Page 77 of Deadly Alliance
"Faster,moglie," he urges, his hand sliding up my back to tangle in my messy hair, pulling me down for another bruising kiss.
I speed up my rhythm, my hips snapping down against his, creating a wet, slapping sound that echoes loudly in the cavernous bedroom. A heavy, liquid heat coils low in my belly, pulling tighter and tighter with every thrust. I brace my hands flat on his uninjured left pectoral, feeling the frantic, racing thump of his heart beneath my palms.
"I love you," I chant, the words spilling from my lips between breathless gasps. I ride him harder, chasing the blinding edge of my climax. "I love you so much."
"You're mine," he vows, his eyes snapping open, blazing with an unblemished devotion. He thrusts his hips up to meet my downward strokes, driving himself deeper, refusing to let me do all the work despite his injury. "Only mine."
The orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave. My internal muscles clamp down violently around him, and I scream his name, throwing my head back as wave after wave of blinding pleasure wreck my body.
Cassio groans, a guttural, primal sound, his hips surging upward one final, punishing time. He empties himself inside me, his body shuddering under the force of his release.
I collapse onto his left side, burying my face in the crook of his neck, my chest heaving against his. He wraps his arm tightly around my back, holding me against his sweat-slicked skin, pressing exhausted kisses into my messy hair.
We lie there as the storm outside slowly breaks, entirely insulated in the sanctuary we built from the ashes.
Three hours later, the sanctuary is breached.
A sharp, urgent knock on the heavy oak doors pulls me from a light, exhausted sleep. I blink my eyes open, sunlight streaming through the cracks in the steel shutters. Cassio is already awake, his jaw set in grim lines as he stares at the ceiling.
"Boss," Matteo’s voice is muffled through the wood. "Salvatore is on the secure line. He’s calling an emergency summit at his estate. One hour. He expects you there."
Cassio sighs, a heavy, grating sound. "Tell him I'm coming."
I sit up, pulling the sheets over my bare breasts. "You can't go. You need to rest. Santoro is going to have a stroke when he sees your bandages."
"I have to go, Noemi," he says, pushing himself up to a sitting position, wincing as the torn muscle in his chest screams in protest. "Volkov hit my house. If I don't sit at that table and demand blood, the Commission will think the Vellutini are crippled."
Commission this, commission that.
I look at him, at the dark circles under his eyes and the fresh blood staining his gauze. The instinct to protect him fights against the cold, hard logic of the mafia world I was born into. He is right. Weakness is blood in the water.
I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. "Then I am coming with you."
Cassio frowns, reaching for his discarded slacks. "It’s a war council. Orlando will be there. It’s going to be a bloodbath of accusations."
"Exactly," I say, grabbing a clean silk blouse from the closet. "Orlando allowed Bastiano to sell our routes. Dario Lombardi handed them the keys to the ambush. I am not sitting in this bedroom while you walk into a room full of vipers, Cassio. We are a team. We fight together."
He stops dressing, his obsidian eyes locking onto mine. He searches my face, looking for any hesitation. Finding none, a sharp, incredibly proud smirk touches his lips. "Get dressed,moglie. Wear black."
By the time we step out of the heavily armored SUV at Don Salvatore’s heavily fortified compound, we look like royalty walking to a funeral. Cassio wears a pristine black suit, his right arm resting subtly in a sling hidden beneath the tailored jacket. I wear a sharp, structured black dress that hits just below the knee, my heels clicking methodically against the paving stones. Dante and Matteo flank us, their assault rifles slung openly across their chests.
We are led into Salvatore’s sprawling subterranean war room.
My father is seated at the massive oval table, his face drawn and gray. Don Lombardi is sweating profusely next to him. When Cassio and I walk through the double doors, the conversation stops entirely.
Orlando’s eyes widen in shock as I pull out the heavy wooden chair directly to Cassio’s right and sit down at the main table.
"Cassio," Orlando barks, his traditional sensibilities offended despite the chaos surrounding us. "This is a closed council. The women wait outside."
Cassio doesn't even look at him. He sits down, resting his left arm on the polished wood. "My wife held a gun and defended myestate while your men were sleeping, Orlando. She sits with me. If you have a problem with it, you can leave."
Orlando snaps his mouth shut, his face flushing a mottled red.
Don Salvatore clears his throat, commanding the room. The Capo dei Capi looks older today, the weight of the escalating war is telling on him.
"You held your ground, Cassio," Salvatore begins. "The Bratva threw an army at your gates and an ambush at the port, and you broke their teeth. But the hit on your estate proves that Volkov has inside information. The syndicate is leaking."
"The leak has been plugged," I state, my voice ringing clear and steady across the table.
