4 His Desire

Marco's POV

I stood on the balcony. The North American wind was free, even the moonlight felt gentle here. I looked down at his hand. Something in my fingers reflected the moonlight, like a star.

It was a diamond necklace. I closed his eyes, imagining how beautiful it would look on Harper's neck. Her slender neck reminded me of a swan from a ballet performance. I thought about how I could wrap my hand around that delicate neck.

The necklace matched perfectly with the dress she wore tonight.

A gust of wind blew through, rustling the leaves in the garden below, shattering the silence. In my mind, I saw again the scene of the boy kissing the girl that afternoon.

Suddenly, an unexplainable irritation welled up inside me.

I watched them for a few seconds longer before leaving. I had seen it all very clearly—her flushed cheeks after the kiss, her lips swollen from the kiss, and her swan-like neck, every fine vein beneath her pale skin visible to him.

“Damn it!” I kicked over the wooden lounge chair on the balcony, taking two steps to cross into another room on the second floor.

As soon as I entered, I could tell it was the girl's room. The soft scent of sage and roses filled my nose, mixed with a faintly sweet aroma.

It was the smell of the household’s bath soap.I turned his head, spotting a shadow through the frosted glass door.

She was in the shower.

I didn't know what had come over me. I stared at that shadow as if possessed. She was probably applying the soap, and her face came to his mind, her lips too.

I saw her hand gently glide over her neck, her back, her... legs, and the part of her that consumed my thoughts.

The timid girl from a year ago had bloomed in my absence. She was like a rose—beautiful and so sensual.

The sound of water running snapped me out of his daze. I groaned, feeling the unbearable ache in a particular part of my body.

“F.uck!”

I came to my senses, cursed under my breath, and returned to my own room. I drew the curtains, and the world fell silent again.

Only then did I realize just how chaotic my thoughts had been.

My room was simple, almost spartan. Even David had once joked that nothing in this world seemed capable of catching my interest.

Was that really true? On my meticulously clean desk stood a photo frame, holding a slightly yellowed family photo.

It was the only one left of me with my parents from my childhood.

Back then, I had endless toys and snacks. In the streets of Italy, I had seen beggars, but their world had seemed completely separate from my own.

Yet fate always has its balance. When you gain something, you are bound to lose something else.

I remembered my father always wearing a black suit, standing out wherever he went. I didn't understand what it meant when I was a child.

But my mother would pick me up and tell me.

“Your father is an important man. His work determines the lives of many people.”

Those were good days.

When I got older, I finally understood what that really meant. But what truly made me grow up was my mother’s blood.

On that horrible day, I hid in a safe room, watching as enemies humiliated and killed my mother.

My father had been blocked somewhere else, unable to even see his wife one last time. After all these years, my mother's eyes still haunted his dreams.

I couldn’t escape that nightmare, nor did I want to.

I thought my father would stay trapped in that nightmare too, but he didn’t. Rationally, I understood his father's desire to retire, so I worked even harder to grow my family’s business.

But not long after we moved to America, my father brought back a woman, a woman with a daughter.

I felt betrayed. My mother had died because of my father, yet my father quickly found another woman. He had betrayed our family. But as a son, I still had feelings for my father. I couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

This great man had given my life, had taught me the values and skills of being in the mafia, so I could never express dissatisfaction. I only despised the woman.

Oh, and her daughter.

When they first moved in, she looked at me with those innocent eyes, calling me brother.

Was she acting? Had she used those innocent eyes to win my father's favor?

I will never lower my head. I will never accept this girl as my sister. Even if it means angering my father, I don’t care.

That's what I told himself.

I had the right to take something from them. So when I saw the room my father had prepared for the girl, the devil in my heart took over.

We had met at the stairs, and I had gripped her neck. I watched as her face flushed from lack of oxygen. Yet, just before she was on the verge of suffocating, the tears welling in her eyes brought me back to my senses.

What was I doing?

I had pulled away, and later went to my father to request a return to Italy.

But during my year in Italy, I couldn’t help but think of the girl's eyes.

I would think of those eyes while pulling the trigger, while trying to sleep, even while having s.ex with women.

D.amn it!

It was as if someone had lit a fire in my heart—a fire that threatened to consume her. I kept myself busy, trying not to think of her.

But desire is like the fires of hell, wrapping around me tightly. After everything in Italy was settled, there was no reason for me not to return to America.

I bought an expensive necklace as a gift for her birthday. I couldn’t even remember when I had memorized her birthday. Being near her felt like an instinct.

But now I am suppressing that instinct.

Don’t get close to her! A voice told me. But as her birthday approached, she appeared more and more in my dreams.

Then I received a call from my father. He suggested me come home for her birthday. I scoffed, not responding, but I knew this call was like a drink of water in a desert. It gaveme a reason to attend her birthday, and a way to satisfy my desire.

But before I could properly see her, I had to watch her kiss someone else. That rash young boy looked like a fool. How could he protect her?

I watched her put on the beautiful dress and quietly sit at the dinner table, like a lamb.

At that moment, I felt furious. I didn’t know if it was because she had taken some of my father’s love or because she was in a relationship.

So my eyes followed her constantly. Seeing her avoid my gaze made me feel both pain and satisfaction.

It seemed she never expected a gift from me. That hurt.

Why should I be the only one in pain?

I’ve been losing sleep over this. Harper, we should be sharing both the pain and the pleasure.