I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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I woke up feeling sore all over my body.
My skin tingled faintly in scattered places, small jolts of pain coming from where Alessandro's bites and kisses had left their mark.
And yet, as I shifted slightly in bed, a warm smile spread across my face. Last night's lovemaking had been transformative. I could feel it, this invisible thread now tying us closer than ever before.
As I moved, I realized I was wrapped snugly in his arms. His body was warm against mine, his strong embrace holding me protectively.
I tilted my head, peeking up at him. For the first time, I found him asleep, deeply and completely at peace.
His face looked so serene, the usual hardness in his features completely melted away. It hurt to think of waking him, so I just lay there, watching him sleep.
We had both drifted off in our shower towels, though mine had slipped off at some point during the night, leaving my bare against his. Yet, I had never felt safer or more comforted.
Gently, I pulled the towel back up to cover myself, though I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. His dark lashes, long and thick, rested softly against his olive-toned skin. His jet-black hair, still damp, was tousled and messy, falling charmingly over his forehead.
He looked different like this—unguarded, human, and heartbreakingly handsome. I wished I could pause time, lock us away in this room forever, and let him feel this calm and unburdened always.
Leaning in, I pressed a soft kiss to the tattoo of the Phoenix inked over his chest. My lips brushed against the faint ridges of scars beneath the artwork, and my heart ached for him, for everything he had endured, for the man he had become despite it all.
Alessandro stirred beneath me, his eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. His hand instinctively found its way into my hair, his touch impossibly tender.
"Buongiorno (Good morning)," he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep.
"Hey," I whispered, smiling softly. "Hungry?"
He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes locking onto mine, dark and smoldering. Instead of answering, he leaned in and caught my lips in a slow, devastating kiss.
My breath hitched in my throat as he pulled back, his gaze heavy with longing.
"I'm always hungry for you, tesoro," he rasped, his voice sending heat curling low in my stomach.
I couldn't help but laugh softly, even as he towered over me. He brushed my hair back, his lips finding the curve of my neck.
I closed my eyes, letting myself melt into his touch, but then, suddenly, he froze. His body stiffened, his breathing hitching as he pulled back, his expression shifting to something between panic and disbelief.
