12:05 PM – The De Luca Penthouse
I thought we were safe.
I was wrong.
The envelope was on his pillow. Black. Was seal. No return address.
Alessio saw it first. Went still. The kind of still stuff that made grown men piss themselves.
" Don't, " he said. Voice flat. Dead.
I picked it up anyway.
Photos.
Me. Three days ago. At the warehouse. Standing over the Moretti's body. Gun in my hand. Smoke curling from the barrel.
" Shit." The word fell out of me.
Alessio ripped the envelope from my fingers. Flipped through. Photos. All of me. All timestamped. All damning.
Last photo: A note . Cut-out letters . Like a ransom.
_She shoots like a De Luca . She will hang like one too.
$50 million. Or the Feds get the album.
Midnight. Pier 9._
He went to the window. Looked out at the city. Hands white-knuckled on the frame.
"They have you," he said. " On camera."
" I know."
" They will put you away for life , principessa." Moretti was a federal informant."
The room tilted. " What?"
" Since '19." He turned. Eyes black holes. " You didn't just kill a rival. You killed a witness."
The floor didn't just tilt. It vanished.
Witness. Federal. Life meant life . No appeals. No Alessio. Just a cell and my name on a death certificate the De Luca family couldn't burn fast enough.
" Why didn't you tell me? " My voice was not mine.
" Because you wouldn't have pulled the trigger if you knew."
Silence.
Then he laughed. Empty. Broken.
" All that talk. ' Mine. Per sempre .' And I can't even keep you out of prison."
I crossed the room. Grabbed his face. Forced him to look at me.
" Hey. Don." My thumb brushed his jaw. " You listening?"
His breath hitched.
" I chose this. I chose you. I'd shoot him again. Infront of the Pope. In front of your shotgun Zia." I kissed him. Hard. Desperate. " So stop looking at me as if I am already gone."
He snapped.
His mouth crashed into mine. No sweet. Not soft. Furious. Like he could kiss the handcuffs off my wrists. Like if he kissed me hard enough , the feds would disappear.
His hands were in my hair. On my waist. Under my shirt. Skin to skin. Frantic.
" Alessio," I gasped. Against his lips. " We need a plan–"
" Later." He walked me backward. Until my legs hit the bed. " Right now I need to remember what you taste like. In case they take you."
My heart cracked. " They won't–"
" They will." He laid me down. Hovered over me. His eyes wild. Hurt. " So let me have this. Let me memorize you. Every inch. Every sound."
His mouth was on my neck. Right over the two marks. The matching set. Biting. Not enough to hurt. Enough to brand.
" Alessio," I whispered. Hands in his hair. " I'm not leaving you."
" You don't get a choice." His teeth scraped my collarbone. " Not tonight."
The photos were on floor. The blackmail was on the floor. The world was on the floor.
On the bed, it was just us.
Just his hands. Just my name on his lips like a prayer . Just the sound of his breathing going ragged when I said his name back.
Faded.
Somewhere between the photos and the blackmail and the taste of his panic , I stopped being scared of prison.
I was scared of forever without him.
His hands memorized me like I was a country he was losing to war. Like if he mapped me right, he could find his way back after they burned it all down.
I let him. God help me , I let him.
2:15 AM – Same Bed
I woke up to him watching me.
Sheets around his waist. Stitches stark in the moonlight. Me tangled in his arms. In his shirt. Again.
He was tracing the new mark he'd left. Third one. Lower. Where the scarf would not cover. Where only he could see.
" You are thinking," I murmured.
" I'm planning." His voice was gravel. " We don't pay."
" Alessio– "
" We hunt." His eyes met mine. No boy left. Just the Don. " Whoever took those photos was Moretti's crew. Inside my house. They want money. I will give them a war."
He rolled. Pinned me. Careful of his stitches. Careful of me.
" But first." His mouth hovered over mine. " Tell me you are mine. One more time. While I can still hear it without a glass wall between us."
I grabbed his face. Kissed him until we both were shaking.
". I'm yours , you stupid , beautiful bastard. " I bit his lip. " Now get off me. We hvae blackmails to kill. "
He grinned. Wolf. Killer. Mine.
" That's my girl." He stood. Pulled me up with him. " Zia's downstairs. She is already loading the shotgun."
" Of course she is."
He handed a gun. Real one. Heavy. Mine now.
" Principessa." He cupped my cheek. Thumb is over the new mark. " If this goes bad? If they take me?"
" They won't."
" If they do." His voice broke. " You run. You disappear. You live. Promise me. "
I looked at him. At the man who had died three times for me. Who gave me his shirt. His name. His heart.
" No." I cocked the gun. " I promise you this : I go where you go. Always. Even to hell."
He stared at me. For a long second.
Then he laughed. Real. Unhinged. In love.
" God help me the bastard who sent those photos."
He kissed my knuckles. Then my gun. " He just made an enemy of the Don's wife."
Wife.
The word hit like a bullet.
3:00 AM – Pier 9
Fog. Water. The smell of blood and gasoline.
Zia Maria was in the driver's seat. Shotgun accross her lap. Red lipstick. Black viel. Like she was going to a funeral.
She was .
Just not ours.
Alessio checked his clip. Looked at me. At the gun in my hand. At the three marks on my neck that said property of De Luca.
" Ready , Mrs. De Luca?"
Not yet. But I would be.
" Born ready , Don."
The car door opened.
The war started.
He took my hand. Laced our fingers. Gun metal and wedding rings.
" Per sempre starts now , principessa."