Page 69
The silence Jordyn leaves behind is deafening and almost unbearable.
I stand in the doorway long after she’s gone, watching the empty path she took back on the street toward the front entrance of the manor. The morning light stretches across the stone, golden and soft, but it feels cold now. Hollow. Like something vital walked out of me with her.
I close the door, lock it out of habit, and press my back against the wood. My head tips back with a low exhale.
Everything smells like her.
The faint sweetness of her perfume still clings to the air. My bed is a wreck, sheets tangled, pillows scattered, and my T-shirt, the one she wore, is slung over the back of the chair, limp and wrinkled like a memory. I should shower, get dressed, pretend I’m in control of something.
But I don’t move.
Not yet.
Instead, I cross the room and pick up the shirt she wore. It’s warm from the sun filtering through the window, but that’s not what makes my chest clench. It’s the scent.
Her.
It’s soft and fresh and completely fucking wrong, the kind of scent that doesn’t belong in a place like this. In a house built for violence. In a life like mine.
I bring it to my face, just for a second. Just to breathe her in.
And that’s when I know I’ve lost whatever part of myself was left untouched.
She’s mine now.
Not in the way that can be claimed in front of others. Not where my father can see. Not where Luciano can twist it into leverage. But in the way that matters. The kind that lives under skin, between heartbeats, in every breath I take that doesn’t have her in it.
I shower, scrub the night off me, but I still feel her everywhere. I can still feel her mouth on mine. The way she said maybe I’ll sneak out later like she didn’t even realise how much I needed to hear that.
She has no idea what she’s done to me.
No fucking idea.
The screen freezes for the third time, and I swear I’m a breath away from snapping the laptop in half.
“—projected to recover by the end of next quarter,” the manager from our Milan property is saying, his voice glitching in and out. “Pending adjustments to VIP suite pricing, and if we continue pushing the seasonal packages?—”
I tune him out.
My eyes flick to the side of the screen where her name should be. Not there, of course. Jordyn has nothing to do with this call. She has nothing to do with any of this, my businesses, my empire, the cold, calculated world I built brick by bloody brick.
And yet… she’s all I can think about.
I lean back in my chair, running my thumb over the black band around my wrist, her hair tie, stretched from the last time she wore it. Funny how something so small, so ordinary, could quiet the storm in my chest like nothing else ever has.
“Mr. Russo?” the voice on the screen says. “Should we proceed with the Firenze renovation timeline?”
I glance up. “No. Delay it two weeks. I want the penthouse plans reviewed again before anything moves forward.”
“Yes, sir.”
The manager finishes his financial forecast, and the others start to drop off the call one by one, offering quick goodbyes. I wait until the screen is nearly empty before speaking again.
“Gio. Stay back a moment.”
He pauses, blinking. “Yes, Mr Russo?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Do we have any vacancies at the Catania property? Front desk, reception, something light. Or back of house.”
He shakes his head. “Not currently, sir. We’re fully staffed. Especially post-season.”
“Then create the position,” I state coolly. “She starts by the end of the week.”
His brow furrows. “May I ask who the position is for?”
“You may not.” I end the call without another word, and the screen goes black. I stare at my reflection for a moment, the hollowed-out eyes of a man who hasn’t slept. Hasn’t thought clearly, hasn’t breathed right since she walked out of my villa this morning.
My phone vibrates on the desk, and a message pops up on the screen from Luciano.
Don:
Problema serio. Presentati nel mio ufficio fra venti minuti.
Serious problem. Be in my office in twenty minutes.
Of course. Because when isn’t there a fucking problem?
I should tell him to shove it. Would, if it weren’t for the one thing dragging me back into that godforsaken house, her. Even if all I get is a glimpse. A second of eye contact across a hallway. It’s enough to keep the storm in my chest from detonating.
For now.
The Russo manor is too loud for this early in the day.
I walk through the doors like I own them, because I do , and make my way toward Luciano’s office.
He called me earlier. Said there was an issue with the shipments from Catania.
Some dock worker with too much curiosity and not enough fear.
Normally I’d deal with it myself, but Luciano wants a plan that doesn’t make waves. Not yet anyway.
I turn down the corridor that leads to his wing, past old portraits and polished floors that reek of politics. I’m halfway to the study when I see her.
Jordyn.
