“Oh, right,” I said, my cheeks ablaze. My words sounded small, almost ridiculous even to me, and I couldn’t meet his gaze. My hands fidgeted at my sides, and I felt my pulse hammering in my ears.
The silence stretched again, heavier this time, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t lift. I cleared my throat, forcing words past the lump in my throat.
“The night Felix took me… Why did you help me?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper. “If you hadn’t have questioned him if he needed any extra help he would have sent me straight to the strip club.”
I felt heat creeping up my neck, my hands tightening at my sides. Saying it aloud made the memory sharper, the gratitude and nervousness twisting together in a knot in my stomach.
Rocco remained silent, his green eyes fixed on me, unreadable and calm, yet carrying a weight that made every word I’d spoken hang in the air longer than necessary. My pulse thumped in my ears as I waited, uncertain whether he would answer, or simply let the silence stretch on.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Sometimes my brother is hotheaded. I have to do the thinking for him.”
I raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was telling the truth. Felix was definitely hotheaded, prone to acting first and thinking later. But, from what I had seen, he was more than capable of logical decision making.
Part of me wanted to argue, to challenge him, but another part—a quieter, cautious part—told me to shut up. I had already picked fights with one mafia man; I didn’t need to risk my life by starting one with his brother.
“Is there anything I can get you?” I asked, forcing myself to snap back into the role of maid. “A drink? Food?”
My hands fidgeted at my sides as I spoke, betraying the nerves I was trying to hide.
“No. I need to get going,” Rocco said, turning toward the front door. His eyes flicked back to me for just a moment, cutting and exact. “Be careful around my brother.”
I swallowed hard, the words sending a shiver down my spine. There was no teasing in his tone, just a quiet authority that made it clear he meant every word.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, my voice tight with curiosity and a flicker of frustration.
But he didn’t answer. The sharp slam of the door echoed through the house, cutting off any chance of a response and leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
“Ugh,” I muttered, slamming my hand against the wall. “He can be just as terrible as his brother.”
I let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. The house felt quieter now, emptier, but the weight of his presence still seemed to hang in the air, annoying me more than anything else.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I turned back to my work, forcing myself to focus. Cleaning, organizing, keeping the place from falling apart—anything to distract me from the aggravation of dealing with Felix’s twin and the reminder that family ties could be as frustrating as they were inescapable.
Hours later, Felix walked through the front door, muttering under his breath about his phone. The familiar scowl was in place, and I could hear the frustration in his tone before I even saw him.
I raised an eyebrow and called out, “Rocco brought it for you.”
Felix froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at me. For a moment, the scowl softened—not much, just enough for me to notice—and he let out a low hum of acknowledgment.
“Where was it?” he asked.
“Rocco said you left it at the warehouse,” I said, twirling the hem of my shirt in my fingers.
Felix’s eyes narrowed, dark and stormy, and his voice dropped low, smooth but edged with warning. “And what else did Rocco say?”
My stomach clenched at the intensity, and I stumbled over my words. “N-nothing… really.”
Felix ran his hand along my collarbone, up my neck, until it reached my face. His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw with a deliberate, almost predatory slowness.
I swallowed hard, my pulse spiking under his touch. Every movement of his carried a weight I couldn’t ignore, a claim that made the air between us taut with tension. I could feel the heat of him behind that dark, possessive gaze, and a part of me—part nervous, part exhilarated—wanted to lean into it.
“Good,” he murmured. “I don’t care if he is my twin brother. I don’t want him looking at what’s mine.”
My stomach flipped, a mix of nerves and heat curling through me. The weight of his claim pressed against my skin, and I realized just how intense his possessiveness could be.
I tried to speak, to respond with some semblance of composure, but my voice caught. Every word I could have said seemed trivial compared to the gravity of him standing so close, his gaze dark and unyielding.
Without warning, his lips crushed against mine, fierce and claiming. My body tensed, then melted against him as he pressed me back against the fireplace mantle. The hard heat of him against me was overwhelming, his hands gripping my waist as if he could make the space between us disappear entirely.
