Chapter 12

Damiano

The evening is quiet, dimly lit by the soft amber glow of the chandelier swaying gently overhead. Outside, the city murmurs in the distance, but within these walls, time feels still — suspended between memory and the moment.

I’ve prepared dinner myself — a rare thing for me. I can’t remember the last time I so much as chopped a clove of garlic. But tonight demanded something different. Something intimate. Personal. A gesture, not of power, but of presence.

The scent of slow-simmered tomato-basil sauce fills the air, mingling with the faint hint of rosemary baked into the focaccia warming in the oven. On the table, a plate of handmade gnocchi sits steaming — soft, delicate, shaped with care. I plated it the way I remembered my mother doing when I was a boy, back before the world hardened me.

Beside the food, a bottle of aged red wine breathes in a decanter, its deep aroma curling around the rim of a crystal glass. Next to it, I’ve poured her favorite rosé — pale, crisp, a quiet blush in the glass — because I remember. I always remember.

Candles flicker on the table, their flames bending to the hush of the air. They cast long, warm shadows across the walls, catching the gold in the frames of old photographs and the soft glint of silver cutlery.

I hear her footsteps before I see her — soft, uncertain — and when she enters the room, something in my chest tightens. She’s wearing the dress I picked for her. Simple, black, elegant. Her hair is loose, tumbling down her shoulders, catching the light like silk.

She stops in the doorway, surprised. “You cooked?” she asks, half-amused, half-skeptical.

I smile — the kind I only seem to offer her these days. “I did. Don’t sound so shocked. I used to be human once.”

A breathy laugh escapes her, and she steps closer. The room feels warmer already. Her eyes sweep over the table, over the food, the wine, the candles. And for a moment, just a flicker, the tension that always clings to her shoulders melts away.

Aurora sits across from me, laughing softly at something I’ve said, a rare, unguarded sound that makes my chest tighten. Her hair loosely tucked back, her eyes hazy from the wine, but not too much. She’s had a long few weeks. So have I.

We move to the couch with our drinks — whiskey for me, rosé for her. The fireplace crackles low, and we sit close, knees brushing. There’s a moment of silence between us, one of those fragile ones where neither of us wants to break the air hanging between.

She finally speaks, her voice soft but clear.

“I had other plans, you know,” she says. “I’m only twenty-one. I wanted to run my café, live a quiet life... not be someone’s wife because a contract says so.”

Her words settle deep in me. I look at her — really look — and all I see is a young woman who was stolen from her freedom. Not just by her stepbrother, or the past, but by me too. I never meant to trap her. I wanted her safe… but maybe I’ve confused possession for protection.

I lean back and exhale slowly. “You’re right,” I say. “You’re young. And this wasn’t your choice.”

She tilts her head, confused.

“You can go back,” I say quietly. “Back to Morning Ember. Back to your life. If that’s what you want.”

Her eyes widen. “You’d really let me go?”

I nod. “You were forced into this. I won’t be the man who chains you down.”

There’s a long pause. She sets her glass aside. “Why are you telling me this now?”

I meet her eyes. “Because I love you enough to let you go.”

She stares at me — stunned, confused, maybe even torn. Then slowly, she leans forward and rests her head against my chest. I hold her. There’s nothing more to say. Not yet.

Fuck all the tradition. I want her — here and now, all to myself. The pull between us is undeniable, magnetic. I lean in slowly, giving her a moment, letting her body decide what comes next. She sets her wine glass down on the coffee table and slides her arms around my neck, her touch sending a rush straight through me.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” I murmur, my voice low, roughened by restraint.

She nods, her lips parting in a quiet, eager smile. “Yes.”

That’s all I need.

I capture her mouth with mine, devouring her taste, her warmth, everything she’s willing to give. I’m already aching for her, every part of me burning with need.

“Tell me you want this,” I breathe against her lips.

“I want you, Damiano,” she whispers, her voice trembling with desire.

My hand glides to the small of her back as I slowly pull down the zipper of her dress, letting the fabric slip away from her body. Her breathing quickens, every soft gasp betraying the desire building between us. I trail kisses along her collarbone, lingering just above her chest, I her nipple gently, savoring the way she responds to my touch. The sound she makes is enough to drive me wild — soft, breathless, and completely lost in the moment.

I gently slide her panties down, and she leans back into the couch, parting her legs for me with quiet anticipation.

I slide my finger inside her, she is so tight. She gasp. “You are okay?” I ask instantly. She nods, “I’m fine. Continue.” She says and I smirk at her. She really wants this. I stroke the inside of her pussy with my finger, she is so wet for me. I keep finger fucking her and she starts moaning with the same pace of my finger. I remove my finger. She gazes at me. She is breathing heavily. I grab both boobs and pinches it. “Damiano…” She murmurs.

“Yes little bird.”

“Fuck me.” She whispers.

I unzip my pants and position myself against her. I rub my dick on her clit before entering her. I force myself into her. She is so tight and so perfect. She moans loudly and wraps her arms around my neck.

"Does it hurt?" My voice softens with concern as I look down at her. She gives a small nod, her brows slightly furrowed. I pause immediately, holding still as our eyes meet.

"We can stop," I say gently.

"No," she whispers, her voice trembling but sure. "It’s okay… you can keep going."

"Are you sure, amore?" I ask, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She nods again, more firmly this time.

I resume, slow at first, each movement deliberate. The sound of her soft moans—needy and breathless—wrap around me like a spell. The way she calls out for me makes it impossible not to fall deeper under her skin. I move faster and she screams and I capture her lips, she continues to moan through our kiss. She clenches my dick with her pussy,

“Damiano…” she breathes out, her voice trembling.

“I’m here,” I murmur, pushing deeper, my pace intensifying.

A soft, broken moan escapes her lips as her body trembles beneath mine.

I reach my release with a deep groan, holding her tightly before slowly pulling away. Her legs are shaking, her fingers clutching the edge of the couch for balance.

I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You okay?” I ask, my voice low and hoarse.

She nods faintly, still catching her breath.

“Yeah… I’m okay.”

I lean back, breathless and dazed. She didn’t just make me feel good—she unraveled me. I gather her gently into my arms, and we settle on the couch, her head resting softly against my chest.

“This was my first time,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.

I tense, freezing mid-stroke along her arm.

“Dio… seriously?” I murmur, looking down at her. “You should’ve told me, birdie. I would’ve been gentler with you.”

She lets out a small, warm chuckle.

“It was perfect. Really.”

My fingers trace soothing patterns on her bare skin. She was incredible—brave, tender, and more than I deserved.