The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, gilding the coastal town with honeyed light. Amira walked briskly down the narrow cobbled street, her sandals clicking against stone. She hadn’t planned on leaving the apartment; in fact, she had sworn she wouldn’t. But staying locked in that suffocating space with him? Impossible. The taste of his kiss still clung to her lips like a brand. Every time she blinked, she could see him again—his towering frame, the heat in his eyes, the raw possession that had spilled into the way he devoured her mouth. Amira pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. “Urgh, get a grip, Amira,” she muttered under her breath. But her feet carried her farther from the apartment anyway. It wasn’t fear that drove her. It wasn’t even hatred. It was the crushing weight of not knowing what she felt. If she looked at him again, if he cornered her with those eyes and that voice, she was afraid she woul
The slam of her back against the wall still echoed in her ears. His hand clamped over her wrist, pinning it above her head, leaving her utterly trapped. Montez’s mouth crashed down on hers again, nothing gentle, nothing sweet but only raw hunger and command. Amira’s eyes flew wide, panic slicing through the haze of exhaustion. Her free hand balled into a fist and pounded weakly at his chest. She kicked against his shins, bit at his lip, and mumbled muffled curses into his mouth. But he didn’t let go. “Stop—damn you, stop!” she tried to snarl against him, but the words drowned in the relentless pressure of his kiss. He devoured her like a man starved. Maybe he was. Maybe he just hadn’t realized how badly until now. His tongue claimed hers, rough and demanding, tasting every inch of her mouth as though ownership was his right. His grip tightened, forcing her hand harder into the wall until her knuckles
The scream was loud enough to send every muscle in Montez De Vitalio’s body snapping to rigid attention. He was already moving before the second shriek followed, boots pounding against the creaking wooden floorboards. Enzo trailed just behind him, hand instinctively brushing his gun. The door rattled under Montez’s shove as he stormed inside, chest tight, heart thundering with one thought—Amira. However, what he found nearly made him laugh. She stood in the farthest corner of the small bedroom, plastered against the wall as though she were facing down a firing squad. Her eyes were wide, hair a mess, one hand pressed to her chest while the other pointed stiffly toward the opposite side of the room. “There!” she cried, her voice breaking on the word. “It’s right there!” Montez followed the line of her shaking finger. A cockroach crawled lazily up the peeling wallpaper. He stared, blinked once
The innkeeper’s keys jingled in his hand as he led them down the narrow hall. His tired face was flushed with excitement, clearly grateful for the thick bundle of notes Montez had handed him earlier. “This way, sir. Your suite is at the end. Small but… clean.” He pushed open the door with a proud flourish. The moment Amira stepped inside, her heart dropped. It wasn’t a suite. It was a cage. The apartment consisted of a cramped sitting room with a sagging couch, a low wooden table, and an ancient rug fraying at the edges. Beyond an archway stood the bedroom—a single, fairly spacious room, yes, but with only one thing that mattered. A bed. One bed. Amira froze in the doorway, the weight of the reality crashing down on her like a tidal wave. Her head whipped toward Montez. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He arched one dark brow, removing his jacket with calm precision as though the
The room was suffocatingly silent after she slammed the door on Montez. Amira pressed her back against it, her chest rising and falling like she had just sprinted a marathon. Her throat burned, her lips trembled, and before she knew it, hot tears streamed freely down her cheeks. She slid to the floor, curling into herself, her hands clawing at the fabric of her dress. It was too much. Yan’s hands on her, his whispered threats, Montez’s accusing gaze, his unwanted concern. She had barely survived the night without her entire past detonating in her face. “This is all your fault,” she whispered into the shadows, her voice breaking. “All of it, Montez.” Dragging herself up with trembling legs, Amira stumbled to the dresser where her most precious possession lay. A small, worn photograph, edges curling with time. Her brother, Luca, was smiling in the faded sunlight of a long-gone afternoon. Her b
Her knees threatened to buckle as his fingers brushed lower, his belt clinking when he reached for the buckle. “Get on your knees, little lapochka. I won’t repeat myself,” he hissed, with a cruel grin. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. The world tilted. If she obeyed, she’d lose the little shred of dignity she had left. If she resisted, he could ruin everything—Montez, the partnership, her chance at redemption. “Please,” she begged, her voice strangled. “Don’t do this. You’ve already won, isn’t that enough?” His eyes glittered with malice. “I only accepted this partnership because of you. You’ll make me happy, Amira. Or everything your ruthless lover has built will come crashing down.” He gripped her shoulder tightly forcing her down when all of a sudden— “Amira.” Her name cut through the night like a blade. She jerked, spinning toward the open archway. It was Montez’s