Page 72 of Tormented Oath

"Get some rest," I say, pulling away before I do something we'll both regret. "Tomorrow will be...eventful."

She nods once, the gesture mechanical and empty, before retreating to the bedroom, leaving me alone with the weight of choices that feel both absolutely right and terribly wrong.

But watching her curl protectively around her stomach, around our child, I know I'd make the same choice again to keep her safe. A thousand times.

* * *

The sound of running water is driving me insane.

I pace the hotel suite like a caged animal, each step measured against the quiet splash of Ava bathing in the next room. My wife.

The monster in me pictures her in there, water sliding over olive skin, belly still flat but carrying my child. Mine. The word pounds through my blood with each step.

"Status update," I bark into my phone, needing distraction.

"Team's in position," Tomasso reports. "Waiting for your word to move on the Fiori compound."

I should be focused on the mission. On rescuing her brother. On all the chess pieces I need to move to keep everyone safe.

Instead, all I can think about is her on the other side of that door.

My control snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

The bathroom door opens silently under my hand, releasing a cloud of steam into the suite. Ava stands in the massive tub, water sluicing down her back, dark hair clinging to wet skin.

She freezes at the sound of my entrance, spine going rigid. For a moment, she doesn't move—doesn't even seem to breathe.

Neither do I.

The air is thick, humid, and it clings to my lungs as I take her in. The curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips.

Water cascades down her body, catching the light from the overhead fixture, glistening like liquid gold. My pulse quickens, a raw, primal hunger surging through me. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just stare.

Her shoulders tense, and I can see the subtle shift in her breathing, the way her ribcage expands and contracts with slow, deliberate breaths.

The moment stretches, taut and electric, like a bowstring pulled to its limit. My eyes trace every inch of her, memorizing the way the water clings to her skin, the way her hair falls in damp tendrils down her back.

God, I want her.

I want to push her against the wall, to pin her there and claim her mouth with mine. I want to feel her body pressed against me, to hear her moan when I touch her, to taste the salt of her skin as I trail kisses down her neck.

I want to consume her, to make her mine in every possible way

My fingers twitch at my side, itching to reach out, to bridge the distance between us. But I don’t. I can’t.

Then she whirls, eyes wide with shock that quickly blazes into fury.

"What the hell?" She scrambles to cover herself, though we both know it's pointless. Every inch of her body is already mapped in my memory. "Get out!"

"My wife." The words come out rough as I stalk closer. "In my tub. In my hotel." My eyes trace the water droplets running down her throat, between her breasts, over the slight curve of her stomach where our child grows. "Everything exactly as it should be."

"There is nothing about this that's how it should be." Rage makes her voice shake as she wraps her arms around herself. It’s not modesty. It’s defiance. "This isn't a marriage. It's kidnapping with paperwork."

"It's protection." I reach the tub, close enough to feel the steam rising between us. "The only way to keep you both safe."

"Safe?" She laughs bitterly. "Like Tony is safe right now? Being tortured by the Fioris while you play house?"

The accusation stings, but I push past it. "He’s not being tortured. We’re in discussions with them about— Like I said, Tomasso's team moves tonight. By morning, your brother will be secured, one way or another." My hand finds her shoulder, skin slick beneath my palm. "Everything I do is to protect you."

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