21. MARCO RUSSO

Why was she taking so long?

Was Uncle Christian home?

Was something wrong with her health?

Had she forgotten about our plan?

I stood beside my car, parked just across from Dahlia's house, the quiet hum of the suburban Saturday night pressing in around me. Only five minutes had passed, but it felt like an eternity. Time slows in the grip of anticipation, especially when it's been two agonizing weeks since I last saw her.

No excuses—just the truth. I missed her. More than I should admit. Our chats and late-night calls had kept me going, but I was starving for her presence. Desperation clawed at my chest, and I wasn't ashamed of it.

Then the front door creaked open.

My heart surged, but the wave of happiness crashed the moment I saw Aunt Stella stepping out instead.

What the hell?

I loved her—she was family—but right now, I wished she'd simply stayed inside. My disappointment must have been written all over my face, because she smiled gently, walked over, and gave my arm a reassuring pat.

"Don't look so shocked," she said with a wink. "I'm here to help."

I stared at her, still trying to understand what exactly she meant.

Aunt Stella, even at 44, looked like she hadn't aged a day past thirty. Those expressive doe eyes, the cascade of dark curls—it wasn't hard to see why Uncle Christian had never glanced at another woman since meeting her.

And it became strikingly clear—Dahlia had inherited her mother's stunning beauty and her father's sharp mind. A dangerous combination.

"You look lovely as always," I managed to say. "But to what do I owe the honor of you helping me tonight, Aunt?"

She chuckled softly. "Thank you, dear. I'm here to make sure you and Lia have a safe night—without Christian breathing down your neck. Someone has to cover for you two."

I smiled—then froze.

Wait. Cover for us?

My face must've betrayed me, because she gave me that knowing look and added, "I only found out this afternoon. Dahlia was texting you, and—well—I figured things out. I'll admit, it was a surprise."

I nodded, unable to find words.

"You know," she continued, voice low, gaze fixed on the gate, "I'm happy. Dahlia couldn't have chosen better. You're a good man—and responsible. I just want you to understand one thing: my daughter loves with her whole heart. Don't break it. She won't recover if you do."

There was no malice in her tone. Just honesty. Maternal. Fierce.

"I promise, Aunt Stella," I said quietly. "I would never hurt her. She's the light in my darkness. A part of me I didn't even know was missing."

She turned to me then, her eyes warm. "I know you won't."

Just as Aunt Stella was about to speak again, a soft voice interrupted from behind her.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

I turned, and there she was—Dahlia.

She moved toward us, the faint porch light casting a warm glow across her face. She looked ethereal in a flowing emerald-green dress that danced around her legs with each step. The color made her skin look like moonlight and brought out the whiskey eyes. Her curls, thick and soft, had been swept to one side, resting gently over her bare shoulder. Even if she had shown up in a worn-out hoodie and sweatpants, I knew I'd still feel the same way—utterly disarmed. But tonight, she was beyond beautiful. She was breathtaking.

And she was mine.

My heart skipped its predictable beat, a rhythm it seemed to have memorized every time I looked at her. It didn't matter how long we'd been apart or how many calls we'd shared in the weeks before—I never got used to seeing her like this.

She was my diamond—flawless, rare, and utterly hers.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" she asked, eyebrows raised, a touch of amusement in her voice.

"I was telling him to use protection," Aunt Stella said without missing a beat, mischief dancing in her voice. "I'm not ready to be a grandmother just yet."

I blinked.

Did she really just say that?

I had to stifle my laugh, but a grin still tugged at the corner of my mouth. I'd never expected Aunt Stella to throw a line like that—but honestly, I kind of loved her for it.

"Mom! I thought we already had this conversation... in the living room," Lia said, her voice half a groan, half a plea. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink.

"With you, yes. Not with him," Aunt Stella said smugly, clearly enjoying the moment.

"B, what are you laughing about?" Lia turned to me, flustered, as I let out a low laugh.

"I love this side of her," I said, shaking my head. "But message received, Aunt Stella. Loud and clear."

She gave me a knowing smile and a wink. "Good."

"So... shall we go now?" I asked, turning toward Lia.

She nodded, then leaned in to whisper something to her mother—something private, something soft. Aunt Stella's expression softened, and she wrapped her in a quick but warm hug before gently patting her back.

"Have fun. Be safe," she said, and turned back toward the penthouse.

I opened the car door for Lia, and she slid in. I followed her lead, walking around to the driver's side, my heart still catching from the moment before. I slid into my seat and, before starting the car, leaned over to give her a brief kiss on the lips.

