Dance with the Devil: Chapter 14

Francesca groans as I place both hands on the side of her head, pressing my body against hers. If I could bottle that tinny, little sound for later, I would. I’m addicted—to the way she smells, the soft fullness of her lips, the taste of coffee and cake from the tiramisu, the soft feel of her hair, the way her body molds perfectly to mine…

There’s no going back now.

Before, we could’ve dragged our little game on for the rest of the trip. We could’ve been cordial during the day and forgotten about what happened after dark.

Now?

She’d kissed me in broad daylight.

We’d both crossed a line—and I was ready to jump off the deep end with her.

“Hey!” someone shouts behind me.

Francesca immediately pulls away from me, taking a step back as a man walks right over to her, shaking a piece of paper in his hand.

“You left without paying,” he sneers, ignoring me as he steps closer to her. Her eyes go wide as the man continues to intimidate her with a stern gaze. I instinctively take a step forward, ready to intervene. “Are you really going to steal right under my nose?” he asks.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask, pulling my wallet out and grabbing a stack of cash. “She wasn’t feeling well and ran out. I don’t appreciate you speaking to her like that,” I add, clenching my jaw.

The man looks me up and down, unimpressed. “Yeah, there is. Your girlfriend here tried to dine and dash,” he says, glaring at Francesca. “Figures. Dressed like that, you must think you can get away with⁠—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, because in one swift movement, I punch him. My fist connects with his mouth, and he flies backward onto the ground. His lip is split, and it’s bleeding. Crouching down, he flinches when I grab his shirt by the collar and tighten the material around his throat until he’s sputtering. I pull him close until our faces are inches apart, and I relish in the way blood is dripping down onto his pristine, white dress shirt.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I growl. “How much do I owe you?”

His eyes widen, and I see the bravado fade completely as I tighten my grip. “Ninety-eight dollars. Plus tip,” he adds, eyes frantic.

This motherfucker.

I pull two hundred dollars out of my wallet. “Here’s a one hundred percent tip, but only if you apologize to her,” I grit out.

He strains to look at Francesca, who is watching this whole exchange with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Sorry,” he grumbles, hardly audible.

“Louder,” I demand with a low rumble, shaking him slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, louder this time, blood staining his teeth red.

I release the pathetic asshole and throw the cash down onto him. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The man stumbles into a standing position, pocketing the money quickly and muttering under his breath as he walks away. I turn to Francesca, who looks both relieved and shaken.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I just ran out.”

“I wasn’t thinking when I ran after you,” I say, cocking my head. “I’m sorry for what I said about your childhood. I didn’t mean to trigger you.”

She swallows, and I watch as her delicate throat bobs. “You were right. I’d never thought about it in that way. The instability made me crave stability.”

I shrug. “There are worse traumas to work through. I can recommend some therapists if you’d like to dig deeper one day.”

Her lips pull into a teasing smile as she crosses her arms. The gesture presses her breasts up, and all I can think about is circling my tongue around her nipples, nibbling and sucking until she’s gasping for relief.

Or—pushing her down onto a bed with my hand around her throat as my cock fucks the space between those soft, supple globes.

“You mean you don’t want to continue being my therapist?” she asks innocently.

My lips twist into something I hope resembles a smile as I take a step closer. “As much as I’d love to continue dissecting you and figuring out what makes you tick, it would be unethical,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. “But I suppose there are other ways I can help you.”

Her breath hitches as I reach a hand up to her face, tracing my fingers along her jaw. Flickering with curiosity, her eyes scan my face.

“Oh? How so?”

This delicate line we’re treading is exhausting but also fun. Watching her squirm—watching her deny what’s happening between us… it only makes me want to keep going.

Keep pushing the limits.

Keep testing her.

“A raise, perhaps?”

That’s not the answer she expects. Her face falls as she realizes I’m serious.

“You pay me enough. But I won’t say no to another raise.”

“Good.”

“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” she asks, brows pinched.

I step back and mirror her body language by crossing my arms. “What happened?”

Her eyes flick between mine as I smirk, and then I turn around and walk down the street.

The clicking of her heels tells me that she’s following me.

We talk the entire way to the Four Seasons, and I realize with sudden clarity that I need to make her mine permanently.

I don’t know how, but I’m going to figure it out.

By the time we get back to the hotel, Francesca is exhausted, so she says good night before retreating to her room.

The click of the lock is disappointing, but I distract myself with work until my eyes are stinging.

I fall asleep and for the first night in a long time, it’s a dreamless, dead sleep.

March 8th

I can still feel the warmth of her lips on mine, the taste of her lingering like a drug I can’t get enough of. I’ve played that moment over and over in my mind, dissecting every detail—how her breath caught when I moved closer, the way her eyes searched mine, like she was waiting for me to make the first move.

I did.

And I’m terrified.

It wasn’t just desire coursing through me—it was something deeper, something that feels like it’s been buried inside me for years, waiting for her to unlock it. The longing, the need to make her mine, to keep her safe, to build a life with her—it all surged to the surface. It’s like I’ve been walking through life numb, and now, with her, I finally feel awake.

I want to make her mine forever. This isn’t just about the thrill of having her; it’s about more than that. It’s about creating something permanent, something real. I see a future with her, a family, something I never thought I’d have. A home that isn’t filled with silence and coldness, but with warmth, love, and the sound of children’s laughter. Our children. A family she and I create together.

I know I’m crossing a line. I’ve crossed so many already that it’s hard to see where the lines even are anymore. But I don’t care. She’s brought something to life inside me that I thought was long dead. Ever since Rocco died, just minutes after he was born, I’ve carried this emptiness. The pages and pages of things we would do together still sit on my desk, unused for decades. The path I thought my life would take, the reliability and predictability… I thought things would stay perfect forever.

My mother never recovered, and my stepfather… he made sure we all suffered for it. That kind of loss, that kind of pain—it changes you. It hardens you. But with Francesca, it feels like there’s a chance to fill that void, to heal in a way I never thought possible.

She doesn’t know about what else my stepfather did, about the nights I spent imagining what it would be like if Rocco had lived, if I’d had a brother to protect from the world and if my mother had never met him. Never had a reason to leave my father. I’ve never told anyone. It’s always been locked away, along with all the memories of those verbal lashings, the way my stepfather’s eyes would darken before he struck with words dripped in venom. But now, with her, I want to share everything. I want to let her in, show her all the broken pieces, and let her help me put them back together.

I know this might seem wrong to others—maybe even to her. But I’ve learned that morality isn’t always black and white. Sometimes, it’s about survival, about doing what you have to do to keep the things you love. I’ve had to live in the gray areas my whole life, and this is no different. What we have, what we could have—it’s worth any price.

She’s my salvation, my redemption. The only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than the sum of my darkness.