Chapter 5 A Dangerous Softness

The room reeked of alcohol and smoke because of his presence.

Elara gasped, her eyes widened in surprise as her eyes met Marco's

Her body tensed, every instinct screaming at her to cover herself, to run—but she couldn’t. She was frozen in place. 

Her heart hammered as she watched him take two slow and deliberate steps toward her.

His gaze was warm and intense, but there was no trace of the harshness she had anticipated. One she'd been getting from him ever since.

She sensed something different instead.

Perhaps interest; fascination.

Marco’s eyes roamed over her, taking in every detail of her body. His expression was unreadable but one thing was sure–he wanted her.

His stare was intense, but not cruel, at least not yet. He had never looked at her this way since they met.

Elara’s breath caught in her throat. She needed to cover herself, she had to, but just as she reached for the towel—his hand caught her wrist.

She stiffened and her body became strong with shock. She didn't know what he was going to do next and that uncertainty scared her.

Marco’s grip was firm, but not painful. It was as if he needed

a connection, a way to ground himself to this moment—and to her.

Elara slowly straightened with her bare skin tingling under his stare.

His fingers tightened around her wrist, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked… unsure.

His gaze lifted from her body to her face, carefully studying her face in awe.

Something in his expression shifted.

His jaw clenched and his eyes dimmed. And at this moment it is not with anger but with something else far more dangerous.

And then, before she could react Marco pulled her into his arms.

Elara’s body went rigid. She'd slap herself to snap out of whatever dream she was having, but it wasn't a dream it was all real.

Her breath caught as she found herself trapped in his embrace, her cheek pressing against his chest. 

He curled his arms around her, almost squeezing her into his body.

His heartbeat thundered beneath her ear, fast and uneven. It was as if he were fighting something within himself.

Elara’s mind screamed for her to push him away, but she couldn't because he was holding her really tight.

This wasn’t the same man who had dragged her from her home, claiming her as a debt.

This man, the one holding her like this, felt almost… human.

“Marco—” she started, but the name caught in her throat; a mere serving girl wouldn't dare call out the name Marco out loud, not if she wanted to die. She quickly corrected herself as she realized.

“Sir, please. You need to stop.”

“Afraid of me, dolcezza?” (“sweetheart) he said faintly.

His lips curled slightly as if he enjoyed the thought.

“You’re drunk,” she continued, her voice steadier this time. “You need to get a hold of yourself.”

Marco exhaled heavily, his breath warm against her shoulder.

Elara stiffened in fear. Is he okay now? she thought.

She felt his lips move against her hair as he muttered something low in Italian. She couldn’t understand most of it, but one word stood out—

“Bella.”

Beautiful.

Elara’s heart slammed against her ribs.

No.

This isn’t real.

She shoved at his chest. “Stop,” she whispered her voice firm this time. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Marco didn’t move at first.

For a moment, he just stayed still. Then, finally, his grip on her loosened.

Elara inhaled sharply, relief flooding her as he took a step back.

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, exhaling like a man trying to steady himself.

“I let you live in my house,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I feed you, clothe you. And yet… you avoid me.” He's already pissed.

He then turned toward the door.

Elara’s knees nearly buckled.

She watched him go with her breath still unsteady. She desperately waited for the moment he would disappear from her sight—waiting to finally be alone.

But just as he reached the doorway, he stopped.

Her heart nearly stopped too.

Marco was still.

Too still. 

And then, suddenly he turned back around—faster this time.

Elara barely had time to react before his hand caught hers again, his grip firmer than before.

This time, he wouldn’t let go.

She gasped and tried to pull away, but he didn’t let her. 

Instead, he tightened his fingers around hers, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting her go.

“You need to stop this now; you'd regret this if you come back to your senses; just stop, please.” Elara pleaded.

But he didn’t reply.

His dark and stormy eyes locked onto hers, unreadable yet intense. There was something about the way he looked at her that sent a shiver down her spine.

