Page 23 of Forbidden (Dark Syndicate #3)

Penelope

I grab my phone off the nightstand, the screen’s glare slicing through the dark, and there it is, Adriano’s text from an hour ago.

His words unravel me, pulling at stitches I did not even realize were barely holding.

Line after line, he bleeds onto the screen, raw and unguarded, stripping away the walls he always keeps so high.

The last line sends my heart beating so fast...

But I want to learn. For you, I would try anything. Call me, please. I miss your voice more than I can stand.

My throat knots up, a sob forcing its way out as I clutch the phone like it’s his hand. Tears blur the screen, hot and useless, spilling down my cheeks. I miss him too—fuck, I miss him so much it’s a physical ache, a hollow gnawing at my ribs. My fingers tremble as I type back:

Adriano. I am a mess without you. These three days have been hell, and I keep hearing your voice, seeing your face, feeling you even when you are not here.

You ripped me open too, showed me your scars, and I love you for it, for trusting me with that ugly truth.

I miss you so much it chokes me, and I am counting the seconds until I can see you, hold you, tell you I am yours.

We are fucked up, but we are real, and I want us.

Just the way we are. Loud, messy, all of it.

I love you too, you crazy bastard. I miss you too.

And even though every second’s dragging like a lifetime. I’ll be there at dawn, I promise.

I hit send, press the phone to my lips, and taste salt. It’s not enough, it never is but it’s all I’ve got until the sun comes up.

Till then, the words he wrote circle in my mind.

I’m not just something he wants, but something he needs.

Something he is willing to fight for. He calls me his heartbeat, his reason to look up in the morning.

I stare at the words, my pulse hammering, my throat tight.

My hands tremble, and I grasp the phone harder, like I can hold onto this moment, this impossible, terrifying truth that I am something more to him than just a complication.

Than just a mistake he is too afraid to claim.

He loves me.

The realization crashes over me, a tidal wave I am not prepared for.

Not in the way I thought it would be. It is not soft or sweet.

It is a free fall, an earthquake, a fucking firestorm burning through me because this—this is everything.

This is the thing that will ruin us or save us, and I do not know which one scares me more.

My fingers hover over the screen. He asked me to call. He misses my voice. I want to hear his too, need to hear it, to know this is real and not just some fever dream I will wake up from. I press the button, lifting the phone to my ear.

Ring.

Ring.

No answer.

I swing my legs out of bed, barefoot on the cold tile, and shuffle to the kitchen for water. The doubt presses in and as I fill a glass, my mind lurches back to that night years ago. The night that broke everything.

Flashback: Three Years Ago

17 years old

The night starts normal, or at least what passes for normal in this house. It’s just us three, a Friday night that feels normal until it doesn’t.

The smell of pizza grease clings to the air, empty boxes stacked on the coffee table.

The TV hums low, half-forgotten, as I sit curled up on the couch with a warm buzz in my veins.

The cheap red wine burns my throat, but it makes everything softer, easier.

I’m seventeen. I shouldn’t be drinking, but Adriano poured the glass himself and slid it across the table like it was nothing.

Like I wasn’t sitting there, hanging onto every slow, deliberate movement he made.

Sophia’s in the kitchen, laughing as she rummages for a soda, her voice bouncing off the cabinets. I hear the hiss of a soda can popping open, the shuffle of her socked feet against the tile.

Adriano drops onto the couch beside me, too close, his knee brushing mine. He’s got a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking as he swirls it, and his eyes catch mine with a glint I’ve seen before—teasing, testing, but sharper tonight.

After a few minutes he shifts beside me, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, his fingers dangerously close to my shoulder.

It’s nothing. It’s everything. He’s always been a little too charming, a little too aware of what his presence does to people, and I’ve always been too stupid to pull away.

“You’re quiet, Pen,” he says, voice rough like gravel over silk. “What’s rattling around in that head of yours?”

I giggle, the wine loosening my tongue, and shrug. “Dunno. Just… vibing.” My crush on him’s been simmering forever. It’s stupid, reckless, a kid’s fantasy I’ve never shaken. He’s Sophia’s dad, late thirties, all tattoos and quiet menace, but when he beams like that, my stomach flips.

He leans in, elbow on the back of the couch, his breath warm with liquor. “Vibing, huh? You’re a lightweight, cara mia. That wine’s got you flushed already,” he mutters, watching me over the rim of his glass. Whiskey. Not wine. Something older, sharper, like him.

