Adriana's POV
The lights never came back on.
We didn't need them. His hands were on my bare back—hot, shaking. Not from weakness, but from restraint. "Principessa," he whispered into my neck, his breath burning against my skin. "Tell me to stop."
I didn't. I couldn't. My shirt was already on the floor. His fingers traced the scars on my ribs. Not the new ones, but the old ones. The ones from before him—from a life where I didn't know what it felt like to be claimed. "You are hurt," I said, my hands resting on his chest. I was careful, keeping my palms right above his fresh stitches. The bandage was stark white against all that gold skin.
"Alessio, you will tear—"
"I don't care." His teeth grazed my collarbone, sharp and claiming.
"Let me bleed for something I want. For once."
His mouth moved lower, kissing the hollow of my throat, then the space between my breasts. Slow. Reverent. Like I was holy. Like I was war. I arched into him, my fingers fisting in his black hair.
"You're insane."
"About you." His hands slid down my sides and found the waistband of my jeans. He paused, asking for permission without words. I answered by lifting my hips. He didn't rip them, and he didn't rush. He undid the button—one by one—then dragged the zipper down, inch by inch. His knuckles brushed my skin, and I nearly came undone.
"You make me live," he growled against my stomach, kissing the skin right below my navel.
"So let me." My jeans hit the floor. His breath hitched. I was in nothing but black lace, blood, and his name on my lips.
"Adriana," he breathed. It sounded like a prayer and a curse all at once. "You'll be the death of me."
"Good." I pushed him back into the sheets, careful to keep my movements gentle. I swung my leg over his hips and straddled him. Skin on skin. His chest against my thighs.
"Then die knowing you are mine." His hands came up, palming my thighs as his thumbs dug in. Not hurting, just holding, as if he were terrified I would disappear.
"You are," he said. "Since the day you told me to go to hell in that warehouse. Since the day you shot for me. Since—" I shut him up with my mouth.I kissed him like I was drowning and he was air.
He tasted like copper, whiskey, and something darker—something that was just uniquely him. His tongue slid against mine, slow and deep, then harder. Hungry. One hand left my thigh, sliding up my back until it found the clasp of my bra. He undid it with a single flick, like he'd been dreaming about doing it for days. He probably had.The lace fell away.
His eyes went black, bottomless. "Moglie." His mouth was on me before I could breathe. Hot. Wet. His teeth grazed my nipple, and I cried out, arching off him. My nails scored down his back—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to leave a mark."Alessio—"
"Say it again." He moved to the other side, his suction harder this time. "Say my name when you fall apart for me."
I couldn't.
Words were gone.The only thing left in my universe was him—his mouth, his hands, and the way he looked at me like he wanted to commit a beautiful sin tonight.
His hands slid down, cupping my rear and lifting me up to ground me firmly against him. He was hard. Even bleeding, I could feel his strength against my legs. For me.
"Fuck," he groaned into my skin.
"You feel that? That's yours. All of it. All of me."I rolled my hips, testing him, teasing him.
He cursed in Italian—filthy and beautiful. "You are going to kill me, principessa."
"Then live," I whispered. My lips tracked along his jaw, pressing against his throat, leaving him moaning beneath me. I caressed the jagged scar right above his heart. "Live for me."
His hand slid between us, finding the last piece of lace and hooking a finger under it.
Ripped.
The lace gave way with a soft, final sound. His breath punched out of him as if I'd shot him."Adriana." The word was broken, a prayer and a curse at once.
His eyes dropped and stayed there—black, endless, as if he were seeing the answer to every question he'd ever asked.I should have been cold, but I wasn't. His gaze was hotter than fire.
"Alessio," I whispered. His name did something to him. His jaw ticked. His hands fisted tightly into the black sheets, completely avoiding touching me as he actively held himself back.
"Don't," he said, his voice rough. "Don't say it like that unless you mean it."
"I mean it." I slid up his body, mindful of his bandages and the seventeen stitches holding him together. I positioned my knees on either side of his hips, pressing skin to skin, chest to chest.He groaned, his head falling back against the pillows.
"Principessa, you're killing me."
"Good." I leaned down, my hair falling around us like a dark curtain.
Just him. Just me.
"Then die happy." His hands finally came up, trembling.
He cupped my face as if I were made of the finest glass—like I was the very first good thing he'd ever been allowed to keep.
His thumb brushed my bottom lip, which was swollen and bloody from earlier. From Moretti. From him.
"I should let you sleep," he whispered.
"You should kiss me."
He did. Slow and deep, as if we had entire years instead of seconds. As if the dangerous world outside that bulletproof glass didn't even exist.
His mouth moved like he was starving and I was the only meal he'd ever wanted. His tongue slid against mine, his teeth grazing, stealing my breath and giving it right back to him.
His hands left my face, skimming down my neck, over my collarbone, and moving lower.
He stopped right above my heart, pressing his palm flat against my skin, feeling it hammer wildly just for him. "This," he said against my lips. "This beats for me now. Sì?"
"Yours." My fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling gently. "Alessio, I'm yours."
"Mia per sempre." Mine forever.
His lips trailed lower, tracing over my collarbone and down into the space between my breasts. He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss right over my beating heart. Wet. Warm.
A permanent brand."I don't deserve you," he whispered against my skin.
"Too bad." I arched up into his touch. "You have got me anyways."
He let out a laugh—quiet, real, and completely unburdened.
The sound hit me harder than any bullet ever could.Then, he pulled the heavy sheets up. The cool black silk covered us both, shielding us from the rest of the world.
He tucked me tightly into his side, his strong arm banding like iron around my waist, his nose burying deep into my hair."Sleep, principessa."
His voice was utterly wrecked, yet incredibly soft. "I'll keep watch."
"Not a chance." I leaned down and pressed my lips to the jagged scar above his heart. "You first."
His arm tightened securely around me. "Stubborn woman."
"Your woman." Time bled forward until the morning sunrise filtered through the thick bulletproof glass.
The room filled with a quiet glow of gold and red. No sirens. No gunfire. No blood. There was only the sound of his breathing evening out, and the steady, solid thump of his heart beneath my ear.
Still beating. For me. Just us. His lips moved slightly against my hair, his final words sounding like a sacred vow and a deadly threat all at once:
"No one touches what's mine. Ever again."