Good Morning

Javier~

Soft sunlight warmed my skin, pulling me from a sleep I hadn't meant to fall so deeply into. A soft, unfamiliar weight grazed my chest. My instincts flared, mind snapping into full alert.

I jerked up, hand shooting toward the gun on my nightstand. But I froze mid-motion.

And then my eyes landed on my wife.

My wife.

Curled into my side, her breath light and even, her delicate hand resting against my chest. Strands of midnight-black hair tumbled messily across her face, half hiding those soft features that I'd noticed - of course I had - but never really seen until now. Her lashes fluttered slightly, her lips parted just enough to exhale the gentlest sighs - peaceful, unaware of the chaos that came with me.

I'd never shared my bed with anyone. Not my parents. Not the fucking caretakers. Not my brother. No one.

Sure, I'd slept with more women than I could count - probably around a hundred by now - but I never slept beside them. I never let them stay. And none of them ever tried. After sex, they knew the drill: get dressed, get out.

And here I was, sleeping beside a woman that I hadn't even fucked.

It still felt surreal that I was married. Still felt fucking weird. I always knew it would happen someday, but I didn't think it'd be this soon.

She shifted a little, and the sheet slid down just enough for me to get a perfect view of her tits - soft, full, and fuck, the outline of her nipples showing right through that thin fabric. My eyes stayed right there. Couldn't help it.

I wanted to fuck her senseless last night. When she came out in that tiny white lingerie - that thing hid nothing - I knew I was gonna lose my mind. But I promised I wouldn't touch her. That promise was more for me than for her, to keep my dick in my pants.

I knew she'd be scared, nervous as hell. But I didn't expect her to look me in the face and tell me no.

No one had ever refused to sleep with me. Not because they were scared - but because they fucking wanted a big cock in them.

So yeah, her no? That bruised my ego a little.

I could've forced myself on her. Could've taken what was mine. But I've never forced a woman in my life. I didn't need to. I never had time to go charm someone, play those sweet-talking games. Whores were easier. They knew what they were there for. No drama. No bullshit.

I had to admit - I'd never met a woman as beautiful as Giorgia. Breathtaking, really. Everything about her felt... unreal. She was elegance and grace wrapped in soft curves and innocence - too fucking pure for someone like me.

And yet, every time I looked at her, something hot and possessive twisted in my chest. She was mine. Her fear of me? Unnecessary. But I couldn't fault her for it. Most people couldn't even meet my eyes without trembling.

The sunlight had taken over the room by now, warm and golden.

Giorgia shifted against me, her lashes fluttering. Slowly, she opened her eyes, those big blue eyes - they were very expressive.

I was propped up on my elbow, just staring at her.

It took her a few moments to register where she was. And the second she did, fear flickered across her face. She scrambled up, putting space between us, clutching the blanket to her chest like a shield.

I hated that.

"Get ready," I muttered, my voice coming out rougher than I meant. "They'll be waiting for us at breakfast."

I swung my legs off the bed, running a hand through my hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the way her face flushed - bright, burning red. She couldn't even look at me.

I frowned for half a second... until I glanced down.

Morning wood.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the look on her face and walked out of the bedroom.

As soon as I crossed the hallway, I spotted Ivan lounging in the sitting area, a coffee mug in his hand, looking like absolute shit.

"You look like shit," I muttered, sinking onto the sofa across from him.

He groaned, pushing a hand through his messy hair. "At least I had more action than you last night," he shot back with a smug grin, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

I smirked. He wasn't wrong. I was probably the only guy who got no action on his own fucking wedding night.

"You seem to know everything, don't you?" I muttered, my tone dry.

He chuckled, leaning back. "I mean... considering you're walking around at seven in the morning looking like you need to murder someone... I'm just guessing your new bride didn't let you tap that sweet little ass."

I shot him a look.

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Come on, man. Don't tell me you just tucked her in and said goodnight."

I didn't answer.

Ivan's eyes widened. "You did!" He burst out laughing. "You, the cold-blooded devil, slept next to a gorgeous wife and didn't even touch her. Fucking unbelievable."

