The Prototype

66. Forgiveness

The chatter and laughter grew louder, mingling with the faint clinking of glasses and the hum of classical strings from the live orchestra beyond the ballroom doors. But none of it mattered. Not when she was pressed against my side, her scent taunting me, her presence a relentless test of my control.

Standing near the entrance, Godmother and Uncle Galilei waiting, their eyes immediately locking onto us.

"Don't you two look absolutely gorgeous," Godmother murmured, her voice soft, as she took us both in. Her dark brown eyes flickering between us, but there was something deeper in her eyes—something almost knowing.

As we stepped closer, she opened her arms, her silent invitation warm and nurturing. "Thank you, Madrina," I murmured, leaning in, greeting her with subtle kisses on each cheek, the scent of roses and aged wisdom clinging to her.

Uncle Galilei and I exchanged a firm handshake, his grip steady, the weight of a thousand unsaid words passing between us. A moment later, Godmother turned to Tempest, "Glad to see that you decided to come." her lips curving into a smile as she embraced her, sharing the same soft kisses.

We continued our walk, entering the ballroom, the grandeur of the space unfolded before us. The room pulsed with energy, a blend of power, wealth, and deception wrapped in silk and shadow. Men in tailored suits, women draped in designer gowns, all of them moving through the space like chess pieces, navigating the politics of the underworld disguised as civility.

My hand slid over Tempest's waist, fingers pressing into her side, a quiet command. I leaned down, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "There's going to be a lot of interactions and mingling. Prepare yourself and stay close to me."

Her head turned, her eyes locking onto mine, unflinching, unreadable. "I'm used to this by now. You don't have to talk me through it."

A slow, menacing smirk curled my lips. "Oh, how I enjoy talking you through it." My voice dipped lower, dark and laced with a promise and every step we took.

Tempest let out a soft laugh, but there was nothing sweet about it. It was sharp, teasing—dangerous. She leaned in, the warmth of her breath ghosting over my skin, her lips brushing against my ear making my blood turn molten.

"I advise you not to start your antics," she murmured, voice like velvet and steel, wicked and sharp. Her lips pressed closer, a barely-there whisper of contact making my jaw lock, my muscles coiling tight. "I'm not wearing any panties. And I'm sure you would hate for your peers to see how wet I get."

Her words sliced through the thread of my restraint like a blade through flesh.

My grip on her waist tightened, my fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. My jaw clenched, my teeth grinding, my entire body going taut with a need so violent it nearly took me out.

I exhaled slowly, forcing control, forcing logic into a brain swimming in heat and darkness. But fuck—she was making it impossible. The way her body molded into mine, the way I could feel the heat of her, the way her scent curled into my lungs like the sweetest kind of poison.

"Marcellus!"

The sound of my name ripped through the haze, shoving me back into reality with a force that made my muscles coil tighter.

My head snapped toward the voice, my expression unreadable as I watched Joseph Salvatore, Vincenzo, and Leonardo making their way toward me. My hand instinctively grasp Tempest closer, my fingers pressing into the curve of her hip like a silent warning.

Vincenzo's eyes landed on her, lingering too long. My grip flexed. My jaw clenched. My mind flashed with an image—his body hitting the ground, a bullet lodged between his fucking eyes. The itch to make it real scratched at my skin.