Chapter 25: BREAKING POINT
The night stretched long and unyielding, each tick of the clock echoing louder in Aria’s ears as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The silk sheets beneath her felt foreign, too smooth, too luxurious for the storm twisting inside her. Sleep would not come, not after what had happened in the study, not after Luca’s lips had claimed hers with such brutal tenderness that every nerve in her body still hummed with the memory.
Her hand drifted to her mouth unconsciously, as though to confirm it hadn’t been a dream. She could still taste him, dark, intoxicating, impossible to erase. A man she should fear, a man she should despise, had somehow become the one her body ached for. And that realization terrified her more than any gun, any rival mafia family, any whispered threat in the night.
The door creaked softly. Her heart lurched as she pushed up on her elbows. The room’s golden lamplight revealed him, Luca, standing in the doorway, no suit jacket this time, only a crisp white shirt undone at the collar, the top buttons loose. His steel-gray eyes locked onto hers with a heat that made her stomach twist into knots.
"You’re awake," he said quietly, almost as though he’d been hoping she wouldn’t be.
She swallowed hard. "So are you."
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips as he stepped inside, closing the door with deliberate care. The air shifted, thickened, as if the space between them pulsed with unspoken words. He didn’t approach right away. Instead, he lingered by the edge of the bed, staring down at her with an expression that looked torn between restraint and something far darker.
"I shouldn’t be here," Luca murmured, more to himself than to her. "But I couldn’t stay away."
Aria’s chest rose sharply, her heart threatening to beat out of her ribcage. She sat up fully, pulling the sheet tighter around her. "Why?" she asked, her voice smaller than she intended.
His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Because last night changed everything. Because I can’t pretend anymore."
The confession slammed into her like a wave. Aria’s fingers curled around the fabric at her chest, her body warring with her mind. She knew this was dangerous, dangerous to let him closer, dangerous to let herself want him as badly as she did. But when he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, her resolve began to unravel.
"I keep telling myself I can control it," Luca admitted, his voice low and gravelly. "That I can keep you at arm’s length, that I can treat this marriage like a transaction. But every time you look at me, every time you defy me, every time you breathe my name..." His jaw tightened, his control fraying. "...I lose."
Aria’s throat went dry. She wanted to speak, to tell him she felt the same, but the words tangled on her tongue. Instead, she reached out, hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his hand. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental.
The contact ignited something. Luca’s hand turned, his fingers lacing with hers, gripping tight as though afraid she might vanish if he let go. His other hand lifted, cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing slow, agonizing circles against her skin.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his forehead lowering until it brushed against hers. His breath mingled with hers, hot, ragged, desperate. "Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll walk out of this room right now."
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her silence was an answer louder than words.
And then his mouth was on hers again, fiercer than before, his kiss consuming, demanding, claiming. Aria responded with a hunger she didn’t know she possessed, her hands sliding up to clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer. The sheet slipped from her grasp, forgotten, pooling around her waist.
The kiss deepened, his tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing, conquering, and she gave in, melting against him as though she had been waiting for this moment all her life. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he lifted her effortlessly, pulling her into his lap. The movement stole her breath, left her gasping into his mouth, her arms winding around his neck.
His hands roamed her back, firm and possessive, yet trembling slightly, betraying the restraint it took not to lose himself entirely. Every brush of his palms left fire in their wake, every kiss a silent vow that he was done pretending.
"Luca..." she breathed against his lips, her voice a mix of plea and surrender.
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his own burning with raw intensity. "Say it again."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her voice breaking as she whispered his name once more. "Luca."
Something inside him shattered. He kissed her again, harder this time, his lips bruising hers, his hunger no longer caged. She matched him, kiss for kiss, touch for touch, until the world beyond that room ceased to exist.
Aria had never felt anything like it, this wild, consuming pull that left her dizzy, breathless, alive. Every defense she had built crumbled, every fear silenced beneath the weight of his touch. He was dangerous, yes, but he was also hers in this moment, as much as she was his.
When his mouth left hers to trail down her throat, she gasped, her head tilting back to give him more. His lips seared her skin, each kiss lower, slower, reverent and sinful all at once. She clutched at his shirt, desperate, torn between pulling him closer and holding him back.
"Aria..." His voice was rough, strained, as though he were standing on the edge of a precipice. "You don’t know what you’re doing to me."
Her response was a soft, trembling whisper. "Then don’t stop."
The words hung between them, dangerous and irreversible. His body went rigid, his breath catching, before his control snapped. He laid her back against the pillows with a reverence that made her chest ache, his body hovering over hers, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.
But she didn’t hesitate. She touched his cheek, her thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw. "I’m not afraid," she whispered. "Not of you."
For a moment, something vulnerable flickered in his gaze—something she had never seen in the ruthless Don of the DeLuca empire. And then his lips claimed hers again, sealing her words with fire.
The night blurred into a haze of touch and heat, of whispered names and ragged breaths. They didn’t cross the final line, not yet, but they came close, so achingly close that every brush of skin against skin, every shiver of restraint, left them both trembling.
When at last they stilled, tangled in silk sheets and silence, Luca held her as though letting go would kill him. His arms encircled her, protective and possessive, his face buried in her hair.
"You’re mine," he whispered into the dark, his voice broken, raw. "Whether you admit it or not, Aria, you’re mine."
And for the first time, Aria didn’t argue. She lay in his arms, her heart betraying her with every beat, and wondered if maybe she had always belonged to him.