Chapter 131 131

Chapter 131 131
Time loses meaning in the darkness. The moon tracks across the sky, casting shifting shadows over the sand. Finally, the buzzing stops. The sound is abruptly replaced by the roar of the ocean, suddenly louder in the silence.
The artist wipes Alessandro’s arm with a cloth, applies a thin layer of ointment, and then covers the fresh ink with a layer of plastic wrap. He packs his gear in silence, bowing his head to Alessandro before leaving.
Alessandro sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the chair. He looks at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"Close your eyes," he commands softly.
"Alessandro..."
"Close them, Mia."
I obey, shuttering my vision against the world. I feel him move, standing directly in front of me. I can smell the metallic tang of fresh blood mixed with the antiseptic ointment and the sea air. His hands, warm and large, cover my eyes from behind.
"No peeking," he breathes against my ear, his beard scratching the sensitive skin of my neck. "I’m going to show you who you are to me."
He slowly removes his hands.
"Open."
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the moonlight. I look down at his left arm, freshly wrapped in plastic, the ink still vibrant and wet-looking beneath the sheen. And my breath stops.
It’s me.
Not just a likeness. It’s a fucking masterpiece. My face, rendered in shocking detail on the canvas of his skin. My eyes—those deep brown pools he claims to get lost in—are staring back at me, captured in a moment of soft laughter. My smile, the one I reserve for him when we are alone, is etched there in shades of gray and black. The slope of my nose, the cascade of my black hair—it’s perfect. It’s as if he tore a photograph and fused it into his very flesh.
My hands fly to my mouth, a gasp escaping my throat.
"Alessandro, no way," I breathe, shaking my head in disbelief. It’s too much. It’s intense. It’s permanent. I cover my eyes again, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what he’s done, of what it means to carry someone’s face on your body forever. "It’s... it’s too much."
He catches my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face, forcing me to look at him, to look at the mark he’s made.
"Look at it, Mia," he insists, his voice rough. "Look what you’ve done to me."
But he isn’t done. He turns his wrist over, exposing the sensitive skin on the inside of his forearm, right above the pulse point. There, in elegant, cursive script, fresh and red, is my name.
Mia Vercelli.
Not just Mia. My name. His name. Bound together by ink and skin.
A sob tears from my chest, violent and sudden. The tears come fast, blurring my vision. I look from the tattoo on his wrist back up to his face. He is watching me with a vulnerability that makes my heart ache. The ruthless mafia Don, the man who kills without blinking, is standing before me baring his soul through the ink on his skin.
"Hey, hey, don’t cry," he murmurs, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around me.
He pulls me against his chest, the fresh tattoos pressing against my shoulder, slightly sticky and hot. I bury my face in his neck, sobbing uncontrollably, the emotions of the day—the pregnancy, the gift of the winery, the apology, the tenderness—crashing over me like a tidal wave. My hands fist in his hair, holding on for dear life.
"You deserve the world, little kitten," he whispers against my hair, his voice thick with emotion. "You deserve everything. You are my world. You hear me? You are my fucking world."
I pull back, looking up at him through wet lashes. The moonlight catches the moisture on his own cheeks—tears he isn’t bothering to hide. He brings his hands up to my face, wiping away my tears with his thumbs.
"This is the best birthday gift," I choke out, a watery laugh bubbling up through my grief and joy. "Alessandro... it’s beautiful. It’s terrifying, but it’s beautiful."
He smiles, that genuine, crooked smile that reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners.
"God, I want to fuck you," he growls, the words a shock against the quiet intimacy of the beach.
His hand slides into my hair, gripping the back of my neck, tilting my head back. His lips crash down on mine, hungry and demanding. There is no preamble, no gentle testing of the waters. He consumes me. His tongue plunges into my mouth, claiming me, tasting the salt of my tears and the lingering sweetness of the cake. I moan into his mouth, my body instantly responding to his dominance, going soft and pliant against his hard frame.
He walks me backward, his lips never leaving mine, until my legs hit the lounge chair. He pushes me down onto the velvet cushions. I land on my back, looking up at him. He looms over me, a god of war and love, shirtless, his tattoos gleaming in the moonlight.
"I’m going to ruin this dress, tesoro," he warns, his eyes raking over the golden silk that clings to my body.
"Then rip it off," I breathe, the challenge leaving my lips before I can think.
He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grasp the neckline of my dress, and with a sound of tearing fabric, he pulls. The silk shreds easily, falling away to expose my skin to the cool night air. I gasp, the thrill of the destruction sending a jolt of heat straight to my core. He tosses the scraps of fabric aside, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties and my heart-shaped locket.
"Fuck," he hisses, his eyes darkening as they roam over me. He zeros in on my breasts, heavy and sensitive, the nipples already pebbled in the breeze. "Look at these tits. They’re already getting bigger."
He cups them, weighing them in his large palms, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive tips. I arch my back, a whimper escaping me. The sensation is electric, shooting down my spine to pool between my legs.
"And this," he murmurs, his hand sliding down my stomach to rest on the tiny bump of my belly. He strokes the skin there with a reverence that makes my heart stutter. "My baby."
He drops to his knees on the sand, ignoring the way it must dig into his skin. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs, tossing them onto the growing pile of discarded clothing.
"Open," he commands.
I spread my legs, baring myself to him. The moonlight illuminates the wetness glistening between my thighs. He groans low in his throat, the sound primal and possessive.