Aria's Pov
I stood with the bouquet in my hands, my eyes widening as I saw him standing there...my dad hadn't told me this. I should have never trusted him. This man, waiting for me, after so many years in jail, hadn't come here for nothing...no he came for vengeance...and that was why he was here.
My heart thumped with trepidation. My body shook as adrenaline pulsed through my veins...my body hot. His eyes locked to mine, while my lowered to his finger...the same ring...that night he had me at my climax. I shook the thought out of my head, no no, I can't.
Not wanting him to see my fear for him, my hand clutched the bouquet tighter...before I gently made my way down the aisle.
Philip Rodrigo Addison, you really disappointed me today. You were supposed to be my father, but now I understood that man could do anything for money. I was sold, to the Don himself, the most wanted, the most feared. I was apparently nothing more than a tool... but what can I say? Milo Antonio Manheim, my criminal husband, with both Italian and Portugal blood in him, was dying by my hands...
_______
The marble tiles felt cold beneath my bare feet, a stark contrast to the heat rising within me. Milo's shower ran in the adjacent bathroom, steam seeping through the partially open door. My reflection in the bedroom mirror was a study in calculated determination—dark hair swept back, emerald eyes hardened with resolve, skin pale against the deep crimson of the silk nightgown.
I positioned myself strategically, legs strategically arranged, my body a weapon more dangerous than any blade. Years of planning had led to this moment. Each breath was measured, each muscle coiled like a serpent ready to strike.
The water stopped. Footsteps approached.
Milo emerged, droplets trailing down his muscular frame, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His piercing blue eyes—the color of arctic ice—scanned the room before landing on me. A predatory smile played across his lips, sharp and dangerous.
"Well, well," he murmured, his Portuguese-Italian accent thick with implied threat. "Decided to be cooperative tonight?"
I offered a calculated smile, allowing just a hint of vulnerability to surface. "Perhaps."
He moved with the grace of a panther, muscles rippling beneath skin marked with intricate tattoos—each one a story of violence, of conquest. When he reached the bed, his hand traced my ankle, fingers cold against my skin. His fingers tracing upwards till they touched the elasticity of my thong. I didn't know he still had this much effect on me after 7 years.
"You're trembling," he observed, his voice a low rumble.
"Am I?" I whispered, forcing my body to remain still. His magic fingers still moved till...I gasped.
In one swift motion, he pinned me down. The towel fell away. His weight pressed against me, rendering movement difficult. I could feel him...every inch of him, and my breathing was ragged as though I'd just finished a race.
But I had anticipated this. My hand...the one he couldn't see...inched toward my hidden weapon.
"You thought you were clever," Milo growled, his breath hot against my neck. "Aborting our child and sending me to jail." I squirmed, his hardness was stronger than before. He knew quite well what he was doing, knowing I was going to be affected by his touch.
"You're still so responsive to me, even after all these years." He stated while I kept squirming. He took that as an opportunity to pin my hands above my head.
His fingers found the hidden knife...the one I had deliberately positioned in my panties. A chuckle escaped him, dark and menacing.
"Did you really think," he said, holding the blade between us, "that I wouldn't know?"
My heart raced, but not from fear. From anticipation.
"Some mistakes," I responded evenly, "deserve consequences."
The blade glinted in the moonlight streaming through the curtains. Outside, the city hummed with its midnight secrets. Inside this room, a different kind of reckoning was about to unfold.
"If not for my father's cowardliness, I wouldn't be here with you." I gritted out.
He chuckled, his unmistakable canines peeking out of his lips. "Your father was smart enough to know when to surrender." He said before walking up to his desk and taking a sheet of paper. My eyes ran through it the moment he had it in my face. It was signed. I knew it...I was sold.
"You can't get away with this forever." I retorted.
"You think?" He chuckled, and it was in that moment I noticed how wonderfully naked he was, but I willed my gaze to remain on his. But I couldn't deny, I saw he was hard...really hard. He chuckled again as though knowing my uneasiness. Then he leaned down towards me...his hand caressing my already exposed skin...
"I remember when you used to tremble the moment you heard my name. You were weak, and as terrified as a lost cat. I picked you up from that family puna, and introduced you to your biological father. I picked up up from the trenches, and made you who you are today." His fingers traced down my chest, his fingers finally locking on my nipples, building nothing but want...my arousal thickened, as I could feel my wetness dripping on the bed. I ached, badly. "You begged me to fuck you...you always did, and knowing how much of a sex freak you are, I gave you what you wanted..."
I bit my lower lips, unable to control my breathing. I tried to pull away but his strong hand kept me in place. I failed miserably to keep myself in check. His finger stopped at a position close to my aching core. I thought he was really going to bring me that relief but he didn't move an inch, only continued to toy with my breasts. I shifted, wanting relief so badly but he didn't give me that, instead he moved his hand.
His hand cupped my breast, and I immediately noticed his eyes darken. Then his lips twirled upwards.
"Just as I thought, still hungry for me." He said, tone dripping like stone dipped in water, taking up his towel and wrapping it around himself. "Let's see how far you can get with your revenge then."
With that, he shut the door
behind him, leaving me to ponder what the hell just happened.