Chapter 8

The hallway outside Luca’s office was unusually quiet, lit by the soft glow of a single antique wall sconce. Emilia stood there for a moment, clutching the edge of her sleeve, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. She knocked — once, firm but not loud.

“Entra,” came Luca’s voice from within.

She stepped inside. He was seated at the far end of the room, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a pen in hand hovering over a thick folder. Marco was on the leather sofa by the window, scrolling through something on his phone. They both looked up when she entered — one curious, the other unreadable.

“I want to come,” she said before she could second-guess herself.

Luca raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“To the ball. In Prague.”

Marco chuckled under his breath but didn’t speak. Luca just studied her.

“You’re not invited.”

“I know,” she said, stepping further into the room. “But that didn’t stop me from learning your language or understanding what’s at stake. I won’t be a liability. I need to be there.”

Luca’s silence was louder than most people’s shouting. He set down the pen and leaned back slightly in his chair.

“You need to be there?” he repeated, his voice measured.

“Yes.” Her voice wavered for half a second, but she straightened. “I’ve spent weeks locked in this house. Learning, watching, listening. I need to see him.”

Luca didn’t ask who she meant. He knew.

Marco sat up slightly, now watching her with more interest than mockery.

“What exactly do you think you'll do at an event like this?” Luca asked, eyes narrowing. “Charm Dimitri Volkov over champagne? Spy on him? Threaten him with your stare?”

“I want him to see me and know that I’m doing better. Seeing me with you shows a certain type of upgrade and fear that he truly deserves to have.” she admitted. 

The room was silent. Tense. Then:

“So you want to use me basically,” Luca said at last.

Emilia blinked. “What?”

“You want me to play boyfriend, but not just any type of boyfriend, the one you know, and he knows is the most feared and respected, someone you know is more powerful than him, someone you know has everything that he wants.” he repeated, more firmly. “Basically using me.You can come, but you don’t speak unless spoken to, you don’t stray from our side, and if anything feels off, you leave. Immediately.”

Her breath hitched in her chest, completely ignoring the all the things he had said prior to his answer,“Okay. Yes. I understand.”

He nodded once, then glanced at Marco.

Emilia turned toward the door, then paused and looked over her shoulder.

“I’ll need something to wear,” she said with a glint of nervous energy. “And by ‘something,’ I mean a lot of somethings. I don’t think I can bring ‘learning Italian in the library’ to a diplomatic gala.”

Luca’s lips twitched — the ghost of a smirk.

“Take the car. Marco will make arrangements. Don’t embarrass me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, already backing out of the room, heart pounding like it belonged to someone about to step on stage for the first time.

She shut the door behind her gently.

Now it was real. She was going.

And Dimitri Volkov would see her again — but not as a nameless girl from a summer past.

The gates creaked open with a heavy groan, and for the first time in sixty-three days, Emilia felt the warmth of sunlight on her face as a free woman. Well, not quite free—but no longer a ghost haunting the corridors of Luca’s palatial estate. The scent of summer hit her like a forgotten memory: wild rosemary from the hills, exhaust from the sleek black convoy waiting outside, and the salt of the nearby coast. Her heels clicked sharply on the stone steps as she descended with a grace that was almost defiant.

Luca stood by the car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his charcoal jacket, sunglasses hiding eyes that, she knew, missed nothing.

"Emilia," he said, not a question, not a greeting—just her name, like a key turning in a lock.

"Luca." She matched his tone, a hint of amusement on her lips.

He opened the door for her himself, something no one would’ve dared suggest he do two months ago. She slid into the leather seat without acknowledging the gesture. The tension in the car crackled like static when he joined her inside, closing the door behind him. Marco sat up front, already on the phone, murmuring details in Czech and Italian.

The convoy pulled out, three SUVs in total, weaving through the winding roads that led from the estate to the private hangar outside Naples. Emilia rested her head against the seat, exhaling slowly, tasting freedom in small, cautious sips.

"You’re quiet," Luca said finally, breaking the silence.

"I’m listening," she replied, glancing sideways at him. "Trying to memorize the sound of the world."

Luca watched her, then smiled faintly. "The world hasn’t changed much, you know."

"No," she said. "But I have."

He tilted his head. “So, what’s this dress you had sent from Milan? All that mystery—black bags, sealed boxes. Should I be worried?”

She turned to him fully, one leg casually crossed over the other, the silk of her skirt whispering like secrets. “You’ll see it on me,” she said, her voice a honeyed purr, “when I wear it to the ball.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Is that a promise?”

