Page 68 of Power
Her lips quirk. “Why? Are you going to serenade me here?”
“Maybe.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait. You’re serious?”
Before she can argue, I grab her hand and pull her toward the small stage set up at the end of the gallery. A piano sits there, black and gleaming under the lights. It’s been a while since I played, not since that night Enzo attacked us, but my fingers itch for it, muscle memory coiling beneath my skin.
People turn and murmur as I sit down. Vittoria watches, half-amused, half-stunned.
I place my hands on the keys and let everything else fall away.
The first notes are soft, then stronger. A melody I haven’t touched in years, something I used to play when I was alone. When I needed an escape. Now, I play it for her. Because she should have something beautiful, something untouched by blood or pain or anything that came before this moment.
When I finish, the quiet stretches through the gallery before soft applause ripples through the crowd. But I don’t care about them. I only care about her.
She’s staring at me with something unreadable in her expression. Then, slowly, she smiles.
“That was…” she trails off and shakes her head. “I didn’t know you could play like that.”
I smirk. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
She holds my eyes as something shifting between us, something deeper than words. And I know, without a doubt, that I would burn the whole world down before I let anything take this away from her.
***
The drive back to our hotel is quiet, but not in a way that feels empty. It feels… settled. Like we’ve said everything we needed to say without speaking at all. She watches the city lights blur past the window while her fingers rest on her knee and a cup of coffee in her hand, lost in thought.
I glance at her. At the way the passing streetlights carve shadows across her face, at the way the glow of the dashboard highlights the curve of her lips.
When we drive a little into the highway, I pull the car to a stop.
It isn’t dark yet—not by a long stretch—but the sky is a sea of gray and white clouds. A chill hangs in the air, hinting atincoming rain, but I’m not worried about that. I’m here with the woman I’d go to the ends of the earth for because I love her, and there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.
She blinks and turns to me. “Why are we stopping?”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and push open the door. “Get out of the car.”
I jump out as well, nearly slamming the door off its hinges. I circle around to where she is just as a car speeds past us on the road. Over the hood of my car, she offers me a smile that sends my heart somersaulting in my chest.
Let’s face it: she’s the light in the dark, the very reason my world hasn’t tilted off its axis.
When she smiles like this, as if nothing could ever go wrong, I feel it too—nothing can go wrong.
It's cooler out here, and the road is quiet, empty for now.
She looks at me, waiting.
I step closer, and she doesn’t move away. Her breath catches, lips parting just slightly, like she’s already bracing for what she knows is coming. Or maybe hoping for it.
“Because I needed to look at you properly,” I say.
And then, I kiss her.
It’s not rushed. Not desperate. It’s possessive, like I’m making sure she understands exactly what this means. My hand comes up and my fingertips brush along her jaw, feeling the way she shivers under my touch. She’s soft, warm, and when I press my lips to hers, she sighs against my mouth, melting into me like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
The hand not holding the cup fists in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I let her—because I want to be closer. Because I want to drown in the feel of her, in the taste of her, in the way she tilts her head just right, like she already knows how to fit against me.
“I want to fuck you right here, right now,” I say.
