Chapter 70
Night falls over the penthouse. Bell's bare toes curl against the balcony's cold marble, still damp from the storm. Six stories below, headlights crawl like fireflies—amber, sapphire, the occasional emerald flash as a light changes. She inhales deeply, filling her lungs with electricity and rain. Dante steps behind her, his muscled chest pressing against her back as his fingers slide beneath the hem of her silk slip, tracing the curve where thigh meets hip. His lips brush her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. On her other side, Luca's calloused thumb traces the delicate ridge of her collarbone before dipping lower, following the plunging neckline of her slip, his breath quickening as her skin pebbles beneath his touch. Bell arches slightly between them, her body responding instinctively as they cage her against the railing, three silhouettes becoming one against the city's glittering canvas.
For a while, none of them speaks. The silence wraps around them like silk sheets. Dante's thumb traces slow, deliberate circles on Bell's hip, each rotation sending tiny shivers across her skin. His chest presses against her back, warm and solid, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her nape. On her other side, Luca's fingers slide from her shoulder to the sensitive hollow of her collarbone, lingering there before traveling back up to cup the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. His cheek brushes her temple, lips close enough that she can feel the heat of them without contact. Bell's pulse quickens beneath their touch, her body responding to their wordless choreography.
Bell lets herself breathe, surrendering to the heat building between them. Dante's fingers slip higher beneath her silk slip, tracing the lace edge of her panties while Luca's hand slides down to cup her breast, his thumb circling her hardening nipple through the thin fabric. Her head falls back against Dante's shoulder as a soft moan escapes her parted lips. The city lights blur as pleasure ripples through her body, each touch erasing thoughts of war rooms and double-dealings. For this moment, they exist only as intertwined bodies, three hearts beating against each other, stitched together by blood and desire.
She closes her eyes, arching into their touch. "You ever think," she murmurs as Dante's teeth graze the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder, "about just... leaving? Starting over?"
Luca is first to answer, voice surprisingly soft. “And do what? Sell insurance in Nebraska?”
Dante snorts, but there’s warmth in it. “We wouldn’t last a week.”
Bell smiles, eyes still shut. “I’d give us three days. Four, if we’re drunk.”
Luca’s hand slips down to tangle fingers with hers. “This is our empire,” he says. “I don’t want anyone else to run it.”
There’s no argument. The city lights don’t judge, only witness.
A low chime sounds inside—Antonio’s signal, subtle as a sniper’s cough. Dante lifts his head, jaw tensing. “He’s here.”
Bell doesn't move right away. Her body still tingles where their hands had been. When she finally steps away from the balcony, her nipples harden against the silk of her slip as the air conditioning kisses her heated skin. Each barefoot step across the marble living room floor sends shivers up her thighs, still sensitive from their touch. She feels their eyes tracking the sway of her hips, the way the silk clings to the curve of her ass with each deliberate step. Antonio waits just inside the door, his gaze respectfully lowered, though she notices the slight flush creeping up his neck. The silver tray in his hands gleams in the lamplight, highlighting the single white envelope upon it, the seal waxed black and forbidding against her arousal-flushed skin as she reaches for it.
Bell takes it. The moment her fingers brush the paper, she knows it’s important—the weight, the texture, the untraceable scent of aftershave that’s not from any man in the room.
She breaks the seal, unfolds the letter. The encryption is old-school: half numbers, half a code only the inner circle would recognize. Her pulse skips as she deciphers the first line.
Dante comes up behind her, silent as a shadow. “What is it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes skim the page, fingers tightening.
Luca moves to her other side, leaning in, protective, insistent. “Bell?”
She reads the final line. The paper trembles in her hand. She looks up, meeting Dante’s eyes first, then Luca’s.
“It’s from my father,” she says.
The city continues to burn beneath them, but now the light seems to pulse—faster, hungrier, hungry for whatever comes next.
Bell stands between her brothers, the letter clutched in her fist. She feels them close in, their bodies shielding her from the unknown, from the future, from the ghosts that will never truly sleep.
Outside, a new storm brews. Inside, the Romanos are ready.