Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Romeo

The memory of Viviana’s outstretched hand haunts me as I sit in the darkened study, staring out at the city skyline.

Her voice, soft and trembling, echoes in my mind. The way she said my name, the vulnerability in her tone—it stirs something within me I don’t want to name.

I’ve always prided myself on control. My power, my empire, my every decision—it’s all calculated, deliberate.

With Viviana, however, control slips through my fingers like sand, and I find myself caught between the desire to possess her completely and the fear of what she’s doing to me.

I exhale sharply, leaning back in the chair. She’s defiant, fiery, and maddeningly unpredictable. It’s why I’m drawn to her, why I can’t bring myself to let her go. I need to know—if given the chance, would she truly try to leave? Or has she begun to feel the same pull that’s consuming me?

The idea takes root, and I make my decision swiftly. I’ll test her loyalty, her resolve. If she stays, it will be because she chooses to. If she runs…well, I’ll remind her there’s no escaping me.

I find her in her room, sitting by the window with a book in her hands. She doesn’t look up when I enter, her posture stiff as though she’s already bracing for a fight.

“We’re going out,” I say, my tone calm but leaving no room for argument.

She glances up, her eyes narrowing. “Out?”

“One of my properties. Dinner.”

Her brow furrows, suspicion flickering across her face. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” I ask, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Get dressed. Something appropriate. We leave in an hour.”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering between me and the door, as if weighing her options.

Finally, she stands, her movements slow and deliberate. “Fine,” she mutters, brushing past me without another word.

***

The secluded property is nestled deep in the countryside, far from the chaos of the city.

The dining room is intimate, lit by soft, flickering candlelight that reflects off the polished wood table. Outside, the night is still, the only sounds coming from the distant rustle of trees in the breeze.

Viviana sits across from me, her shoulders tense as she picks at the edge of her napkin. She’s dressed simply, but the soft fabric clings to her curves in a way that makes it impossible not to look.

“This is different,” she says finally, breaking the silence.

“Different how?” I ask, taking a sip of wine.

“Calm,” she replies, her tone laced with skepticism. “You’re not barking orders or looming like some dark cloud.”

I smirk, setting the glass down. “Maybe I thought you’d appreciate a change of pace.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away, clearly still wary.

The first few courses pass in near silence, but as the wine flows and the tension in her shoulders eases, I see the cracks in her defenses.

“You wanted this,” I say, my voice low as I lean forward slightly. “A chance to feel normal. To talk without guards standing by the door.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes narrowing. “Normal? This isn’t normal. Nothing about my life is normal anymore.”

“Then tell me,” I say smoothly. “What do you want, Viviana? What would your life look like if you could take it all back?”

Her fork pauses midair, and for a moment, she looks unsure. “I’d…I’d have my gallery,” she says finally, her voice softer. “I always wanted to run one of my own. To bring art to people who don’t usually get to see it, to show them that it’s not just for the rich and untouchable.”

Her words surprise me. I expected anger, defiance, but instead, there’s a quiet longing in her tone that tugs at something deep inside me.

“What scares you?” I ask, my voice dropping lower.

Her eyes flicker to mine, guarded again. “This whole thing,” she says simply.

The honesty of it stuns me for a moment, but I recover quickly, leaning back with a smirk. “You’re afraid of me?”

“No. I’m afraid of what you’ll take from me,” she clarifies, her voice steady now. “What’s left of me.”

The words hit harder than I expect, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or something else that twists in my chest. “You’re stronger than you think,” I say finally.

She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “Strength doesn’t mean anything when you’re locked in a cage.”

I lean forward again, the intensity of my gaze locking onto hers. “It’s not a cage if you choose to stay.”

Her brow furrows, and she sets her glass down with a sharp clink. “What if I chose to leave?”

I smile, but there’s no humor in it. “You wouldn’t make it far.”

Her jaw tightens, and she leans forward, her eyes blazing. “Then let me go. If you’re so sure I’ll come back, open the door and let me leave.”

The challenge hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. I could call her bluff, let her walk out, and watch as the world crushes her. The thought of her out there, unprotected, vulnerable to Salvatore or anyone else, sends a wave of anger through me.

“No,” I say simply, my voice low and final. “You stay. Whether you admit it or not, you’re safer with me.”

Her glare sharpens, and the heat between us crackles like a live wire. I see the fight in her eyes, the unspoken words she wants to hurl at me, but she doesn’t move.

Viviana’s chest rises and falls, her breath shallow, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if to anchor herself against the storm raging between us.

“You’re lying to yourself,” I say softly, leaning forward, my voice low and deliberate.

“About what?” she snaps, though her voice wavers.

“About this.” I gesture between us, letting my gaze roam over her. “About the way you look at me, the way your body reacts when I’m close. You fight it, but you want me. Even if you hate yourself for it.”

Her lips part, her expression torn between fury and something deeper, something she’s trying desperately to bury. “You’re delusional,” she bites out, though her voice lacks its usual edge.

