Page 81 of The Don’s Omega

This thing between us is confusing and messy. Sometimes we’re adversaries and sometimes we seem almost close. In this moment, all I know is I want him to be comforted. I want him to feel how much I want him. How glad I am he’s still on this earth.

He thrusts up into me, our mouths only inches apart. We share warm, desperate breaths as we stare into each other’s eyes. In that moment, I’ve never felt closer to a lover as I do Marcello. His eyes are searching. His emotions raw. He needs me to want him and I do. So much it scares me.

I groan as I feel him come inside me, the hot flush of his cum filling me. I follow a second later, crying out as I spill my seed all over his stomach. We kiss and moan and rut against each other until slowly our erotic high begins to fade.

What surprises me is that the intimacy seems to linger. Even though we’ve climaxed, when he pulls out of me, he holds me. Kissing my hair and stroking my back. The bond feels even stronger now, but it’s not just because of the bite. It’s also because we shared something painful with each other. Something achingly intimate.

For the first time since I met Marcello, I feel as if maybe I’m beginning to understand him a little better.

****

I wake alone.

It doesn’t surprise me. Marcello isn’t a lounge around in bed kind of guy. But his side of the bed is still faintly warm and the pillow holds his scent. I sigh and bury my face in his pillow, breathing in my alpha’s scent.

My body feels warm and relaxed after our night together. The first time we slept together, it was all about the bite. The claiming. It was hot and sexy, but it was different. Last night was intimate. Powerful. It felt meaningful in a way sex has never been for me before.

Much of that is because we bonded emotionally last night. I’m touched Marcello shared what happened with his brother. Because he was open, I was able to be open too. I’ve never before confessed my guilt about my mother’s death. I’ve never admitted to Fabio that I was supposed to be in the car the day our parents died. I’ve always felt too ashamed. I never wanted Fabio to see that shame. But it felt right to share my pain with Marcello because he was struggling with the same type of guilt.

I shiver remembering how good it felt when we fucked after our confessions. I touch my stomach, wondering if I’m pregnant. I’d be surprised if I’m not. I feel his seed inside me still. When he came inside me the first time last night, something happened. Something deep in my womb seemed to open to receive his seed. My face warms when I think about how intensely Marcello looked into my eyes as he bred me.

I give an embarrassed laugh and I sit up. Yesterday was the best day I’ve had here yet. From our time at the country club to the hot sex and emotional bonding later, I feel happy. I decide I’ll keep the good vibes going by visiting Fabio since that always brings me joy. But first, a shower and then breakfast.

I shower in my own bathroom, dress, and go downstairs. I don’t usually see Marcello before he goes to do whatever it is he does all day, but I’m secretly hoping I might this morning. I hope he feels how I do about last night. But for all I know he regrets telling me about Adriano and his guilt. I hope not. It’d be nice to continue growing closer. That would make the three years together much more pleasant.

I’m almost to the bottom of the stairs when I hear voices. At first, I think it’s Marcello’s family in the dining room having breakfast, but quickly realize the voices are coming from the direction of Marcello’s study.

One voice is Marcello’s, low and cold in a way I haven’t heard in a while. The other voice is male, but I don’t recognize it. It’s not Carlo or Dante. With my hand on the banister, my stomach tenses as I recognize something in the man’s voice. Fear. The person is pleading with Marcello. The man’s voice is high and desperate.

I’m well aware I should continue on to the dining room. Whatever this is, it isn’t my business. But the desperation in that voice pulls at me. The study door is open a few inches, and before I’ve decided to do it I’m moving quietly down the corridor toward Marcello’s study.

I stop just outside. Through the gap I can see into the room.

There’s a man on his knees on the floor in front of Marcello’s desk. He’s older, maybe fifty, thin, with gray threading his hair. A wooden cane lies on the floor beside him where it’s fallen or been knocked. He’s gripping the edge of the desk with both hands like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, and he’s weeping, openly, his shoulders heaving.

Marcello stands over him. He’s in a charcoal suit, freshly shaved, his hands in his pockets, and his face is carved from stone. Carlo leans against the bookshelves behind him with his arms crossed and his expression carefully blank.

“Please,” the man on the floor is saying. “Please, Don Foschini, have mercy. I’m begging you. I’ll pay back every cent. On my children. On my mother’s grave. I’ll pay it all back, I swear it, just give me time—”

“You disgust me.” Marcello’s voice is quiet. He’s obviously angry, but he isn’t shouting. He’s calm, and the calm is so much scarier than rage.

“I know and I deserve your disgust, sir.” The man wipes at his wet face. “I can make it right.”

“You understand what that fund is for.”

“I do, I do, I know what it’s for—”

“Then why did you do it? If you needed money, you could have come to me. Not stolen money like you think I wouldn’t have helped you. That’s insulting to me.”

The man’s face crumples. “I was desperate and didn’t know how to ask for help. I know it was wrong. Please, forgive me, Don Foschini.”

Marcello curls his lip and he lifts his foot, shoving it against the man’s shoulder. The man falls sideways, sobbing into the Venetian wool rug. I’m horrified that Marcello is bullying a man who by all accounts is a cripple.

“I gave you that position because I trusted you, Beppe.” Marcello’s voice never rises but the malevolence has somehow increased. A chill goes down my spine as I listen to the complete lack of mercy. “When your leg was crippled you thought you were finished. But I made a place for you. I gave you work you could do with a bad leg. I gave you back your dignity. And this is how you repay me? By stealing from me.”

“Please,” the man cries, reaching for the hem of Marcello’s pant leg, but Marcello steps back so the grasping hand catches nothing but air. “Please, I have children, what will happen to my children—”

“Why would your children matter?” Marcello sneers.