Chapter 56: Chapter 56

\[ IRIS’S POV \]

His touch sent a shiver racing down my spine, a cold fire that made every nerve ending wake up at once. The bedroom was vast and filled with the scent of expensive cedar, but with him standing over me, it felt impossibly small. His eyes were dark, like the mountains outside, watching me with a look that was both predatory and raw.

"I’m not a toy, Dante," I whispered, my voice trembling. "You can’t just... I will take—ouch."

I gasped, my words cutting off into a sharp breath as he reached out and pinched my nipple. It was a sudden, firm pressure that sent a jolt of heat straight to my stomach. My back arched, my chest thrusting forward instinctively, and my heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"You aren't a toy, Iris," he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Toys are replaceable. You are an obsession. The only real thing I’ve ever seen that wasn’t tainted by blood or ambition."

He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, his palm cupped me fully, his thumb rubbing back and forth in a slow, torturous way that turned the sting into a deep, heavy ache. I grabbed his wrists, intending to push him back, but my fingers only clung to him, pulling him closer.

Salvatore leaned in until his lips were hovering just an inch from mine. He smelled of rain and leather. "In this house, there are no more secrets," he murmured. "No more hiding."

He slid his other hand behind my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my face up. When he finally kissed me, it wasn't soft. It was a collision—deep, hungry, and completely possessive. I felt the velvet of the bed hit the back of my legs as he pressed his weight against me, forcing me to sink into the mattress.

His hands moved over my body with a frantic sort of worship, as if he were trying to memorize every curve before the world ended. Every touch felt like he was branding me, marking the exact spot where Iris Russo ended.

"Tell me you're mine," he growled against the sensitive skin of my throat, his teeth grazing my collarbone.

I couldn't think. I could only feel the friction of his clothes against mine and the heat radiating from him. "I'm yours," I choked out, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. "I've always been yours."

He looked at me softly for a long period of time, then he took a step back, breaking the physical barrier between us. He walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the jagged peaks of the Catskills. The moon hung low, casting the room in a silvery, ethereal glow.

"Five years ago," he began, his voice rough, "I was a different man. My mother had just died. My father... he broke me. He groomed me to be a weapon, nothing more. He taught me to see every human as a pawn, every woman as a means to an end."

He turned back to me, his face etched with a pain that surprised me. It wasn't the mask of the ruthless Moretti. This was something deeper.

"I was empty, Iris. A shell. I had just finished orchestrating the 'removal' of a rival family in Little Italy. It was brutal. Bloody. I felt nothing but cold satisfaction. I was driving through a downpour, numb to the world."

He walked toward me again, his movements slower, hesitant. He stopped just a foot away, his eyes searching mine. "And then I saw you. Standing at that bus stop. Soaking wet. You dropped your book, and those boys on the bus laughed. And for the first time in months, I felt something. Not rage, not ambition. Just... a flicker. A connection."

He reached out, his hand hovering near my face, then settling on my cheek. His thumb brushed over the faint scar near my eyebrow—a scar I got when I was twelve, falling off my bike. He knew. Of course, he knew.

"My mother, before she died, always told me to look for the 'untainted heart.' She said it was the only thing that could save me from becoming like my father." He lowered his head, his forehead resting against mine. His breath was warm against my skin. "When I saw you, Iris, I saw her. I saw the promise of something pure. Something I could protect."

"You protected me by stalking me?" I asked.

"Yes. Because your father was already making plans for you. He was already seeing you as a pawn. I intervened. I removed those who would hurt you. I bought the places you loved. I cleared your path so you could grow, untainted by the filth of our world."

He pulled away, his eyes blazing with an intensity that took my breath away. "My mother saved me once. When I saw you, I felt like she was giving me a second chance. A debt. And I swore to her, and to myself, that no one would ever touch what belonged to me."

"So you decided I belonged to you?"

"Yes." His voice was absolute, unyielding. "Because no one else saw you. No one else truly valued you for who you are. They saw your name. They saw your beauty. I saw your soul. And I saw that you were alone, just like I was."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another small, velvet box. This one was larger. He opened it, and inside lay a delicate silver chain, from which hung a single, perfect white orchid.

"This was my mother’s," he said, his voice softer now. "She loved orchids. She said they were fragile, but resilient. Just like you."

He took the necklace out, his fingers fumbling slightly. "Let me put it on you."

I hesitated for only a second. This wasn't just another gift. This was a piece of his past, a window into the broken boy who had become the ruthless man. I turned around, my back to him, and lifted my hair.

His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they fastened the clasp. The silver was cool against my skin, the orchid resting against my collarbone. He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below my ear.

"From tonight, you are no longer Iris Rossi," he whispered. "You are Iris Moretti. My wife. My queen. The one who will save me from the darkness."

He stepped back, and I turned to face him. He was still Salvatore, the man who had terrified me for weeks. But now, there was a layer underneath, a raw, desperate need that made him almost human.

"I’m not saving you, Salvatore," I said, my voice firmer now. "And I am not your wife. Not yet."

A dark, possessive smile spread across his face. "Not yet. But you will be. Because I don't give up what is mine. Now, go to sleep, Iris. This bed is big enough for both of us, but I promise, tonight, I will simply watch you. And tomorrow, we begin building our empire. Just you and me."

He walked to the opposite side of the massive bed, lay down, and simply watched me, his eyes never leaving my face. The orchid at my throat felt like a promise. A beautiful, terrifying, inescapable promise.