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I don’t like the way my heart melts like ice when I am near her. It’s bad enough I need to mask it all, but here, in the thick of the silence with only my thoughts as company, I fear that the truth is too hard for me to face.

This is just sex. It can only be just sex. But it doesn’t go beyond that. It can’t.

I cannot allow myself to get to close, not again. She is an obligation that I have to fulfil and one that I cannot afford to fumble. This is nothing more than a part of the business agreement.

I don’t know if I am trying to convince myself into believing it.

I will do well to remember my place in all of this. And most of all, I will remember—Maria will never be mine. Not truly. No matter how much I fucking wish she was.

15

MARIA

The sun streams in from the outside and kisses my naked back. I moan into the sheets and feel the silk wrap around my body. The ache between my legs is evidence of what happened last night.

My eyes blink open and I catch the sunrise trickling into my room. I look to my left and see the bed is empty. I had expected that, but the one thing I did not expect is the hard rock of disappointment.

I told myself I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t here. But the cold sheets beside me still feel like a rejection I wasn’t prepared for.

I sit up in my bed and lean against the headboard. I look out the window at the rising New York skyline. The yellows and the oranges bleed into each other, casting gentle shadows behind the large skyscrapers.

I much prefer the lakes of Italy to the concrete structures of New York. But there is a certain beauty to the concrete jungle.

I turn my head to the empty pillow beside me. I reach my fingertips out to the sheets but I quickly retract them when I realize what I’m doing.

I rub a tired hand over my face and look around the room. The floor is free of any of the clothes we stripped away last night, and even the necklace that graced my neck last night is gone.

He must have taken it.

“This body of yours is mine tonight.”His words fill my skull and cause all the blood in my body to rush down to the lower region.

I can’t believe I’m no longer a virgin. I gave it to the man whose name once stirred nothing but fear in me. It’s so crazy to think this is where I ended up.

I pull the blanket off my body and walk to my closet to put on a pair of boyfriend shorts and a large T-shirt. Before I leave, I catch myself in the mirror, and I have to pause.

I walk over to my reflection and drink in my unruly sight. My hair resembles a bird’s nest; my lips are plump and look freshly kissed. My neck has a small purple bruise on the side.

My breath catches. A hickey. A visible, undeniable claim. Heat rushes to my core as flashes of last night hit me like a drug—his mouth, his hands, the way he owned me. I should be angry. But instead, all I can think is:He wanted to mark me.

I shake my head and step away from the mirror. I rush out of the closet and make my way out of the room. The last thing I should be doing is picturing last night, even if it was one of the most memorable things I have ever experienced in my life.

I walk down the marble steps and go into the kitchen, where I find Emily behind the stove frying up some bacon. When she hears me, she lifts her head and smiles.

“Good morning, Mrs. Davacalli. I was going to bring breakfast to you but I was running a little late, I had to pop the laundry into the washing machine.”

I look at the spread of food on the counter. It looks like she is preparing to feed an entire city.

“Morning, Emily. That’s all right, I needed to get out of bed anyway. And please, call me Maria, no need for the formalities.” I tangle my fingers with each other and shift my weight from foot to foot. “Is… is Matteo here?”

She shakes her head. “No, he left before dawn. He is usually out before dawn most days when it’s a work day. Especially after the disaster at the warehouse.”

“What?” I walk over to the high chair at the edge of the counter. “What do you mean, disaster at the warehouse?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Emily places the crispy bacon on a plate before turning to the coffee machine. “What would you like? You look like a latte kind of woman.”

“Cappuccino, please. Sorry, can you explain to me—what warehouse tragedy?”

“One of the organizations, warehouses, was burned down to a crisp. Almost everyone is talking about it. Mr. Davacalli views this as an attack—and no one is stupid enough to attack Mr. Davacalli without knowing there will be hell to pay after.”