He's Snapping at Her Again

DANTE’S PERSPECTIVE

The basement stank of rust, sweat, and rot.

The assassin was already bound to the post when I arrived. Enzo and the others had done their part, stripping him, tying him up like meat on a hook. He wasn’t old. Mid-thirties, maybe. Still had the balls to glare at me like he hadn’t just tried to slit my fucking throat two nights ago.

Pity.

I didn’t say a word.

Didn’t ask who sent him.

Didn’t care.

My fists moved before I even knew what I was doing. His jaw cracked. Blood splattered. I heard one of his teeth hit the concrete. Something inside me broke with it, but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Because every punch… every swing of the whip… every kick into his ribs… wasn’t really for him.

It was for Luca.

For the way he looked at Catalina like she was some fucking sunrise.

For the way she laughed with him.

For the towel in her hand, wiping sweat from her bare neck, not for me.

For the tight jeans hugging her thighs, the soft curve of her smile meant for someone else.

And for the fact that I couldn’t explain why it drove me insane.

Why her voice haunted the silence in my head.

Why her scent followed me like a curse.

The assassin coughed up blood, tried to speak. I shoved my boot against his throat and leaned in.

“You were just in the way,” I muttered, voice low and cold. “Wrong time. Wrong face.”

His eyes bulged.

Another whip. Another scream. Another broken rib.

He stopped moving somewhere between the snap of cartilage and the split of his lip.

I dropped the whip and exhaled slowly.

Still not enough.

Still. Not. Fucking. Enough.

Blood stuck to my hands. My shirt. My neck.

And yet, all I could think about was her.

I left without a word.

~~~~

LUCHESE ESTATE

Late Night

The house was silent when I came in. Lights low. Moonlight slipping through the halls.

I didn’t bother changing.

Didn’t shower.

I went straight to the bedroom. The place I hadn’t touched in weeks.

And there she was.

Catalina.

Curled on my side of the bed like it belonged to her now. One arm tucked under her cheek. The other resting over my pillow.

Even in sleep, she looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Like I hadn’t been gone. Like I didn’t matter.

I dropped my bloodied jacket on the chair. Kicked off my shoes. My belt followed.

Then I climbed over her. Slow. Heavy.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Confused.

Sleepy.

And fuck, so innocent.

But I didn’t want her innocence tonight.

I wanted the noise in my head to stop.

Her lips parted to speak.

I didn’t let her.

I claimed her mouth first. Hard. Demanding. My hand already gripping her throat, not to hurt. Just to remind her.

Who she belonged to.

She gasped when I thrust her legs open.

“D-Dante-”

“Shut up.”

My voice was rough. My grip even rougher.

I didn't wait. Didn't tease.

I just took. Slamming my cock inside her.

Every thrust was brutal.

Every squeeze on her hips, her throat, her wrists, was a silent punishment.

“Laugh with him like that again,” I growled into her ear, “and I’ll bury him alive.”

She whimpered.

But I didn’t stop.

“Wiping your sweat with that towel like you’re free to show it off,” I sneered. “Did he like the view? Did you dress like that for him?”

Her back arched. I pressed her deeper into the mattress.

I felt every inch of my cock inside her. Every thrust I made sure she felt it.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right.

Didn’t matter.

"I'll cum inside you over and over again till you remember who you belonged to!" I growled at her ear.

I kept fucking her.

Flipped her over like she's a fuck doll.

"Fuck! You don't get to laugh like that again!" I said, as I grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked her head back, while claiming her lips till they're swollen.

I slammed into her, hand tight on her throat, just enough to watch her gasp. She gripped me like she needed me to survive.

Fuck, maybe she did. I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. I needed her ruined, wrecked so deep she forgot every damn smile she gave that fucker.

“You’re mine,” I growled, dragging her back when she tried to pull away.

“Say it.” She moaned, legs shaking. That sound...fuck. I kept going. Harder. Deeper.

Until she broke for me.

Until her body screamed my name. No one else. Just me. Dante fucking Lucchese. The man who owns every inch of her.

Until she cried.

Until her nails raked my back and her legs trembled from the force of it.

Until she shattered, and I followed, growling her name like a curse.

Only then did I let go.

Only then did I let her breathe again.

She lay limp beneath me. Skin marked. Neck flushed. Thighs bruised. Mine.

Always mine.

Even if I had to break her to remind her.