I narrowed my eyes at him. He just kept grinning like the cocky bastard he was.

"So... how's the new señora? Tight and delicate like she looks? Or a firecracker in disguise?"

"Watch your mouth," I warned, my tone low.

Ivan just laughed, not taking it seriously at all.

I exhaled sharply. "Where's Victor?"

Ivan shrugged, smirking. "Probably still passed out. Fucked some girl last night - same old, nothing new."

He took another sip of his coffee, adding, "That guy's probably gonna die with his dick in someone."

I huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand down my face. "He'll end up catching something one of these days."

I leaned back into the sofa, resting my head against the cushion for a moment, letting the silence settle.

Ivan's grin faded just a little.

"You good?" he asked, quieter this time.

I didn't answer right away. My jaw tightened. "She looks at me like I'm going to ruin her."

Ivan whistled low. "Well... you might." He shrugged. "But only if she asks nicely."

I didn't laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, man. Just don't let this shit mess with your head. You don't do messy."

I exhaled through my nose, dragging a hand down my face.

Too late for that.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table.

I grabbed it - a message from Darian, our soldier.

Darian: Enrico's men just pulled up. Ten of them.

I cursed under my breath.

Ivan raised a brow. "What?"

I stood up. "Time to get to work."

Ivan groaned, stretching his arms. "There goes the morning peace. Victor better wake the fuck up."

I pushed off the sofa, and headed back upstairs.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. I stepped inside and found Giorgia seated at the dressing table, her back to me.

She was already halfway ready - wearing a pale satin gown with a soft blush corset bodice, molding to her delicate frame.

She didn't turn. Didn't speak. Just sat there, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face with steady, graceful fingers.

Without a word, I grabbed fresh clothes from the wardrobe and headed straight into the bathroom.

The hot water hit my skin, but it didn't do much to ease the tension in my head.

I stepped out of the shower, towel hanging low on my waist, still damp, steam clinging to my skin. My eyes landed on Giorgia, standing by the dresser, packing her bags in silence.

She kept her head down, carefully folding clothes, but I caught it - the way her gaze flicked up, lingering on me for a second longer than it should.

I bit back a smirk. Yeah... she definitely finds me attractive. No doubt. I'd caught her looking last night too. But she's too scared to come close.

I turned away, pulled on a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and watched her from the mirror as I buttoned up.

"We'll head down for breakfast. After that, we leave for Miami," I told her, walking over. She nodded, avoiding my eyes. I reached for her hand without thinking.

She flinched.

I paused, tightening my jaw, but let it slide.

We walked down together, but not close. She sat beside me at the long breakfast table.

Victor finally dragged himself in, looking half-alive, and dropped into the chair across from me. Ivan sat beside him, grinning like a jackass as always.

"Morning, jefe," Victor muttered, reaching for the coffee pot.

"Still breathing, I see," I said dryly.

He smirked. "Barely."

Antonio entered next with that cold, unreadable expression, Stefano right behind him. Neither of them spoke a word to me, which was fine. I didn't care for morning pleasantries.

And then... Martina.

Late, loud, and already annoyed.

She plopped down beside Antonio with a huff. "Seriously, breakfast at eight? You're torturing me."

Ivan snorted. "You're tortured because you're lazy."

"Bite me," she snapped.

I leaned back slightly, watching them all. The table was filled with noise - plates clinking, half-hearted insults, and chatter.

Giorgia sat still, barely moving.

I glanced at her plate. Barely touched.

I nudged her knee under the table.

"Eat," I muttered.

She startled just a little but nodded and picked up her fork.

Ivan caught it, smirking. I ignored him. That bastard was way to observant.

Martina's playful mask slipped for just a second as she leaned in toward her sister - her voice dropping to a near whisper, serious for once.

"How was last night?"

I stiffened. My fingers tapped once against the table.

Careful, Giorgia.

She blinked at her sister, composed on the outside, but I saw the tension in her shoulders.

"Did he behave?" Martina's voice was softer now, cautious, but laced with worry.