“It’s a warning.” She smirked. “Don’t fall too hard De Rossi.”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You really think you can outmaneuver me?”

“I don’t need to,” she said, watching the road blur past. 

“You really don’t think I’ve seen the dress I paid for?.”he said with a wicked smirk

“No i don’t!” she said firmly.

“Okay.” He said simply.

Outside, the landscape raced by—sun-bleached hills, olive groves, the shimmer of the sea. But inside the car, the air felt heavier, laced with unspoken things neither of them had the courage—to name.

By the time they reached the hangar, the jet was already waiting, its silver wings catching the sun like a blade. Men in dark suits stood at attention as Luca stepped out, offering his hand to help Emilia down. She took it, but held his gaze too long, just to remind him that touch alone meant nothing anymore.

Not unless he earned it.

Not unless she let it mean something.

And as the engines roared to life, lifting them high above the earth toward Prague, Emilia leaned back in her seat, her eyes closed, already imagining the moment he’d see her walk into that ballroom—draped in silk, painted in defiance, and utterly unforgettable.

The jet touched down just after midnight, the Prague skyline a soft glow in the distance—spires piercing the sky like ancient promises. The city seemed to hum beneath them, old and mysterious, every shadow carrying a secret. Emilia stepped off the plane with the wind catching the hem of her coat, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

The drive to Luca’s villa was quieter than she expected—no sirens, no roaring engines. Just cobbled streets, moonlight brushing old stone buildings, and the rhythmic lull of tires on uneven roads. The car wound through an iron gate, and then the villa came into view.

Emilia sat up straighter, eyebrows lifting.

It was nothing like Naples. This place was… darker. Gothic in places. A mansion built not just to impress but to warn.Tall windows reflected the night, their glass blackened, their frames carved with old symbols she couldn’t read. Ivy climbed the stone walls like veins over pale skin, and two lanterns flanked the entrance, flickering against the wind.

She stepped out slowly, eyes drinking it in.

“You live here?” she murmured.

Luca stepped beside her, his voice calm. “Only when the city requires my attention.”

“It looks like a villain’s castle in a fairy tale.”

He smirked. “Then I suppose you’d better hope you’re the heroine.”

Emilia gave him a sideways glance but said nothing as the heavy doors swung open, revealing a grand foyer lined with black marble, gold detailing, and paintings that looked like they were stolen straight from the Baroque period.

As they moved through the hall, her heels echoing on the floor, she slowed near one massive oil painting. A woman with Emilia’s eyes stared back at her—though she was dressed in finery centuries old, her mouth set in the same curve of defiance.

Luca noticed. “She was an ancestor. Vanished the night of her wedding. Took a diamond and left the groom at the altar.”

Emilia raised a brow. “Smart woman.”

“She had a twin sister,” he added, walking ahead. “Rumor is she helped her escape.”

Emilia couldn’t help but grin. “I’m starting to like her even more.”

He led her up a grand staircase and down a dim corridor, the wood dark and rich, the lights low and golden. When they reached the door, he paused, hand on the handle.

“You’ll stay here,” he said.

She blinked. “Here, as in… your room?”

Luca met her gaze with a look that dared her to argue. “Yes. I don’t need another twin running off in the night and stealing something from me.”

Emilia leaned on the frame, amused. “And what exactly do you think I’d steal, Luca? Your favorite watch? Your secrets? Your heart?”

His eyes flickered—just briefly. “Your sister already took two out of three.”

Her smile curved slow. “Careful, or I might take the last one.”

He stepped back to let her in. The room was grand but not cold—deep burgundy curtains, a fireplace already lit, and a bed too large to be innocent. But it wasn’t the size or the luxury that caught her breath. It was the way everything in the room felt lived in—his cologne in the air, books with notes in the margins, a half-finished chess game on the side table.

A man like Luca didn’t let people into his world. Letting her into this room was an invitation… or a trap.

“I’ll have your clothes brought up for you,” he said behind her. “Though I’m sure you’d find a way to make use of my closet if you need to.”

She turned to him, unafraid. “I always make do. Besides…” Her voice dipped into something softer, silkier. “You said you wanted to see me in that dress. Might as well see what else I look good in.”

Luca didn’t answer. He simply looked at her a moment longer, then turned and left the room without a word.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And Emilia exhaled slowly, staring at the fire.

