Chapter 28

Chapter 28
Sigrid's POV
The taste of Marco's kiss still lingered on my lips as Isabella fled the dining room. Perfect.
I watched her stumble away, hand pressed to her mouth, and felt triumph surge through my veins. After three years of planning, everything was falling into place.
"Amore mio," I breathed against Marco's ear. "Did you see how she looked at us? Like her little heart was breaking."
Marco's jaw was tight with anger, dark eyes fixed on the doorway where Isabella had disappeared. The tension radiating from his body was intoxicating.
"She needed to see," I continued, fingers tracing his throat. "To understand that you've moved on."
"Sì," he said quietly.
"You know what I think?" I moved in front of him, hands on his chest. "She's trying to make you feel guilty. Playing the victim."
Marco's dark eyes focused on me.
"She killed Lucia," I pressed on. "She murdered your sister, and now she acts hurt when you kiss your own fiancée."
"Basta, Sigrid."
"No, Marco. Someone needs to say it." I stepped closer. "She's manipulating you. Every tear, every wounded look—it's calculated."
My hands framed his face, forcing him to look at me.
"She doesn't love you. If she had, she would never have hurt Lucia." I let my voice break slightly. "But I love you. I've always loved you."
Something shifted in Marco's expression—a crack I was quick to exploit.
"Let me show you what real love looks like," I whispered, rising to brush my lips against his. "Let me prove you don't need her poison."
This time, when our mouths met, there was heat. Marco's hands found my waist, pulling me against him with desperate hunger.
"Cazzo," he muttered against my lips. "Sigrid—"
"Take me upstairs," I breathed, hands working at his shirt buttons. "Show me how a real man treats a woman who deserves him."
The master bedroom was everything I'd dreamed of—rich fabrics, antique furniture, windows overlooking the Sound. But all I could focus on was Marco, the way his dark eyes burned as he set me down beside the bed.
"Are you sure?" he asked, hands already reaching for my dress zipper.
"I've never been more sure." I let the silk slip from my shoulders, watching his pupils dilate. "I want to be the only woman you think about."
Marco crushed his mouth to mine, hands tangling in my hair. Finally—finally—I had him exactly where I'd always wanted.
When he lifted me onto the bed, I felt like a queen claiming her throne. This was my victory, my reward for years of patience.
His hands explored my body with skilled precision, and I arched beneath his touch, drunk on the power of finally having Marco Salvatore between my legs.
When he positioned himself above me, I reached down to guide him, gasping at the size of him. "God, Marco," I breathed as he slowly pushed inside me. "Your cock feels incredible."
The sensation was overwhelming—he was thick and hard, stretching me perfectly as he filled me completely. I cried out in triumph as much as pleasure, my nails digging into his shoulders.
This is it. This is what I destroyed her life for.
I ran my hands over the hard planes of his chest, marveling at the feel of his muscles flexing beneath my palms. His body was perfect—all controlled power and masculine heat.
"Dio," I gasped as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of me with delicious friction. "You feel so fucking good inside me."
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, savoring every sensation. The weight of him above me, the heat of his skin against mine—it was everything I'd fantasized about. His cock hit all the right spots, and I could feel myself getting wetter with each thrust.
Finally. He's finally mine. Isabella could never make him feel this good.
But even as pleasure built inside me, I began to notice something troubling. His eyes remained closed, his jaw clenched in concentration that felt more like endurance than passion.
"Marco," I gasped, hands tangling in his hair. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes when you're inside me like this."
But he kept them shut, his movements steady but somehow distant. Even as my body responded to his skilled touch, my heart began to ache with growing realization. Each thrust felt mechanical, precise but lacking the wild desperation I'd expected.
He's not here. Not really. Even with his cock buried inside me, he's somewhere else.
The thought should have killed my arousal, but my body betrayed me. The way he filled me, the friction of his movements, the heat of his skin—it was still everything I'd dreamed of, even if his mind was elsewhere.
"Ti amo," I whispered against his ear, hoping to break through whatever wall existed between us. "I love you so much, Marco. You're all I've ever wanted."
Still, when my release crested, I cried out his name, body trembling beneath his. For a moment, satisfaction flooded through me despite everything. This was Marco Salvatore—mine at last, even if only physically.
But then I heard it. Quiet, strangled, barely audible as he reached his climax:
"Isabella."
The name hit me like ice water. My satisfaction curdled into something ugly as Marco's body went rigid, his dark eyes snapping open with unmistakable guilt.
"What did you say?" I asked, though I'd heard him perfectly.
"Nothing," he said roughly, already pulling away.
"That was incredible," I lied desperately. "I've never felt anything like that."
Silence. He just stared at the wall.
"Was it good for you?" The question sounded pathetic. "I can learn. I can be whatever you need."
"You want honesty?" His voice was flat, emotionless.
Terror gripped my throat. "Yes."
Marco turned to look at me, and the indifference in his dark eyes was devastating.
"The only problem is, you're not Isabella."
The words shattered something inside me. All my planning, all the lives I'd destroyed—for what? To be a substitute for the woman I'd tried to eliminate.
"But I'm here," I whispered. "I'm the one in your bed."
"When I close my eyes, all I see is her. When I touch you, I wish it was her skin. When you moan my name, I hear her voice instead."
Each word was a knife to my chest. "Marco, please—"
"You're beautiful, Sigrid. But you're not Isabella Romano."
"She's nothing! A broken servant—"
"She's mine." The possessive fury in his voice made me flinch. "She will always be mine. And you? You're just a consolation prize I never wanted."
He moved toward the door without looking back.
"Where are you going?"
"To her."
The door closed, leaving me alone with the ruins of my victory.
Three years of destroying lives, and she still wins.
The rage that filled me was pure and incandescent. It wasn't enough that she'd stolen the man I loved. Now she'd humiliated me in the most intimate way possible.
This isn't over, Isabella Romano.
If Marco wanted to play games, fine. But this time, I wouldn't settle for destroying her reputation.
This time, I'd destroy her completely.