The Burn

Nico:

She was everywhere.

Serena Vale haunted this house like a ghost who hadn’t realized she died.

The scent of her shampoo clung to the stair railings. Her laugh echoed faintly down the west wing. And her eyes—sharp, defiant, always watching—carved through me more effectively than any blade I’d ever taken to the ribs.

She was the daughter of my father’s shame. The girl no one spoke of until it was too late to send her back.

And she was mine.

In ways, I wasn’t allowed to say.

In ways, I hated myself for craving.

I was halfway down the hall when I heard Nico.

He wasn’t shouting.

That was worse.

His voice dipped when he was serious—when he was dangerous. And the tone he used in that basement gym? That voice belonged to a man moments from devouring something beautiful.

I should have turned around.

Let him touch her. Let her push him away. Let whatever happened happen.

But I didn’t.

I opened the door.

And saw him—standing close, hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin like he owned it.

Serena didn’t pull away. She froze. Eyes wide. Pulse fluttering in her throat like the wings of a dying bird.

She wasn’t scared.

She was waiting.

For something to happen. For someone to stop it.

God help me… it was going to be me.

“Nico.”

My voice was cold. Calculated.

Like a match seconds before it touches the fuse.

He turned to me slowly, eyes full of challenge, mischief, and something else—something he couldn’t name. Not yet.

“You going to spank me, big brother?” he asked.

Not today.

But the day was coming.

“Out.”

He left, smirking.

Always smirking.

I didn’t look at her right away.

If I did, I wouldn’t stop.

Not from touching.

Not from tasting.

Not from ruining.

I could feel her watching me, though—angry and soft, proud and vulnerable in the same breath. Her voice broke the silence like glass against marble.

“I didn’t do anything.”

I hated that it sounded like an apology.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” I said.

Her mouth lifted. “Then explain it.”

She didn’t get it.

That it wasn’t about her being wrong.

It was about me trying so fucking hard not to be.

I took a step forward.

I saw her inhale.

Her lips parted.

The blood rushed through my veins like thunder.

My eyes dropped to her mouth—and I nearly did it. Nearly grabbed her and showed her just how far gone I was. How close I was to claiming what didn’t belong to me.

But that’s the thing about monsters.

They always know how to wait.

“There are lines,” I said, retreating. My voice was raw. Gutted. “We don’t cross them.”

“Even if you want to?” she whispered.

God.

Especially then.

Because when I break, I won’t stop.

And neither will they.

Serena:

The morning felt too quiet.

Like the house was holding its breath.

I was restless—worse than usual. Something itched beneath my skin like I needed to move, or I’d tear it off. Maybe it was the storm still brewing between Nico’s teasing, Matteo’s silence, and Luca’s last words echoing in my chest like thunder.

Especially then.

I needed air.

Just five minutes. Just outside the walls. Just beyond the gates.

I didn’t ask for permission.

The Romano estate backed into the hills. The garden was wild, overgrown, and dark around the edges, like something out of a nightmare. The further I walked, the more the noise of the house disappeared—until it was just me, my thoughts, and the buzz of cicadas in the air.

I reached the old stone wall.

Saw the gate.

Unlocked.

Just a peek, I told myself. Not escape. Not rebellion. Just space.

So I slipped out.

The alley outside the gate reeked of rust and cigarettes. The kind of place even light avoided. I kept walking, hugging the side of the hill, eyes down.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps.

Too many.

Too quiet.

I turned—too late.

A hand grabbed my arm and slammed me against the wall. Another hand wrapped around my throat.

“Pretty little stray,” a man hissed.

Three of them.

Tattoos. Teeth yellow from nicotine. Cheap leather and cheaper knives.

“You wandered off, darling,” another sneered. “That was a mistake.”

I didn’t scream.

I fought.

Elbowed the closest one in the gut and kicked another in the knee. My mother didn’t raise a coward.

But there were too many hands. Too much weight. I was gasping. Choking. Kicking dirt and blood and pride.

And then—

Gunfire.

One shot.

Then another.

The man holding me dropped dead before he hit the pavement.

I turned—

Luca.

He stood at the edge of the alley like the god of war himself. No expression. No mercy. Just a smoking barrel and a look in his eyes that said someone was going to pay.

The remaining two men ran.

Luca didn’t chase them.

He came to me instead.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice tight.

I shook my head.

He didn’t believe me.

He pressed his hand gently to my jaw. His thumb swept over the red imprint where the man’s fingers had been.

His eyes darkened.

“I told you not to leave.”

“I just—” I swallowed hard. “I needed air.”

“You needed protection.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“You don’t get to ask,” he growled.

My breath hitched.

He stepped closer. His hand moved from my jaw to the back of my neck. Firm. Possessive. Branded.

His forehead pressed to mine.

“I will kill anyone who touches you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Because my knees were shaking—and it wasn’t fear.

“Luca,” I whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His gaze dropped to my lips. His fingers curled in the hair at my nape.

For a breath—a heartbeat—he leaned in.

Then, I pulled back.

Hard.

He turned away like the nearness had burned him. Like my skin was poison.

“You’re coming home,” he said.

The car ride back was silent.

His hand never left mine.

Back at the estate, Nico met us on the steps.

His eyes flicked over my bruised neck, the way Luca’s hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Who do I kill?” Nico asked, his voice too calm.

“It’s handled,” Luca muttered.

Nico’s jaw flexed. “Next time, I want a turn.”

That night, I sat in my bedroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

My lips were swollen from biting them.

My neck was bruised.

And my heart?

My heart was gone.

Somewhere between Luca’s gun and his hands in my hair, it stopped being mine at all.

Matteo:

I used to hate silence.

Now I crave it.

Silence doesn’t lie. It doesn’t distract or manipulate. It shows you things—if you know where to look.

And I always know where to look.

The surveillance feeds are open in the corner of my screen. Fifteen windows, fifteen angles. I could be doing anything else—coding, tracking, rerouting offshore accounts—but I’m not.

I’m watching her.

Serena Vale.

My brother’s mistake.

My father’s leverage.

My obsession.

She doesn’t know I’ve memorized the way she touches her throat when she’s anxious. The way she sleeps curled in one corner of the bed, even though the mattress is big enough for five. She leaves the light on in the bathroom. Never closes the door all the way.

She’s never safe.

And I like it that way.

Because it gives me a reason to stay close.

I watch her reach for a book tonight. One of mine.

She picked the spine carefully. Ran her fingertip down the leather like it meant something. She doesn’t know it’s mine. Doesn’t know I left it there on purpose.

Just to see if she’d find it.

She did.

She opens the first page—and my handwriting’s there.

Not a note.

A sketch.

Of her.

Sleeping.

I should feel shame.

I don’t.

I should feel guilty.

I can’t.

She’s like a melody I can’t stop playing in my mind. The more I watch her, the more I realize—

She’s the only thing I want.

Not power.

Not money.

Not even loyalty.

Just her.

Soft and dark and broken in ways I understand better than she ever will.

Luca protects her like she’s made of glass. Nico teases her because he wants to see her break.

But me?

I want to study her.

Learn every inch.

Rebuild her in the shape of my need.

And when she’s ready to fall—when she’s cracked and shaking and thinks she’s still in control—

That’s when I’ll finally touch her.

Not to steal.

But to keep.

Forever.