Cyan leans in slightly, voice warm with amusement. “I like this side of you, think you won them over.” I meet his gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the table fades. It’s just us. Despite all of my past denials, the truth is simple.I’m drawn to him.But before I can even unpack that, a sharp crack splits the air.
Lucilla stands, fingers gripping around the stem of an empty wine glass. Her face is flushed. Across from her, Thomas grips the wine bottle with calm, deliberate control. His knuckles are tight, his face is blank, as the silence stretches on.
Lucilla’s hazel eyes narrow. “Fuck you, Thomas,” she slurs, voice sharp as she shatters the crystal glass in her hand against the nearest wall. “I’m not a child. Give me the damn bottle.” Tension slams into the room, thick and suffocating. Thomas doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. He watches her as if she’s a puzzle he’s long since given up trying to solve. Not his wife, but his problem.
Lucilla stumbles and catches herself. I catch a flicker of bitterness in her expression. “I said, give it to me.” She reaches for the bottle again.
Thomas’s grip on the bottle tightens. “You’ve had enough.”
Lucilla lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Oh, have I?” She looks at him and I see the look of a woman who’s fought the same war for so long, she no longer believes in victory. She glances at Rosa’s glass, still full of wine.
“Don’t, Lucilla,” Thomas warns, bone-deep tired.
Her jaw hardens. She snatches Rosa’s wineglass and hurls it against the wall. It shatters, red streaks sliding down the pristine white like blood. I hear a startled yelp. When I look toward the sound, I see Evie and Rosa in the doorway. Rosa’s steady hand rests on the little girl’s back as she guides her away.
At the table, no one moves to clean up the mess, while Thomas watches Lucilla with eerie stillness. She smiles, but it’s the smile worn by people who’ve already drowned.
“You should drink with me, Tom, like old times.”
Sebastian exhales, dragging a hand over his jaw. “Christ, Lu. That was unnecessary.”
She doesn’t acknowledge him. Her gaze drifts to Cyan. “You know what the real problem with this family is, Cyan? You all think you get to decide when someone’s had enough. When they’re allowed to break. When they have to hold it together.”
She gestures to the table. “And when they’re expected to fall in line.” Lucilla lets out a slow, bitter-sounding breath. “That’s the thing about being a wife to one of you mobsters.” Her eyes land on Thomas. “You don’t get to be anything else but begging for just a scrap of his attention.” Her words cut through the silence like a blade, straight into me.
Troy leans forward. “Lucilla. You’re drunk.”
Her laugh is dry and broken. “And what if I am?”
“You’re making a scene,” Sebastian warns, tone lighter.
Lucilla presses her fingers to her temple. Then she lifts her chin, schooling her features. She smooths her dress, as if that alone could erase what just happened. Without asking, she picks up Johnny’s wine glass and drains it. “Enjoy your dinner,” she murmurs. Then she turns, heels clicking sharply against the floor as she wobbles out.
Thomas doesn’t move. His fingers curl tighter around the wine bottle. He just stares at the closed door for far too long.
Finally, Cyan speaks, his voice dry. “That went well.”
Troy snorts. “Yeah. Family fucking bonding at its finest.”
The tension lingers, thick and leaden. I shift in my seat, hands in my lap. Lucilla’s words echo in my head, curling around me like a whisper of warning.
Am I already in something I can’t escape?
Thirty- Five
“In the quiet, he says nothing, but his body promises everything.”–Aria Boschett.
“What did Thomas do to break Lucilla like that?” I murmur. The question lingers as I move through the familiar motions of preparing for bed, my body on autopilot. The night had started warm, full of laughter and easy conversation, but it ended with Lucilla laid bare, cracked open in front of all of us.
My fingers hesitate at the hem of my pajama top. Is that what happens to some women in this life?A quiet sigh escapes my lips as I push the thought aside. I don’t want to think about what it means to be a mobster’s wife. Turning toward the bedroom, I see Cyan sitting on the bed, completely naked. His eyes darken as they trail over my body, lingering, ravaging me without a single touch. His gaze alone commands more from me, making my breath catch.Damn him.My mouth goes dry as I take him in the sharp planes of his stomach, the line of muscle leading down to his thick cock. A pulse of heat coils low in my stomach, and it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore this pull to him.
“Aria,” Cyan drawls. The way he says my name is like a lethal caress. “While I love how those shorts hug your thighs, let’s sleep the way you always do, yeah?” Zing–there’s that damn pulsing in my core that’s definitely on board with that idea.This isn’t submission. Just a little indulgence.Right?
My lips curl. “Is that all you think about?” I gesture with my chin. “No wonder your head’s so thick.” My gaze flicks down. Cyan’s grin widens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes. Tonight isn’t like our previous nights together—me pushing back against whatever order he gives. Somehow, tonight feels different.
Lucilla’s words slither through my mind like a warning.That’s the thing about being a wife to one of you mobsters. You don’t get to be anything else but begging for just a scrap of his attention.My fingers tighten around the hem of my top. This isn’t the same. I’m not Lucilla. I’m not giving in; I’m just having a little fun. Let’s see how Cyan enjoys being unsettled.
He wants me naked. Fine. He can look. I’ll let him see exactly what he doesn’t get to have. I’m in control. Keeping my eyes locked on Cyan, I take my time and peel off my pajama top, letting the cool air kiss my bare skin. His breath visibly slows, His focus all mine, tracking every inch of skin I reveal. My shorts follow next, sliding down the curve of my hips. I expect him to say something cocky, to make some smug remark about how good I look bare for him. He doesn’t. He watches, silent, devouring my body with those beautiful eyes of his. A shiver runs through me, pooling heat between my thighs. How is he able to do this to me? With nothing but his eyes, Cyan can make my body march to the beat of his. Holding his stare and biting my bottom lip, I slide my panties down my legs, kicking them aside. His jaw tenses and his fingers dig into the sheet when I meet his gaze again; I know I have all the power right now, like I planned. Bit by bit I walk towards him, my hips swaying with purpose. My breasts bounce with every step. I stop just out of his reach, knowing this is the moment to step back, to put some distance between us. Instead, I take a deliberate step forward, stopping between his open legs, and Cyan doesn’t fucking move.
