Page 31

She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t breathe a single sound.

She just stands there, chest rising, lips parted, eyes wide, while my words hang heavy between us like thick smoke in a locked room.

Volevi la mia attenzione, amore? Adesso ce l’hai.

I take her in. Every inch of her. And fuck, she has no idea what she’s doing to me.

No idea what it costs me to stand here and not touch her. Not push her up against this door and drag that pretty little gasp from her mouth just to see if she’d beg me to stop... or beg me not to.

My fist flexes to stop myself from reaching out and brushing her hair away from her face. I almost cave….I swear to God, I do.

And that’s when it hits me.

That voice. Her voice.

“I want it to be monumental…” my eyes drift to her soft pink lips. “... like we’ll die if we don’t give in and taste each other.”

She’d whispered those words to Bianca. Thought no one was listening.

But I was. And now it’s lodged so deep in my skull I can’t claw it out.

Monumental.

Like we’ll die if we don’t give in and taste each other.

And right now, all I can think about is how close I am, how close we are, and how if I moved even one inch , I’d be her first.

Her first fucking kiss.

The first person to taste her lips.

The credence of that makes my blood feel like fire in my veins.

No, Ares, stop fooling yourself. It’s not and will never be you. Remember who you are, what you’re raised to be. The darkness in you will only taint her.

I clench my jaw and step back.

One inch.

Two.

Cold air rushes between us, and I swear it nearly chokes me. Because if I stay, I won’t stop. If I stay, I’m going to ruin her in ways neither of us will come back from.

It feels like I'm tearing off my own skin, but I force myself to do it. I create the space between us, willing my breath to steady. Then I meet her gaze, locking eyes with her as I slam the door on everything I was about to do.

“You are not to go back to Eden. Do you understand me?” I say, my voice flat and final. Her blue eyes narrow, her chin lifts with a fiery defiance that stirs something primal within me, making it hard to ignore the physical reaction it provokes.

“Excuse me?” she challenges, her voice a sharp edge.

“You heard me,” I reply.

She crosses her arms, standing defiantly unperturbed, but I can see the rapid pulse at the base of her throat, feel its rhythm echoing in the air between us.

“Where the hell do you get off telling me what I can and can’t do?” she declares, her determination unwavering. “I'm not quitting,”

Of course, she isn't.

“Why?” I ask, my jaw clenching tighter. “So you can keep playing waitress to sleazy bastards in the VIP lounge?”

“No. Because I need the money,” she retorts, her voice slicing through the tension with fierce conviction.

My brows knit, and I step in close, not to intimidate, but to make her feel the weight of every word.

“You don’t need money, Jordyn.” My voice is low and steady. “Look around you. If there is something you want or need, all you have to do is open that pretty mouth and ask.” I pause, letting the silence press in. “You carry the Russo name now. You don’t beg. You don’t scrape. You command .”

Jordyn shakes her head and scoffs. “I think you’re getting me confused with my sister.

I’m a Windslow , not a Russo .” I watch closely as she advances toward me.

“And I’m only here because I have no other choice.

.. for now . But I want out of this place.

I want my own apartment. My own job. My own damn say in what I do without having to ask for everything or seek anyone’s approval to live my own life. ”

Her words hit harder than I anticipate.

Out. She wants out. Not from Sicily, but from here. From me.

I stare at her, my expression cold and impassive.

“All right, you want an apartment, Bambina?” I ask tautly. “I have ten. Take your pick.”

She blinks, startled by my offer, but I continue without pause.

“You want to work so badly?” I shrug, my tone dismissive. “I'll put you on payroll at one of our companies. You can file papers or stare at walls, I don't give a shit, as long as you're not serving drinks to men who’d sell their own mothers to touch you.”

She’s silent for a moment, just long enough for me to regret the raw sincerity in my words.

“What is your fucking deal, Ares?” she snaps hotly.

“I’m not some piece on a chessboard you can move around whenever it suits you.

I’m not something you can control, all right.

Why do you care so much about where I work or who touches me anyway? ”

Her question slices through the room like a blade.

“Answer me? Why do you care?” she presses.

