The next morning.Serena woke up first, the golden slivers of Milanese sunlight peeking through the cracks in the blinds. For a moment, she didn’t recognize where she was. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet, the warmth beside her too steady.Then she turned, and her heart skipped.There he was. Stefano De Ricco. The man she was sent to destroy. The man who had stolen her breath, her body, and now—perhaps dangerously—pieces of her soul. His arm was draped loosely over the sheets, his face softened in sleep. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones. He looked younger like this. Less ruthless. Less haunted. Less mafia kingpin and more man.They were still naked.Her eyes trailed down the sharp lines of his torso, the rise and fall of his chest, until her gaze landed between his legs. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Morning wood. Of course.Serena bit her lip.She was supposed to feel guilt. Regret. Shame. But none of those things showed up. Instead, there
Marco.Back at the manor, the quiet halls of the De Ricco estate carried an almost eerie stillness. The morning sunlight filtered in through the stained-glass windows, casting colored patterns on the marble floor. But Marco Sanchez wasn’t looking at any of that.He stood by the expansive bay window of the east corridor, unmoving. His arms crossed tightly across his chest as if bracing himself against a storm only he could feel. His jaw ticked, his heart beat hard in his chest—not from adrenaline or fear, but something far more dangerous.Jealousy.Longing.Turmoil.The woman his boss was falling for—the woman who had so easily infiltrated Stefano’s dark, guarded heart—was the same woman who had stolen his breath the moment he saw her.Marco closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but his memories dragged him under.It had been weeks ago. A mundane day, or so he thought. He and a few of the crew had been at the Milan train station, waiting for a delivery that never came. The usual tensio
Stefano and Serena.The morning sun had climbed higher by the time Serena and Stefano left the quaint breakfast café tucked in a quiet corner of Milan. The clink of cutlery, the scent of buttery croissants, and the way his hand brushed hers across the table lingered in her mind like a melody she didn’t want to end.Afterward, they wandered into a small, contemporary art gallery nestled between two centuries-old buildings. The space was quiet, awash in natural light that spilled through skylights and danced across canvases and sculptures alike. The air was tinged with the subtle sharpness of paint, aged wood, and varnish.Serena moved slowly, eyes flickering from piece to piece. Abstract swirls of color, brushstrokes that looked like chaos until you stood back and saw the pain, the love, the story buried in them. She didn’t say much, just absorbed.Stefano walked beside her, silent for a while. Watching her, not the art.“You look like you belong here,” he murmured finally, hands burie
Still at the De Ricco Night Club.The club throbbed with life—bass pulsing like a heartbeat through the floors, lights slicing through foggy air in neon streaks. Serena and Stefano had claimed a corner of the dance floor like it belonged to them. Music pumped around them, bodies moved in hypnotic rhythm, and yet all he saw was her.She laughed—god, that laugh. And it was reckless and full and entirely free. Her head thrown back, eyes sparkling under the strobe lights, hips rolling against him with a confidence that made his blood burn. Stefano couldn’t stop his hands from wandering—her waist, the small of her back, the edge of her thigh where her short dress ended and his temptation began.They ordered shots—two, then four, then she lost count. The tequila burned, but so did the way he looked at her as she licked the salt from her wrist. He dared her to outdrink him, and she tried. But she was already drunk on something else. Him. The night. This impossible feeling growing bigger by t
Back at Serena's condo.The entire building had been silenced by the night by the time Stefano and Serena got back from the club. The slam of the front door echoed through the quiet as they both stumbled inside, still drunk on shots, adrenaline, and something far more forbidden—each other.Making their way to the elevator. Their laughter bounced off the ceilings, breathless and feral. He tugged her by the hand through the dimly lit hallway, and she followed, hair wild, lipstick smudged, eyes gleaming with chaos and desire. They didn't speak. They didn’t need to. Their bodies were already saying everything.Inside the elevator, he pinned her to the wall, his breath on her hot and sensual. Their eyes locked for a while before he crashed his lips against his. Kissing her had become his new hobby. His favorite hobby.He trailed his hand down to her thighs, stopping just where her dress did. Gently stroking her inner thighs, he deepened the kiss while he slid his fingers in between her leg
Next morning.Their bare bodies lay entangled on the cold marble floor, skin pressed to chilled stone. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting silvery slashes across their limbs. The city outside had quieted to a hush, like it too was holding its breath.Stefano stirred first.His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim glow. A quiet groan escaped him as he shifted, then looked down at her sleeping form—peaceful, her lashes resting like dark fans against her cheeks. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight.She didn’t wake.Stefano gently lifted her from the floor, her body limp in sleep. Cradling her close, he carried her to the bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin as he laid her down. He drew the covers over her and lingered a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her lips still soft with dreams.He turned away and padded quietly to her kitchen.The condo was still, unnervingly so. The kind of stillnes
