Chapter 139 139

Chapter 139 139
Mia
We stand there for a while, just looking at the room, letting the reality of it settle around us. The sun has dipped below the horizon now, casting the nursery in shadows, but the soft glow from the hallway limns the edges of the furniture. It’s time to eat.
We leave the nursery, the door left slightly ajar, and walk down the long, marble hallway toward the dining room. The staff has set up a private dinner on the terrace overlooking the cliff. The air is cooling down, the evening breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and salt.
The table is intimate, set for two with crisp white linen and silver cutlery that gleams under the candlelight. A thick, juicy steak rests on my plate, cooked exactly the way I like it—rare, bleeding onto the porcelain. Beside Alessandro’s plate is a bottle of Macallan 18, the amber liquid catching the light. Next to my wine glass, however, sits a tall flute of sparkling juice, the bubbles rising furiously to the top.
He pours the whiskey for himself, the ice clinking softly in the glass, then sits down across from me. He takes a slow sip, savoring the burn, before turning his attention to me. He cuts into his steak, his movements economical and precise, but his eyes never leave my face.
"To Daphiana," he says, raising his glass.
I raise my juice, clinking the delicate glass against his heavy crystal. "To Daphiana."
We eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the cutlery scraping against the plates and the constant roar of the ocean below. The steak is tender, melting on my tongue, and the juice is sweet and cold, quenching a thirst I didn’t know I had. The pregnancy cravings have been intense lately, a driving hunger that Alessandro has taken great pleasure in satisfying, both with food and with his cock.
He watches me eat, a dark satisfaction in his gaze. He likes seeing me this way—round with his child, healthy, hungering for life. It’s a sharp contrast to the terrified girl he dragged to Italy all those months ago.
I set my fork down, wiping my mouth with the linen napkin. I need to tell him the rest. Not just the name, but the thought behind it. I need him to know that I didn’t just pick a pretty sound.
"I have thought of the name Daphiana by merging, Luciana, Daphne and Diana’s name together," I say, my voice soft but clear over the wind. "I wanted... I wanted them to be here too. Not as past, but as part of her. As part of us."
Alessandro freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth. He lowers it slowly, placing it carefully on the plate. He looks at me, really looks at me, and the intensity of his gaze is almost physical. It’s a look that strips me bare, sees right through to my soul.
He knows I know the pain of losing Luciana and the twins. He knows I’m not threatened by them anymore, but that I want to honor them. It’s a gift he never expected, one he didn’t know he needed until right now.
He reaches across the small table, his hand finding mine. He grips it tight, his fingers lacing through mine, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. His skin is warm, rough, and reassuring.
"I know, baby," he says, his voice husky, thick with emotion. "Thank you so much."
He brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles softly, then turning my hand over to kiss the palm. It’s a gesture of submission, of total surrender to what I’m giving him.
"You are... you are incredible," he murmurs against my skin. "You made me whole again. I thought I was broken beyond repair. I thought the darkness was all there was. But you..."
He trails off, shaking his head, seemingly unable to find the words. He doesn't need them. I feel it in the trembling of his hand, in the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the universe that matters.
"I love you," I say, the words slipping out naturally, effortlessly. They aren't a question. They aren't a plea. They are a fact. A truth as solid as the rock this house is built on.
He stares at me, his eyes locking onto mine. The wind whips a lock of black hair across his forehead, but he doesn't move to fix it. He just holds my gaze, his expression raw and unguarded. The Don, the monster, the killer—all of it falls away, leaving just Alessandro. The man I love.
"I love you too, Mia," he says, the words heavy with conviction. "More than my life. More than this fucking world. You and Daphiana... you are my world now."
He takes another sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine, darkening with something else now. A shift in the air. The tenderness of the moment is still there, curling around us like a warm blanket, but underneath it, the familiar heat is rising. The hunger. The need.
He sets the glass down with a sharp clink. "Stand up, Mia."
It’s a command, but soft. Gentle. The tone of a man who knows exactly what he wants and knows I want to give it to him.
My heart rate spikes, the blood rushing hot and fast through my veins. I obey, pushing my chair back and standing. He stands as well, moving around the table to stand in front of me. The terrace is secluded, high above the world, surrounded by trees and shadows. We are alone here.
He reaches out, his hand cupping the back of my neck, pulling me close. His other hand rests possessively on my belly, claiming us both. He leans in, his nose nuzzling against my ear, inhaling my scent.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he growls, his breath hot against my neck. "Seeing you like this. Round and swollen with my child. Giving her that name... showing me that kind of mercy, that kind of love. It drives me fucking crazy, kitten."
I gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending electric jolts straight down to my core. My panties dampen instantly, my body responding to him like it’s been trained to do. Because it has. He’s trained me to crave his touch, his roughness, his dominance.
"I want to worship you," he whispers, his hand sliding down from my neck to grip my shoulder, then my waist. "I want to worship this body. My wife."
He drops to his knees again, right there on the stone terrace. It’s hard, unforgiving, but he doesn't care. He looks up at me, his eyes burning with a dark, worshipful fire. His hands go to the hem of my dress—a simple, soft cotton maternity dress. He pushes it up slowly, his fingers skimming over my calves, my knees, my thighs.
"Lift for me," he commands.
I comply, my breath hitching in my throat. He pushes the fabric up over my hips, baring me to the night air. I’m wearing lace panties, white and innocent, but they’re already soaked through. He groans low in his throat at the sight, the sound vibrating against my inner thighs.
"Look at this," he murmurs, his finger tracing the wet patch on the lace. "So fucking wet for me already. You love this, don't you? You love knowing I’m on my knees for you."
"Yes," I breathe, my hands tangling in his hair again. "Yes, Sandro." I giggle.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulls them down, agonizingly slow. I step out of them, and he tosses them aside without a second glance. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open, exposing my dripping pussy to the cool evening air and his hungry gaze.
"Perfect," he says, almost to himself. "Every inch of you is fucking perfect."
He leans forward, and I cry out as his hot mouth makes contact with my core. He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t tease. He sucks my clit into his mouth immediately, his tongue flickering over the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. My knees buckle, and only his strong grip on my thighs keeps me upright.
"Oh god, Sandro!" I moan, my head falling back, my eyes squeezing shut.