Chapter 4 Wet for my husband’s killer
I was back at his house.
I was so useless. I couldn’t even do something as simple as escaping.
I was taken to Luciano's office, and for some reason, I was scared—scared of dying. The bulky man who had delivered me right back into Luciano's hands opened the door and pushed me inside.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” Luciano's angry voice yelled as I stumbled into his office.
He looked nothing like the man who had killed so calmly.
“You’re making this hard for everyone!” he shouted, marching toward me angrily. It was only when he stopped right in front of me that I noticed how tall he was—how deadly he looked.
Fear gripped me.
“If you didn’t kill my husband, we wouldn’t have even crossed paths!” I snapped suddenly, anger surging as I remembered the man he had taken from me.
He shook his head angrily, clenching his jaw so hard I thought it might break.
He turned away, walked back to his desk, then returned with a file and shoved it into my hands.
“Fucking go through it,” he said.
I stared at him in confusion.
“You want answers?” he shouted. “Go through the damn files!”
I flinched, then took the file with shaky hands. A part of me already knew—I wasn’t going to like what I was about to see.
I stared at the paper in my hands, my husband’s handwriting stared back at me. My chest tightened.
His last wish was for me to marry.
Marry the man who killed him.
I couldn’t move. My fingers went numb, as if my body was trying to protect me from the meaning of the words. This had to be a joke.
There was no way Alberto would do this to me. No way he would condemn me to a lifetime of guilt, to waking up beside the man who stole him from me.
“It’s his last wish,” Luciano said from beside me.
I almost forgot he was even here.
“You must have forced him to write this,” I said quietly, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady.
“And what would I gain?” he asked calmly.
“Me,” I snapped, not even sure if it made sense—but it felt right.
A slow smirk curved his lips,i wanted to wipe that look off his face with my bare hands.
“We will only act like a couple in public,” he said evenly.
I frowned in confusion.
“Why should we act?” I asked.
“Oh?” His eyes darkened slightly. “You don’t want it to be an act?” he asked.
That was when I noticed his eyes properly. Deep ocean-blue. That look like they could swallow you whole if you stared too long.
Why did it feel like he was hiding something? Like this wasn’t just about a contract? Why would my husband sign this kind of contract with his killer?
“Fuck you,” I said, hurling the files at his chest.
The papers hit him and slid to the floor.
He clenched his jaw.
“You’ve disrespected me more times than anyone has in my entire life,” he said angrily.
Oh—he cared about respect?
“Then brace yourself sweet husband,” I shot back.
“Because I will make your life a living hell.”
“You don’t know me,” he said, stepping closer.
I stepped forward in a challenging manner, hating that I had to look up at him because he was tall.
“You’re a psycho killer,” I spat, “obsessed with marrying his victim’s wife just because you find her attractive.”
He scoffed. “Do you know how many women would kill just to get a glance from me?”
“Take your face out of the equation,” I said coldly, “and you’d be nothing.”
A cocky smile appeared on his face.
“Oh,” he murmured, “so you do find me attractive.”
My eyes widened in realization.
“I—I didn’t mean that,” I said quickly.
He stepped even closer now, his presence overwhelming.
“Careful, Arina,” he said quietly. “Words like that are dangerous.”
I clenched my fists.
“Fuck you, you asshole" I spat.
“I swear to God, Arina, say that one more time,” he challenged, voice dangerously low.
“Fuck. You,” I yelled again.
In one long stride he closed the distance. His large hand wrapped around my throat—not choking, but firm enough to pin me—and slammed my back against the wall.
The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. His body caged mine, hard chest pressing me flat, thigh shoving between my legs until I was straddling the thick muscle.
“Fuck me?” he growled against my ear, breath hot.
“How about I fuck you. You seem like you need it.”
My eyes widened. A twisted, shameful spark of desire flared low in my belly even as my mind screamed no. I hated him. I hated this.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I forced out, willing my voice not to shake.
His free hand slid to my waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, then yanked me flush against him. My heart skyrocketed. Heat radiated off his body, seeping through my clothes, making my skin flush traitorously.
I could feel his hard dick pressing insistently against my stomach. I gulped at its size.
“Try me,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“Keep running that mouth and I’ll bend you over this desk right now. Make you come so hard you will forget your husband's name.”
“You killed him,” I whispered, voice cracking. “You took everything from me.”
“And yet here you are,” he said darkly, “soaking wet for his killer.”
“Tell me to stop, Arina.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Say it like you mean it.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
His lips curved into a victorious smirk.
“That’s what I thought.”
Without warning his hand dropped lower, sliding down my stomach, under the waistband of my skirt in one ruthless motion.
I gasped, jerking against him.
I didn't know I was wet until his fingers started rubbing circles over the fabric of my soaked pant.
Shame burned through me, I grabbed his wrist trying to push him away.
“Stop fighting it Arina, let me make you come, he whispered.
