Serena.She stared at the message long after she hit send.“I miss you too.”She read it again.Then again.What the hell had she just done?She paced across the living room of her condo, arms crossed tight, her brain warring with her heart. It was part of the act. It had to be. She was playing him, deceiving him — he was the enemy, the mark. This was the game. She was winning.Right?Except… why had her fingers trembled as she typed it?Why had her lips curled in a sheepish, reluctant smile when she hit send — like a teenager with a crush?Goddammit, Calista, she scolded herself silently, slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. The mirror caught her expression — wide-eyed, flushed, and betraying something dangerously close to… longing.No.It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.She turned on the shower, steam rising around her like a veil, hot water hitting her tense shoulders and loosening the weight of the day. But the heat didn’t ease her thoughts. If anything, it m
Serena.The moment Serena ended the call, a wild rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. Her breath caught. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she shot up from the bed, pacing her bedroom like a caged animal.What had she just done?If her conscience was a person, she imagined her glaring at her with disgust, like she was so stupid.She felt stupid.“God,” she whispered under her breath, dragging her hands through her damp hair. “What am I doing?”Her thoughts were spinning faster than she could contain. Her mind screamed at her that this was a mistake—a reckless, emotional blunder. But her heart? It thudded with anticipation.Meanwhile, across the city, Stefano rushed through his closet, grabbing his timberland boots and spraying his cologne. He was dressed in a Calvin Klein V-neck shirt, and plain, baggy dark blue Denim jeans and a black leather jacket on top. In a matter of minutes, he was ready. He walked into the corridor of his smoke-drenched manor. The air smelled faintly
“So…” Serena continued, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed beneath her chest, “…are you gonna come in, or are you gonna stand there staring at me all night?”Stefano's lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. And then, he laughed. A soft, deep rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air between them.It was a laugh that did something to her—something dangerous. Her skin prickled. Her breath caught. God, what was that?She moved aside, and he walked in, bringing with him a lingering scent of leather, musk, and smoke. The door clicked shut behind him, and just like that, the world outside ceased to exist.“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, voice calm, masking the tremor she felt deep inside.He didn’t answer immediately. He was busy looking around—taking in the stark yet sensual contrast of her living room. It was minimal, but every piece was chosen with sharp taste. The sage green accents, the clean blacks and whites, the cool marble countertops. It surprised him. Just like he
The kiss started slow.Soft. Searching.But then it deepened, like the slow build of a storm breaking across still waters. Tongues tangled. Breath hitched. The heat between their bodies surged until it felt like the air around them would combust.Serena's hand cradled his cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of his jaw as she kissed him harder. Her fingers slid into his thick black hair, tugging just enough to make him growl softly against her lips. She tiptoed instinctively, pressing her entire body against his. Her breasts molded to his chest, the sheer satin of her nightdress leaving little to the imagination. His body was solid heat, and her knees weakened as his arms held her, anchoring her, melting her.“Hmm.” A moan escaped between them—hers first, then his, like a dark harmony. And then she felt it—his arousal, hard and insistent against her thigh. Her breath caught.Stefano kissed her with devotion and danger—like a man starved, like a man who had wanted this too long and finall
Infact, he was yet to start.She barely had time to brace herself before she felt him press against her, his tip teasing the entrance of her soaked warmth. Her breath caught again, her entire nerves tensing with anticipation. Then—he pushed in.Slowly… then fully.Her gasp was instant, sharp and breathless. He filled her completely, as though he had been carved precisely to fit within her. Her hands gripped his arms, her nails digging slightly into his skin. The stretch was deep, the pleasure laced with pain—but it was the kind of pain that made her feel alive.He stilled, just for a moment. Letting her adjust. Letting them both feel the gravity of what was happening.Then—he began to move.Slow at first. Deep and Deliberate.Each stroke was a revelation, a rhythm that made her tremble. Her legs wrapped instictively around his waist, urging him closer, urging him deeper. Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, as though this was something they’d done a thousand times in another life.