My jaw pulses, my teeth grinding from how tight I’m clenching. A dull ache starts to bloom behind my eyes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to bite down the fury crawling beneath my skin.

If she were anyone else, she’d be dead by now. One shot. Done.

But she’s not anyone else. I wish she fucking were, but she’s not.

I drop my hand, lift my gaze, and let my voice cut clean.

“Because you’re family,” I grit out. “Whether you like it or not, you’re part of this family. You’re a Russo. And around here, that comes with rules. Rules you don’t get to rewrite just because you’re angry at the world, all right Bambina?” Jordyn laughs, but there’s no humour in it.

It’s sharp, bitter and disbelieving.

“Family?” she echoes, stepping even closer. “You think that’s what this is?”

She presses a finger against my chest, hard, and I let her, even though every nerve in my body wants to grab her wrist, pin her down, do something to shut her up before she tears through every layer I’ve built to keep her out.

“You want to own the floor I sleep on, the money I earn, and the air I breathe. You want to wrap it all in velvet and call it protection so you can sleep at night and pretend it’s not just you keeping me and every other person in this fucking place on a leash.”

I breathe through my nose, slow and sharp, trying to keep from exploding.

“Jordyn, listen to me. You have no idea what kind of men walk into that club, what they’re capable of. It’s dangerous. That’s not a place for someone like you .”

“Someone like me ?” she repeats, almost mocking.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I can’t take care of myself now?

Because I was doing just fine before your family came bulldozing into our lives?

And what danger are you talking about? I’m a cocktail waitress, Ares.

I serve drinks to patrons, they tip me, and then I go home. That’s it.”

The warmth of her finger pressing against my chest is seeping through the thin material of my shirt and it baffles me how something as small as that is short-circuiting my brain.

“That’s not it.” I almost growl. "You have no fucking clue what kind of men crawl through that place. If you did, you wouldn’t have stepped within ten feet of it. "

“Men like you , you mean?” I stare at her, and she stares right back. “You were there too, Ares. And from what I’m told, you’re a regular patron. Does that make you a sleaze, a danger?”

The accusation lands like a fist. My pulse spikes, heat rushing behind my ribs. She’s daring me to argue. Daring me to lie.

But I don’t.

Instead, I take a step closer, erasing the last inch of space between us. Her breath stutters, and I feel it, that split-second of hesitation she tries to mask with rage. My hand curls around her wrist, I pull it down to her side and yank her until she’s pressed up against me.

“I’m certainly not the type of man you want to provoke, Bambina.” I speak slow and low and Jordyn swallows hard, lips pressed together, trembling with fury. But behind it, I see the shift.

She exhales slowly, blinking like she’s trying to clear a fog from her vision, but I know better. That’s not confusion in her eyes.

It’s conflict.

Emotion wrapped in tension, coated in defiance, but underneath it all? Fear. Not of me. Never of me. But of what this is . What we are or what we’re becoming.

She turns her face slightly, like breaking the stare might give her control back, but I follow the movement, my eyes locked on her lips. My voice lowers to a whisper that still manages to feel like a command.

“If you weren’t family,” I say, my words deliberate, venom-smooth, “and I saw you in that club tonight dressed the way you are…” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

“...we wouldn’t be standing here arguing.” I lean in, just enough that my mouth is near her ear, letting her feel every breath as it brushes her skin. “I would’ve had you down on your knees. My cock so deep in your throat, you’d lose the ability to speak for a fucking week.”

Her breath catches...audibly, and I soak it up. My cock stirs against my jeans.

And for a moment, neither of us moves.

The air thickens, tightens. The walls seem to close in around us. Her chest rises and falls in rapid, shallow breaths, but she doesn’t back down. Her spine remains stiff, lips slightly parted, gaze flickering between my eyes and my mouth like she doesn’t know whether to slap me or kiss me.

I don’t blink.

“If I see you anywhere near Eden again,” I say, my tone razor-sharp and barely restrained, “I won’t just pull you out. I’ll burn the whole fucking place to the ground.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me like I’ve torn open something sacred and dared her to feel it.

And for one breathless moment, the air between us holds steady, crackling with the kind of tension that doesn’t end in words.

Because we both know…if I touch her now, there is no way I’ll scrape up the strength to stop.