Chapter 40

FORTY

Sabella

Istand a little to the side, observing the small party of people celebrating the big milestone of Mrs. Campana's first swim in the sea. It's not that I'm keeping to myself. I just want a moment to appreciate the magnitude and joy of her success simply because it's so beautiful to watch.

It's nice being present in the moment without reservations. The storms inside me are quiet. Those howling winds and violent thunder calmed. Their voices are gone. Faded. All that's left is peace. Acceptance. A deep knowledge of who I am. Of knowing myself inside and out. Every dark and imperfect corner of my being. I not only became grateful for my body's capability to heal and my spirit's will to survive but I also came to respect their strength. I learned to cherish their perfectly imperfect beauty. I learned that what shapes us aren't the circumstances over which we don't have control but the strength and beauty that comes from within. And when I made that truth my own, I started loving myself intensely and tenderly. Sincerely and unconditionally.

It's like a sun shining inside me, taking up all the room. There's no more space for hate and vengeance or jealousy and animosity. Because I don't need anyone else to love me. I love myself enough. I don't need anyone else to survive, but I do enjoy and appreciate their company. What people say and think don't affect me any longer. Others' ill wishes can't touch me.

Taking a step back and looking at life not from the onset that's paved with the ignorant viewpoints of inexperience but backward from a deathbed helped me to see everything more clearly. It opened my eyes to what's important. To whom people are when you flay them open to the bone. I know how to cut the toxic relationships out of my life as well as how to nurture the authentic ones. My experiences took me to war, but I came back a survivor instead of a victim. They gave me an enormous gift by armoring me with the most indestructible weapon of all—believing in myself.

A few people come over to say goodbye. Mr. Martin taxied three people at a time here with his boat, and it's time to take them back to the village. The peace of mind that's my constant companion these days fills me with a warm glow when the party dissolves and I climb up the steps that leads to the house.

Angelo stands at the top with his hands shoved in his pockets. His stance is relaxed, but he's vigilant.

"Hey," I say when I reach him, out of breath from the steep climb.

"Hey," he replies, cutting a possessive gaze over me. "Go put on some clothes. I don't want you walking around in front of my men like that."

"Like what?" My smile is teasing. "In my swimsuit?"

"You're a beautiful woman. They're men. They'll be tempted to look, and I don't want to kill all of them. They're good guards."

"There was no need to change. I'm going for a shower anyway." Walking around him, I continue, "I want to be ready when the kids get home."

He follows one step behind me, his shadow falling over the ground next to mine.

"How was business?" I ask.

His answer is evasive. "As usual."

"Good then," I conclude, glancing at him from over my shoulder and catching him ogling my ass.

"You could say that."

I don't insist that he elaborates. I know he wants to protect me.

"You did a good thing," he says.

"Did I?"

"For Mrs. Campana." He adds, "Teaching her to swim."

Catching my hair in a ponytail, I squeeze out the water. "I said I would."

"But you didn't do it just to keep your promise."

"No," I admit. "It was important to her, and I was happy to do it."

"The same goes for Sophie."

I watch my step, taking care not to cut my soles on the sharp edges of the rocks. "She was a fast learner."

"I'm not talking about teaching her to swim."

I stop and turn around to look at him.

"I'm talking about giving her your bracelet," he says. "The one we gave you for your sixteenth birthday."

"Your father bought it, am I right?"

His nod is resigned. "He did."

"I meant what I said to Sophie. It should stay in the family. As the oldest girl, it should be hers."

"You see?" he says with a tender smile, hooking my hair behind my ear. "That's what I'm talking about. You don't differentiate. You treat her like she's your own."

"She is my own."

His reply is gentle. "I know."

I drink in his handsome features, enjoying the visual not in secret like when I met him when I was sixteen and he was already a man of twenty but openly. So dark. So turbulent and wild. He reserves his soft side only for the kids and me.

"Why does Mr. Luciani tread so carefully around you?" I ask. "He always seems terrified when you're around."

"I may have bashed his face in once," he says casually. "I think I broke his nose."

"What? Angelo Russo, you're despicable."

He shrugs. "He deserved it."

I don't even want to ask why. "Be nice to him. You can try a little harder to put him at ease. He's my friend."

"I am nice to him." When I narrow my eyes, he says, "Have I broken his nose lately?"

I can only shake my head as I resume the climb to the house. "I invited Roch and Lydia for dinner."

He grunts. "Do I have to share you?"

"You're going to be nice and behave yourself. Lydia is scared enough of you as it is."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Pausing, I prop my hands on my hips. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he says, smiling his innocent smile.

He follows me into the house and up the stairs, but as always, he stops in the bedroom, giving me privacy in the bathroom. He usually sits in the armchair next to the window, working on his phone until I'm done. Sometimes, he'll hover in the doorframe when I brush out my hair in the dressing room, chatting about his day or arrangements that concern the kids, but he'll never walk in while I'm getting dressed.

I stop in front of the bed and face him.

I'm ready.

He's already taking his phone from his pocket when I reach behind my back and unfasten my top. He freezes with his phone in his hand as I push the straps over my shoulders and let the top fall at my feet. When I work the bikini bottom over my hips and down my thighs, his black eyes flare.

I step out of the bottom and toe it aside. He watches me like a wolf, sliding a hungry gaze over my naked body.

"Come here," I say.

