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Her gaze lingers on me, unyielding and defiant, yet there's a newfound softness beneath the surface.

Something within her has cracked open. She ought to shout, slam the door, demand that I vacate her space immediately.

But she doesn't. She simply breathes. Her breaths are shallow and trembling, perfectly synchronised with the pounding rhythm of my own heartbeat.

The tension between us vibrates like a live wire, drawn tight between the desires we both feel and the reality we know we can't yet embrace.

I let my eyes trace down her face, those slightly parted lips, the delicate contour of her jaw, the elegant column of her throat rising and falling as if she's on the verge of unravelling. My hand is still curled around her wrist, and her skin feels hot under mine. “Get some sleep,” I manage to say, though the words scrape my throat like rough gravel. “You’ve had a long night.”

She blinks, her expression a flickering mix of confusion, frustration, and smouldering heat, all merging into one tumultuous breath. Yet, she remains silent.

I step back slowly. Each inch of distance I create between us feeling like the drag of a blade. Her eyes follow me as I reach for the door, my hand hovering over the knob. “Dormi bene, bambina.”

And before I do something irrevocable, like pressing her against that door and tasting the forbidden sweetness of her lips, I slip out, letting the door click shut behind me. The silence on the other side is deafening, louder than anything else I've heard all night.

Lord, give me strength.

The air hangs heavy with the scent of rare colognes, smouldering cigars, and whispered agendas.

Up here on the rooftop of the five-star hotel, every conversation crackles with ambition: soft power plays exchanged over crystal tumblers that chime like bells beneath dozen-armed chandeliers of burnished gold.

Beyond the ornate balustrade, the Sicilian skyline shimmers in the fading light, terracotta rooftops melting into vineyards and olive groves.

I lean against the cool marble ledge, half-listening to a nervous councilman droning on about import tariffs. I lift my scotch, peat-smoke amber in the glass, and swallow, tasting nothing but polished veneer.

Dante lingers at my elbow, eyes like polished obsidian, silent as a sentinel. My patience frays at every manufactured smile, every congratulatory clap on the back. I’m a master of this masquerade, always have been, but tonight, I’d trade it all just to vanish.

To my left, Bianca’s laughter peals like silver bells as Enzo murmurs something in her ear.

Matteo is busy playing host to a cluster of well-bred daughters whose fathers I’d cross oceans to avoid.

Luciano stands apart, locked in a low-voiced parley with a rival-turned-confidant, his expression smooth as river stones.

But one face is missing.

I scan the glittering throng again, heart ticking faster. No Jordyn.

“Where’s the little one?” I murmur to Enzo, voice pitched low enough only he can hear.

He glances at me over the rim of his glass, boredom flickering in his gaze. “At home. Bianca said she wasn’t feeling well.”

That should settle me, but it doesn’t.

A slow burn blossoms behind my sternum, a restless ache that makes my fingers itch against the glass. I nod to Dante.

“Keep them occupied. I’m heading out.”

He inclines his head without a word. Silent. Obedient.

Within minutes, I’ve slipped off the rooftop, vaulted onto my bike, and surrendered to the night. The city unfurls before me in ribbons of neon, silver veins and streaks of blood-red taillights. The wind claws at my face, but it can’t douse the fire coursing through my veins.

The estate gates yawn open beneath me. Darkness blankets the grounds. Even the fountain in the courtyard is stilled. Too silent. I should go straight home, but my feet are already moving of their own accord.

Inside, every footstep echoes like a shout. I race up the marble stairs two at a time, my mind narrowed to a single pulse: check on her. If I know she’s okay, I can go back home and not spend the night wondering.

The hallway is bathed in the sultry glow of amber-glass sconces, their light flickering like the embers of a forbidden fire. Shadows dance along the walls, teasing the edges of my vision as I round the corner to her door...and freeze.

It’s cracked open. Just a sliver, but enough to let the heat of her room spill out into the cool air of the hallway.