She smelled like fresh roses. Like coming home.

She looked at me for a heartbeat longer, her whiskey-colored eyes glowing with something between affection and curiosity. Then she turned her face toward the window, the moment slipping into silence like a gentle sigh.

I started the engine. The soft rumble of the car broke the stillness, and I shifted us into gear. We began to roll away from the curb, from the porch light, from Aunt Stella's silhouette framed against the doorway.

"So," she said quietly, still watching the world pass beyond her window, "what are we doing tonight?"

I glanced at her, smirking. "I've got a few things planned. Thought I'd surprise you. Things I think you'll find... very interesting."

Her lips curved up faintly—just the ghost of a smile—but her reflection in the window gave it away: she was pleased. That subtle look she gave me when I'd done something right, when I'd managed to tug her just a little closer out of her shell.

"I'm sure you do," she murmured, almost to herself.

For a while, we drove in silence. The streets were half-empty, bathed in the soft orange of streetlights. Everything about the night felt suspended—like it existed only for the two of us.

I glanced at her again.

"So... how are you doing?" I asked, my voice low, uncertain. I don't know why it came out like that. Maybe it was the way she looked—elegant, poised, but also a little distant tonight. Or maybe it was just me. I felt like a teenager again—nervous, hyper-aware of every word, every breath between us.

She was quiet for a moment, and then she answered.

"Better," she said softly. "Healing."

Her eyes were still on the glass, but I could see her fingers tightening in her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

Then she turned to me quickly, like she was about to say something—like a thought had just broken through. But the words didn't come. Her lips parted for half a second before she caught herself.

Instead, she gave me a small smile. Not the bright, playful one she wore with ease. This one was hesitant. Guarded. A smile she wore when she was still deciding whether to let someone in.

"Trust me, Lia," I said softly, letting my voice drop into the quiet space between us. "You can tell me anything."

She didn't respond immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the motionless darkness beyond the windshield, lashes casting shadows across her cheekbones. There was a pause—measured, uncertain—as though she were weighing the weight of her truth. Then, with a small sigh, she began to fiddle with the strap of her bag, her fingers moving in restless circles.

"I spoke to my parents," she said, almost under her breath. "About everything... everything that happened. And why I kept it from them for so long."

I gave her my full attention. "Yeah? How did it go?"

Her lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but something close. "Better than I expected. They didn't judge me. They didn't ask why I didn't come to them sooner. They just... listened." Her voice cracked a little on the last word. "They felt guilty. Not angry. And that meant more to me than I can explain."

I squeezed her hand gently. "That's good, Lia. It sounds like they really listened."

"They did," she whispered.

She nodded slowly. "And it made me realize... if I could finally be honest with them, maybe it's time I'm completely honest with you too. You've become such an important part of my life, my love. You deserve to know the whole truth."

I stayed quiet and waited—no pressure, just presence.

And then she told me.

Everything.

"Roland..." She paused, swallowing hard. "He wasn't just manipulating me. He... he forced himself on me. Every time I tried to push him away, he made me feel like it was my fault, like I deserved it. He told me that if I didn't do what he wanted, I'd lose everything. My career. My family. I started believing him. I thought if I didn't... if I didn't do it, no one would love me. I thought... I thought I was nothing. Just a tool for his pleasure."

The words hit me like a tidal wave. I gripped the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turned white. My entire body tensed, rage bubbling up inside me—rage for what he'd done to her, for the way he'd twisted her mind and soul. But I kept my voice steady, quiet, so she wouldn't hear the fury that threatened to break free.

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I thought I had to be perfect. That I had to please everyone, even him. I starved myself, Marco. I thought if I just looked a certain way, if I could be beautiful enough, I'd finally be good enough. But it was never enough for him. And it was never enough for me."

The anger I had been holding back was no longer contained. My jaw clenched as I turned toward her. "Lia, listen to me. You are perfect. You are beautiful, inside and out. You don't owe anyone—especially not that bastard—anything. He didn't deserve you. You were always worthy of love. This... this is bullshit. All of it."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with such raw pain, but there was something else too. "I used to believe it, Marco. I thought I was broken. I didn't think anyone would ever see me as I really am."

"You are not broken, Lia. And if anyone ever tries to make you feel like that again, I will burn the world down for you," I said, my voice low and intense. My hands gripped the steering wheel, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. The rage I felt for Roland was like a fire inside me, threatening to consume everything.

