Chapter 11: Echoes Through the Wall
The scream pierced the veil of Sofia’s sleep, sharp and short, like a bird being snapped in a trap. It wasn’t her own.
She lay still in the enormous guest suite bed, the silvery pre-dawn light leaching the color from the red velvet drapes. The room felt foreign, too clean, smelling of lemon polish and the lingering ghost of her own perfume. Then another sound came, slithering through the shared wall with the master suite: a low, rhythmic thudding, the unmistakable sound of a headboard striking plaster with mechanical force.
Sofia held her breath.
A woman’s voice, choked and tearful—Kate. “No, please, it’s too—ah!”
The thudding didn’t stop. It accelerated. Then Marco’s voice, a gravelly rumble she could feel in her teeth. “It’s mine to use. Say it.”
A whimper. A wet, slapping sound of flesh on flesh. Not a playful spank. Something harder, meaner.
“Say it, puttana. Who owns this tight little cunt?”
Sofia’s hand moved of its own volition, sliding down the plane of her stomach beneath the expensive sheets. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. This was wrong. She should put a pillow over her head. But she didn’t. She listened, her body coiled like a spring.
“Y-you do,” Kate’s voice was broken, barely audible.
“Didn’t hear you.”
“YOU DO!” The cry was desperate, followed by a sharp gasp. The thudding became frenzied. “Marco, please—!”
Another crack. A sob.
“Oh yes, Marco! I’m your whore! I’m your fucking whore!”
The confession through the wall was raw, stripping away every pretense. Sofia’s fingers found her own slick heat, her touch a shock against her sensitive flesh. She was so wet it embarrassed her. Her middle finger circled her clit, a slow, shameful mimicry of the violence next door. Her other hand pressed against the cool wall, as if she could feel the vibration of Marco’s thrusts.
She pictured it. Marco’s massive hands pinning Kate down, his tattoos stretching over the muscles of his back as he drove into her, taking what was his. The degradation in Kate’s voice wasn’t fear alone; it was surrender, a dizzying fall from a great height. Sofia’s breath hitched, her own movements becoming urgent, seeking that same sharp edge.
The door to her room opened silently.
She froze, her fingers still tucked between her thighs, her eyes wide in the gloom. Enzo stood silhouetted in the doorway, a monolith in a dark robe. He’d heard. He’d known she was awake. He stepped inside, letting the door sigh shut, and his gaze went from her face to the tell-tale motion under the sheets.
A dark, understanding smile touched his lips. He didn’t speak.
He walked to the bed, the robe falling open as he moved. He was already hard. He didn’t remove the sheet, just slid his hand beneath it, his rough, warm palm covering her hand, still pressed against herself. He guided her fingers, making her rub her clit in harder, faster circles.
“Listen to him,” Enzo murmured, his mouth against her temple, his own breath becoming ragged. “He knows how to break a thing until it admits what it truly is.”
From the other side of the wall, Kate’s screams dissolved into a continuous, sobbing wail, punctuated by Marco’s animalistic grunts. The headboard was a battering ram.
Enzo pushed the sheets down. He shifted Sofia onto her stomach, his weight settling over her, not yet entering. He kept his hand between her legs, working her ruthlessly while his other hand fisted in her red hair, pulling her head back so her ear was again oriented toward the wall.
“You like listening to her break?” he breathed, biting her shoulder. “You like knowing he’s fucking her right through the wall from us?”
“Yes,” Sofia moaned, the word ripped from her. It was a confession of its own.
“Good.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, still slick from her arousal and his earlier claim. He didn’t push in. He rubbed the thick head of his cock through her soaked folds, teasing her clit with it, coating himself in her.
“Please, Enzo,” she begged, pushing back against him.
“Please what?”
“Fuck me. I need it.”
He drove into her with a single, deep, conquering stroke. The force of it shoved her face into the pillow. He set a pace that was a direct challenge to the noise next door, his hips pistoning, his balls slapping against her with every plunge. It was a statement. A reclamation.
“This is different,” he gritted out, each word a thrust. “This isn’t breaking. This is… owning. You understand? You gave me your scream. You gave me your name. That makes this forever.”
His words, coupled with the brutal, perfect angle of his penetration, unraveled her. The sounds of Kate’s submission, Marco’s dominance, Enzo’s possession—it all fused into a white-hot circuit of pleasure that short-circuited her spine. She came with a shattered cry, her body clamping around him in violent waves, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
Feeling her climax, Enzo lost his rhythm. With a final, deep grind, he emptied himself into her, a hot, claiming flood, his groan muffled against her skin. He collapsed atop her, both of them slick with sweat, listening.
Next door, the noise had ceased. There was only silence, heavy and complete.
Enzo rolled off, pulling her with him, tucking her back against his chest. His arm was a steel band across her ribs. They lay in the gathering dawn, the city outside beginning to stir.
“Vito’s men took the northside warehouse,” Enzo said, his voice now calm, detached. “They used torches. Destroyed what they couldn’t carry. Tommy Riccardi got burned bad on his arms. Alvaro has a broken jaw.”
Sofia absorbed this. The brutal poetry of the night was gone, replaced by the calculus of war. “What will you do?”
“The southside docks. Tonight. We take one of his shipments. Something he can’t replace.” He nuzzled her hair. “I have to go out. Marco will be with me. You’ll stay here. The suite is secured. Order anything you want.”
“I don’t want to be a prisoner, Enzo.”
“You’re not.” He kissed her shoulder. “You’re my advantage. The one thing Vito doesn’t know about. The one thing he can’t predict.” He paused. “The one thing I give a fuck about losing.”
It was the closest he’d come to saying it. She turned in his arms, searching his face. The vulnerability she saw there, raw and unguarded in the morning light, was more frightening than any display of power.
Before she could speak, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it, his eyes hardening as he read the screen. He swung his legs out of bed, his body once again all purposeful, dangerous motion.
“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling on his clothes. “This won’t be over soon.”
He left, and the room felt cavernous without him. Sofia lay back, her body humming, sore, marked. The silence from the master suite was absolute. She wondered if Kate was still there, or if Marco had already ushered her out a service entrance. She wondered which one she was: the broken thing, or the owned one.
The sun broke over the skyline, filling the room with a light that felt accusing. She knew then that the competition in the night hadn’t been between Enzo and Marco. It had been within herself. And she was no longer sure who had won.