Writer's POV

The steel door to the Romano warehouse shut with a heavy thud, swallowing the morning light.

Inside, the air smelled of oil, iron, and freshly brewed espresso. The scent lingered like ritual, like something sacred to the kingdom they had built.

Around the round table sat the inner circle.

Luca stood at the head, cold and controlled.
Leon leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way that suggested he despised authority even while born into it.
Rocco remained still, already cataloging problems.
Carlos and Angelo watched carefully, ready to move at the slightest signal.
Armani sat composed, eyes sharp with calculation.
Raven stayed quiet, observing everything.
Ariana rested back with her sunglasses perched on her head like a crown.
Melissa sat with her legs crossed, her smile edged with mischief.

A map of the lakefront docks stretched across the table. Pins, threads, notes.

Two shipments had gone missing.

Rome would not tolerate that.

Luca did not sit.

He moved slowly around the table, sleeves rolled, forearms tense, the vein in his temple rising like a warning.

"Avete qualcosa?" he asked quietly. (Do you have anything?)

Silence answered him first.

Then Carlos spoke.

"Boss, we checked the manifests and the cameras. Everything matches on paper. The loss happens after the crates pass the municipal scanners."

"Inside job," Angelo added. "Or someone is altering records."

"No leads," Luca repeated softly.

The words settled into the room like ash.

"Then what do I pay you for?"

No one moved.

"To sit? To breathe?"

He stopped behind Raven's chair, tapping the back once.

"I'm giving all of you ventiquattro ore," he said. (twenty-four hours)
"Bring me something I can use, or I start pulling people apart."

A pause.

"Capito?" (Understood?)

Chairs creaked.

Spines straightened.

Leon let out a quiet laugh.

"Relax, fratello."

Luca turned his head slightly.

"Relax?"

His voice remained calm.

"My shipments go missing and my name looks weak... and you tell me to relax?"

Leon laced his fingers behind his head.

"I'm telling you to think. Teca lands in Chicago in three days for the Red Tie Mafia Ball. If something is off, that's where we catch it."

His tone sharpened slightly.

"The Red Scorpions are watching. Maybe even the Europeans. I'd bet on one of them. Either way, the ball is public. Political. He has to behave."

A pause.

"We corner him there."

Luca held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

Then exhaled.

Controlled.

"Fine," he said. "We use the ball."

He turned to Raven.

"Follow Teca from the moment he lands. I want everything. His driver. His habits. His movements."

Raven nodded once.

"Ricevuto." (Understood.)

"Ariana," Luca continued, "get close to the Scorpions. I want whispers, not rumors."

She smirked.

"You'll have them."

"Armani, Angelo, Isidro. You're on the docks tonight. No mistakes."

He shifted slightly.

"Rocco, Carlos, Pedro. Valentino's restaurant. Full control."

Then his voice lowered just a fraction.

"If I take Rosalia out tomorrow... no one comes near our table."

At her name, Melissa's brows lifted with interest.

Rocco spoke.

"Still nothing from her?"

Luca's jaw tightened.

"No."

Then quieter,

"She's either in the dark... or choosing to stay there."

Leon turned toward Melissa.

"Portale un vestito." (Get her a dress.)
"For dinner. And for the ball."

Melissa smiled.

"Done."

Luca finally sat.

Hands steepled.

"Twenty-four hours," he said again. "Surprise me."

Then he stood.

The room followed.

Movement replaced silence. Phones lit. Chairs scraped. Orders became action.

The Romano machine had started.

Leon remained behind.

"You snapped at me," he said lightly.

"I'll speak to you however I want," Luca replied.

Leon smiled.

"One day, that temper will cost you."

Luca met his eyes.

"One day, it will save your life."

The silence between them stretched.

Then broke.

Rosalia's POV

The house woke slowly.

The soft hiss of coffee brewing.
A distant vacuum.
Two guards arguing quietly in Italian.

I walked into the kitchen, hair tied up, Luca's oversized jacket draped over my satin shorts.

It felt like comfort.

It felt like him.

"Buongiorno, tesoro," Gina said warmly.

She placed a plate in front of me.

"Eat. You look pale."

"I slept," I said, sitting down. "Too well, maybe."

She poured coffee.

"Grazie a Dio. Eat first. Think later."

I tried.

But my mind wouldn't quiet.

My eyes drifted toward the dining room.

"Why don't you use it?" I asked. "It's always set. Like a place waiting for something."

Gina paused.

"Luca hasn't eaten there since his parents died," she said softly.

Something in my chest shifted.

"When he was fifteen, he stood at that table in his father's suit. It didn't fit. But he took control anyway."

She smiled faintly.

"And then he never went back."

I swallowed.

"Where is he?"

"In his office," she said. "Go thank him before he decides he's not appreciated."

"I do appreciate him," I said quickly.

Her smile deepened.

Go."

I opened the door.

And froze.

He stood across the room, completely naked, completely unbothered.

For a brief moment, both of us forgot that clothes existed. Time stretched thin between us, awkward and suspended, like the world had paused just to watch me embarrass myself.

He moved first.

Calm. Unhurried. As though he had all the time in the world and I carried all the shame.

He reached for a robe draped over a chair and slipped into it without urgency, tying it loosely at his hips. Everything about him felt deliberate. Effortless.

Like a prince caught mid-bath, mildly amused at the commoner who wandered in.

"Ti piace, principessa?" he asked, pouring vodka into a glass like it was a morning ritual.
(Do you like it, princess?)

"Do you like what you see?"

My jaw forgot how to function.

"I... I was looking for..."

Words abandoned me.