Prague, it seemed, would burn. She wondered what exactly had come over her, she seemed more confident, more bold, more free with Luca. Something about Prague felt good, it made her feel like everything and anything was possible. She was also very excited because the dress she bought was definitely going to have her looking like the girlfriend of the great Luca De Rossi.

The fire had dimmed to embers by the time the door opened again.

Emilia didn’t look up right away. She was seated on the velvet chaise near the window, legs crossed, cradling a glass of something amber and expensive. The silk green gown clung to her like melted jade, hugging every line of her body. The slit up her leg was criminal. The back—nonexistent. And the neckline? It whispered of war.

Luca paused in the doorway.

He had changed—if one could call it that. Only a pair of black drawstring shorts hung low on his hips, his torso bare, sculpted, and still faintly damp from a shower. No armor now. No tailored suits or watchful guards. Just skin, shadow, and the quiet threat of a man who never truly let his guard down.

His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate.

“You’re wearing that to bed?” he asked, voice low.

“I wasn’t sure what the dress code was,” Emilia said without missing a beat, eyes steady on him over the rim of her glass. “But I figured since you’re half-naked, I should try to keep up.”

Luca walked past her without a word, but the heat he carried seemed to linger. He opened a drawer, pulled something out, tossed it on the armchair—then paused again, back to her, jaw tight.

“Do you always dress for war when you're in someone else's bed?”

“Only when I know it used to be a battlefield.”

He turned to face her, eyes unreadable in the firelight. “Emilia—”

She stood, interrupting him with nothing more than the rustle of silk. The gown shimmered as she moved, catching the glow like it was made of starlight.

“You said I’m staying here,” she reminded him. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then we’ll share it.”

The silence stretched—long and delicate, like a knife’s edge. But Luca didn’t stop her as she walked past him and slipped under the thick duvet like she’d always belonged there. She lay on her side, back to him, hair fanned over the pillow like ink spilled on snow.

He took his time crossing the room.

When he finally slid in beside her, the bed dipped under his weight, heat bleeding from him in slow waves. For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the crackle of dying flames.

Then, softly—mocking, daring—she asked, “Should I be worried?”

“About what?”

“That you’ll try something.”

Luca shifted closer, his breath warm against her shoulder. “No,” he murmured. “You should be worried I won’t.”

“Because I’m a virgin?” She said. 

“because Emilia, we shouldn’—-” before he could finish his sentence, Emilia used her fingers, tracing every line on her chest down to his shorts. She had never had sex before but she had done other things, she was well aware of what to do to get him, she wanted him. Badly. And she knew he wanted her too. Goose bumps spread through her body where her leg brushed his, her body grew up and before she could collect her thoughts, Luca came on top, sliding his hand up her bare skin, beneath the silk dress. Her heart pounded in her throat, blood rushed to the surface of the skin and then she kissed him, the amusement her little kiss did to him faded to pleasure, heat. she touched his face, ran a hand across his cheek and into his hair and pulled his lips harder against hers. He didn’t like that and he told her by nipping her bottom lip. The graze of his teeth moved a desperate noise up her mouth, she thought he might pull back but he drew on her lips sweetly, first the bottom then the top. Every inch of her body vibrated beneath the surface, she rolled her hips and arched closer to him, feeling incredible heat beyond his overpriced shorts, she then licked the inside of his mouth, like a reflex, he sucked her tongue. She slid her tongue across the scar on his lower lip, a scar that was visible except where very up close to his face. The lick felt dirty, like a carnal sin and the kisses after that became harder, wetter than before, a heat burned through me as she ran her blunt nails down the length of his back, he growled low in his throat, and the slow glide of his mouth became rougher

“Troia” he blurted out in a low voice 

He pressed his hardness against her clit, she let out such a sexy moan that without hesitation , Luca untied the rope of his shorts and slid his dick into her wetness. 

“Fuck” he rasped against he lips, “fucking virgin”

Emilia felt nothing but happiness and pain. Pleasurable pain, pain that she never knew she needed in her life. With each thrust she became wetter, more wanting

“Touch me” she begged

He dragged his lips past her collarbone and nipped her  pink nipples that tightened at the closeness and warmth of his mouth. He didn’t realize he had been fucking her so hard until he raised his head up from her breasts and realized that she was already asleep.

He went to the bathroom to clean up, he got a wash cloth he had soaked in water, came out  and cleaned her up. He knew that this was the beginning of a problem that he didn’t have a solution for, one he didn’t want to have a solution for.