Page 6

Penelope

I’m still buzzing from snagging this job at Caruso’s, a name that drips prestige like honey off a gold spoon. It’s no ordinary jewelry store—think Bvlgari, but more ruthless, a palace of excess where every gem screams wealth.

The showroom’s a cathedral of decadence: black marble floors veined with gold, walls draped in silk, glass cases cradling diamonds and sapphires so flawless they look alive.

Chandeliers dangle like icicles, casting light that dances over gold cuffs and necklaces. Luxury pieces that cost more than my soul. The air is filled with leather, a scent that clings. This isn’t just mere luxury; it’s power, curated and cold, and I’m elbow-deep in its numbers now.

Day one’s a blur. I’m good—damn good—and the staff’s sidelong glances say they’re clocking it. But last night’s gnawing at me—Adriano’s growl when he shoved me out of his SUV, those gray eyes burning holes I can’t patch. It’s a splinter under my nail, sharp and restless.

Afternoon creeps in, and my manager, Mia, glides over, coffee mug steaming, a tight, controlled expression on her face that could cut glass.

“Upstairs, newbie. The man wants you.”

“The man?” I tilt back, chair groaning, pulse kicking. “Who?”

“Figure it out,” she says, sipping slowly, eyes glinting like she’s betting on my crash. “Don’t mess it up.”

My gut twists as I rise, smoothing my blouse, heels striking the floor like gunfire. Nobody’s dropped a name, just hushed talk of “him,” like he’s a myth carved in smoke.

The spiral staircase’s wrought iron is cold under my fingers, tightening the knot in my stomach.

The place feels alive, watching me, its elegance a mask for something feral.

I pass a display of emerald rings, their green fire winking like eyes, and wonder who really pulls these strings.

The office door looms, made with ebony wood, frosted glass etched with a subtle “C.” I push through, holding my breath.

Only Adriano’s there.

My breath stalls, and my legs lock. Him? Here?

“You,” I say, voice flat, fists clenching at my sides.

“Sit,” he says, jabbing a finger at a chair like I’m some punk nabbed with sticky fingers.

I don’t budge, my feet remain planted. “You’re my boss? Since when does Caruso’s belong to you?” My eyes narrow.

Last I heard, this place was a glittery upstart, barely a decade old, pushing its way up with sleek designs and whispers of dirty cash. Word was some syndicate shark snapped it up to wash his money clean, turning blood into diamonds.

Adriano Vieri, Sophia’s dad, the guy who’d grill steaks and dodge her questions about late-night “business” is a mafia kingpin? It fits too well, and that scares me.

“Surprise,” he drawls, tongue sliding slowly across his lips, a predator’s tease. My pulse slams but I choke it down as last night is still raw, his shove-out-the-door a fresh welt, and now this twist guts me.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I step closer, my anger flaring hot. “Last night—in the car, at my place—”

“Didn’t figure you’d pull that shit if you knew, huh?” he growls, stepping into my space. “Teasing me, daring me to kiss you. What the fuck was that, Penelope?”

“You’re mad at me?” I tilt my chin. “You couldn’t peel your eyes off me the whole night, playing chauffeur like a damn gentleman.”

“Drunk girls need rides,” he snaps. “How’s that a green light for your little game? You should know better.”

Of course I do but why does it have to be that way?

His jaw clenches, those gray eyes slitting when I don’t bite back. “You pushed too far, acting like a brat, begging for shit you can’t handle.”

“Bullshit,” I fire back. “You wanted it, you still do. Don’t play saint now.”

He steps closer, looming, his voice dropping to a rasp. “You’re a reckless little thing who keeps pushing things that should be left alone, and you’ll see what happens when I stop holding back.”

“But you didn’t,” I say, locking eyes, defiance blazing. “And now I’m here, under your thumb. What’s the move, boss?”

He snorts. “To keep you in line. And I’m only doing this because of Gianna. You’re good with numbers so don’t make me regret keeping you.”

“Then don’t,” I retort, stepping into his heat, his cologne sharp and dizzying, oud bleeding into leather. “But you hauled me up here for more than a slap on the wrist. So out with it.”

That thing Adriano does with his nose when he’s pissed, it’s barely a twitch, but on him, it commands both fear and restraint.

I remember it from years ago, back when I used to sneak into his beach house, watching him bark orders at unseen men through a computer screen.

Now, I’m seeing it again, only this time it’s directed at me.

“Christ, Penelope,” he mutters, stepping back only to flex his hands, his fingers curling tight, then loosening, like he’s strangling the air between us. “You’re a fucking kid, and you’re torching me alive.”