Where do words go when you need them the most?

He stepped closer, eyes shameless yet oddly kind. He smelled like clean soap and something expensive, something that lingered.

"Sono Leon." he said softly. (I'm Leon.)
"In case you forgot while you were staring."

He leaned in slightly.

"And you smell like strawberries."

Heat rushed up my neck.

"I wasn't staring," I lied.

"Of course," he replied easily.

He gestured toward the door with his glass.

"Luca's room is seven doors down. Try not to count mine twice."

He leaned in slightly, just enough to disrupt my breathing, just enough to make the air feel heavier.

"And you smell like strawberries."

I didn't respond.

I couldn't.

"Vai." he added, amused. (Go.)
"Before your knight gets jealous."

And just like that, I left.

Fast.

******
Seven doors down.

This time, I knocked.

A pause.

Then his voice.

"Entra. Close the door."

I stepped inside.

And immediately felt it.

His room wasn't just a room.

It was presence.

Light poured in through two large windows, almost unreal, like the house itself had decided to obey him. A chandelier hung above, scattering light like fragments of captured stars. The bed was large, yes, but it wasn't the size that struck me.

It was the feeling.

Everything in that space belonged to him.

Bowed to him.

He stood by the window.

Shirtless.

Coffee in his hand.

The sharp line of his shoulders, the definition of his torso, everything about him looked sculpted, precise, dangerous. Like a language I didn't understand but somehow spoke fluently.

He turned when I entered.

His gaze moved over me slowly.

My hair tied up.
His jacket hanging off my shoulders.
Bare legs.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Soft.

Dangerous.

Both at once.

"Sei venuta a ringraziarmi?" he asked.
(Did you come to thank me?)

I nodded.

"For yesterday," I said. "The dress. The card you gave Melissa. Everything."

My voice betrayed me.

He set his cup down without looking away and walked toward me.

Unhurried.

Certain.

He stopped just close enough for me to feel him.

The jacket suddenly felt too thin.

"Dimmi," he said quietly. "(Tell me.")

"What?"

"What you're not saying."

"I don't... know what you want me to say."

"That you're safe," he said.

Simple.

Firm.

"That no one touches you in this house."

For a second, something darker passed through his expression.

Gone just as quickly.

"And that you know I won't let them."

Something inside me softened.

"I know," I said.

And I meant it.

His hand lifted slowly.

Paused.

Then touched my jaw.

Gentle.

Controlled.

The kind of touch that makes you aware of your own breathing.

"Brava." he murmured. (Good.)

And then

Something shifted.

The space between us disappeared.

His lips found mine.

The kiss wasn't rushed.

It was intentional.

Measured.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing and how it would affect me.

He tasted like coffee.

And something darker.

I rose slightly on my toes without thinking, and he smiled against my lips, the movement making everything feel deeper, heavier.

His hand slid to the back of my neck.

The other rested at my waist, pulling me closer.

The jacket slipped from my shoulders.

He caught it easily and tossed it aside without breaking the kiss.

"Amore," he murmured softly.

Then

"Dimmi se devo fermarmi."
(Tell me if I should stop.)

My mind offered nothing useful.

My body answered instead.

"Don't," I whispered.

And he didn't.

He guided me backward until my shoulders met the cool glass of the window. The sudden contrast sent a shiver through me, but he didn't stop.

His lips moved along my jaw.

Down my neck.

Slow.

Deliberate.

He wasn't rushing.

He was learning me.

I tilted my head, giving him access without thinking.

His breath at my pulse felt dangerous.

His touch felt worse.

Better.

Everything at once.

"Sei mia quando respiri così." he murmured.
(You're mine when you breathe like that.)

My breath hitched.

"Don't say things you don't mean," I said softly.

He pulled back slightly.

Looked at me.

Serious.

"I don't play with promises."

His thumb brushed my lower lip.

"But I do collect what's mine."

Then he kissed me again.

This time deeper.

Stronger.

My fingers found his hair, gripping without hesitation, and he let out a quiet sound that felt like approval.

He shifted us again.

Carefully.

Until the bed was behind me.

"Dimmi di fermarmi," he said again, voice lower now.
(Tell me to stop.)

I couldn't.

I didn't.

My answer was silence.

And that was enough.

He lifted me easily, like I weighed nothing, and set me at the edge of the bed.

Everything felt unreal.

Like a moment that would disappear if I blinked too hard.

Then

A knock.

Sharp.

Real.

I froze.

Luca stilled.

His forehead rested briefly against mine as he exhaled slowly, pulling himself back together.

The door opened slightly.

"Luca?" Gina's voice.
"Hai un minuto?" (Do you have a minute?)

Reality came back too quickly.

I stepped away, pulling his jacket back on with trembling hands.

"I'll go with Gina," I said quietly.

My voice still unsteady.

"I... thank you."

For everything.

His lips curved slightly.

"Vai, tesoro." (Go, darling.)

I nodded and walked out.

Gina took one look at me and understood everything without asking.

"Andiamo,"she said gently. (Let's go.)

And I went.

Writer's POV

Below, the house moved like a machine.

Plans were set.

The docks. The dinner. The ball.

Teca.

Leon leaned against a pillar.

"Watch the ball," he said to Rocco.

"Occhi aperti." (Stay sharp.)

Rocco nodded.

Above, Gina poured tea.

"He is not made of stone," she said softly.

"I know," Rosalia replied.

And Evening came.

Melissa filled the room with energy, styling Rosalia carefully, deliberately.

Rosalia stood before the mirror.

Thinking.

Feeling.

Remembering.

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