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Chapter 7: The Edge of Ruin

Author: Phayvord
last update Huling Na-update: 2026-02-17 12:34:39

Bella’s POV

The bedroom air is thick—sweat, sex, rain-soaked skin, and the metallic tang of barely contained violence.

Nico stands at the foot of the bed, gun still in his right hand, knuckles white. Victor leans against the headboard beside me, one arm draped possessively across my waist, the other idly tracing patterns on my hip as though we’re not one wrong word away from blood on the sheets.

I’m between them again—naked, trembling, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my clit.

No one moves.

The silence stretches until it hurts.

Then Nico speaks, voice low and shredded.

“You let him inside you. Again. While I was out there trying to keep us all alive.”

Victor’s fingers pause on my skin.

“She didn’t let me,” he says calmly. “She needed it. Same as she needed you last night. Same as she’ll need us both until she stops lying to herself.”

Nico’s eyes flick to me—dark, wounded, furious.

“Is that true?”

My throat is raw from screaming their names. I force the words out anyway.

“Yes.”

One word. It lands like a grenade.

Nico exhales through his nose. Sets the gun down on the dresser—carefully, deliberately, barrel pointed away. The click of metal on wood is louder than any shout.

He walks to the bed. Slow. Every muscle coiled.

Victor doesn’t move to stop him.

Nico climbs onto the mattress—knees sinking into the mattress on my other side. He’s still fully clothed except for the jacket he shed somewhere between the door and here. Black shirt clinging to his chest from the rain. Trousers tented obscenely.

He looks down at me.

At the bite marks on my breasts—Victor’s teeth.

At the handprints on my thighs—his own from earlier.

At the slick shine between my legs—both of them mixed together.

His hand lifts. Cups my cheek. Thumb brushes away a tear I didn’t realize was falling.

“You think you can have us both?” he asks quietly. “You think we won’t tear each other apart?”

I turn my face into his palm. Kiss the center.

“I think if you try to make me choose right now, one of you will end up dead. And I’ll never forgive the survivor.”

Victor makes a low sound—half laugh, half growl.

“He’s right about one thing, principessa. We’re not built for sharing.”

Nico’s eyes never leave mine.

“But we’re both built for you.”

He leans down. Kisses me—soft at first. Almost careful. Then deeper. Hungrier. Tongue stroking mine like he’s trying to remind me who was here first.

Victor watches for three heartbeats.

Then he moves.

Slides behind me. Pulls my back against his chest. Hands roam—cupping my breasts, rolling my nipples between fingers until I arch and moan into Nico’s mouth.

Nico breaks the kiss. Looks over my shoulder at Victor.

“You want to play nice?” Nico asks him. Voice rough. “Then play.”

Victor’s hand slides down my stomach. Parts my folds. Middle finger circles my clit—slow, slick with everything already there.

Nico watches the motion. Jaw ticking.

Then he reaches down. Unbuckles his belt. Zips down. Frees himself—thick, hard, veins standing out.

He strokes once. Base to tip. Eyes locked on mine.

“Open your mouth.”

I do.

He guides himself past my lips. Slow. Careful not to choke me. I take him deeper. Tongue swirling. Hollowing my cheeks.

Victor’s finger presses inside me—two now. Pumping in time with Nico’s shallow thrusts into my mouth.

The dual rhythm is maddening.

Nico’s hand fists in my hair. Not pulling. Guiding.

Victor adds a third finger. Stretches. Curls.

I moan around Nico’s cock. The vibration makes him curse.

Victor’s free hand grips my hip. Tilts me slightly. Replaces fingers with the blunt head of his cock.

He pushes in—slow. Deep. Filling me while my mouth is full of Nico.

I whimper. The stretch is intense. Almost too much.

They find a rhythm.

Victor thrusting from behind—long, controlled strokes.

Nico fucking my mouth—shallow, careful, but growing rougher with every moan I make.

Their hands meet on my body.

Victor’s on my clit—rubbing fast circles.

Nico’s on my breast—pinching, twisting.

I’m drowning in sensation.

Full.

Used.

Worshipped.

Victor’s mouth finds my ear.

“Come for us,” he murmurs. “Come while we’re both inside you. Show us you can take it.”

Nico pulls out of my mouth just long enough to let me gasp.

“Please—”

Victor slams deeper. Hits that spot.

Nico guides himself back between my lips.

I shatter.

Clenching around Victor.

Sucking harder on Nico.

Screaming muffled around his cock.

They don’t stop.

Victor fucks me through it—harder. Faster.

Nico thrusts deeper into my throat—testing limits.

I come again—smaller, sharper, endless ripples.

Victor groans. Thrusts once more. Buries himself deep. Comes with a low, guttural sound—filling me again.

Nico pulls out. Strokes himself fast.

Hot ropes land across my breasts, my throat, my lips.

He marks me.

Victor pulls out slowly. Cum leaks out—runs down my thighs.

They collapse on either side of me.

Breathing ragged.

For several minutes—no one speaks.

Then Nico’s hand finds mine. Laces fingers.

Victor does the same on the other side.

I lie between them—sticky, sore, trembling.

And for the first time since the gala, I don’t feel torn.

I feel claimed.

Utterly.

Completely.

By both.

But outside the windows, the rain has stopped.

And in the silence that follows, I hear something worse than thunder.

Footsteps in the hallway.

Heavy.

Multiple.

Someone is coming.

Nico tenses first. Reaches for the gun on the dresser.

Victor sits up slowly. Eyes narrowing.

The steel door rattles.

Not a buzz this time.

A battering ram.

Nico is on his feet in an instant—gun raised.

Victor pulls me behind him—shielding.

The door buckles.

Wood splinters.

Black-clad figures pour in—masks, rifles, tactical gear.

Not cops.

Not random.

One steps forward. Removes his mask.

A face I recognize from old photos Nico once showed me—his uncle. The current head of the Moretti family.

The man looks at me—naked, marked, between two men who just fucked me together—then at Nico.

Then at Victor.

His voice is ice.

“Enough games, nephew.”

He raises his own weapon.

Points it at Victor’s head.

“Time to choose sides.”

Nico steps in front of Victor—gun raised at his own uncle.

The room goes deathly still.

Two families.

Two empires.

One woman caught in the crossfire.

And the war that was always coming has just walked through the door.

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