The soft clink of cutlery had long faded into the silence that followed her question—How many have you killed?—and the weight of his answer still lingered in the air between them.I don’t keep count.It should have terrified her. Instead, it made him real.They remained in bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, their bodies close but not touching now. The golden morning light had warmed the room, but a chill had returned, the kind that comes from speaking the kinds of truths most people die with.“So,” she said after a long silence, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “You kill a lot of people.”He gave a quiet laugh—humorless. “They all deserved it, I can assure you.”“I’m not judging,” she said calmly, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.Stefano turned his head toward her, skeptical. “Why?”She met his eyes. “Because I’ve killed too.”His gaze held hers, unreadable at first, then something flickered behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Respect. Maybe something da
The early afternoon sun bled through the linen curtains, casting a warm hue over the living room as Stefano slipped his arms into his jacket. He looked effortlessly sharp, even though he hadn’t changed his outfit in days. A quick smirk played on his lips when he caught Serena eyeing him from the couch.“Stay in. Rest,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour. Groceries, supplies… and maybe a change of clothes. God knows I need one.”Serena chuckled delightfully. The thought of him restocking for her marveled her. But she liked it a lot, leaning into his touch before he pulled away and headed for the door. The condo felt oddly silent once it closed behind him. For a few moments, she simply sat there, staring at the space he had just left.She hadn’t realized how much safer she felt with him around.Ten minutes hadn’t passed before the silence was broken—by the unmistakable hum of a car engine outside. She peered out the window, assuming it was Stefano
MarcoSitting alone in the car garage, Marco leaned back against the hood of the black Maserati and stared at the cracked white ceiling for a while, his mind running circles around itself.What the hell was Stefano thinking?Entrusting delicate, multi-million-dollar business to a woman he'd only just brought into the fold? A woman who was gorgeous enough to scramble any man’s brain at twenty paces—and who, Marco knew, wasn’t just the shy, sweet little thing she pretended to be.No. Serena was something else entirely.Smart. Sharp. Dangerous, if she wanted to be. He could sense it.And Stefano—the damn fool—had paired them together.Trouble. It spelled trouble for him. Big, flashing neon kind.Marco scrubbed a hand down his face, letting out a long sigh. He already knew the fight ahead wasn’t just about recovering the stolen RH-57s. No, his real battle was going to be keeping his eyes—and his damn hands—off her.Focus. Just focus.Maybe...maybe he could make her forgive him. Maybe they
Still in the diner room.The clink of cutlery and the low hum of morning faded quickly once Stefano left. He kissed Serena goodbye like she was porcelain, with whispered promises he’d be back the next day—just needed to “smooth out some tension” with an associate in Palermo.Translation: Someone would either end up dead, paid off, or buried beneath wine barrels.Marco watched the entire thing from behind his coffee, silent. When Stefano left, the entire manor felt like it exhaled with him.Susan had taken the car to the market. The guards, as always, weren’t allowed to linger in the estate when Stefano wasn’t home. That left her and Marco. Alone. In a house too damn big, too damn quiet, and too full of unspoken history.Serena stood up from the dining table first, scooping up their empty plates and heading toward the kitchen. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she clenched them tight until the trembling stopped.Behind her, she heard Marco push back his chair slowly. The long scrape o
The lovebirds went back to the countryside—Stefano’s hidden territory. Neverland looked the same. Quiet, dreamy and deceptively innocent.But Serena was a mess inside.As Stefano’s car curved around the final bend to his secret decadent abode, she stared out at the endless, rolling green hills. They looked so serene it made her want to scream. Like the universe itself was mocking her—beautiful, peaceful, while inside her chest, a hurricane was tearing her apart.She pressed her forehead to the glass, watching droplets of last night’s rain race across it.God. What was she doing?It wasn't just the intense sexual attraction anymore. Honestly, it never had been, but thats if she'll admit itFalling madly in love with Stefano De Ricco had not been part of the mission objectives. It hadn’t even been in the fine print. And yet here she was: heart dangling like a bloody carcass, right over the mouth of a wolf."Talk to me," Stefano broke the silence, his voice low, pulling her from her spir
The third one was next.They were leaving the countryside now. The city shimmered in the late evening light, buildings painted gold by the setting sun. Stefano’s car cut through the streets like a sleek panther, and Serena’s heart beat with an odd blend of anticipation and adrenaline. The farther they got from the countryside, the more she sensed a shift in his energy. He was less guarded now, more primal.It seemed like he tended to enjoy the silence more during the drive. Because he still didn’t speak much, but his hand rested on her thigh, thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric of her dress. Possessive. Teasing. As though silently reminding her who she belonged to.After what seemed like forever, they pulled up in front of a building with mirrored glass windows and black marble walls. “De Ricco Noir,” the silver sign above read. The entrance was velvet-roped and guarded, but as soon as Stefano stepped out, doors opened and heads bowed.This club was nothing like the one they’d
Off to another one.The car sped down a gravel path carved into the mountain's edge, flanked by olive trees and thick wild grass, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze as the wheels kicked up small rocks and dust. The scenery was peaceful—deceivingly so. Serena sat in the passenger seat as usual, trying to still her hands in her lap. The flower Stefano had bought her earlier still lay on the dashboard, its petals soft and delicate against the cold reality of where they were headed next.Stefano had said little since they left the winery. But the look in his eyes—the way it had burned when he showed her that hidden world below the vineyard—had stayed with her. A part of her wondered if she had seen too much. But another part… wanted more.About ten minutes later. "We’re here," Stefano said, his voice slicing through the quiet.They pulled up to what looked like an abandoned stone chapel nestled into a clearing, its rustic facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.
