My breath hitches as I imagine capturing one perfect nipple between my lips, feeling her shudder against me.
Release hits me hard and fast, cum coating my chest.
And then reality crashes back.
I stare at the ceiling, disgust replacing desire.
What kind of loyal soldier fantasizes about his Don's sister?
What kind of protector lusts after the woman he's meant to keep safe?
I've spent my life in service to the Dante family, as did my father.
Before Alessandro, it was Don Lorenzo.
I've killed for them, bled for them, would die for them without hesitation.
Now I'm betraying that trust every time I look at Valentina with hunger instead of professional detachment.
When we arrive home from her outing, she tosses her purse on a hall table and makes her way through the house, out onto the terrace and into the garden.
Like the good dog I am, I follow her.
She should be safe at home, but the Bratva have infiltrated the Dante estate before, shooting up Katerina’s cottage and nearly killing her, Luca, and their son, Enzo, in the process.
So I’m not going to take any chances.
She glides through the flower beds, and I sense annoyance from her.
Is it sexual frustration?
Or simply irritation that she’s not pushing my buttons?
“You don’t need to follow me to the rose bushes, Bonetti. I doubt there’s a Russian assassin hiding among the thorns,” she quips.
I remain stern. “Your brother's orders were clear.”
“God forbid anyone disobey Alessandro.” She snaps off a bloom, wincing as thorns catch her finger, the sight causing a flash of anger to rise within me.
"You're bleeding." I want to step in, stop her from being so reckless, but she’s stubborn as hell.
And I know why. Since this stupid marriage to Maksim was arranged, I’ve watched Valentina’s vibrant spirit slowly dim.
I’d seen how she watched Luca and Katerina at their wedding with envy.
If I could stop this wedding I would, but I’d have to kill her family and the Bratva and I know that I wouldn’t succeed.
I’d be dead, and she’d have no one to protect her from Maksim.
She glances at me, her blood pooling on her delicate finger. “It’s nothing.” She wipes the blood on her dress, a small act of defiance.
“You should be more careful.” I finally meet her gaze, and this time, the intensity in her eyes locks onto mine.
There’s something unspoken simmering in the air, an electric current I can’t ignore, and it makes my breath hitch.
“What would be the point?” she retorts bitterly. “I’m already being sacrificed.”
My heart clenches. I hate that she feels trapped like this.