CHAPTER TWO

Amaya handed me a silky nightgown, short and sexy, before disappearing into her own room. It was softer than anything I’d ever worn. I went into the guest room which was already prepared by the maids for me.

The house had gone quiet, everyone was fast asleep. But I kept turning from one end of the bed to another, I just couldn't fall asleep.

Sometime past midnight, I got up with my throat dry. No bottled water in sight. I hesitated, then finally pushed the covers back, slipping out of the guest room.

The halls stretched long and shadowed, lined with art worth more than anything I could imagine. I turned a corner too fast and collided with a wall of muscle.

“Lost?” The man’s voice was rough, almost amused.

I looked up into the sharp gaze of a bodyguard in a black suit, his earpiece glinting under the dim lights.

“I—uh—just need some water.”

He studied me for a moment, then jerked his head. “Kitchen’s this way. Careful. Don’t wander.”

His boots echoed against the marble as he led me down a corridor before pointing toward a door. “There. You’ll find what you need.”

I slipped inside.

The kitchen was dimly lit, shadows pooling around polished counters. And there, leaning casually against the marble island, was Don Mario. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, a glass of amber liquor in one hand, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, carrying the heavy scent of tobacco.

He turned his head slowly, and when his eyes met mine, I froze.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice low and edged with amusement. “What’s Amaya’s little friend doing wandering my house in the middle of the night?”

Heat crept into my cheeks. “I… couldn’t sleep. I just needed water.”

He watched me as though I were something far more interesting. My skin prickled under his gaze, the silky nightgown suddenly feeling too thin, too revealing.

“Go on then,” he murmured, flicking ash into a tray. “Help yourself.”

I moved to the counter, trying to ignore the weight of his eyes. My hands shook slightly as I filled a glass, and I hated that he could probably see it.

“You’re nervous,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“I’m not,” I lied, though my voice came out softer than I intended.

He smirked, stepping closer, his presence filling the room. “You should be.”

My breath caught. His smell of smoke, whiskey, was wrapped around me. I sipped my water just to have something to do, but when I looked up, he was already standing closer, his body a shadow against mine.

“Do you know what kind of man I am, Selene?” he asked quietly, the sound of my name on his lips sending a shiver down my spine. “And yet, you walked right into my kitchen, dressed like that.” His eyes flicked down, lingering on the nightgown that clung to me.

My pulse was hammered. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.” I said.

“Maybe not, but everyone around here knows I come here every night to calm my nerves. If you weren't new here, I would have taken it that you were trying to seduce me with that outfit.” His hand lifted, fingers brushing the edge of my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear with a gentleness that contradicted the sharpness in his voice. “ In my world, appearance matters more than intentions.”

The air between us thickened. I should have stepped back, said goodnight, and left. Instead, I stood rooted, caught in his dark gaze as if he’d cast a spell I couldn’t break. I was speechless.

His thumb brushed lightly against my jaw, lingering at the corner of my mouth. “Amaya’s little friend…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You don't look so bad.”

I swallowed hard, my voice barely a whisper. “Don Mario…”

He smiled at the way I said it, slow and dangerous. Then he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.

“Call me Mario.”

His words lingered in the air. My fingers trembled around the glass as I lowered it back to the counter, but I forced myself to move, to do something before I drowned in the weight of his presence.

I reached for a bottle of water from the refrigerator, clutching it like a lifeline. My throat felt tighter than before, though not from thirst.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking slightly.

He didn’t reply. He only watched me, eyes steady and unblinking, as if committing every detail of me to memory. The smoke curled between us, wrapping me in his scent, until I felt dizzy.

I stepped back, almost bumping into the counter, and turned toward the door. My heart hammered so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

“Goodnight… Mario,” I forced out, my tongue clumsy around his name.

For a moment, silence. Then his low chuckle followed me, dark and amused.

“Sweet dreams, Selene.”

I hurried down the corridor, clutching the bottle against my chest as though it might shield me. By the time I slipped back into the guest room and shut the door, my body was trembling, from something far to dangerous.

I leaned against the door, pressing my palm to my racing heart.

What the hell was that?

I slid under the covers, pulling them up to my chin, but sleep didn’t come. I couldn't get the image of my interaction with Don Mario in the kitchen out of my brains, even though that was all I wanted.

Finally, exhaustion dragged me under.

But when I opened my eyes hours later, the bottle of water was gone from my nightstand.

In its place sat the glass I had used in the kitchen.

And scrawled on a slip of paper beneath it, in neat, bold handwriting:

Goodnight, Selene.