Chapter 24 Uncle Lorenzo. The man who taught me to ride a bike. Who helped me with my math homework. Who brought me soup when I was sick. Who tried to have me sold to the highest bidder. I stare at the evidence spread across the makeshift bed Mario set up-just a mattress on the warehouse floor, but it serves our needs. The files, security logs, money trails. All leading back to the man I trusted like a second father. My hands shake as I pick up each piece of damning evidence, reading it again and again as if the words might somehow change. Almost four decades of lies. Of manipulation. Of positioning himself to destroy everything I love. "I should have seen it," I say quietly, my voice hollow with self-loathing. Dante stills in the doorway where he's been watching me unravel. "All the signs were there and I missed them." His silence speaks volumes. He knows. He knows I'm falling apart. "How could I be so blind?" My voice shakes with self-recrimination, rising with each word. "So fucking stupid? I'm supposed to be smart, supposed to see patterns, and I let my feelings for him⁠-" The words catch in my throat like broken glass. I can't even finish the sentence because the truth is too devastating. I loved him. Trusted him completely. And he used that love to deliver me to monsters. "Thirty-five years Dante." I turn to face him, feeling broken and raw. "Thirty-five years he's been playing the long game. And I never suspected. Not once. Even when the evidence was right in front of me." "Sofia-" "Don't." I stand, fury at myself replacing the grief that's been eating me alive. Papers flutter to the floor as I sweep my arm across the bed, needing to destroy something, anything. "I had access to all the security data. I analyzed every breach, every compromised operation. The pattern was right there and I missed it because I couldn't imagine Uncle Lorenzo would⁠-" "Because he was your family," Dante steps closer, his voice gentle. "Because he raised you. That's not stupidity, that's love." "Love is a weakness I can't afford!" The words explode out of me like a scream. I grab the nearest file and hurl it at the wall, watching papers scatter like my shattered illusions. "My naivety almost got us all killed. Got Maisie killed. Got you almost killed. All because I was too fucking trusting to see what was right in front of me!" Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and angry and shameful. I hate that I'm crying. Hate that Lorenzo still has this power over me even after everything. "I'm supposed to protect people," I whisper, my voice breaking completely. "That's what Renaldis do. We protect our own. And instead, I led wolves straight to the door because I was too blind to see that one of our own was the wolf." Dante crosses to me then, his hands gentle on my shoulders. "You are not responsible for his choices." "I should have been smarter." I try to pull away, but he holds firm. "Should have questioned. Should have⁠-" His kiss cuts me off, hard and demanding and full of everything I need to hear but can't say. I bite his lip in retaliation, tasting blood and my own frustration and the salt of my tears. "You are brilliant," he growls against my mouth, his hands framing my face, thumbs brushing away the angry tears. "You are not responsible for his betrayal." "I should have been smarter." But my hands are already pulling at his clothes, needing to feel skin, to forget, to lose myself in something real and solid. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate and clumsy with need. "Should have seen through his lies." "He spent thirty-five years perfecting those lies." Dante's shirt hits the concrete floor as I yank it over his head, my hands immediately going to the hard planes of his chest. "And twenty-two of those years learning exactly how to manipulate your love for him." His skin is warm under my palms, real and solid and alive. I trace the scars scattered across his torso, each one a story of survival, of fighting, of being exactly who he appears to be. "But I'm not supposed to be just any family member," I gasp as his hands work at my pants, fingers rough with urgency. "I'm supposed to be better. Smarter. I'm supposed to see the threats." "You can't see every threat," he says fiercely, lifting me as my leggings pool around my ankles. I kick them away, needing nothing between us, needing to feel every inch of him against me. "You're not superhuman, Sofia. You're just human. Beautiful, brilliant, but human." He pins me against the cold concrete wall, the contrast making me gasp-his body burning hot against my front, the wall ice cold against my back. The rough texture scrapes against my shoulder blades as he presses me harder against it, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my thigh. