9:02 AM – The De Luca Safehouse, Closet
Zia Maria concerned me with silk.
Dozens of scarves. Red. Black. Gold. All spread across the bed like a crime scene.
" Pick," she said. Shotgun leaning against the vanity. Espresso in hand.
" Unless you want my men starting a blood feud over that neck."
I touched the silk at my throat. The two marks were burning. His mouth. His teeth. His claim.
" I'm fine," I lied.
" Liar." Zia held up a blood-red scarf. " This one Matches your face when he looks at you."
The door opened. No knock.
Alessio.
Fresh shirt. Unbuttoned. Stitches hidden. Hair wet from the shower. He looked like sin and salvation had a baby.
"Zia," he said. Voice flat." Out."
"No." She tossed me the red scarf. " She needs armor. Your mouth is a weapon, Alessio."
His eyes dropped to my neck. Dark . Instant. Heated.
" Leave," he told her. Soft. Dangerous.
Zia Maria saluted him with her Espresso. "Fine. But if she faints from blood loss to her face, I'm blaming you."
Door shut.
Silence.
He walked to me. Slow. Like a predator who already won.
" You're hiding them," he said.
" I'm not–"
His fingers caught the edge of the silk. Tugged. Gentle.
The scarf fell.
His breath hitched.
Two marks. Dark. Purple. Right below my ear. His mouth. Twice.
" Mio Dio," he whispered. My God.
He didn't touch. Just looked. Like he couldn't believe he got to. Like I was art and he was the artist.
" Does it hurt?" His voice was wrecked.
"No." I swallowed. " Yes. But not how you think."
He stepped closer. Chest to chest . His heat. His smell. Soap and blood and him.
" Then how?" His forehead pressed to mine.
" Like you are inside my skin. Like even when you are not touching me , I still feel you."
His hands came up. Framed my face. Thumbs brushing my cheekbones. Reverent.
" Good," he said. " Because I feel you everywhere. All the time. Even when you are not here, principessa."
He kissed me.
Not hungry. Not desperate.
Slow. Deep. Like he was praying and I was the answer.
His lips moved to my jaw. My throat. Stopped right above the marks. Didn't touch them. Just breathed against them.
" Zia's right," he murmured. " My men would kill to put marks like these on you. "
" Let them try." I fisted his shirt. Pulled his closer. " I'm not theirs."
His teeth grazed the edge of the first bruise . Not biting. A promise.
" No," he agreed. Voice dark. " You're mine."
He picked up the red scarf . Wrapped it around my neck himself. Slow. Fingers lingering. Tying it loose. Careful.
" There." He smoothed the silk. Knuckles brushing my collarbone." Now they know you are taken . But only we know why. "
I looked up at him. " And why is that?"
His smile was wolfish. Soft. Ruined.
" Because you let me." He kissed my forehead. " Because you chose me. Even when I was dying. Even when I was nothing but blood and bad decisions."
" You were never nothing to me, Alessio."
His eyes went wet. He blinked it away. Alessio De Luca didn't cry.
But he held me like I was the only thing keeping him standing.
" Come on," he said after a minute. Voice rough. " Zia's making her famous cannoli. Says it's for my recovery."
" Is it?"
" No." He grinned. Boy grin. Real grin. " It's bribery. She wants you to stay."
He took my hand . Laced our fingers. Led me to the door.
Stopped.
Turned back.
" Take it off," he ordered. Quite.
" What?"
" The scarf." His eyes were black fire. " In my house. With my family. You don't hide from me. Especially not from me."
I unwound the silk. Let it fall.
His gaze dropped to my neck. Possessive. Proud.
" Better." He kissed the corner of my mouth. " Now they will see . Now they will know ."
" Know what?"
He opened the door. Nodded at two guards outside who went pale when they saw my neck.
" That the Don is off the market. " His hand tightened on mine. " Permanently."
He closed the door behind us. Backed me against it. Not hard. Not trapping. Just close. His body caging mine. Safe.
" Alessio," I breathed . " The guards–"
" Can wait." His hands were on my hips. Over my shirt. Over his shirt. " They have waited twenty eight years for me to look like this. They can wait for five more minutes."
" Like what?"
" Alive." His forehead touched mine again. Eyes shut. " You don't know what you did, principessa. Three bullets. One flatline. And I heard your voice. ' Come back to me , you bastard.' "
I chocked on a laugh. " I didn't say bastard."
" You did." He smiled against my lips. " Loud . So doctors heard. So god heard. So I didn't had a choice left."
His thumb brushed the lower mark. The second one. The one he made softer. Like an apology.
" I mean it," he said. Quite. " Per sempre. Even if Moretti comes. Even if the whole damn world burns. You go first . Always."
" Don't talk like that ." My hands fisted his shirt. " You are not going to freaking die again."
" No." He kissed me. Once. Hard. Final. " Because I have got something to live for now."
He stepped back. Tugged the scarf in his pocket.
" For later," he said. Winked. " In case I need to remind who you belong to."
10:47 AM – The kitchen
Zia Maria saw the bare neck. The two marks. The way Alessio's thumb kept brushing them like he couldn't help himself.
She didn't say a word.
She just slid a plate of cannoli toward me.
Then poured a third Espresso.
Then looked at Alessio.
" You're smiling again," she said. " The boy smile."
He didn't deny it. He just pulled my chair closer. Ate a cannoli off my plate. Stole my espresso.
" Problem, Zia ?"
" No." She picked up her shotgun. Checked the chamber. " Just thinking Moretti's going to die mad when he finds out what he lost."
Alessio's arm went around my chair. His fingers found the back of my neck. Under my hair. Right over the marks. Holding. Claiming.
" Let him come," Alessio said. Lethal. He'll see what it costs to touch what's mine."
I leaned into his touch. Into him. Into home. And whispered for only him: " Yours . Always."