Page 5

Chapter Five

Viviana

The penthouse is larger than I expected. At first glance, it’s the kind of luxury most people dream of—gleaming marble floors, plush furniture, and endless windows offering breathtaking views of Milan’s skyline.

The more I explore, the more I realize how suffocating it truly is.

Every door I try is locked, secured with some advanced mechanism that makes escape feel impossible.

The windows, though expansive, are reinforced with bars that blend too seamlessly into the sleek design. Even the elevator has a keycard reader, ensuring I can’t so much as leave this floor without Romeo’s approval.

I walk the length of the living room, trying to ignore the ache in my chest as frustration claws at me.

My hands skim over the edges of a side table, searching for anything—keys, a phone, something I can use. Nothing. Every surface is immaculately clean, devoid of even the smallest imperfection.

Helplessness begins to creep in, its icy grip threatening to strangle the fire I’ve been clinging to. No. I refuse to let him win. I won’t be reduced to a prisoner in my own life, no matter how gilded the cage.

I step into a hallway, lined with closed doors that only add to the penthouse’s labyrinthine design. One opens easily, revealing a guest bedroom, just as sterile and uninviting as the rest of the space. Another leads to a gym, its equipment polished to a gleam, mocking me with its uselessness. I move to the next door, my pulse quickening.

Voices drift through the air, faint but unmistakable. Romeo’s voice is low, smooth, and calm—a tone I’ve already learned to hate. My steps slow as I follow the sound, stopping just outside a door left slightly ajar.

“Antonio’s betrayal is unforgivable,” Romeo says, his words laced with a cold finality. “He didn’t just steal from me; he gave Salvatore classified information. Information that could cripple my operations if used correctly.”

My breath catches, my hands curling into fists at my sides. My father…what has he done now?

“He thought he could play both sides,” Romeo continues, his tone darkening. “Salvatore doesn’t care about alliances. He cares about leverage, and Viviana gives him that.”

My stomach drops. My father’s betrayal hasn’t just dragged me into this mess—it’s painted a target on my back.

“Antonio promised me the girl to cover his debts, but I would have taken her anyway because I want her. He will still have to pay,” Romeo says after a pause, his voice quieter but no less dangerous, “but not before I use him to draw out Salvatore. Viviana’s presence ensures that he will cooperate.”

Fury surges through me, hot and unrelenting. My father’s failures have always affected me, but this? This isn’t just negligence—it’s a death sentence.

Without thinking, I shove the door open, stepping into the room. Romeo stands near the window, phone still in hand, his dark eyes snapping to mine the moment I enter.

“You used me,” I hiss, my voice trembling with rage. “My father handed me over to you like a sacrificial lamb.”

He ends the call, his expression indecipherable. “Viviana…”

The tension in the room is suffocating as I glare at Romeo, my chest heaving from the fury swirling inside me.

He stands by the window, his silhouette outlined by the city lights, calm and infuriatingly composed. The phone in his hand is lowered, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—never leave mine.

“You used me,” I snap, my voice shaking with barely restrained anger. “You used me to control him. God, you and my father are so alike!”

“Your father,” Romeo says, his voice low and steady, “is the reason you’re here, Viviana. If you want someone to blame, look to him.”

I take a step closer, my fists clenched at my sides. “Stop deflecting! You’re the one who kidnapped me, who locked me in this place! Whatever my father did, it doesn’t give you the right—”

“It gives me every right!” he interrupts, his voice rising, sharp and cold. He takes a step forward, and I instinctively back up. “Do you even know the extent of what your father has done? What he’s cost me?”

My breathing quickens, but I force myself to meet his gaze. “I know he’s made mistakes. I know he owes you money—”

“Money?” Romeo’s laugh is dark, humorless. “He owes me more than that.”

His eyes flash with something dangerous, something that sends a chill through me despite the heat of my anger. “Your father didn’t just betray me, Viviana. He’s responsible for my brother’s death.”

The air leaves my lungs, the weight of his words slamming into me like a physical blow. I stagger back, shaking my head as if that will make it untrue. “Your brother...?”

Romeo steps closer, his voice soft but edged with steel. “Salvatore Mancini didn’t just happen upon my brother, Viviana. Antonio gave him the information that led to his murder. And he did it willingly.”

A memory surfaces unbidden, blurry and distant—a boy with dark eyes and a quiet smile, standing beside a younger version of Romeo. His brother. I vaguely remember one of their visits to my father’s house when I was a teenager.

We had gone swimming at the local pool. I had been faster than both of them and Romeo’s little brother had been very upset. Romeo had told him not to be a crybaby and had complimented me on my prowess.