I giggle, rolling my eyes. “Barely. I can still walk in a straight line.”

“Impressive.”

From the kitchen, Sophia calls out, “Pen, you want a Coke too?”

“Yeah!” I yell back, but my eyes don’t leave his. He’s still watching me, amusement flickering across his lips, the space between us taut.

Then Sophia’s phone rings and she groans. “Ugh, it’s Jason. Be right back.” She steps outside, the screen door slapping shut, leaving us alone.

Adriano’s brow lifts. “Jason?”

“Her ex. The one who cheated.”

For a split second, anger flashes in his eyes. He was always fiercely protective of her. But they fought, and now this is him pretending not to care. He exhales, masking it with indifference. “Figures.”

A taunting grin crawls on my face. “That was a little too casual. You plotting something, or just letting karma do the dirty work?”

His lips twitch. “Men like that bury themselves. I will not waste the effort.”

Something about the way he says it—calm, sure, final—sends a slow pulse of heat through me.

“Damn,” I murmur, tilting my head. “That was... weirdly attractive.”

A faint grin plays on his face. “Careful, Penelope. Keep talking like that, and you might start making bad decisions.”

I let my eyes drop to his mouth before thinking, Oh, I think I already have.

His lips twitch, and I know I have his attention. He’s always careful, measured, never giving too much away, but I’ve seen the way his eyes linger when he thinks no one’s looking. I’ve seen the restraint in his hands, the hesitation just before he pulls back.

Tonight, he doesn’t pull back.

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” I tease, shifting to face him fully. My bare knee brushes his thigh, and his jaw tightens, and something mysterious flashes behind his eyes. Power. Control. Something else I can’t name but want to push just to see how far it’ll go.

“Dare me,” I blurt, heat rushing to my face before I can think better of it.

His brow lifts, amused. “To do what?”

I don’t have an answer. Or maybe I do, but saying it out loud would make it real, and that would be dangerous. So I do the next stupid thing that comes to mind.

I swallow, my mouth dry despite the wine. “I dare you to… let me sit on your lap.” It’s dumb, reckless, a half-drunk impulse, but the words are out before I can stop them. His brows lift, surprise flashing, then something hungrier settles in his eyes.

But the words from his mouth contradict. “No.”

“Come on, you’re no fun.”

“I’m not playing this with you.” His voice is firm. He moves to stand, but I grab his wrist, holding him back.

“Okay, fine. I’ll ask you, then.”

His jaw tightens. “Penelope.”

“I promise. No more funny business.”

Liar.

“You promise?” His voice is skeptical.

I nod, lips pressing together to hide the smile threatening to form. “No more funny business.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. For a second, I think he’ll call my bluff. Then he exhales, shaking his head like he’s already regretting this.

“Fine.”

Victory flares in me, but I keep my expression even.

“Ok, here it goes. Truth or dare?”

He sighs, then. “Truth.”

“I dare you not to stop me from sitting on your lap, Adriano.”

“I picked truth.” His tone should scare me, but it doesn’t.

“I know. But I can tell that isn’t what you really want.”

His eyes dart down to where my fingers wrap around his wrist, then back up to my face. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t relax either.

Like that is the invitation I need, I shift, moving onto his lap like it’s nothing, with my knees sinking into the couch on either side, like the press of his thighs beneath me isn’t short-circuiting my brain.

His body is rigid, those muscles locked under my weight. His hands stay at his sides, like he doesn’t trust himself to touch me.

I tilt my head. “See? Not so bad.”

His eyes burn into mine. “You’re playing with fire, Penelope.”

I lean in just slightly, my lips close enough to catch the breath he exhales. “Maybe I like the heat.”

His hands snap to my hips. Not rough. Not pulling me closer. Just holding. His fingers flex, a slow, deliberate press, and my pulse jumps in response.

“This isn’t funny,” he murmurs.

I should stop. I should climb off his lap and quit while I’m ahead.

But I don’t.

I let my hands skim up his body, slowly and teasing. “Then tell me to move.”

He doesn’t.

And that’s all the answer I need.

I roll my hips once and feel him hard under me. My breath stutters. Damn he is so big. He is going to wreck me.

“Penelope—”

“Relax,” I sneer, ignoring the way my pulse hammers against my ribs. “You’re acting like this is a big deal.”

He exhales through his nose, like this is causing him pain but his fingers flex against my thighs. “It is.”