Lia's eyes widened at my words, but she didn't pull away. She let me speak, the silence between us only growing heavier. I wasn't done. Not yet. "No one gets to treat you like that. Not him, not anyone. And if I ever meet him again... if I ever cross paths with him again, I swear I will make him beg for mercy. He will never get away with this. I will tear him apart for what he did to you."

But he is dead.

The fucker is dead before I got to him.

It would be my regret.

always.

Lia's hand reached out, trembling, and she placed it on my chest. "Marco, I don't want you to hurt anyone. I don't want you to carry that kind of rage. Not for me."

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to try and calm the storm inside me. "I can't help it, Lia. The thought of someone hurting you—someone like him—makes me want to tear everything down. No one gets to do that to you. You are mine to protect. I will destroy anyone who dares lay a hand on you."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, I thought I might have scared her, but when I opened my eyes, she was looking at me with a softness I hadn't expected.

"Marco..." Her voice was tender, her eyes filled with something deeper. "I don't need you to destroy anyone. I just need you to be here. With me. I don't want to carry this weight anymore."

I exhaled sharply, nodding. "I'm here, Lia. I'll always be here. And I'll carry whatever you need me to. But I will never let anyone hurt you again. I'll make sure you never feel that fear again. You are safe now."

Her gaze softened, and I saw the vulnerability in her eyes as she leaned closer. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough. For loving me like you do. For seeing me for who I really am, not what he tried to make me believe."

"You don't need to thank me," I whispered, my voice rough with emotion. "I love you. You're my world. And no one—no one—is ever going to take that from me."

The air between us thickened, charged with something more than just anger. It was love—dark, intense, and fierce. It was a bond formed from pain and protection, from the willingness to go to any lengths to keep each other safe.

Her breath hitched as she leaned in, her lips brushing against mine, soft and desperate. "Promise me," she whispered against my lips, "promise me you'll always be here."

"I promise, Lia. Forever. I'll be here. And no one will ever hurt you again."

[................]

"We're here," I said, the words coming out deeper than usual, my heart racing as I parked the car. I got out, swiftly moving to her side and opening the door. Before she could take a step, I pulled her toward me, unable to wait any longer.

I kissed her deeply, tasting the sweetness of her lips and the faint hint of coffee that lingered from our earlier conversation. My hands slid to her cheeks, cupping her face with a possessiveness I couldn't control. The kiss was urgent, raw, a promise of everything I had been holding back for the past two weeks. She was mine in that moment, and I was consumed by the feeling of it.

When we finally broke the kiss, I held her for a moment longer, burying my chin against the top of her head, breathing her in, feeling her heart thumping against mine. I had missed her more than words could express.

"Impatient as ever," she teased, a smile pulling at her lips.

"I never claimed to be virtuous, sweetheart," I murmured, the edge of a smirk playing at my mouth. "As you'll see tonight." I leaned in, my voice lowering into something darker, "I find sinning more fun."

Her eyes flickered with something between curiosity and amusement. But before I could say another word, she pulled away, her hand grabbing mine and tugging me toward the house.

Once inside, I dropped to my knees in front of her, taking off her heels with deliberate care. My hands lingered on her soft skin, my touch almost reverent. The connection between us was electric, each movement charged with something deeper than mere affection.

"I never thought I would get a man like you," she said softly, her voice tender as she gazed down at me. There was love in her eyes—pure, unwavering. "When I first met you, I never thought we would end like this."

I looked up at her as I placed her heels gently on the floor, standing up to kiss her once more, a kiss that was soft, but carried a promise—a promise I intended to keep. "Neither did I," I whispered against her lips. "But here we are."

She chuckled, pulling away slightly with a playful glint in her eyes. "Careful, Mr. Russo, or I might think you're desperate."

"I am desperate, diamond." My voice dropped low, a quiet intensity lacing the words. I wasn't trying to hide my feelings. Not now. Not with her.

She raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile curving her lips. "Well, if you're desperate, you better cook me something good." She pouted, playfully, before adding, "I'm starving, and you cook so well."

"Of course, sweetheart." I smiled back at her, happy to do whatever it took to make her smile. I moved toward the kitchen, a sense of comfort settling over me as I began working on the dinner. Gnocchi, meatball cannelloni, and a simple pasta dish—something that felt like home.

As I was chopping and stirring, she entered the kitchen, standing beside me, watching quietly for a moment before speaking.

"Who taught you to cook?" she asked, her voice curious.

