Chapter 32: Salvatore

Chapter 32: Salvatore
The first thing I felt when I woke up was heat.

The second was pressure.

Eden was still wrapped in my arms, her back pressed to my chest, her thighs locked with mine beneath the sheets. Her breathing was soft, steady—still asleep—but her body was moving in slow, unconscious rhythm.

Right against me.

My cock was hard. So fucking hard. The kind of morning wood I hadn’t had since I was seventeen and waking up in a shitty twin bed in Naples.

Except this time, I wasn’t alone.

This time, the woman I loved was grinding against me in her sleep, soft little gasps leaving her lips, her body warm and perfect against mine.

I didn’t move at first. Didn’t want to ruin it. Just let myself feel everything: the way her hips pushed back into me, the wet heat soaking through her panties, the low pulse at the base of my spine building fast and hot and overwhelming.

I wasn’t experienced. Not like I should’ve been.

But I knew this felt like heaven.

Then she moaned—quiet, needy—and her hips circled faster.

My fingers gripped her waist. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t breathe.

Then she whispered, “Is this okay?”

“Fuck yes,” I choked, already half-wrecked. “Keep going.”

She reached back and grabbed my wrist, guiding my hand to her chest. I slid it under her shirt, cupping one breast, feeling the weight of her in my palm. My other hand moved to her stomach, holding her tight while she rode the friction.

I kissed her neck, dragged my teeth across her skin. I didn’t care that the sun hadn’t fully risen or that my body was shaking—I just wanted her.

“I missed this,” she whispered. “I missed you touching me.”

“I’ll touch you whenever you want,” I said against her skin. “However you want. Just tell me how.”

She turned in my arms and looked at me, eyes wide and dark.

“Put your cock inside me,” she said.

I swallowed hard. “Are you—?”

“I want it. Now.”

That was all it took.

I slid into her slowly, feeling her warmth wrap around me, and my mind blanked. She moved on top of me, rolling her hips, dragging her nails down my chest. She kissed my throat, my jaw, my mouth—finally my mouth—and took what she wanted like she was born to.

I’d never felt anything like it. Like I was hers, and she knew it.

She commanded everything—my pace, my breath, my pleasure. And I loved it.

I didn’t want control.

I just wanted her.

She came first, shaking around me, her mouth open against my neck. I followed, groaning her name like a prayer, burying my face in her shoulder so I wouldn’t fall apart completely.

Afterward, she collapsed against my chest, both of us panting and sweaty.

For a moment, it was perfect.

But then I felt it.

The shift.

She tensed slightly. Her fingers curled.

I waited.

But she didn’t say anything.

An hour later, I was dressed and downstairs with Gio.

He spread out a map on the table and stabbed his finger at a cluster of red Xs. “We’ve got chatter that Sergio’s people are regrouping near Lake Monroe. Angelo’s name came up in a shipment record. Could be nothing, could be a front.”

I nodded. “Who’s moving with them?”

“Capos we thought were neutral. Turns out Sergio’s been building loyalty in the background for years.”

I gritted my teeth. “So they’re consolidating. That means they’re planning something big.”

“Yeah,” Gio said. “Bigger than just getting Eden back.”

I looked up toward the stairs. The room where she was.

“They won’t touch her again.”

“You sure she’s gonna let you fight that battle without her?” Gio raised an eyebrow. “Because the way she’s training…”

I didn’t answer.

Because he was right.

Later, I watched her out back.

She was barefoot, tank top clinging to her back, gun holstered at her side. Elio was showing her how to disarm a man twice her size. She moved quick—shoulders squared, eyes focused. Her body was built for war now.

She didn’t move like a victim.

She moved like a weapon.

And I didn’t know if I was proud of her or terrified.

Maybe both.

She caught me watching and held my gaze for a second longer than she needed to.

Then went back to training.

That night, we lay in bed again.

She was quiet.

I held her close, fingers tracing her spine. “You’ve been sad today,” I said softly.

She didn’t answer.

“I know it’s not just what happened in the basement. I know it’s not just Sergio. It’s something I did. Or didn’t do.”

She still didn’t speak.

So I whispered, “Please tell me.”

She pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes.

“I know it’s stupid,” she said quietly. “But… you didn’t kiss me.”

My brows pulled together. “What?”

“This morning. You touched me. We had sex. You held me. But you didn’t kiss me like last time. And I know it doesn’t matter and I shouldn’t care, but—” Her voice cracked. “I did.”

My chest ached.

I reached for her, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her so hard I tasted the pain behind her words. I licked into her mouth, kissed her cheeks, her neck, her throat. I kissed her until she was gasping and laughing and trying to push me away.

“Okay, okay,” she breathed. “I get it.”

I didn’t stop.

Not until her eyes softened again.

Not until her fingers curled in my shirt.

And then, in the quiet, she whispered, “When the time comes… will you let me kill him?”

My heart thudded.

I didn’t ask who.

I didn’t need to.

I kissed her forehead, held her closer, and whispered back:

“I’ll be right behind you.”