Chapter 128 128

Chapter 128 128
Mia
The sun has fully set by the time we leave the estate. The air is cool, crisp with the salt of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Alessandro leads me down to the private dock where a mega yacht bobs gently in the water. It’s a monstrous thing, sleek and white, gleaming under the moonlight like a floating palace.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he helps me aboard, his grip firm on my hand.
"Somewhere quiet," he replies, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. "Just us."
We move below deck to the main salon. It’s a study in opulence, mahogany, cream leather, and crystal lights that dim at the touch of a button. The engines hum to life, a low, powerful thrum that I feel through the soles of my heels, and soon we are cutting through the dark water, leaving the coast of Sicily behind.
Dinner is served on the aft deck, under a canopy of stars that look close enough to touch. The table is set for two with white linen and silver that catches the starlight. I am wearing a golden dress that shimmers under the moonlight, the fabric clinging to my curves, loose enough around the waist to be comfortable but tight enough to show off the changing shape of my body. My gold heels click against the deck. I feel radiant, powerful, undeniably alive.
We feast on lobster risotto and truffle-infused pasta, the rich flavors exploding on my tongue, fueled by the strange, voracious appetite that has taken hold of me lately. Alessandro pours me a glass of sparkling grape juice, a silent, thoughtful gesture that makes my heart squeeze. He watches me eat with a satisfaction that is almost predatory, as if nourishing me is his primary purpose in life.
After dinner, the crew wheels out a cart draped in a silk cloth. Alessandro stands and pulls the cloth away with a flourish.
It’s a cake. Not just any cake, but a towering confection of pink fondant, adorned with delicate sugar flowers and gold leaf. It’s ridiculous, over-the-top, and perfectly pink.
I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest. "Sandro, it’s beautiful."
He picks up a silver knife with a pearl handle and hands it to me, his fingers brushing mine. "Make a wish, little kitten.”
I step up to the cake, the weight of his gaze heavy on my back. I think about the baby growing inside me, about the deed to the winery burning a hole in my purse back in the cabin, about the dangerous, terrifying, wonderful man standing behind me. I think about survival, and about the strange, fierce love that has grown in the spaces between our trauma.
I slice through the soft sponge, the knife cutting cleanly. I serve a slice onto a crystal plate and hand it to him, then take one for myself.
"You look so pretty," he murmurs, stepping closer. He reaches out, his hand sliding around my waist to rest low on my hip, his thumb tracing the fabric of my dress. "Like a golden statue. My golden statue."
He leans in, his beard grazing my skin, and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s a soft, lingering touch, his lips warm and firm. The contrast between his gentleness now and the brute force he commands in his world sends a shiver down my spine.
"Thank you, husband," I whisper, turning my face so our lips brush. The taste of the pink frosting sweet, and perfect is still on my tongue.
The yacht slows as we approach a shadow rising out of the dark sea. A private island, dominated by a sprawling villa that glows with warm, inviting light. It’s isolated, cut off from the rest of the world, a sanctuary for the hunted and the hunter alike.
As the crew docks the vessel, Alessandro turns me in his arms. The sea breeze whips a strand of hair across my face, and he tucks it behind my ear with a tenderness that makes my knees weak.
"This is our world tonight," he says, his voice low, carrying the weight of a vow. "No guards, no families, no business. Just you, me, and the future we’re building."
I look up at him, seeing past the scars and the cold exterior to the man who killed for me, who stole me, who is now trying to give me the universe in a file folder. The fear is still there, a quiet hum in the back of my mind, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of my heart and the life growing inside me.
"Take me inside, Sandro," I say, the command in my voice surprising us both.
His eyes darken, a flash of that primal gray lightning, and he scoops me up into his arms, carrying me off the yacht as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. The golden dress pools around me, the pink cake forgotten on the table as he carries me toward the villa, toward the night, toward whatever dark and beautiful destiny awaits us.
The interior of the villa is a masterpiece of cool stone and warm light. He doesn’t stop in the living room. He carries me straight up the sweeping staircase, his grip on me possessive and unyielding. When he reaches the bedroom, he kicks the door shut behind us, sealing us in a cocoon of silence and moonlight.
He sets me down on my feet, but before I can catch my breath, his mouth is on mine. It’s not a gentle birthday kiss; it’s a claiming. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting the sugar on my tongue, dominating the space. I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. I can feel the hard ridge of his cock against my stomach, a demanding pressure that makes my knees weak.
"God, I need you," he growls against my lips, his voice ragged. "All day. Seeing you glow like that."
He spins me around, his hands coming to the zipper of my dress. With agonizing slowness, he pulls it down. The golden fabric slithers to the floor, pooling at my feet like liquid metal. I am left in nothing but my heels and a lace set that does little to hide my body. The air is cool against my heated skin, raising gooseflesh.
Alessandro steps back, his eyes raking over me. He looks at me like he’s starving. "Look at you," he breathes. "Carrying my child. You’re even more beautiful now."
He reaches out, his hand cupping my breast. The lace is rough against my sensitive nipple, and I gasp at the contact. He rolls the peak between his thumb and forefinger, teasing me until I’m arching my back, silently begging for more.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please what, dolce mia?" He knows what he’s doing to me. He loves to hear me beg.
"Touch me. Please."