Chapter 6 - The Touch of a King
Midnight.
The master suite on the top floor of the Moretti estate was bathed in the warm, flickering light of a stone fireplace. Outside, the Chicago blizzard raged on, howling against the heavy, bulletproof glass windows.
Lydia stood near the window, looking out at the white landscape.
She had unpinned her hair, letting the dark curls fall over her shoulders. The heavy emerald gown was still on, but she had kicked off her high heels, her bare feet sinking into the thick plush carpet.
The heavy oak doors opened, and Lorenzo stepped into the room.
He had removed his suit jacket and tie. His crisp white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the dark, scarred skin of his collarbone.
He closed the door, locked it, and walked slowly across the room toward her.
Lydia didn't run. She turned around, resting her lower back against the window sill, watching him approach with a calm, steady gaze.
"You played them like a maestro tonight," Lorenzo said, stopping just inches from her. "Silvio didn't stand a chance."
"He murdered my brother, Lorenzo," Lydia whispered, her voice cracking slightly as the weight of the night finally hit her. "He took my brother away from me... and he stole your twin's life."
Lorenzo reached out, his massive, warm hand coming up to gently cup her neck. His thumb brushed over her soft jawline, feeling the rapid, delicate pulse beneath her skin.
"Thank you," Lorenzo said, his slate-grey eyes burning with an emotion so intense it took Lydia’s breath away. "For saving Mateo. For giving me justice."
Lydia looked down at the black diamond ring resting on her finger. "You didn't have to announce an engagement, Lorenzo. The capos would have respected my authority as an intelligence advisor."
Lorenzo let out a low, husky growl. He stepped closer, pressing his long body against hers, trapping her gently between his frame and the window sill.
"Do you think I did that for the capos, Lydia?" he whispered, his head dipping down until his lips were brushing against her sensitive earlobe.
Lydia’s breath hitched. A shiver ran down her spine. "Didn't you?"
"I've been watching you on those hidden cameras for nine days," Lorenzo confessed, his hand moving down to wrap securely around her wide, soft hip, pulling her flush against him. "I watched you clean my brother's room. I watched you laugh at his silly jokes. I watched you brush your dark hair in the mirror when you thought no one was looking."
He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her skin—lavender, rain, and pure woman.
"I didn't make you my fiancée to protect you from my capos, Lydia," Lorenzo growled possessively. "I made you my fiancée to mark you as mine. So no man in this city would ever dare to look at you the way I look at you."
Lydia looked up into his dark, fierce eyes.
For nine days, she had felt small, invisible, and hidden beneath her denim aprons, judged by his aristocratic mother as 'a heavy peasant.' But in Lorenzo’s arms, under the heat of his intense, possessive gaze, she felt powerful, beautiful, and desperately desired.
"I am not a soft mafia wife, Lorenzo," she warned softly, her hands coming up to rest against his hard, muscular chest. "I am a soldier. I carry scars."
May you like
Lorenzo reached down, his long fingers grasping the hem of her emerald gown, slowly pulling it up, his warm hands sliding over her thick, soft thighs, feeling the smooth, lush curve of her body.
"I don't want a soft trophy, Lydia," Lorenzo whispered, bringing his lips down to meet hers in a deep, fierce, intoxicating kiss that claimed her soul. "I want a queen who can hold a gun while I burn the world for her."
