Page 29 of Broken Vows

His hands grasp my hips, guiding my movements as I begin to ride him, finding a rhythm that has us both gasping. He sits up, the change in angle making me cry out as he hits exactly the right spot with each thrust.

His mouth finds my breast again, sucking and teasing as his hand slides between us, his thumb circling where we're joined. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing me rapidly toward another climax.

"Vincent," I gasp, my movements becoming erratic as pleasure builds. "I'm close. Yes, fuck, yes. Don't stop, Vincent. Please don't stop."

"Let go," he murmurs against my skin. "I want to feel you come around me."

His words push me over the edge. The climax tears through me, more intense than the first, leaving me shaking and incoherent. Vincent holds me tight as my body clenches around him, his own control clearly fraying as his thrusts become more urgent, less controlled.

He flips us again, driving into me with renewed intensity. I wrap my legs high around his waist, changing the angle so that eachthrust sends aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitive body. His rhythm falters, and I know he's close.

"I want it," I whisper, my lips against his ear. "I want to feel you fill me up."

That's all it takes. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside me, his release triggering a second, smaller wave of pleasure that leaves me trembling and spent.

We collapse together, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. He rolls to the side, bringing me with him so that we're facing each other, my leg draped over his hip, our bodies still joined. His hand strokes my back in lazy patterns, soothing and possessive at once.

"That was—" I begin, searching for words adequate to describe what just happened between us.

"Yeah," he agrees, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

We lie in silence for a while, the city humming beyond the windows. I should feel guilty, compromised, weak. Instead, I feel oddly settled, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. Vincent's hand strokes my hair absently.

"There's something I want to show you," he says, reaching into the nightstand drawer. He pulls out a small velvet box and opens it to reveal a ring—a perfect solitaire diamond surrounded by smaller stones, clearly vintage, clearly priceless.

"It was my mother's," he says quietly. "And her mother's before that. Four generations of Russo wives have worn this ring."

I stare at it, understanding the significance. This isn't just jewelry. It's legacy, history, belonging.

"Vincent—" I start, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not asking you to love me," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "I'm asking you to trust me. To let me protect you and our child. To build something together that's stronger than either of our families alone."

The ring catches the light from the bedside lamp, throwing tiny rainbows across the ceiling. It's beautiful and ancient and everything I never thought I wanted.

"If I say yes," I whisper, "there's no going back. You know that, right? Once I'm Vincent Russo's wife, I'll never just be Melinda again."

"You'll be more than Melinda. You'll be family," he replies, his voice steady and sure.

Family. The word carries weight in our world, promises and obligations that bind tighter than any legal contract. But it also means protection, belonging, never being alone.

I think about the shooters in the garage, the professional way they tried to end my life. I think about my baby—our baby—growing inside me, innocent and vulnerable. I think about my friend Elena's words: maybe it's time to accept help, even with strings attached.

"Ask me again, as if it’s real," I say finally.

Vincent sits up, taking the ring from the box. His hands are steady, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the carefully controlled hope in his eyes.

"Melinda Mastroni," he says formally, "will you marry me?"

I look at him—this dangerous, complicated man who's offering me everything I never knew I wanted. The father of my child. My enemy. My salvation.

"Yes," I whisper.

The ring slides onto my finger like it was made for me. Maybe it was. Maybe this was always inevitable, written in blood and bullets long before we met.

Vincent kisses me then, soft and gentle, sealing a deal that will change everything. When we break apart, I'm wearing his mother's ring and carrying his child, bound to him in ways that go deeper than law or contract.

"No regrets?" he asks.

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