Page 89 of Beautifully Broken
We spill out of the car, the tension of the day melting into the warm Santorini night. Uncle Tony cannonballs into the pool, splashing us all, and I laugh again, freer this time. Daddy pulls me close, kissing my temple, while Nonno pours wine, handing me a glass with a knowing smile.
“To us,” he toasts, raising his glass. “To family, to courage, and to second chances.”
“To second chances,” I echo, clinking my glass against theirs. I look out at the sea, the stars glittering above, and feel something shift inside me. The guilt, the fear, the weight of Trevor—it’s still there, but it’s lighter now. I didn’t save Mia, but I helped save Lena. And with these men by my side, I’m starting to believe I can face anything.
“Alright, beautiful,” Uncle Tony says, emerging from the pool, dripping and grinning. “Your turn. Into the pool—doctor’s orders.”
“Doctor of keeping Sasha Santini happy?” I tease, setting my glass down.
“Damn straight,” he says, scooping me up and jumping back in, both of us laughing as we hit the water.
Daddy and Nonno follow, and for the first time in hours, I feel whole—surrounded by love, buoyed by hope, and ready for whatever this vacation, and this life, brings next.
***
The Santorini night deepens into velvety darkness, the air thick with the scent of salt and flora. The villa’s private beach stretches before us, a crescent of pale sand glowing under the silver moonlight, the Aegean Sea whispering against the shore in a gentle, rhythmic caress. After the day’s chaos, I feel alive, raw, and ready to let go.
The men, my men, sense it too.
Daddy’s hand lingers on my wrist, Uncle Tony’s gaze burns with a possessive heat, and Nonno’s quiet intensity anchors me as we slip away from the villa, barefoot, the sand cool and gritty beneath our toes.
“Sasha, you sure about this, sweetheart?” Daddy murmurs, his voice low, his silver-threaded hair catching the moonlight as he studies me. His dark eyes are fierce, protective, a silent claim that makes my pulse race.
“Yes,” I breathe, my heart pounding. I’m always in control, work, life, even my healing, but tonight, I want to surrender. “I trust you. All of you. Take me here, outside. I’m yours to command.”
The first time I let them do this was over my ex’s grave, with the same frantic energy in the air.
Uncle Tony growls, stepping closer, his broad, muscular frame towering over me. “Ours, tesoro. No one else gets this. No one else touches you.” His calloused hand brushes my cheek, rough yet tender, sending a shiver down my spine.
Nonno, ever the steady one, moves behind me, his presence a warm wall against my back. “Piccolina, you’re ours to cherish,” he says, his voice smooth, authoritative, his silver hair glinting as he leans in, breath hot against my neck. “Tell us what you want, and we’ll give it to you. Everything.”
I nod, my skin tingling, the sea’s murmur blending with the rush of blood in my ears. “I want you, all of you; here, now. Take control. Make me feel you. Please. Remind me I belong to you.”
They exchange a look, a silent agreement, their possessiveness a tangible thing.
Daddy steps forward first, his elegant hands cupping my face, his lips finding mine in a slow, deep kiss. His woody cologne fills my senses, mingling with the salt air, and I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his shirt. His tongue traces mine, too gentle, and I feel the weight of his desire, the way he’s staking his place as mine.
“Ours to kiss,” he whispers against my lips, pulling back enough to watch me, his eyes dark with need. He tugs my sundress up, the fabric sliding over my thighs, cool air brushing my skin as he lifts it over my head and tosses it to the sand. I’m bare beneath, the moonlight painting my curves, and his breath hitches, a possessive sound rumbling in his chest.
Uncle Tony’s rough hands find my waist, turning me to face him, his grip firm, unyielding. “Ours to hold,” he says, his gravelly voice thick with want. He kneels, his lips brushing my stomach, warm and rough, trailing lower as the sand shifts beneath his knees. His hands slide to my hips, pulling me closer, and I gasp as his mouth finds the sensitive skin just above my core, teasing, tasting. His eyes flick up, fierce, locking with mine. “No one else gets to see you like this, tesoro. Just us.”
I tremble, heat pooling low in my belly, my hands gripping his broad shoulders for balance. The waves lap at the shore, a steady counterpoint to my ragged breathing.
Nonno’s hands move to my shoulders from behind, his fingers strong, deliberate, kneading the tension from my muscles.
“Ours to please,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my ear, then my neck, a slow, hot trail that sends sparks across my skin. His hands slide down, cupping mybreasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until they pebble, and I moan, arching into his touch.
“Sasha,” Daddy says, stepping closer, his voice a low command. “Lie down for us.” His tone is gentle, firm, with an edge of control that makes my knees weak.
I obey, sinking to the sand, the grains cool and soft against my back, the sea’s whisper a soothing backdrop.
Daddy kneels beside me, his hands tracing my thighs, parting them with a possessive tenderness. His fingers explore, slow and deliberate, finding my slick heat, and I whimper, my hips shifting toward him.
“Look at you,” he growls, his eyes blazing. “So beautiful, so ours.” His fingers tease, circling, igniting a fire that makes me writhe, my hands clutching the sand, grains slipping through my fingers.
Uncle Tony moves to my other side, his hands claiming my hips again, lifting me slightly as he kisses his way up my inner thigh. “Ours to taste,” he rumbles, his breath hot against me before his mouth descends, his tongue bold and insistent, lapping at my core. I cry out, the sensation overwhelming, the warmth of his mouth a contrast to the cool night air. His grip tightens, possessive, grounding me as pleasure coils tight inside me.
Nonno kneels above me, his eyes piercing, watching every quiver, every gasp. “Ours to adore,” he says, his voice a steady command. He leans down, his lips capturing a nipple, sucking gently, then harder, his hand massaging the other, fingers rolling the sensitive peak.
