Chapter Two | Illicit Thoughts

Chapter Two | Illicit Thoughts

Marianne

I stood frozen in the doorway, my body refusing to obey the screaming voice in my head that told me to slam the door in his face and run.

Alessandro Santiago filled the small hallway like he owned it. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. The scent of his cologne, dark, woody, and expensive — wrapped around me, making my stomach tighten in ways I didn’t want to examine too closely.

“You’re…” My voice came out shaky. I cleared my throat and tried again. “You shouldn’t be here.”

One dark eyebrow lifted, and that faint, dangerous smirk deepened. “And yet, here I am.” His voice was even smoother in person, low and controlled, like every word was a command wrapped in silk. “Your mother invited me.”

Of course she did.

I took a step back, trying to put some distance between us, but he followed, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded far too final. His eyes never left my face, studying me like I was something he intended to claim.

“Mom’s in the kitchen,” I said quickly, gesturing vaguely behind me. “She’s been… excited about your visit.”

Alessandro’s gaze flicked past me for a brief second before returning, heavier than before. “And you? Are you excited, Marianne?”

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. I hated it. I hated how my body reacted to the sound of it on his tongue.

“No,” I answered honestly, lifting my chin in defiance. “I don’t know you. And I don’t want to.”

He chuckled softly and it did dangerous things to my insides. “Such a little brat already. Your father warned me you had fire.”

The mention of Dad made my chest ache. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, suddenly aware of how tired and rumpled I looked after my long shift. “Don’t talk about him. You weren’t here when he needed family. When we needed help.”

Alessandro’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. He stepped closer, towering over me, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “I had my reasons for staying away. Reasons that kept me alive. But I’m here now.”

“Unfortunately, it's too late,” I whispered bitterly.

He reached out slowly, almost gently, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The touch was light, but it burned. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the beginning.”

I jerked away from his hand like I’d been scalded. My back hit the wall, and he followed, caging me in without even touching me. The heat radiating from his body made my skin prickle.

“You’re my uncle,” I reminded him, my voice barely above a whisper. It felt important to say it out loud. To remind both of us.

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “I’m aware.” His eyes dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second. “Does that make you uncomfortable, little one?”

“Yes,” I snapped, even as heat pooled low in my belly.

“Liar.”

The single word hung between us. I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat. Part of me wanted to slap that arrogant look off his face. Another, much more dangerous part of me, wanted to know what it would feel like if he touched me again.

Before I could decide which instinct to follow, Mom’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Alessandro? Is that you, darling?”

The spell broke and I stepped back smoothly, giving me room to breathe again, but his eyes promised this wasn’t over. Not even close.

Mom appeared in the hallway a moment later, wiping her hands on a dish towel. The moment she saw him, her entire face lit up like a schoolgirl with a crush. It made me feel sick.

“Alessandro!” She practically rushed forward. “You came! I’m so happy you’re here.”

He accepted her hug with polite grace, but his eyes kept sliding back to me over her shoulder. “Thank you for the invitation, Elena. It’s been too long.”

Mom pulled back, her cheeks flushed. “Come in, come in. I made soup. Marianne, set the table for three.”

I didn’t move. “I’m not hungry.”

Alessandro’s gaze sharpened. “Sit down, Marianne.”

It wasn’t a suggestion but it was none of my business either.

I wanted to refuse just to spite him, but something in his tone made my legs move before my brain could catch up. I hated how easily he commanded the space. Hated how natural it felt.

Dinner was torture.

Mom chattered nonstop, asking him about Italy, his businesses, his “important work.” Alessandro answered with cool politeness, but his attention never strayed far from me. Every time I looked up, his eyes were waiting. Watching. Like he was peeling back my layers one by one.

I pushed my spoon around in the soup, my appetite completely gone.

“You’re quiet,” he observed suddenly, his voice low enough that Mom didn’t seem to notice.

I shrugged. “Not much to say to a stranger who shows up after my father dies.”

“Marianne,” Mom hissed, embarrassed.

Alessandro simply leaned back in his chair, studying me with that unnerving intensity. “Your father made his choices. Some men aren’t strong enough to handle this life.” His voice dropped even lower. “But you… I think you’re different.”

The way he said it sent heat rushing through me. I pressed my thighs together under the table and looked away.

After dinner, Mom insisted on showing him the guest room she’d prepared. I stayed in the kitchen, washing dishes just to keep my hands busy. I was scrubbing the same pot for the third time when I felt him behind me.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, watching me work.

“You’re angry,” he finally said.

I slammed the pot down harder than necessary. “Of course I’m angry. You waltz in here like you own the place, and my mother is practically throwing herself at you while my dad is barely cold in the ground.”

Alessandro moved closer until he was right behind me. He wasn't touching, but he was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. “Your mother is a grown woman with her own desires. And you…” His breath brushed against my ear, making me shiver. “You’re fighting so hard to hate me, but your body tells a different story, principessa.”

My breath hitched. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?” His voice was pure sin now. “Because it makes you wet?”

I spun around so fast I nearly collided with his chest but he didn’t step back. We were inches apart, our eyes locked.

The air between us heightened with tension. “You’re sick,” I whispered, but my voice trembled.

Alessandro’s hand came up slowly, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “Maybe. But I think you like it.”

I slapped his hand away, my heart racing. “Stay away from me.”

He smiled — slowly, dark, and full of promise.

“We’ll see about that, little girl.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling against the kitchen counter, my thighs slick, and mind spinning with thoughts I had no right to be having about my own uncle.