The next morning.Serena woke up first, the golden slivers of Milanese sunlight peeking through the cracks in the blinds. For a moment, she didn’t recognize where she was. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet, the warmth beside her too steady.Then she turned, and her heart skipped.There he was. Stefano De Ricco. The man she was sent to destroy. The man who had stolen her breath, her body, and now—perhaps dangerously—pieces of her soul. His arm was draped loosely over the sheets, his face softened in sleep. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones. He looked younger like this. Less ruthless. Less haunted. Less mafia kingpin and more man.They were still naked.Her eyes trailed down the sharp lines of his torso, the rise and fall of his chest, until her gaze landed between his legs. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Morning wood. Of course.Serena bit her lip.She was supposed to feel guilt. Regret. Shame. But none of those things showed up. Instead, there
Marco.Back at the manor, the quiet halls of the De Ricco estate carried an almost eerie stillness. The morning sunlight filtered in through the stained-glass windows, casting colored patterns on the marble floor. But Marco Sanchez wasn’t looking at any of that.He stood by the expansive bay window of the east corridor, unmoving. His arms crossed tightly across his chest as if bracing himself against a storm only he could feel. His jaw ticked, his heart beat hard in his chest—not from adrenaline or fear, but something far more dangerous.Jealousy.Longing.Turmoil.The woman his boss was falling for—the woman who had so easily infiltrated Stefano’s dark, guarded heart—was the same woman who had stolen his breath the moment he saw her.Marco closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but his memories dragged him under.It had been weeks ago. A mundane day, or so he thought. He and a few of the crew had been at the Milan train station, waiting for a delivery that never came. The usual tensio
Stefano and Serena.The morning sun had climbed higher by the time Serena and Stefano left the quaint breakfast café tucked in a quiet corner of Milan. The clink of cutlery, the scent of buttery croissants, and the way his hand brushed hers across the table lingered in her mind like a melody she didn’t want to end.Afterward, they wandered into a small, contemporary art gallery nestled between two centuries-old buildings. The space was quiet, awash in natural light that spilled through skylights and danced across canvases and sculptures alike. The air was tinged with the subtle sharpness of paint, aged wood, and varnish.Serena moved slowly, eyes flickering from piece to piece. Abstract swirls of color, brushstrokes that looked like chaos until you stood back and saw the pain, the love, the story buried in them. She didn’t say much, just absorbed.Stefano walked beside her, silent for a while. Watching her, not the art.“You look like you belong here,” he murmured finally, hands burie
Serena. She had to act like everything was fine—perfect even. Her smile was light, her posture poised, and her voice delicately threaded with warmth. But beneath the charm, Serena’s pulse fluttered like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.Stefano’s eyes were sharp, watching her every expression.“But why do you look so worried?” she asked, her voice laced with gentle curiosity as she crossed the room toward him.“I had some intense business matters, that's all.” He brushed it off with practiced ease, a ghost of tension still shadowing his words. It was a lie—she could see it in the flicker behind his dark gaze. But he was also… afraid. Not of her. Of something else. Something that might have happened to her. The idea lingered between them unspoken.But just when she thought she had escaped his scrutinizing gaze, she heard him ask. “Your lips… what happened?” Fuck! That bastard, Marco, had bit me. She shrugged it off, “I dunno… probably brushed too hard or bit too hard, I don't remembe
Marco.Through the hidden door he had installed during the latest round of upgrades to the house, Marco slipped out of her room like a shadow fleeing daylight. His breath caught in his throat, each exhale shaky, his pulse thudding like a war drum in his ears. The hallway was quiet—too quiet—but he didn’t dare slow down. Guilt clawed at his chest with every step as he moved swiftly toward the east wing of the manor, to his private suite tucked far from hers.When he finally pushed open the glass doors to his veranda, the cool night air slapped against his face, awakening his senses with a jolt. He leaned over the railing, gripping it until his knuckles turned white once again, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts.What the hell are you doing, Marco?His reflection in the glass door behind him stared back at him like a silent accusation. This wasn’t just a lapse in judgment—it was betrayal. Not just in thought, but in action… He had touched her, kissed her with a roughn
Stefano.The morning heat clung to the Milanese countryside like a shroud. It was thick with tension and the smell of gunpowder enveloped the field. Stefano stood over the body, his jaw tight, his pistol still raised. Smoke curled from the barrel, disappearing into the warm breeze.The man’s blood darkened the dirt beneath him.He had been one of Stefano's own. Trusted. Loyal. Or so he thought.“Selling our weapons to our enemies?” Stefano muttered to himself, fury darkening his features. “And skimming off the top for your own pocket?”The betrayal sliced deep.This wasn’t the first. And wouldn’t be the last.“I’ve buried more of my men this year than I can count,” he said bitterly, addressing the two soldiers standing behind him, both pale, both silent. “Every time I look into one of their eyes, I wonder who’s next.”He stared down at the corpse for a long moment before glancing up. “Clear this mess.”“Yes, Don De Ricco,” they said in unison, dragging the body away without question.