His jaw bunches. He stares at me as if he wants to devour me, desire etched on his face, but instead of coming closer, he stays where he is. Instead of touching me, he clutches his phone in a white-knuckled grip. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." I close the distance, stopping flush against him. "This is what I want."

His resolve is like static noise that crackles in the air. It only lasts until I wrap my arms around his neck, and then it snaps. He's on me in a wink, pulling my body against his, but despite his urgency, his actions remain gentle when he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed.

He doesn't take his eyes off my face as he lays me down on the mattress and straightens to undress. Our gazes remain locked as he unbuttons his shirt and pulls the shirttails from his pants. I watch unabashedly, taking my fill of his broad chest and the black ink that adorns his skin. I don't mind showing him how much I enjoy the sight. I lie back, catching my weight on my elbows when he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his zipper. He removes his shoes and socks before getting rid of the rest of his clothes, and then he stands in front of me in all his naked glory, his hard, powerful body poised at the foot-end of the bed.

It's both familiar and new, but it's not frightening, not even when he locks his large hands around my knees and pushes my legs apart. He fixes his gaze on the mark just above my slit, the one that's a mirror image of the tattoo on his chest. Possession sparks in his eyes. Something like longing reflects in their depths as he drags his gaze lower. My skin is covered in salt from the sea, but I couldn't care when he kneels at the edge of the bed and buries his head between my thighs.

The sweep of his tongue over my slit makes my hips arch. The soft kiss he plants on my clit makes me sigh. My body didn't forget his touch or the way his tongue feels on my skin. I'm wet even before he rubs a thumb over my clit and traces the outline of his mark with his tongue.

Threading my fingers through his hair, I hold him to me as he tastes me deeper. His lips are warm and soft. His exploration is gentle. He nips my clit with the softest of bites, keeping the bud in the vise of his teeth as he teases it with the tip of his tongue. I forgot how skillful he is, and that oversight counts against me as pleasure tightens my lower body and builds too quickly.

I feel him inside me, his fingers slipping through the slickness of my arousal and filling me with a pressure that makes my toes curl. When he starts pumping, it happens too fast. I come in his mouth and on his hand, my sense of time and place crumbling like a wall that comes down.

I clench my fingers in his hair, no doubt doing damage to his scalp with my nails. "Angelo."

He lifts his head to look at me, his eyes gleaming with both victory and vulnerability. Hooking his hands under my armpits, he shifts me to the center of the bed. Then he crawls over me, covering every inch of my skin with his.

"Say it again," he says, kissing a sensitive spot on my neck. "Let me hear it."

I utter a content little sigh. "Angelo."

His regret is honest. "There was a time I believed I'd never hear my name on your lips again."

"So did I." I cup his face. "I promised to never say it as long as I live, but I guess a part of me did die that night."

He cups my hand over his cheek, emotions playing in his eyes. "Bella."

"But I'm here, and I want you."

His features set with the fierce determination I got to know so well. "And you will have what you want." He settles between my thighs, spreading my legs. "Always."

His cock presses like a steel rod against my folds. I rub my lower body over his hardness, inviting a groan that reverberates deep in his chest. I need him inside me. I want him to fill me. Wrapping my hand around his length, I guide the large crest to my opening, but he catches my wrist.

"Not yet, cara." He kisses my lips, tasting of salt and sea and memories of us. "Let me make this last."

The impatience punishing me is new, but it's only physical. My mind doesn't mind the wait. My heart wants what he does—to make the moment last forever. He presses his lips on my eyes and on the beauty spot at the corner of my mouth. He's so gentle I want to cry. We started like a hailstorm that mutilated flowers and crippled trees, and we ended like a soft drizzle that nurtures the soil and leaves crystal drops on delicate petals.

He kisses a path down my body all the way to my belly button and back. His tongue is warm on my nipples, his mouth wet and familiar. His kisses are like rain in a thirsty riverbed, the drops soaking the soil and mending the cracks in the dry earth. His lips are like medicine, offering something more powerful than hope.

When he wraps his hand around mine where my fingers are locked around his cock and shows me what he wants, I stroke him eagerly.

Sealing his lips over mine, he kisses me with the same gentleness of earlier as he parts my folds and slowly sinks inside me. This too is familiar—the stretch and the way my nerve-endings ignite. The way my body comes alive for him in a different way.

I wrap my legs around his ass and cling to him as he rocks inside me with an unhurried pace. Our gazes lock. He intertwines our fingers and stretches my arms above my head while searching my eyes, giving me answers before I even thought about the questions.

"I love you, Sabella Edwards-Russo."

The man claiming my body is every bit the dangerous, obsessive predator I got to know, but for me, his smile is tender.

The need builds again, rising like a tide inside me. I close my fingers, holding on to him. "I love you, Angelo."

He changes his angle and hits that spot that always sends me over the edge. "Say it. Again."

"I love you," I whisper, crying out with pleasure.

"God, woman." He clenches his jaw. "What you do to me."

We come together, his hard body drawing taut as he empties himself inside me, branding me in the most primal way he can. It doesn't leave a mark on my skin, but the mark on my soul runs deeper. The mark on my heart runs into eternity.

Breathing hard, he rests our foreheads together. He untangles our fingers and wraps his arms around me, holding me against him while staying inside me. It's different than before. It's not angry sex or revenge sex or sex for the sake of procreating. It's not a reserved coupling that resembles lovemaking but that lacks the most basic element because we're both holding back to protect our hearts.

It's simple and pure.

Just love.