My breath hitches, my cock already stirring in my pants as I press my palm to the cool wall and ease forward.

Then I hear it: a soft, ragged gasp, followed by another, and the unmistakable hum of a vibrator buzzing against slick, swollen flesh.

Fuck.

My pulse hammers in my ears, a primal drumbeat that drowns out all reason. I grip the doorframe so hard my knuckles pale, my body trembling with the effort it takes not to burst in and claim what’s mine.

Holy fucking Christ.

Jordyn doesn’t know I’m here.

But I can see her.

Moonlight spills through the curtains, casting a silvery sheen over her body.

The sheets are tangled around her hips, the fabric clinging to her skin like it’s desperate to stay close.

Her head falls back against the pillows, her golden hair fanned out like a halo, her lips parted in breathy moans that send shivers down my spine.

One hand is buried beneath the elastic of her sleep shorts, the toy humming at her clit, while the other clutches the duvet like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her hips roll in slow, deliberate circles, each movement driving her closer to the edge.

The vibrations from her toy echo through the room, a low, insistent hum that matches the rhythm of her moans.

Her thighs tremble, her toes curl as she arches her back, her tits straining against the thin fabric of her tank top.

This is wrong and immoral on so many levels.

I have no business watching her like some sick pervert.

But fuck, I can’t look away. The want coursing through my veins is a wildfire, consuming every shred of decency I have left.

I should turn away. I should leave. And I’m about to.

But then I hear her voice, soft, broken, scarcely more than a whisper.

“Ares…”

My blood spikes, scorching every nerve ending in my body. I stumble back as though struck, my heart pounding so loud I can almost hear it echo in the silence.

She’s thinking of me. Calling my name while she fucks herself with that toy.

“Cristo santo...” I mutter under my breath, my cock throbbing painfully in my pants. The urge to answer her call is so strong, I’m fighting the beast inside me with every drop of restraint I have left.

I should turn and leave. I should slip away into the night and pretend I never heard a thing.

But I’m locked in, rooted in the doorway, every inch of me aflame.

Every fibre of my being is screaming at me to push that door open, to stride across the room and rip that toy from her trembling hands.

To replace it with my tongue, my fingers, my cock.

To bury myself between her thighs and feast on her pretty pussy until she’s screaming my name loud enough to wake the whole of Taormina.

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, and I can see the tension coiling in her body as she teeters on the edge of release. Her hips buck against the toy, chasing that sweet, sweet climax.

“Oh God, uhh, yes, yes, Ares…” she whimpers again, and it’s my undoing.

Get out, Ares. Now .

I spin on my heel and tear down the hallway like I’m being chased by the fucking devil.

My boots slam the marble steps two at a time.

My fists are clenched, blood roaring in my ears.

I hit the front door, shoulder slamming into it harder than I meant to.

I stumble into the night air and stop just short of the manor’s front wall.

I brace one hand against it.

The other? I sink my teeth into the side of it, biting hard into the curve of my knuckle to muffle a guttural sound that tears through my throat.

It’s either that or go back and claim what doesn’t belong to me.

I breathe through my nose, harsh and fast, my eyes squeezed shut. I punch the wall once, knuckles splitting on impact. The pain helps. Not enough to tame the beast shaking in his chains, waiting and taunting me to be unleashed.

I picture her lips. Her body. The way she said my name.

Fuck. Fuck . Fuck.

Another punch. The stone doesn’t move. But something inside me breaks wide open.

I push off the wall, chest heaving. My pulse is a drum in my ears. Every step toward the driveway feels like a sentence passed down from God himself.

I straddle the Ducati, twist the key, and fire the engine to life. The sound is violent and feral. Exactly how I feel right now.

I don’t look back.

I tear down the drive and hit the street like I’m escaping hell.

Because if I stayed, I wouldn’t be a man much longer.

I’d be a monster.

And I’d make her mine.