“Twenty’s not a kid,” I say, closing the space he just put between us. His heat pulls me in, the space between us crackling, and I can see it. The storm brewing and the way his shirt strains as he breathes too fast, too hard. “And you’re not exactly running in the opposite direction.”

He freezes, his eyes darkenIng to slate.

His jaw ticks, a muscle jumping under stubble, and I feel it, his control splintering, fraying at the edges like a rope about to snap.

My knees wobble, heat surging insistent, but I don’t retreat.

I want it and I want him to shatter, to see the beast he’s caging slip its leash.

I lick my lips and lean closer, my voice a soft taunt.

“Go on, Adriano. Lose it.”

His arms cross, those muscles bulging under his shirt, a wall snapping shut.

“Lose it?” His voice drops to a guttural snarl that coils through me, sparking a slick, pulsing ache between my thighs.

“You think you can fuck with me like before, Penelope? Just strut like a cocky little tease, begging for it? Keep pushing, and I’ll have you thrown out. I won’t let you fuck with me.”

My breath catches, his glare locks me in place, my defiance crumbling, and my voice snags. “I—I’m sorry, I stepped out of line.”

His arms flex tighter, a hard line of muscle, and my throat turns to dust. “Stepped?” he cuts in. “You leaped, Miss Rossetti, and I’m done putting up with you being inappropriate.”

The way he says my name is heavy with threat and it jolts me back to reality. “I shouldn’t have said all I did last night and today,” I murmur, eyes dipping, then flicking back to his.

He stalks to the desk’s edge and drops onto it, thighs splaying wide. A rough sigh escapes him like he’s shedding a load too heavy to haul.

“A lot’s moving here, much more than you grasp. Hiring is not my fight; I don’t care who they pick if they deliver. But I will not tolerate my employees crossing their boundaries. So tell me, Penelope, did they stick me with a liability?”

His words sink in, and it hits even harder that he holds my paycheck and my current livelihood in his hands. My senses snap awake.

“God, no! I’m fine…this is fine. More than fine, sir, the job is amazing. I will give it my best.”

He drags a hand through his strawberry-blond hair, and those eyes—fuck, they’re burning—rake over me like I’m the reason his world’s tilting.

I’m half-convinced I might keel over right here in his office. How can anyone be this gorgeous? This overwhelming? This… everything?

He’s ditched the suit today—no gloves either. Just a button-down tucked into slacks, sleeves rolled up, showing off forearms corded with muscle. It makes him look younger, less like the untouchable kingpin, and more like a man I could reach for.

His shoulders stretch the shirt taut, the fabric straining like it might split if he flexes too hard. I catch myself staring—no, gawking, really—and jerk my eyes away, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Then, abrupt as a gunshot, he straightens, his tongue sweeping slowly across his lips.

My breath hitches. I want to kiss him so bad it’s a physical ache, a desperate pull deep in my core but it’s a fantasy, locked tight in my skull.

A man like Adriano Vieri doesn’t see me that way. He’s too far out of reach.

Reality’s a cold bitch, and I hate her for it.

“There’s something else,” he says, voice softening just enough to throw me. The hardness melts, leaving a shadow of the man I used to know, the one who cared, who patched up scraped knees and grilled burgers with a grin.

“Yes, sir?”

He doesn’t hesitate when he speaks next, his eyes bright on my face. “You really need to lock your damn doors when you get home. New York’s crawling with filth and criminals who’d love to stumble in and catch you…”

He trails off, lips twitching, like he’s picturing it.

My pulse stumbles. Catch me how? Naked? Vulnerable?

The thought of him walking in—of those eyes raking over me, stripping me bare—sends a shiver racing down my spine.

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to press my thighs together, and his eyes flick to my mouth, darkening for a split second before he looks away.

“The phone—” I blurt before my brain catches up because I know that damn phone didn’t just magically land by my bedside when I know I left it in his car.

His face twists, regret flashing in those gray eyes, like he’s kicking himself for mentioning it. He shakes his head, a mock exasperation I don’t buy for a second. I’d fantasized about him watching me in the shower and his words now strip away any doubt. He saw me.

Fuck.

It’s intoxicating. Thrilling. No, it’s insane—ludicrous, even. How do I play this? Do I tell him it is fine he saw me naked and now I want him to fuck me until my name’s a blur, till I’m nothing but sweat and screams under him?

Yes. That’s what I’ll do. I finally have the man of my dreams in a tight spot and I’ll be damned if I don’t take advantage of it.

I step close despite the tremors I feel. “Tell me, Mr. Vieri, anyone could’ve walked in and seen me… what? Shower?”