Signed To The Mafia King - Chapter 112: Chapter 112

ALINA
Luca didn't celebrate his birthday?
With my back arched and his fingers around my thighs, it was impossible to move.
I placed my face flat on the sheets so I could meet his eyes. They were already feasting hungrily on my face.
“Why not? Why don't you celebrate your birthday?”
He shrugged, a careless up and down of his shoulders that didn't divulge any information. The intimacy between us broke and he settled on the bed beside me.
“I told you. Growing up, birthdays wasn't prioritized, especially after my mother died. My father made sure Sofia’s birthday was celebrated, but I was trained to be a man from the beginning.”
I turned over onto my knees and sat beside him, taking his fingers. “We're going to celebrate your birthday.”
It tore my heart that he'd grown up that way. My father had been a harsh man, a deadly one too, but he'd always ensured that all his children were celebrated, even Adriano.
I couldn't imagine what it must have been like, growing the way Luca did.
Luca squinted, sliding into the sheets and pulling me into his arms. He threw his head back and yawned. “We don't have to.”
I kissed the skin between his fingers where a bruise was forming. “I want to.”
He nodded and held me tight, his breathe escaping into my hair. My scalp tingled with every brush of his fingers against my skin.
“Someone shot my mom today. We don't know who it was, but my mother seems to think it's one of your enemies.”
“That's not right.”
“I'm telling you what she said. I'm not sure what to believe.”
Niggling at the back of my mind too was Victoria. What had really happened to her? What went on inside that room with Luca and Marco?
Luca didn't answer, his forehead twisted with distaste. I gave him a few minutes, and when he didn't speak, I turned fully into his body.
“Where's Victoria?” I knew I wasn't supposed to ask, I was supposed to be innocent in whatever they'd done to her, but she was a human being, and however despicable she'd been while alive, she wasn't supposed to have die by Luca’s hands.
“I can't tell you that, Alina. Don't ask.” Luca insisted, same as before.
“But I am your wife, and I am the reason you're in this.”
He sat up from bed. There was an urgency to his eyes, to the lean twist of his arms as he propped it around me. “You're not the reason, Alina. Victoria is the reason. Don't try to take the blame for this.”
I nodded, unable to argue with that. I wanted to tell change his mind, get him to tell me what had happened, but what would it change?
Victoria was still dead.
“Can you forget this ever happened? I should have kept her away from you as much as I could.” Luca’s eyes were filled with guilt, the first time I'd really seen it splashed boldly on his face.
I nodded, placing my head back on his chest. We fell asleep that way, snuggled against each other.
I woke up still snuggled into his warmth. He had one arm splayed on the sheets, with the other tangled in my hair.
I stretched, kissing his chest and crawling gently off his chest. His fingers tightened in my hair. “Don't move. Stay that way.”
My muscles went rigid and I laid back down. I could feel the throb of his cock under my stomach. “Luca?”
“Just lie there.” He murmured into my hair. A heartbeat later. “Please.”
My breasts flattened as I laid back down. His skin was warm, somehow warm and yet cool against mine.
I wiggled, trying to get comfortable and with each slight move, I felt how cock grow bigger against my belly.
His lips were mashed against my hair, stirring a hunger deep in my belly. Stroking my fingers down his arm, across the hard shelf of his stomach and down to his cock, I wrapped my fingers around him.
Without a word, I lifted my belly and dragged my panties down my legs. There were no words between us except the harsh thudding of our hearts as I fed him between my legs.
“Fuck!” Luca’s growl was a welcome reprieve from the silence strangling us, as was his cock between my legs.
He twisted his arm, rolling me under him as he folded my legs around his waist.
“I didn't expect that.” His thrusting hips pistoned his cock in and out of me, drawing cries of pleasure from my parted lips.
I wanted to feel all of him over my skin, the weight of his body, the roughness of his stubble against my face as he kissed me silly.
“Kiss me. Please,” I said, tugging him closer with my legs around his waist.
He did, locking his lips over mine while his tongue stroked my lower lip.
He kissed me like he needed to forget everything else; the blood, the lies, the deaths.
His mouth was hot, desperate, and bruising, and I welcomed it all. My nails dug into his back, anchoring him to me, and when he groaned into my mouth, I swallowed the sound greedily.
When we came together, it was loud and clumsy and nothing like the control he was used to.
His forehead dropped to mine, our chest heaving, my body trembling under his.
I held him there, not saying a word. Not even about the fact that he's pulled out again to finish on the sheets.
Instead, I drew circles on his chest while his fingers combed through my hair as though he was searching for something he couldn't find.
“I hate this world,” I whispered.
His hand paused, tugging gently on my hair. “I know.”
“You make me feel safe in it, even though you’re part of it. And I think I hate that even more.”
His chest rose slowly, then fell. I looked up at him. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, as if afraid to meet mine.
I reached up and cupped his jaw, gently turning his face to me. His throat worked as he swallowed.
We didn’t speak after that. He didn't reply and I didn't mind. I'd said what I wanted to.
The silence was less horrid, a terrible kind of peace.
I fell asleep again like that, in his arms, the scent of sex and heat still between us.
When I woke again, he was gone.
I sat up quickly, the bedsheets cold where he’d been. On his pillow was a folded piece of paper with my name written in black ink.
I reached for it, my hands already shaking and tense.