Chapter 169: And I’m Going To Fuck You Again

He pulled the sheet away from her body, revealing bruises on her hips, her thighs, her breasts from his hands and mouth.

Evidence of his possession.

"You marked me," Isabella breathed.

"Yes. And I’m going to mark you again. So every time you look in the mirror, every time you move and feel the ache, you remember me. Remember this. Remember that Dimitri Valentino isn’t the only man who can make you feel something."

Isabella should have protested.

Should have said she was too sore, too tired, needed time to recover.

But the truth was, she wanted this.

Wanted to feel wanted. Wanted to be desired so badly that he couldn’t wait. Wanted to forget Dimitri for just a little longer.

"Okay," she whispered.

The man’s eyes darkened with satisfaction.

***

POV: DANTE

Dante had Isabella exactly where he wanted her.

Vulnerable. Desperate. Willing to do anything for scraps of affection.

Perfect.

He’d learned more than he’d expected last night, before the sex, when she’d been drunk and crying at the bar.

She’d told him everything.

About her childhood spent preparing to be Dimitri’s wife. About learning languages and combat and seduction. About fourteen years of waiting, of loving a man who barely acknowledged her existence.

About watching him choose Eve.....nobody, nothing, just an American businesswoman over her.

About the humiliation of being cast aside after giving her entire life to him.

Dante had listened. Had played the sympathetic stranger. Had bought her drinks and let her cry on his shoulder.

And then he’d taken her home and fucked her until she forgot her own name.

Now, three weeks later, she was addicted.

To the sex. To feeling wanted. To the temporary relief he provided from her pain.

And she had no idea who he really was.

No idea that the hands currently spreading her thighs had also planned the ambush on Dimitri three weeks ago.

No idea that the man she was letting inside her body was the head of the family Dimitri had tried to destroy.

No idea she was fucking her almost-fiancé’s enemy.

The irony was delicious.

Dante positioned himself at her entrance, watched her face as he pushed inside.

She winced.....still swollen from last night, but didn’t ask him to stop.

Just wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

"Say his name," Dante commanded.

Isabella’s eyes fluttered closed. "Dimitri...."

"Louder."

"Dimitri...." Her voice broke as he thrust particularly hard.

"That’s it. Scream for a man who doesn’t want you. Scream for a man who threw you away. Scream while I fuck you better than he ever could."

Isabella did.

Screamed and cried and begged while Dante took her with brutal efficiency.

Used her body to work out his rage. His grief. His need for revenge.

And the whole time, he imagined Dimitri’s face when he found out.

When he discovered that Isabella Russo.....perfect mafia princess, trained from childhood to be the ideal wife, was addicted to Romano cock.

When he saw the photos Dante’s men were already collecting. The videos. The proof that his former fiancée was broken and desperate and being used by his enemy.

It wouldn’t destroy Dimitri, Dante knew that.

Dimitri didn’t love Isabella. Barely thought about her.

But it would humiliate him. Would damage his reputation. Would show weakness.

And weakness, in their world, was blood in the water.

Other families would see it. Would know that Dimitri Valentino couldn’t even control his own former betrothed. That she’d turned to his enemies for comfort.

It was a small victory.

But it was a start.

And Dante had plans for much bigger victories ahead.

Isabella came with a sob, Dimitri’s name on her lips.....and Dante followed soon after.

Spilling inside her. Marking her. Claiming her.

Mine, some primal part of him growled.

Even though he knew it was a lie.

Isabella would never be his. Would never stop wanting Dimitri.

But that was fine.

Dante didn’t want her heart.

Just her body. Her secrets. Her position as a weapon against the man he hated.

He pulled out carefully, watched her collapse boneless against the pillows.

"I have to go," he said, standing and reaching for his clothes.

"When will I see you again?" Isabella’s voice was small. Vulnerable.

"When I feel like it."

He said it deliberately cruel. Testing her.

Seeing how much she’d take.

Isabella flinched but didn’t argue.

Just nodded.

"Okay."

Perfect.

She was so desperate for attention that she’d accept whatever scraps he threw her.

Would wait for his texts. Would drop everything when he called. Would spread her legs whenever he wanted.

All while thinking she was using him.

Never realizing he was the one in control.

Dante finished dressing, pocketed his cigarettes, and headed for the door.

"Wait...." Isabella sat up. "I still don’t know your name. Can you at least tell me that?"

Dante paused in the doorway.

Considered.

Decided against it.

"No," he said. "You can keep calling me Dimitri. Seems to work for both of us."

Then he left.

Isabella Russo sitting in her bed, covered in his marks, still sore from his cock, and completely ignorant of who he really was.

Phase two was going better than planned.

***

POV: ISABELLA

Isabella sat alone in her empty bed, listening to the sound of her apartment door closing.

He was gone.

Again.

But he’d be back.

They always came back when the sex was this good.

She looked down at her body, bruises blooming purple and blue on her skin, soreness between her legs that would last for days.

Evidence that someone had wanted her.

Even if it was just for a few hours.

Even if it was just because she looked good naked and didn’t ask for anything more than rough sex and temporary comfort.

It was enough.

It had to be enough.

Because Dimitri didn’t want her.

Would never want her.

And if she couldn’t have him, she’d settle for men who looked like him.

Men who fucked her hard enough to make her forget, even if just for a little while, that she’d wasted fourteen years loving someone who’d never loved her back.

Isabella pulled the sheets around herself and let the tears come.

Tomorrow, she’d be strong again.

Tomorrow, she’d put on her armor and pretend she was fine.

But today, just for today....she’d let herself cry for the life she’d lost.

For the man she couldn’t have.

For the broken girl she’d become.

And tomorrow night, when the loneliness became too much, she’d go back to that club.

Would find another man who looked like Dimitri.

Would bring him home and use him and hate herself a little more.

Because that’s what she did now.

That’s who she was.

Isabella Russo.

Mafia princess.

Trained seductress.

A broken woman addicted to strangers who looked like the man who’d rejected her.