She’s coming from the opposite end of the hall, barefoot and fresh from a shower, carrying a glass of orange juice like this is just another day. Like she didn’t fall asleep with my name on her lips. Like my mouth hasn’t been on every inch of her skin.
She doesn’t look at me at first.
But I see the way her spine straightens. The way her fingers tighten around the glass. When her gaze finally meets mine, it’s only for a second, just enough to punch the air from my lungs.
She looks away just as fast like she’s trying not to react. Like we’re strangers again.
I grit my teeth, forcing my gaze forward as I pass her. I count to three. Four.
Then I turn.
“Jordyn,” I say, low enough that only she hears it.
She pauses but doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look back.
I close the distance in two long strides and stop just behind her. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to.
“Come with me,” I murmur, voice brushing the back of her neck.
She doesn’t speak, but after a long second, she turns and follows.
I find an unused drawing room off the hallway and pull her inside, shutting the door quietly behind us. No words. Just silence thick with tension.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says quietly. “Someone could’ve seen.”
“You shouldn’t have ignored me.”
“You told me to act like nothing’s going on,” she hisses. “So I did.”
“That’s not what I fucking meant.”
Her chest rises and falls, colour rushing into her cheeks. “What did you mean then, Ares?”
I step in close, too close. “I meant you don’t look at me like that in front of others. But in private and no one is around?” My hand lifts, fingers brushing her wrist. “You don’t pretend. I want your eyes on me...always.”
She swallows hard.
“You’ve been in my bed, Jordyn. Do you really think you can walk past me now like you haven’t?” Her lips part, like she wants to throw something back at me. But she doesn’t, because she knows I’m right.
I lean in, my voice a low growl. “I’ve got a meeting with Luciano. Some asshole at the Catania docks thought it’d be smart to skim off our last weapons crate. I should be focused on that. I want to be focused on that.”
I pause, staring at her mouth.
“But all I can think about… is how you looked when you came.”
Her breath stutters. She turns away, like distance will fix what we both know is unravelling.
“Tonight,” I murmur. “Don’t make me wait.” Jordyn nods and I press a kiss to her temple before opening the door and walking out.
Fuck me, tonight can’t come quick enough.
Luciano doesn’t look up when I walk in. Just keeps scribbling something onto the edge of a folder like he’s God’s gift to logistics. I shut the door and drop into the chair across from him without a word.
“You’re late,” he says, still not meeting my eyes.
I stretch out, ankle over knee. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
His gaze finally lifts. “We have a leak in Catania.”
“Let me guess. The dockworker?”
“Got greedy,” Luciano says, tossing the file across the desk. “Started asking questions about the last shipment. Someone got wind. Now there’s pressure coming down from the port authority. You need to fix it.”
I glance at the report, barely skimming. My head’s still in the hallway, still with her.
Luciano keeps talking. “We’ve got officers sniffing around containers they were never supposed to look twice at. Either someone paid them, or someone opened their mouth.”
“I’ll handle it,” I mutter. “He have a family?”
Luciano shrugs. “Not anymore.”
I nod once. That’s all he needs.
Then he flips open another file.
“And there’s the matter of Giana Mancini. Her father wants confirmation you’ll be at the dinner next week.”
There it is.
I lean forward slightly. “You didn’t call me in just for Catania, did you?”
Luciano’s mouth curves, sharp and humourless. “I called you because this family needs stability. Giana brings that. Her name brings that. And your… recent distractions don’t.”
Distractions. He means Jordyn, he always fucking means Jordyn.
I keep my expression unreadable, even though a storm is brewing inside me. “I’ll be there.” Luciano studies me like he’s waiting for something, an objection, a crack in the armour. I don’t give him one.
I stand slowly, the legs of the chair scraping back with a deliberate screech that cuts through the silence like a blade.
“I’ll handle the dock issue,” I say coolly. “And everything else…”
I reach for the file on his desk, not to read it, but just to flick through it with two fingers, letting the pages snap closed with a sharp clap . “…will be dealt with.”
I turn to leave, my teeth clamped together tight. My thumb drags once over the band around my wrist, her hair tie, grounding me. Keeping me from doing something that would get blood on the carpet.
The door clicks shut behind me.
I don’t slam it. I don’t speak.
But the tension in my shoulders? The crack of my knuckles as I curl my fists walking down the corridor.
That says everything.
I’m keeping my mouth shut, for now.
That wedding will happen the day I start taking orders with a smile.
Table of Contents
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