Page 127 of Twisted Devotion

Aria places her hands on her hips. “Wow, tough crowd. I guess the mafia sense of humor is an acquired taste.” She raises an eyebrow expectantly, then frowns after a few seconds. “Come on, that was funny.”

One of the younger men almost laughs but catches himself when he sees my expression. My heart pounds in my chest. She’s here. She’s really here.

I stand, my voice firm. “Out,” I say, trying to regain control.

They scramble to obey, chairs scraping against the floor as papers rustle. Some glance at Aria, curiosity flickering in their eyes, but most avoid my gaze. James lingers for a moment, concern written all over him, but I give him a silent nod. He looks between us, then nods back and quietly leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Now it’s just the two of us, alone in the room's stillness. My pulse hammers in my chest. She looks the same—her dark hair framing her face, her beauty just as striking, and that intoxicating strawberry scent filling the space.

We lock eyes, but I can’t read her. There’s nothing there, and that unnerves me. It’s frustrating, in a way. I step closer, my voice a little more controlled than I feel. “Why are you here?”

She lifts her chin, a slight quiver in her lips betraying her nerves. For the first time, I see a crack in the composure she’s holding on to. “I came for the rest of my things.”

My heart clenches, but I force myself to remain still, not wanting her to see how much that stings. I straighten my shoulders, trying to keep it together. “I can have someone pack them for you.”

She lets out a sad laugh, and tears glisten in her eyes. “You misunderstand me.” She takes a shaky breath. “You are one of my things. We made vows, remember? We said we belonged to each other.”

My breath catches, and I stare at her, unsure if I’ve heard right. Her eyes glisten, tears threatening to spill, but there’s a quiet determination in them too. She steps closer, her scent wrapping around me, pulling up too many memories.

“Aria…” My voice falters, but I catch myself.

She looks at me, her expression raw, vulnerable. “You said you’d always be mine, even if the world falls away. Did you mean it?”

I nod, my voice steady this time. “I meant every word.”

In my mind, I’m already grabbing her, bending her over the table, and impaling my cock in her from behind. But I stand still, waiting, hoping she’ll take that final step toward me, knowing that if she does, nothing will ever separate us again.

She steps forward, her hand resting lightly on my chest, right over where my heart is pounding. “Then make me yours again.”

Her lips brush mine, and that simple touch ignites a fire deep inside me. I close the space between us, drawing her in, and everything else disappears.

I grab her waist, pulling her against me, afraid she’ll vanish if I let go. She kisses me with a desperation that mirrors my own, her fingers clutching at my shirt, her body trembling against mine. I taste the salt of her tears, feel the warmth of her skin, the way she presses closer, as if trying to anchor herself to me.

When we break apart, I cup her face, brushing away the tears with my thumb. She leans into my touch, eyes fluttering shut, and my chest tightens.

“Marry me for real this time,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. “Not for alliances or deals. Marry me because you choose me.”

She inhales sharply, her eyes locking onto mine. In that gaze, I see everything—old wounds, new hope, a something so raw, so unspoken, that it steals my breath. I was never a fucking poet, but I know what love looks like.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling. Another tear slips free, but this time, it carries relief. “Yes.”

A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding rushes out of me. I rest my forehead against hers, letting the moment settle between us, letting the weight of her words ground me. Neither of us moves. Neither of us lets go.

The scent of paperwork, stale coffee, and gun oil lingers in the air—so out of place for something that feels sacred. I tilt her chin, guiding her lips back to mine, and she responds instantly, melting into me, as if she had never left.

I taste her urgency and feel how she clings to me, as if afraid to let go. Everything else fades—my men, my power, my doubts. Only Aria matters. Only this moment, her heartbeat thrumming against my chest. The same chest where I have her name engraved.

I break the kiss and rest my forehead against hers, my voice low. “Come with me.”

She nods, and we leave the meeting room, heading upstairs. Halfway up, she pauses, turning to me with a small, trembling grin. “You know what?” she whispers. “You never showed me what was in that drawer. And you did promise me new heights of pleasure.”

Heat coils in my gut at the memory. I brush a strand of her hair aside, watching a flush rise to her cheeks. “You’re still interested in that?”

She laughs softly, the sound warm but real. “I’m curious about everything you have to show me.”

I slip an arm around her waist, squeezing one of her ass cheeks. “Then I think it’s time you see all of it.”

She wets her lips, eyes darkening with anticipation. “I’d like that.”

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