.
Which was exactly why he’d taken Luca’s deal without blinking.
Blueprints to the Bastione mansion in Italy. Full architectural plans, underground passages included.
In exchange for Valentina.
Marco stared at the wall opposite him, eyes unfocused, jaw clenched. He had been the one to suggest it. He hadn’t pictured her face when he said it, he didn’t even know her. Hadn’t pictured how small she looked when she cried, how she tried to wipe her tears away angrily.