Page 4

Chapter Four

Romeo

The glow from the surveillance screens casts faint light across my office as I sit back in my chair, watching Viviana through the cameras.

The feed from her room is clear, showing her pacing like a caged animal, her fists clenched as she glares at the barred windows. She’s plotting something; I can see it in the sharp movements of her hands, the tilt of her chin.

She’s already tried the windows—pushing, pulling, even kicking at them. She tested the lock on the door and scoured every inch of the room for something to use as a weapon or a tool. There’s no resignation in her movements, no surrender.

Her fire is mesmerizing.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk, my gaze fixed on her. Her defiance fuels me, a stark contrast to the weakness I’ve come to expect from people in her position. Most people would crumble under the weight of their fear, but Viviana? She fights.

It’s maddening and intoxicating in equal measure.

She throws herself onto the bed now, her chest rising and falling as she stares up at the ceiling, probably planning her next move. Her resilience is beautiful, a sharp reminder of why I’ve been watching her for so long.

She’s everything her father isn’t—strong, unyielding, and, above all, untouchable. Or at least she was. Now she’s here, and she’s mine.

The door to my office creaks open, breaking my focus. Matteo steps inside, a folder in his hand and a frown etched into his face.

“Salvatore’s been busy,” he starts, tossing the folder onto my desk. “We’ve had three incidents at our shipping yards this week. Minor damage, but the message is clear. He’s testing you.”

I glance at the folder but don’t pick it up. “He won’t get far.”

Matteo exhales sharply. “There’s more. Our informant says Salvatore knows about Viviana. He’s interested.”

The words snap my attention back to Matteo, my jaw tightening. The idea of Salvatore—or anyone—thinking they could touch her sends a cold fury rippling through me.

“She’s off-limits,” I say, my tone clipped and final.

Matteo raises an eyebrow. “You think Salvatore cares about limits? She’s a vulnerability, Romeo. He’ll use her if it gives him leverage.”

“She’s under my protection,” I snap, rising to my feet. The energy coursing through me is almost suffocating. “No one touches her. Not Salvatore. Not anyone.”

Matteo studies me for a moment, then nods. “I’ll tighten security around the building.”

As he leaves, I turn back to the surveillance screen. Viviana has risen from the bed now, pacing again, her movements restless and agitated. My eyes linger on the curve of her neck, the tension in her shoulders.

She doesn’t realize how much power she holds over me, how deeply I crave her. It’s not just her body—it’s her defiance, her fire, the way she looks at me like I’m a monster and still refuses to bow to my power over her.

Obsession isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel. She’s my weakness, my desire, my possession.

Crossing the hall, I step into Viviana’s room without knocking, my presence filling the space before she even has a chance to react. She freezes mid-pace, her sharp eyes snapping to mine, full of defiance. It’s a look I’ve grown used to in the short time she’s been here.

It’s a look that, despite everything, makes me want her even more.

Her lips press into a tight line, and she crosses her arms, trying to appear unaffected. “What do you want now, Valenti? Or have you come to gloat about my accommodations?”

“Dinner,” I say simply, stepping farther into the room. My gaze sweeps over her, taking in the slight flush of anger on her cheeks, the fire still flickering in her eyes. “I expect you to join me.”

She snorts, the sound cutting through the tense silence. “You expect me to sit across from you like this is some civilized arrangement…do you honestly think I’d willingly have dinner with you?”

“I don’t care if you are willing,” I reply smoothly, taking another step closer. “This isn’t a request, Viviana.”

Her glare intensifies, but I see the way her hands clench and unclench at her sides, her resolve wavering ever so slightly. I let the silence linger between us, letting her feel the weight of it.

“There’s something suitable in the wardrobe,” I continue, nodding toward it. “Something I chose for you.”

She raises an eyebrow, her defiance flaring again. “I don’t need you dressing me up like some doll.”

I smirk, leaning slightly closer. “You’ll find that I’ve spared no expense. Thirty minutes, Viviana. Someone will come to escort you to the dining room.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think she’ll argue again, but she doesn’t. The silence is telling, her defiance tempered by the realization of her situation.

As I turn to leave, I pause at the door, looking back at her. She’s still glaring, but there’s something else in her eyes now—something that tells me I’m wearing her down.

“Thirty minutes, Viviana,” I remind her, my tone softer this time. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

I step out of the room, the door closing behind me with a quiet click. A faint smile tugs at my lips as I walk down the hall.

Thirty minutes later, the dining room is bathed in soft golden light, every detail meticulously arranged—the glint of silverware, the deep red of the wine pouring into crystal glasses.

The table is long and elegant, but only two settings are prepared. I sit at the head of it, waiting.

My patience, like everything else, is deliberate.

Footsteps echo down the hall, and I straighten, anticipation coursing through me. She appears in the doorway, escorted by one of my men.

The sleek black dress I chose fits her perfectly, accentuating her curves without overstepping into ostentation. Her long hair is swept back, a few loose strands framing her delicate face.

Viviana is radiant, even with the defiance etched into every line of her posture.

“Dismissed,” I say without looking at my guard. He nods and retreats, leaving us alone.

Viviana stands there for a moment, her arms crossed, her gaze flickering between the empty seat and me. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters, finally moving forward and sinking into the chair with far less grace than her appearance suggests.

I smirk. “I see the dress fits.”

“I almost chose to come here naked,” she snaps. The thought of her naked does absolutely criminal things to me.

“I wish you had,” I say before I can stop the words from leaving my lips.

