Page 19 of Veil of the Past
“Not a word, Red. You’ll take my cock how I want you to,” he says. He keeps up with his savage pace, and a familiar sensation builds up in the pit of my stomach. That sweet wave of pleasure heightens as he reaches his hand down to rub my clit. Romiro’s movements are rougher, more frantic, and his strokes become harder as his control slips away. I feel myself fall over the edge once his lips circle my nipples and he grazes his teeth against the hard peaks. But he doesn’t stop; Romiro keeps thrusting inside me, even as my orgasm subsides.
“Romiro I’m tired,” I whine, his cock still deep inside of me.
“Beg me to stop. I fucking dare you,” he growls against my lips, his harsh breath grazing my bottom lip. I’m about to kiss him, but he pulls out of me, flips me onto my stomach, and slides back inside me just as fast. His hand snakes out and yanks me up so my back is to his chest.
“Don’t you ever entertain the idea of another man as your partner. There is only me. I’m warning you, Red. I won’t fucking share. Their blood will be on your hands.” My shameless moans fill the air as Romiro pins me with his hips against the floor. His thrusts are so rough I know that bruises are already forming. I shatter around him again and a sob rise in my throat.
“Please. Romiro. I can’t take this anymore.” I should be upset that he’s fucking me on the floor of a high-end restaurant, of all places, especially for our first time, , but I’m so unbelievably turned on I can’t see straight.
There’s something so dirty and delicious about fucking in public.
His thrusts find a steady, punishing rhythm, and I roll my hips against him. Romiro groans against my ear, “I fucking love you, Red.” He stills, and I watch him come apart. I don’t think he realizes what he said, because after he finishes, he slowly pulls out of me and helps me clean up and put my dress back on.
Romiro waits until I’m fully dressed before saying, “What are you doing, Alessia?” he demands, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s an edge to it that sends shivers down my spine. My heart is racing, and I can’t find the words. He steps closer, his forehead almost touching mine, and his voice drops even lower. “Why are you doing this?”
I swallow hard, my breath catching, I guess we’re doing this, we’re talking about this. “Because I’m scared,” I finally admit, my voice breaking. “Do you realize what this is, what happened between us tonight? Do you? Know what it means, to lose you to something that might not last…”
He sighs deeply, his expression softening further. “You won’t lose me,” he whispers. “Not ever. But we can’t keep running from this, from whatever this is.” He points between us.
I nod slowly, my hand still resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steadying under my touch. “Okay,” I say, my voice trembling. “Okay, well I’m done running. Are you? Are you willing to give me a chance?”
He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me, and I feel the world right itself—like everything is finally where it’s meant to be. Romiro and I head downstairs after he calls a man named Shadow, i’m guessing it’s some sort of nickname. He asked him to clean up the body upstairs. I don’t know how Romiro dares to leave a dead body in a popular restaurant. We may be the Camorra, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid and reckless. Or maybe that’s just Romiro when it comes to some people.
We’re waiting for the valet to bring out his car when I feel his body go rigid beside me. I look up and find him staring across the street, his face frozen in horror as if he’s seen a ghost.
8
ROMIRO
The car hums softly beneath us as I drive, my fingers gripping the wheel a little too tightly. The city blurs past in streaks of yellow and white, streetlights flashing through the windows, painting Alessia in a wash of color and shadow. I glance at her from the corner of my eye—her hair tousled, her lips slightly swollen, a small smile still playing on her mouth. She’s talking, her voice a soft melody in the enclosed space, but I barely hear her. I can’t focus on her words. I can’t focus on anything except the image burned into my mind: my mother. Helen.Alive.
I thought she was dead. No, I was sure of it. But I saw her, walking out of the darkness in Midtown like she hasn’t supposedly been dead for years now—at least she should’ve been. She trafficked and threw me away like garbage, all for a bag of fucking cocaine. I grip the steering wheel even harder, feeling my palms strangle the leather, trying to steady the rush of memories, the flood of anger, confusion, and something I can’t even name.
Alessia’s voice breaks through, a soft, curious note. “Romiro … are you okay?” She’s trying to catch my eye by leaning closer. Her hand reachs out to touch my arm, but I flinch at the contact, my muscles tensing involuntarily. I don’t mean to, but I’m too wound up, too lost in my own head.
“Yeah,” I mutter, my voice sounding flat even to me. “I’m fine.”
But I’m not fine. Not even close.
Alessia’s brows furrow, concern flashing in her green eyes. “You seem … distracted,” she says gently. “Did something happen back there? Other than …that.”
Back there. In the restaurant. With her, pressed against me. With me sinking into her like she belonged to me. Her lips on mine, her breath hot against my skin. Her moans echoing against the shell of my ear, I should be thinking about that. I should be feeling something—satisfaction, desire, anything. But fuck, all I feel is this cold, creeping dread clawing at my insides. And all I can fucking think about is that bitch—Helen.
“I’m just tired,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but I can’t hide the edge. She picks up on it, of course. She always does.
“Romiro, you’ve been quiet since we left,” she presses, her hand still on my arm, her touch warm, grounding. “If there’s something you need to talk about?—”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I cut her off, sharper than I intended. I see her flinch, and guilt twists in my stomach. I can tell she’s doubting the truth behind what we talked about at the restaurant, the way her eyes are cast down, her face dropping into a cold mask, shutting me out. This is my fault, and I want to reach out, to apologize, to reassure her, to explain, but the words get stuck in my throat. I don’t know how to tell her that I just saw a ghost. A ghost that could tear my whole world apart.
She pulls back slightly, her hand falling away, her expression resolute. “Okay,” she says quietly, looking out the window as the darkness casts shadows over her face. I can see the hurt there, the confusion, and it makes me want to punch something. I’m already screwing this up. I’m screwing everything up. And this is only the start. I can’t do anything properly.
I focus on the road, trying to keep my hands steady, but my mind races in a hundred different directions. Do I tell Eli? Nicolo? What the hell do I even say?Hey, remember how I thought the woman who trafficked me was dead? Surprise, she’s not!My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding together. If she’s back, she’s not here alone. That woman always had someone backing her up. Always had someone pulling the strings. If she’s here now, it means there’s a reason.
The silence between us grows thicker, more suffocating. Alessia shifts in her seat, glancing at me again. “Romiro … are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time, like she’s afraid to push too hard.
I nod, but it’s a lie, and we both know it. “I’m fine,” I say again, but the words feel hollow. She watches me for a moment longer, and I feel her eyes on me, searching for something, trying to read the chaos in my mind.
I don’t know how to explain it to her. I don’t know if I even want to. She doesn’t know about Helen. Doesn’t know what that woman did to me, what she turned me into. And I don’t want Alessia to know the kind of monster Helen shaped me into. I don’t want Alessia to see that side of me, to see the darkness that still clings to my bones, no matter how much I try to bury it.