Next Day. The morning sun cast golden warmth across the marble floor of Serena’s room, chasing shadows from the corners and kissing the silk sheets that no longer smelled like him. Her fingers reached over instinctively, searching for warmth that wasn’t there. But he wasn't right next to her.A quiet ache vibrated in her chest, one she tried to ignore. But when she saw a written note resting neatly on the nightstand, she eagerly reached for it. It read: ~ Morning, tésoro mio. Had to leave for urgent business. But I’ve made plans for us today. Wear something you’ll want to remember. —S ~Her lips curved into a faint smile despite herself. He always knew how to tug at her. She held the note against her chest for a second before tossing back the covers and padding to the bathroom.The steam of the hot shower fogged the mirror, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. But inside her head, it wasn’t peaceful. Marco's voice echoed faintly in her thoughts—his promise to see her soon. That cr
The night had enveloped the entire city.And the room was dimly lit, punctuated by the shimmering light of the chandelier and the fluorescent bedside lamp.Stefano’s eyes burned into her like fire meeting silk. She lay there, bare, her legs spread wide, her gaze seductive and commanding—and still, he was the one completely undone.His breathing deepened as he pulled off his shirt, every slow motion revealing more of his defined torso. Shadows danced over the hard ridges of his chest and abdomen, and Serena’s breath hitched, her body already aching for him.He climbed onto the bed like a predator, slow and deliberate, every inch of his movement a silent promise.He didn’t touch her immediately. He just knelt between her legs and stared.Serena’s body shivered under his gaze. No man had ever looked at her like that. Like she was something sacred. Something dangerous. Something his.Then Stefano leaned down.His tongue slid out, warm and wet, and traced a slow line up the inside of her t
Into the manor they went.Serena’s eyes roamed the expansive interior, tracing the grandeur of it all—the high vaulted ceilings, the gold-framed paintings, the polished marble floor that gleamed under warm lighting. It was opulent but not ostentatious, and it carried a masculine elegance—dark woods, stone, and steel softened by curated pieces that whispered wealth and power.Even Stefano looked around, mildly surprised. Marco had taken initiative, and it showed. The broken ornaments had been restored, the antique frames replaced or repaired. Every corner gleamed with intention. Stefano didn’t know how Marco had pulled it off so quickly, but he silently appreciated it.“My…” Serena’s voice trailed as she gazed around in awe. “It’s... huge.”“It is,” Stefano replied with a faint smile, watching her reaction closely.He led her down a long corridor until they reached a wing adjacent to his. He opened the door to a spacious suite, stepping aside so she could enter first.“I had it furnish
Later that day. Serena moved through her condo with quiet purpose, the soft zip of luggage and the shuffle of items breaking the stillness. She was packing light—only a single bag—despite Stefano’s insistence that she wouldn’t need anything. He had promised to buy her an entirely new wardrobe once they arrived. “Something that suits your elegance,” he had said with that unreadable glint in his eyes.But this wasn’t just about clothing. She slipped her mission files—well-disguised among blank notebooks. These were incriminating things that could ruin the entire mission once he found them, yet she was taking the risk of taking them. She stared for a long moment at the concealed compartment under her nightstand. Inside it sat her metal detector-proof handgun, slim and matte black, resting like a secret. Her fingers hovered over it, but before she could make a decision, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.“Need any help?” came Stefano’s voice.Her heart jumped against her ribs.She cl
The early afternoon sun bled through the linen curtains, casting a warm hue over the living room as Stefano slipped his arms into his jacket. He looked effortlessly sharp, even though he hadn’t changed his outfit in days. A quick smirk played on his lips when he caught Serena eyeing him from the couch.“Stay in. Rest,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “I’ll be back in an hour. Groceries, supplies… and maybe a change of clothes. God knows I need one.”Serena chuckled delightfully. The thought of him restocking for her marveled her. But she liked it a lot, leaning into his touch before he pulled away and headed for the door. The condo felt oddly silent once it closed behind him. For a few moments, she simply sat there, staring at the space he had just left.She hadn’t realized how much safer she felt with him around.Ten minutes hadn’t passed before the silence was broken—by the unmistakable hum of a car engine outside. She peered out the window, assuming it was Stefano
The soft clink of cutlery had long faded into the silence that followed her question—How many have you killed?—and the weight of his answer still lingered in the air between them.I don’t keep count.It should have terrified her. Instead, it made him real.They remained in bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, their bodies close but not touching now. The golden morning light had warmed the room, but a chill had returned, the kind that comes from speaking the kinds of truths most people die with.“So,” she said after a long silence, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “You kill a lot of people.”He gave a quiet laugh—humorless. “They all deserved it, I can assure you.”“I’m not judging,” she said calmly, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.Stefano turned his head toward her, skeptical. “Why?”She met his eyes. “Because I’ve killed too.”His gaze held hers, unreadable at first, then something flickered behind his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Respect. Maybe something da