Page 303 of Rosetti Family New York
But instead, I move to the outdoor couch, gently pulling her close. Not claiming but comforting, not taking but giving, resisting the urge to hold her too tight while she falls apart.
"I can't," she gasps against my shirt, her words muffled by tears. "I can't let myself want this. Want you. It's too dangerous."
"Why is it dangerous?" I ask softly, stroking her hair with one hand while tracing calming patterns on her back with the other. The touch sends warmth through me, but I focus on her needs instead.
"Because loving you destroyed me once already." Her confession is raw. "I spent years trying to forget how it felt to be seen completely by someone who didn't judge me."
Her words hit hard, forcing me think about her leaving. I still don't know why she left. Was she running from me? Or from what we had together?
"Mara," I say, her name filled with questions that have haunted me.
"You don't understand." She pulls back to look at me, her face streaked with tears that make her seem so young. "The things I've done, the choices I've made… If you knew, you wouldn't want me anymore. You'd see the real me."
"I know what you are." I brush my thumb across her cheek, wiping away tears that taste of salt and secrets. "You're a survivor of impossible situations through intelligence and determination. You value beauty enough to risk everything for it. You're mine."
She flinches at my words but doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch, seeking comfort despite the words that should make her run.
"You can't just claim people," she whispers, though her voice lacks conviction.
"Can't I?" I hold her face in my hands, making her look into my eyes. "This is real, Mara. You and I are real."
Her laugh is shaky and broken. "Too real. Like building a penthouse shrine and tracking me across continents?"
"Like buying back your mother's necklace and waiting for you to come home to wear it."
The words hang between us. I feel her trembling against me, caught between desire and fear, trust and self-preservation. This is the moment. Will she accept the gift and let me a little closer in, or retreat behind walls I'll spend another lifetime trying to breach.
"Help me put it on," she whispers finally.
My hands shake as I fasten the delicate clasp at her neck, fingertips brushing skin that feels like silk and electricity. The pendant settles perfectly at the hollow of her throat, gold warm against skin that's flushed with emotion.
"Beautiful," I murmur, though I'm looking at her face rather than the jewelry.
"It feels like her," she says wonderingly, fingers tracing the pendant with gentle care. "Like she's still protecting me somehow. Protecting us."
I have the feeling she doesn't mean her and me, but her and somebody else. Who else might Mara's mother want to protect? Who else in Mara's life could she and her mother both feel protective toward? I shove that thought away to examine later, in private.
"She would be proud," I say, meaning every word. "Of who you've become, what you've survived, the strength it took to keep going when everything fell apart."
Fresh tears spill over, but these are different. Not grief but gratitude. When she settles against me again, she isn't collapsing but choosing.
As night falls, the city lights sparkle below us, Manhattan a galaxy of stars. I barely notice the view. My attention is on the woman in my arms, on how her breathing slows, on the warmth of her body against mine.
It’s a delicious kind of torture. Her body is soft and pliant against mine, trusting me with its vulnerability. Every breath she takes presses her closer; every tiny shift sends sparks through me.
My cock hardens against her hip, blood rushing south despite my best efforts at control. She’s grieving, emotional, fragile in ways that make taking advantage unthinkable. But my body doesn’t know noble restraint, it only knows the woman I want is here, accepting my comfort, wearing proof of my claim.
“Emilio?” she says, her voice sleepy and content, making my chest tighten with pride.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For keeping it safe when I couldn’t.”
Her simple gratitude hits me harder than any seduction. She isn’t just thanking me for the necklace; she’s thanking me for understanding what mattered, for caring enough to protect what she couldn’t.
“Always,” I promise, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll always keep you safe. All of you.”
She sighs, and I feel tension leave her body. It’s not exactly surrender, but acceptance. A recognition that fighting my protection is more exhausting than letting it in.