Stefano and Serena. The duo got into the car and embarked on a journey to see the source of Stefano's wealth and power—his ‘establishments.’ Legitimate and Illicit included. It was the most delicate moment of Serena’s mission. Any slip, one wrong look, or one misplaced word, would make him suspicious, crumbling everything immediately.The air between them was thick,tense yet intimate, charged with everything left unsaid. Stefano said nothing, his fingers tapping the wheel in quiet rhythm, his presence a force on its own.Serena sat composed, but inside, her heart raced each time his gaze lingered. The silence, broken only by the hum of the engine, only deepened the pull between them.This silence was no awkward accident. It was more like a warning and a promise that what was to come was dangerous. The winding road eventually opened up to a sweeping estate nestled between the gentle rise of vineyards. Row upon row of lush, deep-green vines stretched across the horizon like veins p
Off to another one.The car sped down a gravel path carved into the mountain's edge, flanked by olive trees and thick wild grass, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze as the wheels kicked up small rocks and dust. The scenery was peaceful—deceivingly so. Serena sat in the passenger seat as usual, trying to still her hands in her lap. The flower Stefano had bought her earlier still lay on the dashboard, its petals soft and delicate against the cold reality of where they were headed next.Stefano had said little since they left the winery. But the look in his eyes—the way it had burned when he showed her that hidden world below the vineyard—had stayed with her. A part of her wondered if she had seen too much. But another part… wanted more.About ten minutes later. "We’re here," Stefano said, his voice slicing through the quiet.They pulled up to what looked like an abandoned stone chapel nestled into a clearing, its rustic facade blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.
Serena. She had to act like everything was fine—perfect even. Her smile was light, her posture poised, and her voice delicately threaded with warmth. But beneath the charm, Serena’s pulse fluttered like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.Stefano’s eyes were sharp, watching her every expression.“But why do you look so worried?” she asked, her voice laced with gentle curiosity as she crossed the room toward him.“I had some intense business matters, that's all.” He brushed it off with practiced ease, a ghost of tension still shadowing his words. It was a lie—she could see it in the flicker behind his dark gaze. But he was also… afraid. Not of her. Of something else. Something that might have happened to her. The idea lingered between them unspoken.But just when she thought she had escaped his scrutinizing gaze, she heard him ask. “Your lips… what happened?” Fuck! That bastard, Marco, had bit me. She shrugged it off, “I dunno… probably brushed too hard or bit too hard, I don't remembe
Marco.Through the hidden door he had installed during the latest round of upgrades to the house, Marco slipped out of her room like a shadow fleeing daylight. His breath caught in his throat, each exhale shaky, his pulse thudding like a war drum in his ears. The hallway was quiet—too quiet—but he didn’t dare slow down. Guilt clawed at his chest with every step as he moved swiftly toward the east wing of the manor, to his private suite tucked far from hers.When he finally pushed open the glass doors to his veranda, the cool night air slapped against his face, awakening his senses with a jolt. He leaned over the railing, gripping it until his knuckles turned white once again, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts.What the hell are you doing, Marco?His reflection in the glass door behind him stared back at him like a silent accusation. This wasn’t just a lapse in judgment—it was betrayal. Not just in thought, but in action… He had touched her, kissed her with a roughn