Page 90 of Stricken

My breath catches in my throat, my heart stuttering at the rawness in his statement.

Vlad reaches out, his fingers gentle as they brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead before he leans in to press a tender kiss to the same spot.

"No one can really own anything," I murmur.

Vlad shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Not that kind of ownership you're thinking."

I frown, confused. "What kind then?"

"I'll take care of you now," Vlad promises, his hand cupping my cheek. "Help you get what you deserve. If I can make you happy, then it'll make me happy."

A warmth blooms in my chest, spreading through my veins like honeyed sunlight. In this moment, in Vlad's arms, the chaos is suddenly replaced by a sense of contentment I haven't known before. At least not in a long time.

CHAPTER30

NICO

The next day, on the way toLumina, I find myself lost in the whirlwind of memories of my night with Vlad.

I know I need to focus on fixing the clusterfuck my situation has become, but my ass throbs with the phantom fullness of Vlad's cock as I sit in the back of the car. Flashes of last night's sex keep on assaulting my mind. Vlad's tongue circling my asshole, teasing the rim. Hot, wet, probing. Strong hands gripping my hips, slamming into me again and again. Cock hard and thick and pulsing. Stretching me open as he pushes inside. Filling me up completely. My own needy moans bouncing off the walls and floating through the room. The orgasmic bliss as he made me come.

Shame and desire war within me. I submitted to him entirely, let him claim me in the most intimate way. I still feel the echo of his cock, the void of his absence. My ass aches, empty. Craving him. Wanting to be undone by him again and again.

What is wrong with me?

When have I become so obsessed with him?

The car glides to a stop and I snap back to the present, pushing down the lingering sensations. I smooth my hair and straighten my Brioni suit, determined. After a silent pause that gives the car a following us to catch up, I steel myself and step outside. Vlad's men immediately pour out of the second vehicle, flanking me.

My strides are purposeful as I approachLumina's entrance, but my mind still stutters on memories of Vlad's tongue, his cock, his kiss. Nerves flutter in my stomach, uncertainty creeping in. This meeting with Tony has to go as planned. It needs to. But I'm not sure it will.

I'll take care of you now.

Help you get what you deserve.

If I can make you happy, then it'll make me happy.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, trying to shake off the doubts. I can do this. I have to do this. For myself, for the family.

And yes, I refuse to think about the possible fallout. I have more than one secret. But I'll deal with the consequences later, whatever they may be. Right now, I have a job to do.

Resolve hardening, I walk through the doors.

The restaurant's noise envelops me right away. It's a painfully familiar clinking of cutlery and hushed conversations. Crystal chandeliers throwing a yellow glow over the room, illuminating the rich burgundy wallpaper and pristine white tablecloths. The air is thick with the aroma of garlic and truffles, a luxurious blend that feels like home. It reminds me of Aunt Chiara's cooking all of a sudden.

But beneath the veneer of comfort, undeniable tension simmers. Patrons' eyes flick toward me, their gazes a mix of curiosity and apprehension. They know who I am, who my family is. The weight of the Morelli name hangs heavy in the room.

I navigate through the tables with practiced ease, my steps deliberate and assured. I'm headed toward the back of the dining room, away from the crowd and unnecessary ears and eyes. As I pass the table reserved for the meeting, Vartan's already there, eating. Our eyes meet. I incline my head, a subtle nod of respect. He returns the gesture, his expression inscrutable. Meanwhile, Vlad's men melt into the shadows, their presence a reassuring pressure at my back.

Approaching my own reserved table, I pause, surveying the scene. The table stands empty, awaiting its occupant. Close enough to intrude when the moment comes, but far enough to maintain a strategic distance to make sure Tony doesn't see me right away. Yes, that will work, I think to myself and slip into a chair and wait.

Despite Vlad's reassurances that his crew will protect me no matter what, my senses are on high alert, and my heartbeat thrums in my ears. Sick anticipation tightens my gut. The impending confrontation with my uncle, the man who gave me everything, looms like a shadow creeping closer with each passing second.

Finally, the front doors open, and a hush falls over the room. From my vantage point, I can see only a fraction of Tony and his entourage as he strides in. But as he starts moving through the dining room, I realize he's flanked by Salvatore and his people. Claudio's absence strikes me like a dagger. Ever the obedient soldier, he is not here today. He would be a better companion option. He's easier to reason with.

As they approach the table where Vartan is seated, Salvatore's gaze darts around the room, but I turn around just in time, hiding behind the obstruction that madeLuminaso famous—one of the potted olive trees.

When I glance back at them, Tony looks stoic. His face, although pale with a yellowish color, remains a severe mask. No one is assisting him to move. So, the old man is truly not as sick as the media claims.

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