Chapter 5: Morning After

Chapter 5: Morning After

Luca woke before the sun.

The room was still dark, the city outside just starting to glow with early light. Alessio was sprawled on his stomach beside him, one arm flung across Luca’s chest, face half-buried in the pillow. His dark hair was a mess, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and even.

Luca didn’t move.

He stared at the ceiling, heart pounding like he’d run ten miles.

Last night played on repeat in his head—Alessio’s mouth on him, hot and fearless, the way he’d taken control without apology. The sounds he’d pulled out of Luca. The way Alessio had shuddered when Luca whispered praise, like it was oxygen he’d been missing his whole life.

Fuck.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He’d spent years making sure it never would. Quick, meaningless hookups with women when the pressure built too high. Never letting himself look too long at a man. Never admitting, even in the dark, what he wanted.

And now here he was. Married to one. In bed with one. Hard again just remembering the taste of Alessio’s skin.

He shifted carefully, trying to slide out from under that arm without waking him.

Alessio stirred anyway. Gray eyes blinked open, sleepy and sharp all at once.

“Running already?” Alessio murmured, voice rough with sleep. Smirk already in place.

Luca froze. “I don’t run.”

“Sure.” Alessio stretched, slow and deliberate, sheets sliding down to his waist. Marks dotted his neck and chest—Luca’s marks. “Looks exactly like running.”

Luca sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Back to Alessio. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Last night—”

“Was incredible?” Alessio finished, sitting up too. The sheet pooled in his lap. He didn’t bother covering up. “Yeah. It was.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “It was a mistake.”

Silence.

Then Alessio laughed—quiet, bitter. “Right. Of course it was.”

Luca turned. Alessio’s face had gone carefully blank, but his eyes gave him away. Hurt. Quickly hidden behind that wall of sarcasm.

“You think I planned this?” Alessio continued. “That I wanted to be sold off to some repressed mafia prince who hates himself for wanting dick?”

Luca flinched.

Alessio slid out of bed, naked and unashamed, walking to the en-suite. “Don’t worry, husband. I won’t make you touch me again. Wouldn’t want to taint your precious straight-boy soul.”

The bathroom door closed. Water started running.

Luca sat there, fists clenched on his thighs.

He wanted to punch something. Himself, mostly.

He’d done this. Pushed Alessio away the second vulnerability crept in. Because admitting he wanted this—wanted *him*—terrified him more than any gunfight.

By the time Alessio emerged, towel around his waist, hair damp, Luca had dressed. Black suit, armor back in place.

Alessio didn’t look at him as he pulled on clothes—jeans and a soft gray sweater that hugged his frame perfectly.

“We have a lunch today,” Luca said, voice flat. “Both families. Public announcement of the marriage. Alliance sealed.”

Alessio paused, buttoning his shirt. “Of course. Can’t let the ink dry before we parade it around.”

“You’ll behave.”

Alessio met his eyes then. Cool. Distant. “I always behave when it matters.”

He walked past Luca into the living room.

Luca followed, watching him pour coffee like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t shattered something fragile last night.

The drive to the restaurant was silent.

The place was neutral territory—an upscale Italian spot in Midtown, private room booked. Both families already there when they arrived.

Salvatore Vitale stood as Alessio entered, smiling like a proud father. “There’s my brother. Married man now.”

Alessio smiled back—perfect, fake. “Thanks to you.”

Giovanni Rossi clapped Luca on the shoulder. “Good. It’s done. Peace holds.”

They sat. Food came. Toasts were made.

Luca’s hand rested on the back of Alessio’s chair—possessive for the audience. Alessio didn’t lean into it. Didn’t pull away either.

Under the table, though, Alessio’s knee brushed Luca’s. Once. Deliberate.

Luca’s pulse jumped.

Alessio didn’t look at him. Just sipped his wine, laughing at something one of the capos said.

But Luca felt it—that spark. Still there. Burning hotter because of the distance.

After lunch, photos for the “family album.” Luca’s arm around Alessio’s waist. Alessio’s hand on Luca’s chest. Smiles for the camera.

As they posed, Alessio leaned in just enough to whisper, lips brushing Luca’s ear.

“You can pretend all you want in public. But we both know what you sound like when you come undone.”

Luca’s grip tightened on his waist.

Alessio pulled back, smiling sweetly for the camera.

The war wasn’t over.

It had moved underground.

And Luca was losing ground fast.