The Surrender of the Twin Dons Chapter 03

The Surrender of the Twin Dons Chapter 03

Luciana’s pov

Manhattan sunlight flooded the room when I woke.

Every bone in my body ached—like I’d been run over by a semi.

The room was empty.

Salvatore was already gone.

I dragged myself up, showered, and changed into a Chanel off-shoulder mini. I left the bruises on my throat and collarbone visible.

Vincenzo walked in just as I reached the stairs, clutching the railing, moving slowly.

He stopped cold. “What’s wrong with you?”

I bit my lip, glanced at the maids bustling below, and stayed silent.

Only when I reached the first-floor foyer, close enough to touch him, did I speak.

My eyes caught the fresh hickey on his neck. I paused—then looked away.

Still playing dumb.

I tugged at his sleeve, my cheeks flushed.

“Can you buy me some cream?”

“Where does it hurt?” His voice turned to ice.

I nibbled my lower lip, said quietly, “You were… rough last night. Saw it in the mirror this morning. The skin broke. Hurts.”

Vincenzo froze.

He grabbed my shoulders. “What? You’re bleeding?”

I looked up, all wounded innocence. “You just… went too hard…”

“It really hurts.”

I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in his chest, and tilted my chin up—still flushed, still smiling like I’d just been well-loved. “But you were different last night. So intense.”

“Vincenzo… I loved it.”

He stared at me, his face turning ashen.

I kept babbling, oblivious. “You were so bad. I cried. Begged you. You didn’t stop.”

His jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth grind.

The look in his eyes was unreadable.

After a long beat, he shoved me back, hard.

“I’ll get the cream. Stay here.”

I watched his retreating figure, my smile cooling, then vanishing completely.

I ate breakfast in the dining room, slowly and deliberately.

An engine roared outside.

I set down my silverware and moved to the French windows.

Salvatore stepped out of a black Maybach.

Truth was, telling them apart wasn’t hard.

Salvatore stood taller, broader, carrying that innate Don’s authority.

But today he wasn’t wearing his signature gold-rimmed glasses.

Though dressed in the same Brioni suit as Vincenzo, he looked almost identical from behind in silhouette.

I pushed the door open and stepped out.

When Salvatore turned, I lit up with a shy, sugary smile and limped toward him. “Vincenzo? Where’s my cream?”

Salvatore looked down at me. Didn’t correct me.

I hugged his arm, my hand sliding toward his trouser pocket. “Where’d you hide it?”

When my palm brushed the hard line of his thigh, he caught my wrist.

“What cream?” His voice was like gravel.

I pouted. “Don’t play dumb! I told you—you hurt me last night—”

Silence.

His Adam’s apple bobbed against the stiff collar of his shirt.

He looked irritated. Long fingers loosened his tie.

His gaze dragged over my neck, my collarbone—over every mark.

“Shy, Luciana? I’ve seen all of it before.”

“I’m not talking to you!” I huffed, spinning to leave.

Salvatore caught my wrist and yanked me back against him. My spine hit his solid chest.

He dipped his head, jaw grazing my hair, breath scorching hot.

He moved in for a kiss. I shut my eyes by instinct.

Tires screeched.

We both turned.

Vincenzo’s car hadn’t fully stopped before the door flew open.

He stood there, frozen, watching us pressed together.

His face was a storm about to break.