All Chapters of His Sinful Empire : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

His hands were everywhere. Sliding up my sides, dragging my sweater with them. Tracing the curve of my waist. Spreading heat everywhere he touched. I arched into him, needing more. Needing everything. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and predatory. “This comes off.” He tugged at my sweater. Not asking. Telling. I lifted my arms and he stripped it over my head, tossing it aside without care. Cool air hit my skin but his mouth was already there, hot against my collarbone, my throat, the hollow between my breasts. His hands found my bra. Unhooked it with ease. For a moment he just looked at me. The intensity in his gaze made me feel exposed, vulnerable, powerful all at once. “Perfect,” he murmured. Not a compliment. A statement of fact. Then his mouth was on my breast and thought became impossible. I gasped, my hands flying to his hair, holding him there as his tongue worked over my nipple. He wasn’t gentle. Didn’t treat me like I might brea

“Sicily.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I should have told you I was leaving. Should have checked on you after the transfer but there was family business that couldn’t wait and—” “Family business?” I looked at him. “In Sicily?” “Yeah.” He glanced down the hall where two guards stood at attention, pretending not to watch us. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere more private. The guards don’t need to hear all our business.” I followed him to what looked like a study. Smaller than Enzo’s office. More lived-in. Books stacked on every surface. A guitar leaning against the corner. Sheet music scattered across a desk. He closed the door behind us. “Sit.” He pointed to a leather couch. “You look like you could use a drink.” “I thought you were getting me water earlier.” “I said a drink. Not water.” He moved to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Poured two glasses. “Trust me, you look like you need this more.” He handed me a glass and sat in the armchair ac

“I know you missed me,” she purred. “Everyone misses Violet eventually.” I closed my eyes. Leaned my head back against the couch. The music pounded. The whiskey burned. Violet’s perfume… too sweet, too artificial… filled my nose. Nothing like jasmine. Nothing like Nina. “Enzo?” Violet’s voice seemed to come from far away. “You okay?” I opened my eyes. The room spun slightly. “Fine.” “You don’t look fine.” She came closer, her breath warm against my neck. “Come on. Let me take care of you.” “Violet—” “Shh.” She straddled me this time, both knees on the couch. The room tilted. “I’ve got you.” Violet pressed against me. Her mouth on my neck. Her hands working at my belt. And all I could think about was Nina. Nina’s eyes. Nina’s laugh. Nina’s voice telling me I was the one making it cheap. “Stop.” The word came out rough. Violet pulled back. “What?” “I said stop.” “Enzo, come on. You need this. Need to relax—” “I need you to get the fuck away from me.”

He was drunk. “Nina, wait!” But I was already moving. Already running. Past the velvet curtain. Past Bruno who reached for me—“Miss Nyx, please—” Down the stairs. The guard who’d brought me tried to follow. “Miss Nyx… wait!” But the crowd had thickened. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor. The music pounding. Lights flashing. I pushed through. Smaller. Faster. Slipping between people. Behind me, I heard the guard calling my name. Heard him trying to push through the crowd. But I was already at the entrance. Already bursting through the doors into the cool night air. “Nina!” Enzo’s voice from somewhere inside. Desperate. “Nina, stop!” I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. A cab was at the curb. Dropping off passengers. I ran to it. Yanked open the door before anyone could reach me. “Drive!” I gasped to the driver. “Please, jus

“You’re right.” The admission seemed to cost him everything. His voice came out rough, stripped down to the bone. “You’re right about all of it. I am controlling you. I am destroying you. I am everything you say I am.” The gun stayed pressed to my temple. Cold. Steady. “Then let me go.” “I can’t.” His hand was still outstretched. Still reaching, like if he moved slowly enough, I might not pull the trigger. “I physically cannot do that. Cannot watch you walk out that door knowing you’ll be killed. Cannot live with that on my conscience.” “You don’t get to decide!” My grip tightened. The metal dug harder into my skin. “You don’t get to choose whether I live or die. Whether I stay or go. You don’t own me and still treat me wrongly.” “I know.” A tear slid down his face. Just one. It traced a straight line, unapologetic. He didn’t bother hiding it. “I know I don’t own you. Know I have no right to keep you here. But I’m doing it anyway because I’m selfish and broken and I can