I kept my face blank, but inside I was hoping Giorgia had the basic brain not to spill in front of her hotheaded sister that I'd spared her last night. I didn't need anyone - especially not this family - thinking I was soft.

Giorgia just gave a small smile. "Perfectly fine."

Good girl.

Martina narrowed her eyes, suspicious, but let it go with a shrug.

I glanced up and caught Antonio staring at Giorgia - protective, possessive, like she was his to guard..

She met his gaze for just a second, and something passed between them. Some silent exchange I couldn't read - but I didn't like it.

At all.

----

We stood in the driveway, the heat already pressing down, though a light breeze stirred the palm trees lining the estate. Staff moved around us, loading the last of our luggage into the midnight blue Rolls-Royce Sweptail - polished, spotless, and waiting. The engine purred low in the background.

It was finally time to leave for Miami.

My family had left earlier for the airport, leaving just the Torrinis and us in this quiet moment that felt heavier than it should've.

Giorgia moved between them one by one, saying her goodbyes.

She hugged her parents and Antonio, but none of it felt real. Her arms went around them, but there was no warmth in it. No weight.

Until she hugged her sister.

That... felt different.

One thing was clear - Giorgia was far too close to Martina. Closer than she was to her brother, or even her own mother. And her father... out of the question. That bastard only ever cared about power and money.

Camila and I? We had a decent relationship. At least better than whatever Antonio and Giorgia had. It's not like I had a great relationship with my parents either - but we siblings? We had each other's backs. Camila was as close to me as Ivan, and I would've rather died than let her marry my enemy. I wouldn't ever put her through hell like that.

As a brother, Antonio had miserably failed to protect his sister.

Not that he cared.

Giorgia stepped back from her family and slowly walked toward me. I opened the passenger door without a word, watching her slide in gracefully, her eyes already distant.

I got behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway. In the rearview mirror, I saw her waving at her family - small, soft gestures that somehow felt heavy.

We drove in silence. The morning sun was bright, the breeze warm, tugging at her hair as it danced around her face. Her eyes stayed fixed on the window, but her hands... they kept fidgeting in her lap.

I narrowed my eyes on the road.

"What's up?" I asked, my voice low but firm.

"Nothing," she murmured, still looking away.

I clenched my jaw. "Let me remind you - I'm your husband. And you're not supposed to lie to me."

She exhaled shakily, her fingers twisting tighter.

"Now," I pushed, "tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

There was a pause. Her lashes lowered as she stared at her hands, voice barely audible.

"Martina," she whispered.

I figured.

She took a breath and continued, her tone soft, broken in places. "She's alone now... I've always been there for her. And now I'm not. She doesn't show it much, but she's... fragile inside."

I didn't interrupt. Just let her speak, her voice getting quieter with every word.

"She puts on this tough act, but I know her. She's going to hate me for leaving."

I shifted gears as we neared the highway, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.

"She'll be fine," I said. "She has your mother. And Antonio."

She gave a bitter laugh under her breath. "You really think Antonio cares?"

I didn't answer. Because we both knew the truth.

Minutes passed in silence again until the airport gates came into view. I turned into the private terminal entrance, security waving us through.

"We're here," I muttered, pulling up by the curb.

The private jet was waiting on the tarmac, gleaming under the sun, engines humming softly - ready for takeoff.

I parked, and one of the staff rushed forward to open Giorgia's door. She stepped out, quiet, composed, but I could feel the weight in her shoulders.

We climbed the stairs, and inside, the cabin was already buzzing.

Ivan was sprawled comfortably, listening to the discussion going on. Our father and Victor, sat beside him, flipping through some paperwork. Across from them was Yadiel - our consigliere - sharp-eyed, as always, already discussing logistics with them.

I nodded to them and took my place with the men.

Giorgia slipped into a seat with Camila, who immediately took her hand and whispered something that made her smile faintly. My mother was beside them, giving Giorgia a small forced smile.

The doors sealed with a soft hiss.

The engines roared to life.

And just like that, we were in the air, leaving Vegas behind and heading straight to Miami.

The life she knew was over.

And the one waiting for her?

Well... that one belonged to me.