"Dad taught me how to make pizza and pasta," I replied, a nostalgic smile crossing my face as I recalled those days. "He was a legend in the kitchen. Mom and Greta taught me the rest. I miss Greta a lot. She was more like a grandmother to me than my actual one." My words trailed off, the sadness hitting me like it always did when I thought of her. Greta had been part of my family for so long, and losing her had left a hole in my heart.

Lia's voice softened as she responded. "I know what it was like when she passed. I'm sorry, Marco."

The sympathy in her voice broke through the brief wall of my memories, and I offered her a small smile, though the ache for Greta still lingered. "It's all right. Thank you."

Changing the subject, I tried to lighten the mood. "Do you cook?" I asked, hoping to take our conversation somewhere less heavy.

"I know how to cook," she said, smiling. "Mom taught me. But I don't cook that often." She then glanced over the dinner spread. "How long will this take to make?"

"Quite a while." I chuckled, glancing at her, before adding, "But I don't mind."

"Then I guess I'm going to watch a movie in the living room," she said, slipping away from my side.

I worked on, the kitchen now filled with the comforting scents of a meal being prepared. When we finally sat down to eat, Lia took a mouthful of pasta and sighed happily.

"You're a master chef," she said, her eyes bright with appreciation.

"Thanks for the compliment," I replied with a grin.

She looked over the spread of food, her brow raised slightly. "Well, don't you think this is a lot for just us two?"

I gave her a teasing look, the playful tone returning. "You're going to eat it all. You don't eat that much, so you need to make up for it."

"I don't eat that much," she said, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated sigh, "but I'll try. My capacity might increase with time." She gave me a pointed look.

I couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, her beautiful whiskey eyes sparkling with that lightheartedness that made her so irresistible.

Then, just as I was about to take a bite, I remembered the topic I needed to bring up. "So, what are you planning to do with Martha?"

Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing her face. She placed her fork down, her lips tight as she thought about it. "I'm confused," she said, her voice quiet but heavy with emotion. "I don't want the vendetta. Maybe I'll just confront her and go to the police. I'm just... broken. She backstabbed me. She was with me for six years, Marco. I gave her everything. And this is how she repays me?"

Her voice broke on the last word, and it took everything in me to keep my composure. I had never seen her so vulnerable, so defeated. The anger that flared inside me at her words was nearly uncontrollable.

"I forgot to ask," she continued, her gaze distant. "What have you guys done with the police on this matter?"

I set my fork down too, thinking for a moment. " Alex handled them... or should I say, bribed them?" I added with a wry smile, remembering the money he slipped to some officers in a discreet meeting. "But it worked."

Lia nodded slowly, her gaze turning inward as she processed it all. "I should have known."

"If you want to send her to jail, I'm with you, Lia. Whatever you decide, I'm by your side. It's your battle. But no matter what, I will support you," I said firmly, my voice soft but unyielding.

The betrayal she had endured weighed heavily on me too. The woman who had been a sister, a confidante, had turned on her in the worst way possible. The pain of that betrayal must've been suffocating, and I would help her carry it.

"I know," she said softly, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the turmoil she was feeling.

We spent the rest of the evening talking about lighter things, and by the end of dinner, her laughter filled the air. Hearing her laugh, seeing her smile—that was my euphoria. I couldn't get enough of it. I would spend every moment I had left making sure she was happy, safe, and loved.

I would never stop fighting for her..

I pulled down the straps of her dress and pushed the dress down until it was no longer on her body. She wasn't wearing a bra. I pulled her head back and kissed her neck. Her fluttering pulse.

She started to unbutton my shirt and push it off my body.

I hooked her legs around me and pushed her to the bed. I started licking and sucking on her hardened nipples while she squirmed beneath me.

I was still playing and pinching her nipples when I ripped her panties in one tug. I threw the ripped material somewhere in the room.

"Marco,what...oh god." Her words died down when I massaged her clit with my thumb.

I increased the pressure on her clit while I slid two fingers inside her. Stretching her.

So wet. So perfect. So mine.

Slowly at first, but then I fucked her tight little cunt with my fingers hard and fast. I had to keep my hands on her writhing hips to make her still.

Her sweet whimpers and moans were music to my ears.

She was close to her edge. I could feel it in the way her core clenched around my fingers.

"Marco, please, please. I can't..." She moaned.

"Do you need to cum, sweetheart?" I asked her, pumping my fingers in and out of her in agonizing slowness.

"Fuck, yes," she said in a breathless voice again. "Yes, please let me."