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him inside me, needing to feel something other than the hollow ache Lorenzo's betrayal left behind. When Dante enters me in one hard thrust, I cry out, my head falling back against the wall. "I let my emotions cloud my judgment-" I start to say, but the words dissolve into a moan as he moves inside me, each thrust driving thoughts of anything but this from my mind. "Your emotions make you who you are." His movements are almost punishing, matching my need to forget, to feel something other than the betrayal eating me alive. The wall behind me provides leverage as he drives into me harder, deeper, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through my nervous system. "They made me weak." But I'm clinging to him now, nails scoring his back as pleasure builds, trying to mark him the way this pain has marked me. My legs tighten around his waist, ankles locked behind his back, pulling him deeper. "They make you strong." He shifts angles, hitting that spot inside me that makes me cry out his name, the sound echoing off the warehouse walls. "They're why you're willing to put yourself in danger for others. Why you're willing to love even when it hurts." His pace becomes more frantic, more desperate, one hand tangled in my hair while the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise. I don't care. I want the marks. I need proof that this is real, that he's real, when everything else in my life has turned out to be lies. "I can't afford to be blind again." My voice is raw with need and pain and the desperate desire to never feel this broken again. "Can't afford to trust like that." "Then don't trust blindly." His breath is hot against my neck, his voice ragged with exertion and emotion. "But don't stop trusting completely. Don't let him steal that from you too." The orgasm hits me like a lightning strike, all-consuming and devastating. I cry out, my body arching against his as muscles clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. He follows me over the edge with a groan that sounds like prayer, his body shuddering against mine. We collapse against the wall, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other. Sweat cools on our skin in the warehouse air, and I can feel his pulse racing beneath my palms where they rest on his chest. After a moment, he carries me to the mattress, laying me down gently before covering my body with his own. This time is different. Slower. Sweeter. His hands map every inch of my skin like he's memorizing me, like he's trying to heal the broken places with his touch. I drop a single feathery kiss right over his heart and my arms glide around him to rest on his mid-back. "I love you," I tell him before attaching my lips to his nipple, sucking, nipping, and teasing the sensitive bud ever so gently. His hands rake through my hair, as a soft, subdued moan fills my ears just after I switch nipples. He moans again, just as soft when I flick and tweak one nipple with my fingers as I suck the other one. Back and forth, I switch between nipples, teasing and tweaking, nibbling and sucking. His breath comes in shallow rasps. His groans become more ragged and his body quivers. He's hard again. I can feel the evidence poking, begging to have my attention. "I love you too," he says raggedly. His words warm me and help heal the broken parts of me. I take my time to appreciate the little things I've never taken the time to appreciate: his earlobes, the corners of his lips, the pulsating vein on his neck, shoulder blades, his scarred upper arms, collarbones, abs, and every inch of skin on his chest right down to his hip bones. And I watch him slowly lose control over himself. The sight of Dante, moaning, flushed, horny, and raw makes me feel so loved. It reinforces my determination, gives me all the support that I need to continue on my journey. His skin is warm and is coated with a light layer of sweat. I do a sweeping inspection, to make sure I've left no part of him untouched. There's not. My lips briefly hover over his to say something, but he cuts me off with a feverish, passionate, and urgent kiss. He buries his fists in my hair, holding me there as if I'm going to leave him here, like this. His tongue invades my mouth and halts all intellectual thoughts. He kisses me thoroughly, holds me like he'll never let me go again, and sighs in my mouth. Eventually, Dante's kiss becomes less demanding and slowly he starts to pull away. He cups my cheeks, caressing them with his thumb as he stares at me like I'm the most beautiful creature in the world. My hand drifts down to wrap around his erection, stroking gracefully. I watch his entire body tense and his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. "I want to take care of you," I whisper, marking his every moment. "Can I?" He's groaning almost painfully. "Yes." I roll over so I'm on top of him and kiss my way down his body until I'm eye level with his cock. I lick the head slowly and Dante moans. His teeth clench together as his hands fist my hair. "Yes." I let him regain composure momentarily-just