Ruined by The Mafia Heir

THREE MONTHS BEFORE…

JORDYN WINDSLOW

The Russo Manor feels different when I’m alone.

It's quieter, a lot less suffocating.

For once, there are no watchful guards or staff lingering in the corridor, no voices drifting from downstairs and no Bianca checking whether I’m all right every five minutes.

There is only music pouring from the speakers and the lingering warmth of my shower clinging to my skin.

I turn the volume higher.

My damp hair hangs loose down my back as I sway to the slow, sultry rhythm, wearing nothing but a towel knotted above my breasts. I close my eyes and let the music move through me, my hips following the heavy beat as I cross the bedroom.

This is the first moment I’ve had to myself all day. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I pick up the bottle of moisturiser from my dressing table and squeeze some into my palm. The familiar sweet scent of vanilla fills the room as I smooth it over my arms and across my shoulders.

The music changes to something slower and darker

I rise, still moving to the rhythm, and catch my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed from the shower, my lips parted as I quietly sing along, but there is something else in my expression tonight.

An awareness I can’t explain. The same sensation crawls over me whenever Areś enters a room.

My hands still against my thigh. What the fuck, Jordyn? He isn’t here. You're alone in the house.

Yet the fine hairs along the back of my neck rise as though someone has dragged their fingertips across them.

I slowly turn my head towards the window.

The curtains are open, revealing the grounds bathed in moonlight. Beyond the gardens, perched higher upon the hillside, stands Areś’s home. Most of it is swallowed by darkness, but a faint amber light glows from the terrace.

I squint into the darkness and see a figure leaning against the stone balustrade.

Watching me.

My heart gives one violent thud. The distance between the two properties makes it impossible to see his face clearly, but I don’t need to.

I know his shape. I know the size of those shoulders and the stillness that belongs only to him. Most of all, I know the weight of Areś Russo's attention. I’ve felt it following me across crowded rooms, lingering whenever he believes I’m not looking.

Tonight, though, he isn’t pretending.

The sensible thing would be to close the curtains. Get into my pyjamas and go to bed.

But I don’t move and neither does he.

My pulse quickens as the song continues, the slow beat filling the silence between us. He has the perfect view into my illuminated bedroom while the darkness surrounding his terrace keeps him hidden from me.

It should make me feel exposed. Instead, heat travels down my spine. A needy ache coils between my legs.

If he’s going to watch, I might as-well give him a show, right?

I turn away from the window and squeeze more lotion into my palm. My hands tremble slightly as I lift one foot onto the edge of the bed and begin smoothing the cream over my calf.

At first, I try to convince myself nothing's changed.

That I would have moved this slowly, this sensual, even if I hadn’t sensed him. That my fingers would have lingered behind my knee before travelling higher. That my hips would still be swaying to the music if I were truly alone.

But if I know Areś, he already knows I’m putting on a show for him.

I angle my foot on the bed and allow the towel to separate slightly over my thigh. The movement is subtle, but from his terrace, he will see enough.

My breath quickens at the thought.

I glance over my shoulder.

Still there. He hasn’t moved.

The ember of a cigarette burns briefly in the darkness as he brings it to his mouth. Even from here, I can imagine the way his lips close around it and the controlled breath he releases afterwards.

The same mouth that kissed me not that long ago.

The memory hits without warning. Areś gripping my waist, pulling me against him. His fingers tangled in my hair and his restraint disappearing the moment I kissed him back.

He had been the one to stop. Not me.

The thought sparks something reckless inside me.

I turn fully towards the window, and I notice his silhouette straightens.

My lips curl into an impish smile.

Still moving to the music, I dip my fingers beneath the edge of the towel and slowly loosen the knot.

His cigarette stops glowing.

I allow the towel to slip just enough to expose the curve of one breast before catching it against my body. My heart pounds so hard I’m certain he must be able to see it.

Perhaps this is foolish. Perhaps I’m playing with something I don’t fully understand.

But Areś is always the one in control. He decides how close he stands, how long he touches me and when our kisses end. He leaves me breathless, confused, and wanting, then walks away as though it costs him nothing.

Tonight, I want him to understand what it feels like.

My phone begins vibrating on the dressing table.

I don't need to look. I already know who it is.

I let it ring while I smooth the moisturiser across my collarbone, making him wait until the final second before answering.

“Hello?”

“Close the curtains.” His voice is low and controlled, but I hear what burns beneath it.

"Why?" I ask, deliberately softening my voice.

"Everyone can see you."

I bite back the smile, my fingers lightly tracing along my collarbone. "Everyone, or...you?"

Areś lets out a slow exhale. "Don't push me, Jordyn."

"I'm not doing anything," I claim innocently.

“You’re standing in front of an open window wearing nothing but a towel.”