She glares at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “This is all some twisted game to you, isn’t it? Control, power—none of this is about my father anymore, is it?”

I raise my glass, swirling the wine lazily before taking a sip. “I don’t play games, Viviana. Your father’s betrayal made this necessary. You being here is simply...a happy consequence.”

Her jaw tightens, her knuckles white against the edge of the table. “Necessary?” she repeats, her voice low and full of venom. “You kidnapped me. You took me from my life, my work, my home—and for what? To parade me around like a trophy you keep at home in a gilded cage?”

I lean forward slightly, setting the glass down. “I don’t see bars around you now.”

Her laugh is bitter, her eyes narrowing. “No, because the prison is this whole damn penthouse. You think you own me.”

I hold her gaze, the fire in her eyes both maddening and irresistible. “You misunderstand. I don’t think I own you, Viviana. I do.”

She stiffens, her chest rising and falling as anger consumes her. “You’re a monster,” she spits, her voice trembling with fury.

The accusation doesn’t faze me. I expected it, welcomed it even. I lean back in my chair, my gaze steady on her, letting her words settle into the air.

“A monster who keeps his promises,” I say calmly, my voice low and deliberate.

Her eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly, her anger returning full force. “Promises, what promises? You’re delusional. What could you possibly promise me besides more chains?”

I pick up my fork, twirling it absently between my fingers as if this conversation is of little consequence. “Your safety. Your survival. Despite everything, you’re here, alive, and untouched. I always keep my promises, Viviana. Remember that.”

She stares at me, her lips parted slightly, the rapid rise and fall of her chest betraying her emotions. For a moment, she says nothing, but the tension in the room thickens, her silence more telling than her words.

Then, with a sudden, explosive motion, she grabs her wine glass and hurls its contents at me.

The red liquid splashes across my chest, the sharp aroma of wine filling the air as the glass clatters onto the table. I sit perfectly still, my jaw tightening as the warm liquid soaks into my shirt.

Her chair scrapes loudly against the floor as she stands, her defiance burning brighter than ever. “You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re doing me some kind of favor. You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind power you don’t deserve.”

Her words sting more than I thought they would, but not because they’re true—because of the fire that fuels them.

Before she can storm out, I rise from my chair in one fluid motion and grab her wrist, my grip firm but not cruel. She freezes, her breath hitching, her eyes snapping up to meet mine.

“Careful,” I warn, my voice softer now, a dangerous edge lacing my words. “You forget who you’re speaking to.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she snaps, but her voice wavers, betraying her uncertainty.

Our proximity is dangerous. The faintest tremble in her wrist, the heat radiating from her body, the way her lips part as though she’s about to speak but stops—all of it draws me in.

My thumb brushes over the delicate skin of her wrist, and she flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away. The defiance in her eyes is tempered now by something else—uncertainty, maybe even curiosity.

“You can throw your wine. Scream. Fight me every step of the way,” I murmur, stepping closer, so close that her breath mingles with mine. “You’ll still be here. With me. Remember, I can make things much, much worse for you.”

Her chest rises sharply as she inhales, her free hand balling into a fist at her side. “Oh, please.”

I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “You’ll come to me, Viviana. Not because you’re forced, but because you won’t be able to stay away.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t respond. The tension between us is palpable, electric, the space between us shrinking to nothing. I don’t move closer, but I don’t release her wrist either, my fingers holding her in place as if I’m daring her to make the next move.

“Eventually, you’ll come to dinner naked, as you suggested, because you desire my attention, the approval in my gaze.”

She narrows her eyes at me. The expression should make her look less beautiful, but instead it just makes her even more lovely.

“I do not desire Mafia scum like you,” she hisses. “You and your fancy suits, and your beautiful face…none of that can hide the black color of your heart. You disgust me, just as my father disgusts me. I wish you joy from this kidnapping, because you will never make me think of you as anything but the man who abducted me.”

She looks at me, draws back, and spits in my face.

I’m shocked. For some reason, I didn’t think she would do something like that.

I blink at her, my face wet, looking at her enraged expression feeling her twisting her arm in my grasp.

With a growl, I tighten my grip on her wrist, and I see her wince in pain, but she’s just as brave as ever. She doesn’t make a sound.

I pull her closer to me, and fit my mouth against hers, and she makes a furious noise as she struggles beneath me. I don’t let her break free, instead invade her mouth with my tongue, bending her backward, forcing her to give in to my will, my strength.

For a moment, she keeps struggling, fighting, but then suddenly, something changes. She softens ever so slightly, and the kiss becomes something else, something slightly curious, a dance of lovers meeting for the first time.

I moan into her mouth, and the sound breaks the spell.

She wrenches her wrist free, stepping back with a glare that doesn’t quite mask the flicker of that something else in her expression.

“You’re wrong,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “About everything.”

Suddenly, she grabs the hem of the dress and rips it over her head, tossing it to the floor with poorly concealed anger.

For just a moment, she is standing before me in her skimpy thong and a lacy black bra. And then, she whirls away, storming out of the room with a clicking of her high heels, her perky ass swaying temptingly as she marches off.

I stay where I am, the ghost of her pulse still lingering against my fingertips. Slowly, I return to my chair, my eyes drifting toward the surveillance cameras visible in the corner of the room.

Later, in my office, I replay the footage.

Over and over, I watch the moment she threw the wine, and then her dress, the way we kissed, looking at the fire in her eyes, the way her chest heaved with every angry breath.

“You’ll fight,” I murmur to myself, the faintest smile tugging at my lips, “but in the end, you’ll still come to me.”