a moment of rest before my mouth surrounds him almost completely. I suck earnestly. His entire body quivers with every bobble of my head, hips arching as he strains against me. He's moaning my name, louder and louder. God, I love this man. Dante moans my name again, urging me to go faster, and when I listen, I'm no longer concerned about anything else. I pull back slowly with my mouth tight, swirl my tongue around the tip, lick slowly with pressure, and draw him fully in my mouth again until he can't go in any further. Four quick bobs of my head before I repeat. It's working like a charm. He's cursing, calling my name, bucking his hips like crazy, fisting my hair, and panting like he's running a marathon. Breaking the rhythm, I look up at him and relinquish control for a moment. I place his hands on the back of my head and Dante understands what I'm trying to tell him. With his fists buried in my hair, he keeps me in as deep as he can without choking me and thrusts into my mouth, faster. I softly hum around him and the vibrations nearly makes Dante break as this foreign, strangled moan escapes his lips. "Sofia!" His entire body goes rigid. I know that he's not going to make it any longer so I make him stop and replace lips with a hand, to hold him off a bit longer. "Don't stop," he says urgently and hoarsely, his hand covering mine. I don't. How can I? I do, however, move his hand, take him back into my mouth, guide his thrusts until we find a speed we're both happy with. I'm humming. He's moaning. I'm gripping his thighs. His fists are clutching my hair for dear life. I purposely tighten my mouth around him. The sharp and strangled yell that sprouts from the back of his throat makes me grin. Each synchronized move drags him closer and closer to the edge. He's totally wild and uninhibited now. Stiff, rough, yelling my name, shaking, gripping my hair tighter. Seeing him with no inhibition is worth it. I keep my hands on his hips to control his frenzied thrusts, swirling my tongue, but it's no use. He's a man possessed, and I love to see him completely out of sorts and unconstrained, looking wild. He deserves this. "I-" Oh, I know. He doesn't have to tell me he's rushing to his orgasm. I feel it, and I'm ready for it. He tries to pull away. It's only instinct, but I hold him, gripping his shaking hips tight, sucking as vigorously and rapidly as I can. He's not going anywhere. He lets out a guttural yell. "Sofia! I'm-" The tension breaks and his violently intense orgasm hits full force. Afterward, something changes in his eyes. The frenzied desperation gives way to something deeper, more tender. He cups my face in his hands, studying me like I'm something precious. When he enters me this time, it's with a reverence that makes tears spring to my eyes. Every movement is deliberate, worshipful, like he's trying to heal me from the inside out. His hands map my body with tender touches, fingertips trailing down my sides, across my ribs, memorizing every curve. "You are not broken," he whispers against my ear as he moves inside me with exquisite care, every thrust slow and deep and perfect. "You are not naive. You are not weak." "Then what am I?" My voice is barely a breath, lost in the gentle rhythm of our bodies moving together. "Mine," he says simply, and the word settles into my bones like a benediction. His forehead rests against mine, our breathing synchronized, hearts beating in perfect time. "You're mine, and I'm yours, and nothing Lorenzo did can change that." This climax builds slowly, wave after wave of sensation washing over me-not the desperate release of before, but something deeper, healing. It starts as warmth in my core and spreads outward until every nerve ending sings with pleasure and love and the absolute certainty that I am cherished. When it's over, I curl against his chest on the thin mattress, our skin still damp with sweat, tracing the fresh scratches on his shoulders that match the ones on my heart. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, and for the first time since learning about Lorenzo's betrayal, I feel whole. "I'm not that innocent girl anymore," I say quietly. "The one Lorenzo helped raise. The one who believed family was sacred." "No." Dante's fingers trail down my spine. "You're stronger. Fiercer. More beautiful for having survived his betrayal." I think about the girl I was just weeks ago. About everything that's changed. About Lorenzo's betrayal burning away the last of my naive trust. "We end this," I say finally. "But we do it my way." Dante props himself up on an elbow. "What are you thinking?" "Lorenzo wants power? Control?" I reach for the laptop Mario left with the other supplies, my mind already spinning with possibilities. "Let's give him exactly what he wants." Understanding dawns in Dante's eyes as I outline my plan. It's dangerous. Possibly suicidal. But it will work. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...