Page 58 of Cage the Storm
A ragged sound escapes him. “I’ve spent years pretending not to want you. Let me spend the rest loving you.”
The admission rips me wide open, and I drag him to our bed, pulling him down beside me, needing something real to hold onto. “Show me,” I whisper, arching into him. “Show me what love looks like.”
His hands slip beneath my dress, calloused palms skimming my thighs. Not with Giovanni’s possessive fury, but with a commitment that terrifies me. “It looks like this,” he says, kissing the inside of my knee. “Like choosing you. Every scar. Every sin.”
His mouth moves higher, and I fist the fabric of his shirt, torn between shoving him away and wanting him closer. “Even the child?”
He stills. When he looks up, his eyes are smoldering. “Especially the child.” His lips brush the swell of my stomach, a promise I know he’ll keep. “Our baby will be born into light, not blood. You have my word.”
The vow is a death sentence. We both know the mafia doesn’t deal in light.
But as his hands map out the curves and his mouth retraces every scar, I thought I’d buried, I let myself believe, just for tonight, that we might carve out a new future with the next generation.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
NICOLAI
I standat the foot of the bed, watching her. The slope of her shoulder, the flutter of her eyelids, the scar beneath her buttocks. My hands twitch, now that I know every mark on her body is because of him.
I should leave. Let her rest since I can’t sleep.
But her hand slips from the sheets, palm upturned like an invitation. A few months ago, I would have thought twice. Tonight, I take it, knowing forgiveness is a debt I can never repay. Now I kneel, pressing my lips to her pulse. It thrums against my mouth, urgent and consuming.
“Nico,” she murmurs.
“I’m here.” Her eyes slit open, glassy with sleep.
“You’re brooding again.” A tired smile tugs at her lips.
“I’m theBoss. Brooding is in the job description.” Luna would surely reprimand me if she only knew I took matters into my own hands again this week.
She snickers, and the sound is so unlike her. “Come to bed,marito. The ghosts will keep.”
I don’t move. Can’t. The truth lodges in my throat. It’s as if she read my thoughts.
Her fingers brush my jaw. “I’m real,” she whispers. “So is this.” She guides my hand to her stomach.
The kick is faint but ferocious.I jerk back, but she traps my palm there.
“Feel that?” Her voice falters, “That’s your legacy. Not your brother’s grave. Not this house. This child.”
I press my lips to her belly. “I don’t know how to love a child,” I confess.
“You don’t have to love them yet, that will come in time,” she says. “Just love the idea of being more than your brother.”
The kick comes again, and something in my soul splinters. I press my lips to her skin, a silent promise. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Giovanni would’ve broken this child,” I mutter against her stomach.
“You’re not him, Nico.”
“Aren’t I?” My hands drift over her hips. “I could have ended him, and I did nothing.”
She yanks my head back, forcing my gaze. “You’re doing something now.” I stand up, capturing her mouth with a growl. She tastes like victory, and I drink her down like my reward.
“Careful,” I rasp.
“Make me,” she dares.