"Yes, I just showered." I put him on speakerphone and set my phone on the side of my dressing table. "If it bothers you that much, stop watching."

“Close them,” he says again.

“You’re very demanding tonight.”

“And you’re enjoying this far too much.”

I smile at my reflection. “Enjoying what?”

“You really expect me to believe this little show isn’t for me?”

My hands pause against my skin. “What show?”

“The music. The open curtains. That towel barely covering you while you slowly rub your hands over your body. What are you playing at?”

"Nothing." Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I’m just putting on moisturiser.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

I bite back a smile and begin smoothing the cream along my other arm. “Not everything I do is about you, Areś.”

“No?” His voice drops an octave. “Then close the curtains.”

I look towards his terrace. He is too far away for me to see his face, and the darkness conceals everything except the broad outline of his body. Still, I feel his attention moving over me as clearly as if he were standing inside the room.

“Why should I?”

“You don't want the answer to that.”

A shiver cascades down my spine. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?”

“No, bambina.” A quiet menace enters his voice. “It’s supposed to give you time to decide whether you’re ready for me to come over there.”

I should stop. This has already gone further than I intended, but the memory of his mouth consumes me. Areś is always so controlled, so certain that one look or command will make everyone obey him.

I want to know what happens when that control breaks.

More than that, I want to be the reason it does. The towel dips lower, exposing my left breast.

The silence from the other end becomes deafening.

I watch his distant silhouette, searching for the slightest movement. “Still there?”

Areś exhales, “Jordyn.”

His voice is different now. Rougher. Stripped of the calm authority that usually makes everyone rush to obey him.

Satisfaction blooms inside me. “You’re the one choosing to watch.”

“And you’re making damn sure there’s something worth watching.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks, but I refuse to retreat. I let my fingers brush over my bare breast.

“Bambina...” My name is a warning, and the sound of it sends a pulse to my pussy.

I loosen my grip on the towel, and it slips another fraction. “If this falls,” I murmur, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Keep testing me and you’ll find out.”

“And what do you plan on doing from all the way over there?”

The line goes dead

Across the grounds, Areś lowers his phone. He remains on the terrace for one lingering moment before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

Shit.

Disappointment settles in my chest, but I tell myself it’s for the best. I wanted to see if I could make the great Areś Russo lose control, and instead, he walked away...again.

I toss my phone onto the bed and turn the music louder. The slow beat fills my bedroom as I close my eyes and begin moving again, rubbing the remaining moisturiser along my arms before sweeping my hands down my sides.

The towel shifts with every roll of my hips.

I’m so consumed by the music that I don’t hear the bedroom door open. I don’t feel the change in the room or notice the dark figure standing behind me.

Not until his voice brushes across my skin.

“Mi hai chiamato, bambina.” You called for me, baby girl.

I gasp, startled, and spin around. The towel slips free from my grasp, glides down my body and lands soundlessly at my feet.

Areś stands behind me, his dark eyes travelling slowly over every naked inch I have just exposed to him.

I should cover myself... but I don’t. Instead, I let his ravenous eyes feast on every inch of me.

Neither of us speaks. The music continues to pulse through the room, but the sensual rhythm is drowned out by the frantic beating of my heart.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

“You understood me.”

He moves towards me, and I instinctively take a step back.

“I thought you were staying away.”

“So did I.” His gaze drifts down my body again. “Then you decided to be a little brat and test how much restraint I had left.”

“You could have ignored me.”

His dark eyes narrow, “Could I?”

Another measured step brings him closer. I retreat again, acutely aware of my nakedness and the heated attention he makes no attempt to conceal.

“You seemed very confident when there was a stretch of darkness between us, bambina.” he murmurs. “You scared now?”

“No. I’m still confident.”

His mouth curves into a dark smile. “Your trembling says otherwise.”

I lock my eyes onto his, “I’m not trembling.”

“Bugiarda.” Liar.

Areś continues advancing, guiding me backwards without laying a finger on me. The anticipation of his touch is somehow more torturous than if he had already reached for me.

“The next time you put on a show for me, make sure you’re ready for what happens when the audience refuses to stay in his seat.”

My legs brush against the edge of the mattress. I tip my head back to peer up at him through my lashes, “Maybe…” I lift my hand and trail a single digit down from his collarbone to the exploded flesh of his chest. “I was hoping he wouldn’t.”

The hunger in his expression deepens.

He takes one final step, the backs of my knees meet the bed, and I fall onto the mattress. Areś remains standing over me, his eyes moving slowly down my naked body before returning to my face.

“Then spread your legs for me, bambina,” he commands, his voice dark with promise. “Show me how brave you are now that I’m close enough to ruin you.”

My knees slowly fall open, and the last thread of Areś’s control snaps..,