“Am I?” I press, my eyes narrowing as I watch her squirm under my gaze. “Then tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me, right now, that you don’t want me to have my way with you. Look me in the eye and lie to me, Viviana.”

Her cheeks flush, her fingers tightening on the table, but she doesn’t speak. Her silence is answer enough.

I smirk, leaning closer. “That’s what I thought.”

Before she can protest, I close the distance, my lips capturing hers in a kiss. She freezes for a moment in surprise, her body stiff, but then I feel her give in, her lips parting under mine with a little sound of pleasure.

Her taste is intoxicating, improved by the mix of defiance and surrender that always drives me wild.

My hand slides across the table, brushing against hers before trailing up her arm. Her skin is warm, and the soft hitch in her breath sends a surge of satisfaction through me.

“Romeo,” she whispers against my lips, though her tone is weak, almost pleading.

“Yes,” I murmur, my hand moving to cup her cheek, my thumb brushing against her jaw. “Tell me you hate living in my cage again. That you hate this.”

Her hand comes to rest against my chest, but not in a weak attempt to push me away. Instead, she tilts her head, giving me better access as I deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, she pulls back, her eyes darting around the room. “Someone could see,” she hisses, her voice sharp but breathless.

I chuckle, my fingers trailing down her arm before resting on her wrist. “Does that thrill you?” I ask, my tone teasing. “The thought that someone might walk in, might see you like this?”

She shoots me a slightly dirty look, but there’s a flicker of something else in her expression—uncertainty, excitement. “You’re disgusting,” she snaps, though the words lack venom.

“Should we take this back to the penthouse, then?” I ask, my voice dropping lower. “For privacy?”

Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head. “I don’t want to go back to the penthouse.”

“Let’s eat,” I say to her. “And then we can argue about where we go next.”

She pouts slightly, and leans back in her chair. I watch as she goes back to eating her food, grateful that she’s eating again. I still don’t believe that she was sick with the flu, but I’m glad she’s decided to take care of herself again.

Dinner passes quietly, too many unspoken things hovering between us for normal conversation.

When I rise and offer my hand to take her back to the car, she stares at it for a long moment.

“Could we stay somewhere else tonight? A hotel?” she pleads.

I feel my heart break a little at the hope in her tone, and how I’m going to have to hurt her with my denial.

“It’s not safe,” I say as kindly as I can.

There’s a mixture of hurt and fury on her face as she bolts to her feet and marches ahead of me toward the waiting car.

I watch her stiff back and sigh. Every time I start to crack through her guarded exterior, something like this happens.

The car ride back to the penthouse is quiet at first, the tension between us thick and unspoken. Viviana sits stiffly, her arms crossed over her chest as she stares out the window, refusing to look at me.

I let the silence stretch, watching her from the corner of my eye. Her jaw is set, her cheeks still flushed from earlier, and I can’t help the satisfaction that bubbles beneath the surface of my skin. She’s trying so hard to hold onto her anger, her resistance, but I see the cracks forming.

“Comfortable?” I ask, breaking the silence, my voice calm but laced with amusement.

She shoots me a glare, her lips pressing into a tight line. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” I lean closer, my hand resting casually on her thigh.

Her body goes rigid, her eyes darting to mine as she stiffens beneath my touch. “What are you doing?” she demands, though her voice trembles.

“Nothing,” I say innocently, my fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress. “Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Stop it,” she snaps, her hand moving to push mine away.

I catch her wrist, then slip my fingers into hers, holding her hand as I lean in. “Why? Does this bother you?”

Viviana says nothing. I let my thumb trace slow circles against her wrist. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Her cheeks flush deeper, and I let my hand slide slightly higher on her thigh, the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric driving me mad. She doesn’t stop me this time, though her hands grip the seat tightly, her knuckles white.

I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “Say the word, Viviana,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “Tell me to stop.”

Her body trembles slightly, and her eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment, her chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but I feel the conflict in her—her desire warring with her anger, her pride. It’s maddening, intoxicating, and I find myself craving the moment she finally surrenders.

Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might give in, but then she stiffens, her hand moving to press against mine. “Stop,” she whispers, her voice trembling but firm. “I’m angry with you tonight. You don’t deserve me.”

I hold her gaze for a moment, my hand stilling but not retreating immediately. Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her body betrays her—all of it tempts me to push further.

I sigh, pulling my hand away slowly.

“You’re probably right,” I say softly, leaning back in my seat, though the tension between us lingers, thick and electric.

She exhales shakily, shifting slightly to put more distance between us, though the flush on her cheeks remains.

I don’t miss the way her hands tremble as she adjusts her skirt, her attempts to regain control only making me more certain of one thing: I’m running out of time to make her care about me, and yet, I don’t think I know how to accomplish such a thing.

And worst of all, I don’t think I want to hold her if she truly does hate me. I try to ignore the pang of anguish in my heart at the thought of having to let her go.