Chapter Three

Palermo — Club Inferno, Vucciria District 

The night stretched on in agonizing slow motion, each second an eternity under the oppressive weight of his presence. Amara’s breath came in shallow gasps, her body still rigid from the shock of his arrival. His eyes, dark and unyielding, hadn’t left her since he spoke her name. 

Luca Moretti. The man who had consumed her life and left nothing behind but chaos and regret. 

She had run. She had escaped his grasp — or so she had convinced herself. Three years of creating a new identity, burying herself in work, in the dim lights of the club, behind the bar, and she had convinced herself it would be enough. But standing here, only a few inches from him, she realized how foolish that thought had been. 

His presence was like gravity. She could try to escape it, but she would always be pulled back in. 

“You haven’t changed,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, betraying the calm she desperately tried to maintain. 

Luca didn’t respond immediately, just studied her with that calculating stare, his gaze piercing through the layers of indifference she had worked so hard to cultivate. She felt exposed, raw. Like he could see everything she had been hiding. 

“You've changed,” he finally said, his voice a low rasp that sent shiver down her spine. “But not enough.”

She wanted to argue. Wanted to deny it. But she couldn’t, not when she felt the truth in his words — she was still the same girl he had known. Still the same woman who had shared a bed with him, shared dreams and whispered promises. Even after everything, even after the three years of silence, she could still feel him. His touch. His kiss. The way he had branded her with his love — or his obsession. She wasn’t sure anymore. 

“What do you want from me, Luca?” She asked, her voice stronger now, though still filled with a tremor she couldn’t suppress. 

He stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the worn wooden floor, as though he was hunting her. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating. 

“I want you,” he said simply. “I always have.”

Amara’s heart stuttered in her chest. She refused to let herself react, refused to let him see how badly she wanted to rip herself from his grasp. But it was impossible. Every word he spoke echoed through her, reverberating deep within her bones. She had been so determined to forget him, to move on, and yet here he was, the same intoxicating force that had pulled her under all those years ago. 

“I'm not yours anymore,” she managed, though it felt like a lie even as she said it. She wanted it to be true. She needed it to be true. But she had never been more certain of anything than the fact that Luca Moretti would never let her go. 

“You were never mine to begin with, Amara,” Luca replied, his voice sharp, like a blade slicing through the years of distance between them. “You were a prize. A treasure. Something I took because I could. But now? Now you belong to me.”

Her stomach twisted in protest. His words were suffocating, like a noose tightening around her neck. It was as If he had never left, as if the time apart had been a mere illusion, and the control he had over her was as solid as it had been the day they met. 

“You can't own me,” she said, but the words felt weak in her mouth. 

Luca's eye darkened with something akin to hunger, and for the first time in years, Amara felt the unmistakable pull of desire flicker to life deep within her. It wasn’t just the anger that burned in his gaze, it was something else. A smoldering, dangerous need that made her heart race against her chest. 

He leaned in, just enough for his breath to brush against her skin, and his voice was a low growl, “I've spent three years hunting you, Amara. Three years. And now I find you here, playing at being someone else. But the truth is, you’ll never be anyone else. Not for me.”

Her pulse quickened as the old, familiar heat rushed to the surface, memories flooding her with the force of a tidal wave. She wanted to fight it, wanted to tear herself away from him, but there was something magnetic about him, something that dragged her in, even after this time. Even after everything he had done to her.

“I'm not the same person you remember,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but her body betrayed her. She couldn’t hide the way her hands clenched into fists, the way her body tensed when he drew closer. 

Luca's smile was slow, predatory, like a lion closing in on its prey. “I can see that.” His eyes dipped, as if he could feel the tension in her, the desire she couldn’t suppress. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You still want me. Don’t you?”

Amara’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. The truth of it burned at her. She did want him. She always had. He had branded her, marked her in ways no one else could. She had tried to bury it. Tried to move on. But Luca was a part of her, as much as the blood in her veins. 

He took another step closer, so close now that their bodies nearly brushed. The heat between them was unbearable, suffocating. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he murmured, his lips just a hair’s breadth from her ear. “Tell me you don’t remember how it felt when I touched you. Tell me you don’t remember how it felt to be mine.”

Her body shivered in response, every nerve firing to life. She wanted to slap him. To scream. To run. But instead, she stood frozen, caught in the pull of him. Caught in the need.

“I hate you,” she whispered, though even she didn’t believe it. 

Luca chuckled darkly, the sound like a promise of what was to come. “No you don't.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity through her. It was as though every inch of her skin came alive at his touch. Her breath hitched in her throat as he slid his hand down the length of her arm, sending shivers down her spine. 

“You never did,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck now, sending a wave of heat crashing over her. “You never hated me, Amara. You loved me. 

She tried to pull away, but his hand was suddenly at her waist, holding her firmly in place. “Let me go,” she ordered, though it sounded weak, even to her. 

Luca's eyes flared with something dangerously close to amusement. “You're not running away from me this time.”

Her heartbeat hammered in her chest, her pulse quickening as she felt the full weight of his gaze on her. The last time she’d felt this powerless, this weak, was when they were together. When he had broken her and put her back together again, all while keeping her bound to him in a way that no one else could ever touch. 

“You can't control me,” she said, though it was more for herself than him. 

Luca's expression darkened. “You're wrong.”

Before she could react, he pulled her close, his lips crashing against hers in a forceful kiss. The pressure, the heat, and the way his body molded against hers — it was all too much, and yet she couldn’t pull away. She didn’t want to. She had spent so long pretending she was stronger than this, pretending she was free of him, but the truth was far simpler. 

She was never free of him. 

The kiss was deep, possessive, and as the memories of their time together flooded back, Amara realized just how badly she had missed him — how badly she had missed the power he had over her. 

Her hands, which had been frozen in place, now gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. She hated herself for it. But she couldn’t stop herself.

Luca groaned against her lips, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His kiss was demanding, as though he could take everything from her in that one month, and the worst part? She wanted him to.