HEAT BENEATH THE MARBLE

The rain came softly that night.

Not the violent kind that tore at windows and roared against rooftops, but a quiet, persistent drizzle that soaked the marble courtyards and cloaked the De Luca estate in a humid hush. The air was heavy, as if holding its breath—like the walls knew something was about to shift.

Aria stood by her bedroom window, arms wrapped around herself. She wasn’t cold, not exactly, but something inside her trembled. Maybe it was the memory of Luciano’s last words. Maybe it was the way her pulse still hadn’t settled since their conversation that afternoon—if you could call it that.

He’d touched her again.

Not cruelly. Not even intimately.

But with that devastating control he always carried—fingers brushing the small of her back as he passed, like she was his to guide, his to command.

And the worst part? Her body had responded.

God help her, she’d leaned into it.

Aria closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.

She hated this. Hated the confusion, the fire he ignited in her even when her mind screamed for escape.

She’d spent days trying not to want him. Nights convincing herself she was only a pawn. But desire was a traitor. It didn’t wait for permission. It bloomed in silence—in shared glances, in charged air, in moments that weren’t supposed to mean anything.

She didn’t love him. She wasn’t that lost.

But she couldn’t pretend she was untouched.

A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

It creaked open without waiting for a response.

Luciano.

Of course.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped inside like he always belonged, like the room bent to him. He wasn’t in a suit tonight—just a dark shirt, sleeves rolled, collar undone. The rain had dampened his hair slightly, making him look more human. Almost approachable.

But Aria wasn’t fooled.

She turned away from the window, spine straight. “Do you always walk into people’s rooms uninvited?”

Luciano’s eyes swept over her. “You’re not people. You’re mine.”

The way he said it—low, final, without arrogance—made her stomach twist.

She hated when he used that word. Mine.

And yet, it thrilled her too.

She folded her arms. “What do you want?”

There was a pause. Then, “I couldn’t sleep.”

She blinked. “And that’s my problem?”

He gave a half-smile. “Not everything I do is a threat, Aria.”

“No,” she said softly, “but it always comes with strings.”

Luciano walked closer, his gaze unblinking. “You saw my brother.”

Aria’s breath caught.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “The painting—”

“He was everything I’m not,” Luciano interrupted. “Kind. Good. Weak.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t know how.

He continued, voice lower now. “I watched the world crush him. Piece by piece. And I swore I’d never let it do the same to me.”

Aria stepped forward without thinking. “That doesn’t mean you have to become the one doing the crushing.”

Luciano’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, but not with anger—with something more raw.

“You think I want to be this way?” he asked, voice rough. “You think I enjoy locking you away like some… cursed treasure?”

Her pulse stuttered.

“Then why do it?”

He stared at her for a long time. “Because letting you go would destroy me. And I’m not ready to die yet.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost holy.

Outside, the rain picked up. A slow rhythm against the glass.

Inside, two storms collided.

Luciano stepped closer. Inches from her now.

“I want to touch you,” he said quietly. “Not because I own you. But because I can’t stop needing you.”

Aria’s breath hitched. “You think that makes it better?”

“No,” he murmured. “Just honest.”

His hand moved to her cheek. Slow. Reverent. Like he was afraid she’d shatter if he reached too quickly.

She didn’t pull away.

Her skin burned beneath his fingers, and the look in his eyes… it wasn’t power. It wasn’t pride. It was something that looked dangerously like longing.

He dipped his head, lips brushing hers—not a kiss, not yet. Just the suggestion of one.

Aria whispered, “If you kiss me now, I won’t hate you any less.”

“I can live with that,” he said.

Then he kissed her.

And everything else—pride, pain, fear—melted into heat.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate. Hungry. A clash of need and fury and the ache of things left unsaid.

She kissed him back.

With fury. With hunger.

With the kind of ache that only comes from being broken open by someone you swore you’d never let in.

Luciano pulled her closer, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other threading through her hair. She felt herself unraveling and didn’t stop it. For once, she let the fire consume her.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard.

“Aria,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop.”

But she couldn’t.

Not because she wanted him.

Because for the first time in weeks, she felt seen.

Even if it was by a monster.

She reached up, fingers resting against his chest.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said.

His lips brushed her forehead. “Too late.”