I remembered with an ache in my chest, that the admiration of an older boy had meant so much to me at that age.

It’s hard to think of the sweet young boy with the floppy dark hair as this monster of a man who just kidnapped me.

Guilt twists in my chest, unwelcome and bitter. “I didn’t know,” I whisper, my voice faltering.

“No,” Romeo says, his tone cutting. “You didn’t.”

The weight of his accusation presses down on me, but I refuse to crumble under it. “You think that justifies what you’re doing to me?” I demand, my anger rekindling. “You think that makes you any better than him?”

Romeo’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he takes another step closer. The air between us crackles with tension, the space shrinking until I can feel the heat radiating from him.

I see the darkness in his eyes, the storm barely contained beneath his composed exterior. A reckless urge rises in me, a need to test him, to see how far he’s willing to go.

“You’re just like him,” I say, my voice low and taunting. “A man desperate for power, willing to destroy anyone in your way.”

His eyes flash with fury, and before I can process what’s happening, he grabs my wrist, his grip firm but not painful, and pulls me toward him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he growls, his voice a dangerous rumble.

“Don’t I?” I challenge, though my heart pounds in my chest.

His other hand moves to my waist, pinning me against the wall with a deliberate, calculated motion. My breath catches as his body presses into mine, the hard lines of his frame a stark contrast to my own.

Something hard presses against the inside of my thigh. I glance down, cheeks flushed when I see a tent in his nicely-pressed pants.

“You like to provoke me,” he murmurs, his face inches from mine. His voice is low, his breath warm against my cheek. “You want to see how far you can push me, don’t you?”

I twist against him, trying to pull my wrist free, but his grip only tightens. “Let me go,” I hiss, though the words lack conviction.

His lips curl into a faint, dangerous smile. “No.”

Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine, rough and demanding. The kiss is nothing like I expected. It’s fierce, consuming, and utterly unapologetic. I freeze for a moment, my mind screaming at me to resist, to fight back, but my body betrays me.

Heat flares through me, and my resistance falters as his hand slides to my lower back, pulling me closer. My lips part against his, a gasp escaping before he deepens the kiss. His tongue swipes over my lips and he tastes of black, bitter coffee.

Arousal stirs in me. I can’t deny the heat pooling in my core.

I hate myself for the way I respond to him, the way my body arches into his, the way my hands move of their own accord to clutch his shirt. I want to push him away, to scream at him, but the fire he’s ignited burns too hot, too wild to extinguish.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine as we both catch our breath. His dark eyes bore into mine, filled with a hunger that makes my knees weak.

“You hate me,” he says softly, his voice tinged with something that sounds almost like regret.

“You’re damn right I do,” I snap, though my voice wavers.

“Then why are you shaking?” he asks, his lips curving into a smirk.

I glare at him, the anger and confusion swirling inside me threatening to boil over. “Because I hate you,” I repeat, though the words feel hollow now.

Romeo’s smirk deepens, his gaze fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs, stepping closer again, his voice low and dark, “but your body tells a different story.”

Before I can respond, his hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me forward as his lips come down on mine again.

The kiss is rough, searing and demanding, stealing the air from my lungs. I freeze, my fists clenched at my sides as I try to resist the pull of him, but it’s like fighting against gravity.

And just like falling from a vast height, I start to give in, to enjoy it. I even lean in, giving as good as I’m getting, struggling with him instead of against him.

I’ve never kissed anyone like this, like I’m waging a war that I don’t even know for sure that I want to win. Every time I feel him give ground to me, he takes it back, and then I surge forward again, trying to make him pay, wanting to wring something, anything out of him.

I don’t even know what I want him to do…beg for me? Plead for me to be gentle and sweet? Fight harder?

All I know is that I’m winning and losing all at once, and becoming more and more desperate for him in spite of my best intentions to hate him with every fiber of my being.

His other hand grips my hip, hard enough to send a jolt through me, his fingers digging into my skin like a brand. The pressure sends a fresh shock of heat curling low in my belly, a reaction I despise even as I lean into him.

“Stop,” I manage to gasp when he pulls back for a moment, his forehead pressed against mine. The word is weak, breathless, and even I don’t believe it.

“You don’t want me to,” he says, his voice a mix of challenge and certainty. His hand moves from my hip to the curve of my waist, pulling me flush against him.

The heat of his body is overwhelming, his scent—a mix of expensive cologne and something darker, uniquely him—clouding my senses. His lips return to mine, rough and insistent, and this time, my resistance falters completely.

My hands move on their own, clutching the front of his shirt as if to ground myself. His grip tightens on my hips, possessive and unyielding, the pressure enough to bruise. His tongue claims mine in a way that’s both infuriating and intoxicating, leaving no room for denial.

