I lick the tears from her face and start to fuck her again, gently this time, the promise of forever in every thrust.
CHAPTER SIX
LUCY
Iwake up to Alessio’s hand cupping my breast, his thumb tracing lazy circles over my nipple, his body heavy and still behind me. His arm is tucked under my pillow, my cheek resting on his bicep, both of us already warm from sharing heat. When I wake up like this, caught between his arm and the knowledge that everything will change if I move, I pretend I’m someone else. Someone more sensible, who gets up quietly, straightens the sheets, and leaves before morning.
Instead, I stay still and listen. His breathing is soft, a bit rough when he exhales. It’s almost a snore, and I find it strangely comforting. Early morning light creeps through the penthouse window, painting the glass in slow gradients from gray to blue to the promise of gold. The clock says 7:04, but I don’t move or even look at him. I know that if I do, everything will feel real again.
I let the seconds pass, trying to organize a list of reasons why none of this is a good idea. I get as far as “my mother will kill me,” and Alessio, as if sensing the betrayal, tightens his arm around my waist like a python. I feel the tickle of his beard against my neck.
“Already plotting your escape?” he asks, voice still gluey with sleep. He angles his head so his lips graze the top of my shoulder. I know he can see the goosebumps flare down my arm. My whole body is a traitor.
“Maybe,” I say, though my voice is thinner than even I expect. “Or maybe I’m just running through all the ways this ends badly for both of us.”
He presses his face into my hair and laughs. There’s something feral about the sound, but not unkind. “You have a grim little mind, Lucia.” His hand drifts lower, seeking out the familiar territory of my hip bone. “But for the record, my version is always us growing old and terrifying the neighbors with how loudly we make love.”
I turn to face him, which takes some effort. Alessio is huge, all muscle and stubbornness, and he likes to hold onto things once he has them. He’s barely awake but already smirking at me, his hair messy in a way that makes him look almost boyish. The only sign of last night is a faint purple bruise on his collarbone, a mark I left in a selfish moment.
“What is it?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring. I run my fingers along his jaw, tracing the line where stubble gives way to skin.
“You have to know this isn’t sustainable,” I say. I find myself talking to his throat instead of his eyes. I hate confrontation, but I hate dishonesty even more. “Whatever this is… It can’t last.”
His face doesn’t shift, but I see the calculation flicker there, the way he sorts through possibilities like columns in a ledger. “Why not?”
“Because,” I start, then shake my head. “Because as soon as anyone finds out, my parents will never speak to me. I’ll lose my career. Who would want to buy their wedding dress from someone connected to the mob? I can’t…” I trail off, suddenly ashamed of how small my reasons sound.
He studies me, the way someone might study a dog that’s just bitten them for the first time. Not angry, just surprised and a little sad. “Your parents already hate me,” he says. “That’s not new.”
“They don’t hate you. They don’t even know you,” I say, pushing back at his chest, just to put something between us. “All they know is that you run the kind of business the rest of Manhattan pretends doesn’t exist. No one wants to invite a mafia don to Christmas dinner.”
He grins, but the humor doesn’t stick. “I don’t need their permission, Lucia.”
I try to laugh. “You say that like it’s only about permission. It’s not. It’s about reality. I can’t pretend we live in a world where men like you and women like me can just…” I wave my hand at the glass, the sheets, everything around us. “Be together. Like it’s normal.”
He takes my hand, flattening my palm against the slope of his chest so I feel the steady, unhurried thud of his heart. “What if I told you nothing needs to change?”
“That isn’t true,” I say, and for a second I almost believe him, almost believe that power really does shield you from consequence.
He edges closer, our legs tangling under the duvet. “You keep waiting for the world to explode, Lucia. But it won’t. Not if I say it doesn’t.”
“That’s not how the world works,” I say, suddenly tired. “The rest of us can’t just decide what’s real and what isn’t, and expect the world to follow.”
He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and for a moment, I’m ten again, sitting on my father’s knee as he explains why the world is the way it is; only this time, it’s Alessio, and the world is just a thing he made for me to live in.
“Let them talk,” he says, fierce and low. “Let them judge. They never had a woman like you—hell, they never had a woman period, not one that mattered. You think your parents are so clean, Lucia? Everyone’s got blood on their hands. Yours just smells like old money and country clubs.”
I want to be angry, but he’s not wrong, not really. My father’s portfolio is half tax havens and leveraged buyouts; my mother’s sense of justice ends at the border of our zip code. I had known this—hated it, even—but it still stings to hear it said out loud.
“What if I want my own life?” I say, voice thin as tissue. “What if I want to do something that isn’t just being your… what, your moll? Your pet project?”
He flinches then, and I’m a little proud of how much it hurts him. “You’d be my wife. I’d accept nothing less. And do you think I’d keep you from what you want?” he asks, voice quieter now. “Whatever you dream of, you get. I’ll make it happen. You want to make dresses for every spoiled brat in Manhattan? Do you think the other fashion houses don’t have connections to men like me? Don’t be so naive. Lucia.” He laughs, softer this time. “I’ll bankroll whatever you want, Lucia. I’ll make everyone so jealous they’ll eat glass.”
I’m crying before I realize it, silent tears slipping down my cheeks and into his hand as he holds my jaw. “That’s not the point,” I say, but he hushes me, his thumb wiping away the tears as they fall.
“You have a brain like a bear trap,” he says, “but your heart is all fucking marshmallow. I’m not saying you have to decide right now. But I know you’ll return to me.”
We lie in silence for a while. The sky outside grows pale, and the first car horns sound below. I think about how easy it would be to let this moment last forever, to believe we could live here in this glass box above the city, untouched by the world. But that isn’t real, and I can’t pretend it is.