Page 66 of Power
“It is.”
I close my eyes as he kisses my neck, his breath warm, his scent wrapping around me. Then he inhales deeply, like he's trying to commit me to memory. The growl that rumbles fromhis chest sends a sharp jolt through me and settles low in my stomach.
"So now what?" I whisper.
He leans in even more, his body surrounding mine, his heat pressing into every inch of me. There’s no space left between us—no air, no pretense that something hasn’t shifted. The scent of him—something dark, something clean, something purely him—coils around me, seeping into my bones.
"Now," he murmurs, his voice like steel wrapped in silk, "I protect you. No matter what. You're locked into my world now, princess."
I look at him. Really look at him. And I know—I have him back.
It might take time. It might take work. Honestly, jumping from one psychotic man to the next probably isn’t the healthiest life choice, but hey, I never claimed to make good ones. And maybe that’s what makes this even more exhilarating. Because deep down, I know Dario could never be like Enzo. They may exist in the same brutal world, but one look at Dario tells me everything I need to know.
He’s different. Because he cares. Because he doesn’t demand things from me or withhold affection when I don’t meet his expectations. Because he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
And when he touches me—every chance he gets—his fingers skim my skin like he’s memorizing it, like he’s terrified I might slip away. The way he traces the inside of my wrist, the way his entire body strains with the effort to hold back, to not devour me whole, tells me everything I need to know.
I’m his. And he’s mine.
His jaw tightens, and something glints in his eyes. A hesitation. “I get it if you want to leave.”
My stomach twists. “What?”
“You’ve seen what I am. What I’m capable of.” He shakes his head. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay with it.”
“I’m not pretending.”
His eyes search mine, like he’s waiting for the moment I flinch, for the moment I decide he’s too much, too brutal, too dangerous to love.
But I don’t.
I tilt my head, studying him—not the man who kills without hesitation, not the one who tore my husband apart, but the one sitting here now. The one who came back to me, who looks at me like I’m something beautiful, something worth keeping safe, even when I’ve never asked him to.
“I can’t change you, Dario. You are you, you’ve always been this way before you met me, and I can’t fathom a world where you aren’t... the way you are.”
His brows draw together slightly. “Do you want me to change?”
I reach for his face, fingers brushing the cut on his cheek. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
“You think I don’t see you, Dario? I do. I see the man who would burn the world for the people he loves. The man who never had a damn choice in what he became.” My voice drops an octave. “I don’t give a shit what men like Enzo say. Or your father. Or his. They don’t get to define you. You are not them. You will never be them.”
His throat bobs, and his eyes darken. I catch the low, rough, “Fuck” that slips from his lips, as if my words make me suddenly so much hotter in his eyes. I can tell he’s barely holding himself back, imagining it just as I am: his fist tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as he mounts me and thrusts his cock inside me. I can envision the way he’d take me—slow at first, then with a force that leaves me breathless.
“I don’t want you to change,” I whisper.
His lips curve just slightly. “Good. Because I’m not going to.”
And when he kisses me, slowly but ravenous, I know I don’t want him to change.
Chapter 21
Dario
The jet hums beneath us, a smooth, constant vibration as we cut through the night.
Outside, the sky is an endless stretch of darkness, pinpricked with stars. Inside, the cabin is warm, quiet and wrapped in the kind of luxury I barely notice anymore. But Vittoria does. She runs her fingers over the leather armrest and her eyes move to the champagne bottle chilling in its silver cradle, the way the soft lighting casts everything in a golden glow.
“You ever get tired of this?” she asks and tips her head toward me.