I’m barely aware of his hands as he reaches for the hem of my skirt. He lifts it, and a gust of air kisses my skin. I make a small sound, of shock and surprise, and his lips pull into a smile for a moment against mine.

I hate that I feel a momentary burst of pride at the knowledge that he liked that sound I made. That I had been able to evoke a response from him that wasn’t just on the right side of violence.

A shudder rolls over me as his warm hand tugs at my panties, his cock twitching against my bare thighs.

He presses me back harder against the wall, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the fire raging between us. He pulls my panties aside, his free hand wrestling with his belt buckle.

I gasp as his hard cock slides against my folds. I don’t dare to look down, but I don’t need to. He’s big, really big. Massive, even, thick enough to stretch me wide as he enters me.

I know a moment of fear that he will hurt me, but then he surprises me by moving slowly, pressing just inside of me, allowing me a moment to adjust, to get comfortable with him.

“That’s it,” he says softly, just at my ear. “Relax, baby.”

And I do, despite the fact that I should be terrified, that I should be furious with him for making me want him. Some part of me screams, yes!

I take a deep breath and arch my back, letting him slide all the way home, keening with pleasure at the invasion of him, at his massive size touching everything within me too much and not enough all at once.

“Romeo,” I whisper, his name slipping out like a plea, a quiet plea for him to keep going.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes filled with something that borders on triumph, but there is also something soft, something kind hiding in their depths. I suddenly remember the boy with the floppy hair, and the summer day at the pool before I shake the old memory away.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip, swollen and tender from his kisses.

“Say you hate me again,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet command.

My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I can’t bring myself to answer. My silence only seems to amuse him further. He leans in one last time, pressing his lips to mine, slower now, softer, before pulling away completely.

“Have you ever been with someone as big as me?” he asks me as he slowly slides out of me.

We both look down at the head of his huge dick, just touching the lips of my dripping core.

I shake my head, panting with desire. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m never like this. But I feel like I might die if he doesn’t fuck me.

I should probably be scared of him, scared of his cock, scared of so many things, but all I feel is a raging tide of lust that makes me want to do feral things to him.

“Are you scared?” he asks me, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Never,” I say roughly, thrusting my breasts forward and pressing down on his cock, taking him partially inside of me.

His breath leaves his lips in a sharp hiss, and then he presses me back against the wall abruptly, scooping my legs up to wrap around his waist. He cages me with his arms and looks at me as he cants his hips and presses back inside of me, filling me, causing pain and pleasure to ripple through me.

The first hard thrust is sinful, his cock stretching my walls wide as he slams into me.

“Oh, God,” I plead, not sure if he is causing me pleasure or pain. He’s barely moving but I can see stars.

“Am I hurting you?” he grinds out, thrusting a bit faster, as if he can’t hold himself back.

I shake my head against his shoulder, arching my back a little. “I don’t know…maybe.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks me, hesitating for a moment.

“God, no,” I say sharply, and he laughs gently.

“You feel incredible,” he whispers in my ear, picking up the pace.

I ponder if his huge cock is going to tear me apart, but the rising tide of pleasure is so sweet that I stop caring.

He sets an almost agonizing pace, I can hardly keep up, but it only serves to make my arousal burn hotter.

He fucks me until my legs are like jello, and he has to hold me up. His lips trail across my collarbone, nipping and biting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against my overheated skin, thrusting into me wildly. “You are so, so good for me.” Somehow, that’s what makes me unravel with a shriek as my body explodes with pleasure.

The orgasm sweeps over me with such intensity that my vision blurs. I arch my back, a gasp leaving my lips as I’m overwhelmed by ecstasy. My pussy throbs, clenching around him, each pulse nearly painful with its intensity and the massive stretch that he’s causing.

Romeo grunts, and I can feel his cock twitch. He comes, warmth flooding me as he pumps me full. The sensation is almost too much as I gasp again, hands grasping for him—his hair, his shirt, anything I can reach.

I stay like that for a long moment, Romeo holding me up by the hips.

Then, slowly, the haze dissipates.

He leans away, looking down at me, a question in his gaze. I don’t know if he’s questioning me, or him, or us.

He unhooks my legs from around his waist and sets me down.

Romeo is already stepping back, fixing himself back into his pants. He smirks, then turns on his heel and walks away without a word.

I watch him go, trying to figure out how to feel, what to think, who I even am.

My thighs are sticky, and my pussy throbs with need all over again, despite what I just experienced.

I don’t know if I should be angry at myself, sad that I gave in, or proud that I took something I wanted even if it wasn’t wise of me to thirst for it.

What the hell have I just done?