Not fear though.

Something else.

Something far more dangerous.

His free hand lifted as if he wanted to touch her face, but then he hesitated. 

His fingers curled slightly in uncertainty.

For a moment, the air between them was suffocating.

Elara’s chest tightened. She needed to say something, to make him snap out of whatever drunken haze he was in.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she whispered, her voice softer this time. “You’re drunk. You need to let me go.”

Marco blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he were trying to process her words. Then, in a voice so low she barely caught it, he murmured: “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Her stomach twisted.

What!?

That was the problem.

The tension between them thickened as Marco suddenly pulled her closer. The sudden movement made her stumble forward, her bare feet barely finding balance on the cold floor.

Elara’s breath hitched as he leaned in, his face inches from hers.

Water dripped from her hair, rolling down her face.

Marco reached for it, softly wiping it off with his thumb.

Elara was still, shocked perhaps.

“You…” He exhaled, his voice rough and heavy with something she didn't know. “You make me…”

He didn’t finish.

Instead, his gaze dropped to her lips.

Panic shot through her.

No.

No, no, no.

She pushed against his chest. “Stop!”

His hand caught her wrist again, but this time, it wasn’t just to hold her still–It was to keep her from pushing him away.

His other hand came up, moving faster than she could process, and cupped the side of her face.

“Elara,” he murmured.

His voice was low and hoarse, filled with something that made her pulse race.

She had no time to process what was happening before Marco’s lips crashed onto hers.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Elara’s eyes widened in shock.

She couldn’t breathe.

He was fucking sucking her breath.

Her mind kept urging her to do something, to fight back.

But for half a second, all she could feel was the warmth of his mouth against hers, The way his body radiated heat, and how his grip on her was both possessive and unsteady.

Then—an idea kicked in.

She bit down on his lip, not so hard. He would kill her the next morning if she hurt him.

Marco hissed and immediately pulled back.

Elara staggered backward, panting, her body trembling with fear.

“Fuck!” he swore under his breath, wiping the corner of his lip where a thin smear of blood appeared.

Elara’s reaction was mixed with fear and a little relief. She dared to hurt Marco De Luca.

His eyes flickered with something dark and dangerous.

Elara knew she needed to get out of there. To seek help perhaps.

She turned sharply and grabbed the towel she had been reaching for earlier. Her hands trembled as she clumsily wrapped it around herself, tying it securely across her chest.

She barely had time to process anything before she felt his presence behind her again.

“Dolcezza,” he murmured.

His voice was softer this time, almost hesitant.

But she wasn’t fooled.

This madness had to stop.

She turned to face him, her heart still hammering against her ribs. “Enough of all this already,” she said, her voice shaking.

Marco’s expression shifted but he didn’t step back.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his tone almost frustrated, and almost… lost.

“No,” Elara whispered. “You don’t understand.”

She took a shaky breath.

“You’re drunk,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “And whatever this is, whatever you think you’re doing, you need to stop.”

Marco let out a low exhale. His hand lifted slightly as if he wanted to reach for her again, but this time, he hesitated.

Elara took a step back and for a moment, she thought maybe he was going to listen.

Maybe he would walk away.

Maybe this dangerous drama would be over.

But Marco doesn't take no for an answer, he always gets what he desires.

Without warning, he closed the distance between them in an instant and before she could take another step, he held her–firmly and softly.

She barely had time to gasp before he pushed her backward and straight onto the bed.

Elara’s heart slammed against her ribs as she landed on the mattress, her towel still barely clinging to her.

Marco followed, falling lazily on top of her.

His weight pressed down on her just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Dolcezza…” he hushed, looking straight into her eyes.

His voice screamed danger, and Elara understood that.

She pushed against his chest, panic rising in her throat.

“Marco, stop.”

She called out his name, her voice loud and clear. It wasn’t fear anymore—it was determination.

He didn’t move, he just smirked.

“Please Sir,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath now. “Let me go.”