The Wrong Room (A)

Sofia’s POV (Slight mature content ahead)

The next hour was chaos of the warmest possible kind.

Mamma steered me firmly to the kitchen where my favorite meal was already on the stove and proceeded to feed me with the focused determination of someone reversing a great injustice. Matteo pulled a chair directly beside mine and asked approximately forty questions about London, my degree, my professors, my friends, my apartment, and whether I had learned to cook, in that order. Dante sat across the table with his coffee and said very little but smiled occasionally at Matteo’s questions in a way that suggested he found his brother educational.

Valentina positioned herself on the counter because she had never once in her life sat in a chair at a table like a conventional person and provided commentary on everything from the side.

Papà sat at the head of the table and read his newspaper and periodically put it down to listen to something I said and nod as though filing it carefully away.

It was loud. It was warm. It was completely, overwhelmingly, achingly familiar.

I sat in the middle of it and felt the last of the tension I had carried across four years and an ocean begin to quietly dissolve.

I’m home, I thought. I’m actually home.

“Where’s Luca?” Valentina asked suddenly, reaching across to steal a piece of bread from the basket Elena had just set down.

The question landed in the room and rearranged something in the air. Nothing dramatic. Just a subtle shift, the way a temperature changes before anyone acknowledges it.

I kept my expression exactly where it was.

Elena glanced toward the ceiling — toward the upper floors — and said easily, “He came in an hour ago. He has calls.”

“He always has calls,” Matteo said, unbothered.

“He knows Sofia is arriving today,” Romano said, from behind his newspaper. Not a question.

“He knows,” Elena confirmed.

Nobody said anything further about it. The conversation moved on to Matteo’s recent complaints about a restaurant downtown and Valentina’s opinions on said complaints which were numerous and detailed.

I ate my food.

I did not think about the fact that everyone in this family had come to the door and Luca had not.

I did not think about how that shouldn’t still have the capacity to register. How I had been away eight years and apparently had not grown as much as I thought in at least this one specific area.

I did not think about Luca Virelli at all.

I was very busy not thinking about him when he walked in.

The room changed.

That was the only way to describe it. The temperature didn’t drop and nobody went silent — Matteo was still talking, Valentina was still stealing bread — but something in the quality of the air shifted in that specific way it always did when he entered a space. Like the room recognized him and adjusted accordingly.

I looked up.

He stood in the kitchen doorway in dark trousers and a black shirt, sleeves pushed to his forearms, looking like a man who had never once in his life been anything other than completely in control of everything around him. His dark eyes moved across the room with the automatic efficiency of someone conducting a rapid assessment and then—

He barely acknowledged me.

I had prepared for this. Eight years of preparing for this, if I was honest with myself, which I tried not to be.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing about Luca Virelli ever behaved the way you prepared for it to.

Truth be told, he didn’t look at me at all. Didn’t bother to look at my face. The expression on his has barely changed . Then he moved to the counter and reached past Valentina for the coffee without a word.

“You could say hello,” Valentina told him.

“Hello,” he said, to his coffee cup.

“To Sofia,” Valentina clarified. “Who has been gone for eight years and just got home.”

A pause.

He turned.

But he barely looked at me. In a way I couldn’t immediately categorize and immediately wished I could because I had a system for his looks. I had catalogued every variation of indifference he had ever pointed in my direction over twenty three years and I knew all of them.

This one was not in my catalogue.

“Sofia,” he said. Simply. My name in his mouth in that low unhurried voice.

“Welcome home.”

He picked up his coffee and walked back out of the kitchen.

The room continued exactly as it had been. Matteo was still talking. Valentina had moved on to the cheese. Romano had turned a page of his newspaper.

I looked down at my plate.

My heart was doing something entirely unreasonable.

Stop it, I told it firmly.

It did not stop.

After Dinner, a maid was asked to take me to a my room. On our way there she stopped abruptly “oh God no”

“What is it Maria?”

“I was supposed to prepare Don Romano’s evening tea a while ago but it totally skipped my mind miss Sofia”

“That’s okay Maria. You can simply point me to the room and I’ll find my way there myself”

She hesitated for a moment and then “The third door by your left in the east wing” and quickly left.

I couldn’t help but admire the mansion again. Nothing has changed at all. I didn’t even realize when I got to the east wing. “Now, what was it that she said again. second or third door.” Then I saw the last door on my left and thought “this must be it”.

Immediately I stepped into the room. The temperature visibly dropped. I had some kind of feeling that I really didn’t belong here but curiosity made me look and walk around. Everything about the room was dark. Dark curtains, king sized bed with grey sheets and a distinct male scent of after shave and cigar. The only light coming from the room is the one on the side bedside lamp. Yep…Definitely not my room. I started making my way out and that is when I bumped into someone.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Were you not informed maids are not allowed in here?!” the voice I recognized as Luca’s voice said. But I couldn’t speak because I was awestruck by the sight in front of me. He was in a towel tied low beneath his waist. With water sliding down from his chest down to his abs. I swallowed hard, backed up slowly and was about to say something and that is when he interrupted me again “Do you know what happens to girls who invade my space uninvited”? His voice was low and sharp.

“I invade them” His gaze lustfully falling on my now trembling legs.

"I take them. Rough, hard and relentless...

“I make sure they can't walk when I'm done. That's their punishment."

A terrified shiver ran down my spine.

Then he took a swift but calculated step forward, and suddenly, the distance between us disappeared. My back hit the cold wall, gasps leaving my lips as he caged me in with his heavy, muscled, towering frame. His hand landed beside her head. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over mine.

Then I noticed His anger, sharp and unforgiving just moments ago, shifting into lust. His dark eyes raked over my body, burning with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He was observing my hesitancy with his lecherous gaze.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" He whispered against my face.

His scent smoky, masculine, intoxicating... surrounded me, making my knees weak.

His fingers brushed my cheek, slow... deliberate. I swallowed hard, trying to speak again, but my voice betrayed me yet again.

"I... I am not a....." I somehow gathered the courage to speak, but my voice died the moment his rough thumb traced my lower lip, his touch sending jolts of electricity through my body.

"I don't kiss," he said darkly.

"Never saw the point of it." I swallowed hard, breaths coming in shakingly.

"But for you..." he exhales sharply, " I'll make an exception.” he murmured, his lips mere inches from mine.

I sucked in a sharp breath and before i could react, his lips crashed onto my lips.

It was overwhelming... Raw...

Dominant...

His lips moved over mine with sinful expertise, coaxing... devouring... owning... His fingers threaded through my hair, tugging my head back, deepening the kiss as he pressed my body flush against his. I gasped, my fingers fisting against his open chest, and the warmth of his skin made me dizzy.

I could feel the power in him, the way his muscles tensed under my hesitant touch. Heat mingled with saliva. I felt disgusted at first.

His tongue explored me like he was devouring me whole. The squelchy wet sounds of his kisses and my protesting whimpers filled in the eerily quiet room. My fingers clutched at his shoulders, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

And then reality hit me like a bolt of lightning.

I gasped into his mouth, voice barely above a whisper, "Luca! Brother!"

The word shattered the moment.

His entire body went still. His grip on my hair and waist loosened immediately. He pulled back and placed his forehead over mine to calm his harsh and unsteady breath. Then he quickly turned on the lights.

"Sofia?" He rasped, his voice turned hoarse and raw.