Novel-novel oleh Lexie

SiennaThe door to his office flew off its hinges, slamming back against the wall with a force that rattled the crystal decanters on the side bar. Marcello surged into the room like a storm, his breathing shallow, his dark dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck and sleeves rolled up. He looked like a man who had sprinted through the fires of hell to get here. His gaze whipped past the desk, past the chair until his eyes locked onto mine.Those dark eyes I'd missed so much, the same eyes I had dreamt of and imagined so many times, stared into my soul, stealing the air out of my lungs.Standing in his sanctuary, he looked even more intimidating than the night I left. His jaw was tighter, a shadow of dark stubble lining his chin, and the terrifying fatigue in his expression told the story of the last two months better than any words ever could. Time itself seemed to stop. The room felt pressurized, humming with the gravity of his presence.Eight weeks. Sixty-something nights of staring at

MarcelloThe pen felt heavy between my fingers, the cold silver barrel slipping slightly against my palm as I dragged the tip across the bottom line of the final page. My signature was jagged, missing the smooth flourish that usually defined my mark on contracts. My eyes stung from thirty-six hours without sleep, the dim glare of the desk lamp burning into my eyes like hot sand.The stack of financial papers hit the mahogany surface with a dull thud. Enzo stood on the other side of the desk, his dark suit jacket unbuttoned. He simply looked down at me, his jaw set in a tight line, his dark eyes carrying a mixture of exhaustion and simmering frustration.We had gone round and round in endless circles for eight long weeks. Every single time my hands hovered over my phone, every single time a blocked caller ID flashed across the screen, Enzo would step in, pushing me to pick up the line, to drop the stoic, self-sacrificing act, and to stop punishing both myself and the woman who held m

SiennaThe bass rhythm echoing through the studio speakers gradually slowed down, dropping into a soft hum that signaled the end of our intensive afternoon session. Sweaty bodies began to ease out of their pole holds, their bare feet gripping the polished hardwood floor as they dropped into low stretches. The warm air in the room smelled faintly of grip powder, lavender cleaning spray, and the physical exertion of twelve dedicated dancers. I wiped a light sheen of sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist, lowering my arms as my students circled around me near the center of the floor, their chests heaving with ragged breaths."Great job today, everyone. Your climbs were stronger, and your spins are getting smoother."A ripple of relief washed over the group, several girls letting out breathless giggles while wiping sweat from their necks with hand towels. "Remember, stretch when you get home, stay hydrated, and I'll see you all next class."The room gradually emptied as the

SiennaThe soft whistle of the kettle filled the quiet kitchen of my apartment, a familiar, mundane sound that offered a temporary shield against the noise in my head. I poured the steaming water into two mugs, watching the dark tea leaves swirl and expand in the glass infuser. The scent of chamomile and mint rose into the warm air, clean and soothing. Rox sat sprawled on my living room floor, while I prepared tea for us.She had taken over the rug near the coffee table, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling fan spinning overhead. Her red hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few stray strands framing a face that looked paler and noticeably more exhausted than it had two months ago.She had spent the last three weeks moving between high-profile security assignments and specialized training drills across the West Coast, keeping her mind occupied and her hands busy. But her assignment in California was wrapped up. Tomorrow morning

TWO MONTHS LATERSiennaThe afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting soft, pale stripes of light across the white duvet covering my bed. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The constant, background hum of armed guards, heavy leather boots pacing hallways, and low baritone murmurs that used to fill my days at the Vitale estate had been replaced by the dull, muted sounds of ordinary city traffic down on the street below.I sat on my bed, my fingers tracing the handwritten letter Marcello had left on top of my night stand under my phone.The paper was thick, cream-colored cardstock, heavy in my hands, bearing the sharp, elegant slants of his dark ink. The edges were slightly worn now, soft from the dozens of times I had folded and unfolded it over the last sixty days. My thumb ran over the embossed crest at the top, feeling the subtle ridges in the paper while my mind tried, for the thousandth time, to bridge the impossible gap between the man who wrote these words and the ma

Marcello The heavy, metallic tang of fresh blood clung to the air in the basement, thick and suffocating even with the ventilation running at full capacity. I rolled down my sleeves, before unbuttoning the front of my ruined shirt. The dark fabric was stiff, soaked through with crimson splatters that had already begun to dry into rusted brown patches across my chest and forearms.I tossed the ruined shirt onto the concrete floor, letting it fall into a discarded heap. Enzo stood beside me in silence, holding out a freshly pressed black button-down and a clean pair of tailored trousers he had brought down from the upper suite. I took the clean fabric, feeling the smooth silk beneath my bruised knuckles, and began wiping the drying iron off my skin before pulling the shirt over my shoulders.Sienna had gone home with Rebel and Dave was being dragged out of the basement.My mind drifted to the image of Sienna leaving the club under Rebel’s watchful eye, protected and safe. The thought