Catrina got into her car and drove off, while my driver took my bags.“Have a good afternoon, ma’am?”
“Yes.Thank you.”
The driver slid the trunk closed.“Home?”
“Yes, please.”
The car ride left my thoughts too much room.If I said yes to Enrico about marriage, what was I really saying yes to?Safety wrapped in wealth?A little more peace?A life under someone else’s thumb?I wanted love — the kind that stole breath and didn’t come with a ledger.The kind that didn’t come with fear and bloodshed.
“We’re here, ma’am.”
I stepped out and closed the door behind me.Then I gasped.He was waiting under the portico.He didn’t move when I approached.
“Enrico.”My voice steadied though my fingers tightened on my shopping bags.Why was he here?
“My love,” he answered — smooth as silk.The words landed like a dare.A chill skated down my spine: dread braided with something refused in daylight.
“Didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Life is full of surprises.”His half-smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Passing him, I turned back.“What are you doing here?Business with my father?”
He leaned in the doorway like it belonged to him.“Yes, business.Nothing to do with you…directly.”The stress ondirectlymade my neck hairs rise.Coincidences didn’t exist in his world.
“Should I be concerned?”
“Concern is not what I wish to inspire in you.”
The knot in my stomach tightened: dread, curiosity, temptation.I wanted to ask more questions, but all the air was being sucked out of my lungs.“I’ll leave you to it, then.Goodnight.”I headed for the stairs.
“Goodnight,” he called after me, amused.
I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing hard.A smile — small, reckless — tugged at my mouth.The game was dark and addictive: matching wits with the man who was both threat and temptation.I crossed to the vanity.Beneath that calm, a storm roared.Enrico haunted the quiet: the angle of his jaw, the focus in his gaze that slipped past my armor, the way his presence rewrote the room.He was danger personified — unapologetic power and the spark I couldn’t smother.
He was a storm I should flee.Instead, I was anchored to the window.My palms pressed to the marble to steady them.Could I resist him?His pull was a current; every encounter drug me farther, left me breathless and furious and alive.A shiver ran over my skin.This wasn’t only about desire.It was about survival: a contest of dominance.In our world, love was a liability; wanting was a weapon.
I straightened.Resolve settled like armor.Our collision course was set; the air between us bristled with the inevitable.I was no one’s pawn.I was a woman making choices.One last look in the mirror — steel in my eyes — and I turned away.Each step was a promise: No matter what came next, I would not go quietly.
12
ENRICO
The study smelled of smoke and aged scotch.Don Moretti sat stiff behind his desk, fingers laced.Across from him, I lounged back.
“Business has been… problematic,” I said, voice even, smoke curling from my cigarette.“Your shipments have been less than punctual.”
He cleared his throat.“We’ve had some unexpected delays, but rest assured, I’m handling it.”
“Delays are costly,” I murmured.“In more ways than one.”Silence settled.That’s where I lived best.Where dynasties either breathed or drowned.Then I shifted, the corner of my mouth cutting into a smile.“On a lighter note,” I said, slicing through the quiet, “I’ve been thinking more about marriage.”
The word landed like a shot.Moretti blinked, surprise cracking the mask of authority he wore so carefully.
“Marriage?”he repeated.
“Yes.”I let the edges sharpen.“Your daughter could use a firm hand.Someone who can manage her… spirited nature.Our families decided that fate long ago.”
Velvet-wrapped provocation.His fingers flexed once, then stilled.“And you believe you’re that man?”
