“Will play her part,” I say with finality. “She understands what’s at stake.”
Of course, understanding and compliance are different matters entirely. Since our power play in the bedroom—since she turned my own methods against me—Lea has been frustratingly unpredictable. Compliant on the surface, yes, but with a new confidence that suggests she believes our dynamic has shifted.
She’s wrong.
“Is there anything else?” I ask Blake.
“Just one thing, sir. Alessandro called. He wants to know if you’ve decided about Professor Song.”
Eunji Song remains at large, her operation intact despite our best intelligence efforts to locate her. We can’t use Lea as leverage if we can’t communicate our threats to the professor.
“Tell him I’m exploring all options,” I reply, dismissing Blake with a wave.
After he leaves, I return to the window. The lake house has become a pressure cooker. Mounting tensions with Moretti, Alessandro’s increasing demands for decisive action, and Lea’s unsettling ability to get under my skin.
I need to reestablish control on all fronts.
Sunday arrives with perfect weather.Cloudless blue skies, a gentle breeze, and temperatures in the mid-seventies. The kind of day that makes the wealthy feel entitled to their good fortune. My yacht,The Diplomat, gleams in the afternoon sun, sixty-five feet of polished luxury anchored at the exclusive North Harbor Marina.
I stand at the rail of the upper deck, surveying the preparations. The staff moves with practiced efficiency, arranging flowers, positioning tables, stocking the bar. Everything pristine, everything perfect, everything under my control.
“The guest list is at twenty-four,” Blake informs me, appearing at my side. “All confirmed. Mrs. Davenport insisted on adding the Montgomerys and Judge Harrington.”
I suppress my irritation. “Fine. Make sure security has updated photos of everyone.”
“Already done. And the catering staff has been vetted. No unfamiliar faces.”
I nod, satisfied with his thoroughness. “And Lea?”
“Getting ready in the master stateroom.”
I check my watch. Guests will begin arriving in thirty minutes. “I’ll go see her. Monitor the preparations.”
The interior of the yacht is cool and hushed, a sleek cocoon of polished teak and soft leather that muffles the bustle on deck, the clink of champagne flutes being arranged, and the low hum of staff completing preparations for the reception. I stridethrough the main salon, bypassing the dining area where a dark wood table gleams under crystal stemware set for an intimate donors’ lunch, and head down the corridor to the master stateroom. The air here carries a faint trace of saltwater and something richer, more intimate. Her scent, lingering from our nights of relentless “education.”
I enter without knocking. There are no barriers between us, no sanctuaries she can hide in. This space is mine, and so is she.
Lea’s at the king-sized bed. The one where I’ve had her bound every night this past week, drilling obedience into her with silk restraints, commands, and pleasure-pain that leaves her shattered and begging.
She’s adjusting her dress—a cream-colored summer sheath. The fabric hugs her hips and makes her breasts look amazing. Her golden skin glows under the soft cabin lights, and her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders. Her makeup is subtle but makes her full lips and defiant eyes pop. She looks like a mafia king’s fiancée: elegant, and totally fuckable.
She turns at my intrusion, expression schooled into neutrality, but I catch the subtle hitch in her breath, and the way her thighs press together ever so slightly. “Is it time?”
I don’t answer immediately, letting my gaze rake over her. The faint shadows of bruises on her wrists from last night have nearly vanished, but I know they’re there, tender echoes of how I had her spread-eagle on this very bed—wrists lashed to the headboard, ankles bound wide to the posts, her pussy exposed and dripping for me. I teased her mercilessly with that giant dildo first, thick and veined, sliding it in slowly, watching her arch and whimper as I pumped it deep, stretching her, building her to the brink until she was sobbing my name, her wallsclenching greedily. Then I’d yanked it free, replacing it with my cock—bigger, hotter, throbbing as I slammed home, claiming every inch while she screamed in ecstasy, her body convulsing around me in total surrender.
“Almost,” I finally reply, crossing the room in measured steps until I’m towering over her, the heat of my body invading her space. “But first, we clarify today’s expectations.” My voice is a low growl, laced with the memory of her cries.
I reach out, adjusting her dress with deliberate slowness, my fingers grazing the warm silk of her throat. She doesn’t flinch, but her pulse leaps under my touch. Good. The training is embedded deep. Her body craves my dominance now, even as her mind spars.
“This isn’t mere socializing,” I continue, my hand sliding down to cup her breast through the thin fabric, thumb circling her nipple until it hardens into a tight peak. She bites her lip, a soft gasp escaping. “It’s a goddamn performance. These donors, the elite who fund my empire, they’ll scrutinize us. They must buy the facade: you as my devoted fiancée, all mine.”
“I understand,” she murmurs, voice steady but breathy, her back arching subtly into my palm. “I can play the part.”
“Can you?” I pinch her nipple sharply, drawing a whimper, then soothe it with a roll of my thumb. My other hand grips her hip, yanking her flush against me so she feels my cock stirring, already half-hard from the sight of her. “Because failure isn’t an option. Moretti’s still lurking, sniffing for cracks. One misstep, one flicker of doubt in your eyes, and you become a liability.”
Her gaze hardens, fire flashing, but she doesn’t retreat. Instead, her hands rise to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. “I said I get it, Nico.”
The spark of defiance ignites within me. I spin her abruptly, pressing her back against the cabin wall, the yacht’s gentle sway adding to the tension. “Prove it, then.” My mouth crashes onto hers in a bruising kiss, tongue invading, claiming, tasting the sweetness of her submission. She moans into me, her body melting even as her nails dig in, a perfect blend of fight and yield.
