Luca couldn't believe they called this hellhole a safehouse. It was a nightmare.
Mildew stained the walls, the couch hissed with fleas, and rain dripped through the ceiling into a rusty bucket.
Luca took one look and snapped.
"No." His voice cut through the damp air. "We're leaving. Now."
He turned to Linda, slumped on the flea-infested couch. "Can you walk?"
She glared, sweat beading on her forehead. If he was a man that scared easy, Linda's glare would have made him flinch "Yeah. Why?"
"Checking us into a hotel. You need clean air to heal and frankly, we all need tetanus shots. This place is shitty" He yanked open the lone wardrobe—empty. There was absolutely nothing to pack.
Her situation was much more dire than he had expected.
Emilia's breath caught. "You aren't running for the hills?"
Luca met her eyes. The storm outside mirrored the heat in his gaze. "I'm staying."
A traitorous smile tugged at her lips. She bit it back. "Whatever. You can stay."
Linda scoffed, they were behaving like love struck teenagers and she was left to play grown up "How? We're broke."
"I know a place" Luca said.
"Oh. Did you hear him? He knows a place" she rolled her eyes.
The place Luca mentioned was a penthouse...a freaking penthouse, Ten storey up in the good neighborhood.
The only explanation he gave was he knew the manager.
Linda started to protest but once inside? Warmth. Gold light. Velvet couches. A bed big enough to drown in.
She reconsider quickly especially when Luca mentioned the hot tub on the balcony.
Luca watched from the doorway as Emilia spun, drinking it in. He almost made him smile.
"It's beautiful."
"You deserve beautiful."
Luca leaned against the doorway, watching her.
When did this become my favorite hobby in the world?
The thought alone startled him.
He gave them the bedroom. Took smaller bed in the other room.
That night turned out to be the longest night in luca's life. He was on the couch and she was lying beside her best friend in the bedroom, the only thing between them was a wooden door.
At that very moment, that wooden door was his greatest enemy.
By midnight, He could hear Emilia paced. He could hear her murmur soft words to herself.
What if he's awake?
What if he's not?
Whatif—
She ripped open the bedroom door.
Luca stood by the window, shirtless, moonlight carving his muscles in silver. He turned.
No words.
Their eyes locked—a live wire.
She crossed the room. He met her halfway.
His hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. There was heat. Hard muscle. The scent of rain and him.
"Couldn't sleep?" His voice was gravel.
"Could you?"
He traced her lower lip with his thumb. "Not a chance."
Then his mouth was on hers.
He wasn't gentle. He was hungry.
She gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. He backed her against the wall, his knee sliding between her thighs. Every touch burned—his hands under her shirt, her nails scoring his back.
"Luca—"
"Tell me to stop." He kissed her throat, teeth grazing her pulse.
She arched into him. "Don't you dare."
He lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist. The bed waited, forgotten.
They barely made it that far.
Luca's fingers traced the curve of Emilia's hip, her skin warm and alive beneath his palm, as if he could memorize the topography of her body—every scar, every freckle, every secret she'd never spoken aloud.
She arched into him, her nails scoring his back as he pinned her to the makeshift mattress, the silk sheets slithering to the floor.
The headboard rattled against the wall in time with their rhythm.
Her legs bracketed his hips, anchoring him to her, to this moment, where she didn't know the earth shattering truth.
That he was Enzo Marchetti—heir to a blood-soaked empire.
It anchored her to Luca instead, a stranger with borrowed laughter and hands that worshipped instead of conquered.
"Look at me" he demanded, voice ragged, sweat dripping from his brow onto her collarbone.
Her eyes met his, dark and glazed, reflecting the firelight like twin pools of molten amber.
"I see you," she gasped, her hips rolling against his, pulling him deeper.
No, you don't. It's me. I'm the monster you are running from. I'm Enzo.
He kissed her to silence the thought, swallowing her moan as if he could devour the lie festering between them.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply, and he bit her lower lip, drawing a sharp gasp.
The taste of her seared his senses.
He wanted to brand himself into her memory, a scar she'd carry long after this night dissolved into myth. Something to hold on to when she finally takes a peek at the real man beneath the mask.
****
The first time he heard of her had been uneventful.
Rain clawed at the glass walls of Luca's penthouse, the city below reduced to a smudge of shadows. He stood in the center of the room, sleeves rolled to his elbows, blood dripping from his split knuckles.
The marble wall beside him bore a fresh crack.
Alpha Enzo Marchetti Senior's order had come in form of a handwritten short letter that was delivered to Luca by his father's courier
"Marry the Conti girl. End this feud."
His father's command went through his mind. It's didn't make much sense.
Luca hadn't taken orders in a decade. Not since he'd turned an inherited million into billions, burying the Marchetti name under layers of legitimate empires—tech, shipping, hotels. Yet here he was, fist still throbbing, because that bastard still thought he owned him.
He's answer had been simple.
Hell would have to freeze over first.
And Hell, must have froze because here he was with her and letting go was the furthest thing in his mind.