"Not yet. Let me feel you around my cock." I removed my fingers from her, and she let out a frustrated whimper.

I quickly shucked off my pants and rolled on a condom.

"Spread your legs wider. Let me see that perfect little pussy of yours." I commanded and let out a groan when she obeyed.

The sight in front of me was going to come into my sleep from now on.

I quickly positioned myself at her entrance. And in one swift thrust, I buried myself into her fully.

Lia let out a loud squeal. For the first time, I am glad that there is no one nearby.

Starting slowly, I started fucking her hard and rough. She seemed to love it by the way she was moaning and cleaning every time I pushed in.

She had closed her eyes.

I gripped her throat until she opened them.

"Open your eyes." My voice is raw with lust. "Look in the mirror while I am fucking you."

There was a mirror that gave a full image of the filthy things we were doing. She looked at it, and her cheeks reddened even more.

I smirked.

"You like that?Hmm," I taunted. "Watch me wreck your pussy while you make a mess all over my cock."

She couldn't say anything over her thundering pulse. Continuous moans came out of her permanently half-opened mouth. She parted her legs wider to take me more.

"Please, Marco," she pleaded, sweat beading her forehead.

"It looks like my whore needs to come." I smirked. "Then come for me."

I reached between our bodies and rubbed my thumb over her clit, immediately tipping her over the edge.

She came with a sharp cry. I slowed my pace but fucked with the same power. I came soon after. I put the discarded condom in the trash and came back to the room.

Lia remained in the same position I had left her in, her breathing heavy and uneven.

Carefully, I scooped her into my arms, my heart swelling with a mix of love and worry.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was soft, weak, but there was a tinge of curiosity in it as her eyes fluttered open.

"Giving you a bath," I replied, trying to keep my tone light and teasing, though I knew she could tell there was more concern in my voice than I intended. Gently, I set her down on the bathroom floor, the tiles cool against her skin.

I moved quickly to the shower, adjusting the temperature of the water until it was just right. When I turned back to her, my eyes caught her staring down at her stomach, her hand hovering just above the fresh scar that marred the smoothness of her skin

It was more than just the injury—it was a symbol of her survival, her bravery in the face of unimaginable pain.

I took a step closer, my heart aching for her as I watched her, her expression soft but distant. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, pulling her close, the heat of her skin pressing against me. She tensed for just a moment, but then melted into my embrace, her body surrendering to the comfort of my touch.

"Is it bothering you that it will leave a scar?" I asked, my voice low and gentle, almost hesitant. I knew the answer before I even spoke the words, but I needed to hear it from her. I needed to understand.

"Partially," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, tinged with vulnerability. She didn't look up at me, but I could feel the way her body stiffened as she placed her hand over the scar, tracing the outline. "Do you find me ugly with it?"

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I pulled her closer, the softness of her body against mine grounding me. I kissed the side of her head, my lips lingering on her skin as I spoke the words that had been in my heart since the moment I'd laid eyes on her.

"I will never find you ugly, Diamond," I said, using the name that had become as much a part of her as the strength she carried. "You will always shine like a diamond for me." I could feel her tremble slightly in my arms, but I held her tighter, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her head, as if to remind her of the truth. "This scar? It only makes you more beautiful, because it's a symbol of your bravery. A reminder of everything you've survived."

For a long moment, she didn't say anything, and I thought she might pull away, retreating into herself. But then, I felt her hand on my cheek, her touch so gentle, so hesitant. And then, she spoke, her voice barely audible, as if the words were fragile, something too sacred to say too loudly.

"I love you," she whispered, the weight of her confession hanging in the air, tender and raw.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, letting her words sink into me. I pulled her closer, my lips brushing against her temple as I responded, my voice thick with emotion. "I love you too, sweetheart."

In that moment, everything else faded away—the scar, the pain, the fear. All that mattered was her, and the love that we shared. The world could break apart around us, but nothing would ever change the way I felt for her. Not even this wound. This scar would never take away her beauty, her strength, her grace. It would only make her more mine.

She let out a moan when I slipped her hand between her legs.

The shower then turned out to be another round of sex for us. We left the shower after an hour, so tired and sated with pleasure.

______________________________

OKAY, I WANT SOME ADVICE. DO YOU ALL WANT LIA AND MARCO GET MARRIED AT THE END OR NOT? OR A DIFFERENT KINDA ENDING. TELL ME IN THE COMMENT.

VOTE AND FOLLOW.

XOXO.^_^