Her dress lies tattered on the floor, her perfume clinging to it like a ghost. The window’s cracked open, but the night air does nothing to scrub her out of the room. Her scent is still on my skin. Sweet, stubborn, maddening. The kind that clings, that seeps into the walls until it’s everywhere. Until you can’t breathe without choking on it. Exactly like her.
My cock twitches in my pants like it doesn’t care about logic. About discipline. About the danger she brings just by existing under my roof.
I grit my teeth and shove the thought down. This body is mine to command. Not hers.
It won’t happen again.
I make that vow to myself, to the silence, to the walls of this goddamn Castello. It was just sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Physical release. Now that she’s out of my system, I’ll be able to focus on the important things.
And I’ll cut off my own dick before I let it become anything else.
The phone vibrates against the desk. A low, insect-like hum at first, then another. It skitters across the wood, screen flashing Theo’s name in white letters.
I ignore it. Stare at the puddle of liquor instead, watch it bleed into the edges of my plans like rust. My pulse is still too loud, my jaw too tight.
The phone buzzes again, harder this time, rattling against the crystal glass. The sound grates down my spine.
I snatch it up, thumb swiping across the screen before I’ve even thought about it. “What?”
Theo doesn’t bother with small talk. “The Mancinis have agreed to set up the call for this Friday at five.”
I lean back, glass still in my other hand, eyes flicking to the window. The garden below lies dark. I swear once she’s gone, I’m burning the fucking garden down and turning it into a parking lot for my cars.
“That works out well.”
He tries to say something, but pauses.
“What is it, Theo?” I grit out.
He lets out a long sigh. “I’ve got some intel from our men that the Mancinis are digging for information about Mara Folonari.”
Fuck. Will she ever not be a fucking headache?
“Sort it out. I want any fucking talk about her to be stopped.”
I hang up before he can answer, the phone clattering back onto the desk, screen going black. Business waits for no one.
If I want to keep the empire I’ve built, then I’d better get my head out of my ass.
Dawn ripsacross the sky like a bad promise. The garden is damp with dew, the lime trees heavy with the scent that usually soothes me.
Not today. The scent is a nuisance in my throat, like it wants to remind me of the soft things I don’t let myself keep.
My footsteps are measured on the stone path, boots silent. The sun is thin and gray, and the Castello still smells of the night: vodka, sweat, and the faint ghost of her perfume threaded through the hedges. I finish my cigarette with my back to the pool and crush it into the tile with a heel so hard the ash flees in pieces.
There’s a knot in my chest that won’t loosen. I came out here to move. To think. To make the world feel like it’s still under my control.
That’s when I see Luca. He’s leaning against the pool house, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw loose, a laugh already starting at the corner of his mouth like he owns this place. Too comfortable. Too casual. Like a man who can read too much into things he doesn’t need to be reading into.
“Luca,” I call, my voice low.
He straightens, grin faltering.
“Boss,” he says, the familiarity slipping like a thin glove. “About yesterday. I?—”
“What about the other day?” I cut him off.
The word choice doesn’t matter. The point is, he’s here and he’s getting too close to the woman under my roof.
