Luca's POV

I stood there until the bus disappeared around the corner. Even after it was gone, I found myself staring at the empty street, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, my pulse steady but restless. She had told me her name Rosalia. Sweet on the tongue, like something dangerous wrapped in sugar.

I don't usually bother remembering names. Most women blur together: painted smiles, grasping hands, whispers in the dark. Easy. Forgettable. Disposable.

But this one...

Her fear clung to her like perfume, yet she'd still found the courage to run, to fight, to glare at me like she'd rather bite than obey.

And now, damn it, I wanted her.

The purr of an engine drew my attention. A sleek black SUV rolled to a stop at the curb, headlights cutting through the dark. I slid into the back seat, the leather cool against my palms.

"Boss?" Carlos's voice carried from the driver's seat. He sounded tired, but then again, we'd both had a long night. Unlike me, though, Carlos never complained.

I studied him through the partition's reflection. Carlos had been with me since childhood his round brown eyes still carried the same warmth, though his jawline had sharpened with age. His black hair was slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place. He wore a pressed black suit as always, the picture of control.

Carlos was one of my capos, one of the few men I trusted in a world where loyalty was bought and sold.

"Find someone for me," I said, keeping my gaze on the window.

His brow lifted slightly. "Una ragazza?" A girl?

"Yes," I replied. The corner of his mouth twitched in disbelief.

He knew me well. Too well. I didn't chase women. They chased me. They begged for my attention, clawed for my approval. I didn't search for them — they threw themselves at me. And yet here I was, naming one.

"Rosalia," I said, savoring it again.

Carlos's hands tightened slightly on the wheel. "Do we have a last name? Any detail?"

"Brown hair. Green eyes. About five feet tall. She takes a bus from here, so she lives close."

Carlos nodded. "Capito. I'll put Jett on it."

"Bene."

The SUV slid through the streets, but my mind stayed behind in the park, with her. The way she'd trembled but kept her spine straight. The way she hadn't trusted me, not even after I saved her life. Smart. Cautious. Rare.

I told myself I wouldn't think about her again. But I was already lying.

Rosalia's POV

Days passed, but the memory of him clung to me like a stain I couldn't wash away.

I kept seeing those hazel eyes, colder than the night. I heard the crack of bones, the sickening thud of boots crushing skulls. He terrified me. He fascinated me. He wasn't a man I wanted in my life and yet, sometimes, against my will, I found myself wondering if I would ever see him again.

I prayed I wouldn't.

The morning light filtered into my small apartment, soft and pale. I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my hair, and forced myself through my routine. A faded blue dress clung loosely to my frame, and I dabbed on a little makeup to hide the exhaustion carved into my face. After a quick breakfast, I grabbed my purse and keys, then stepped out into the quiet street.

Work wasn't glamorous, but it kept me alive.

Mrs. Quakers's bakery sat on the corner of a busy street. The smell of butter and sugar wrapped around me the moment I pushed open the door. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the glass display where golden croissants and fresh loaves lined the shelves.

"Morning, Rosa," Mrs. Quakers greeted warmly. At seventy-eight, she still moved with surprising energy, her gray hair pulled into a neat bun. She was more family than anyone else in my life.

"Morning," I said, tying my hair up.

"You seem stressed."

I forced a smile. "Just had a couple of rough days."

She patted my cheek. "It'll all be over soon, dear."

I kissed her wrinkled cheek lightly and turned toward the counter, pushing her words from my mind.

The bell above the door chimed, and the first wave of customers shuffled in. I opened the register, flicked on the espresso machine, and braced myself.

"Good morning, beautiful."

I looked up to see Dante, a familiar face. He worked at the office across the street and came in every morning for his espresso.

"Morning, Dante. Large espresso with foam?"

"You know me too well." He grinned.

I returned a polite smile, preparing his coffee quickly before handing it over. He winked as he left, and I shook my head. Dante was sweet, safe everything I should want. But my heart stayed numb.

Kayla rushed in moments later, cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late!"

I waved it off. "We just opened."

She darted into the back to change, and I turned back to scribble orders in my notepad.

That's when the shadow fell over me.

"Give me a minute, sir, and I'll take your order," I said automatically, not looking up.

But when I lifted my head, the air froze in my lungs.

Hazel eyes. Cold. Familiar.

It was him.

I blinked, hoping my imagination was playing tricks on me. But no he was real, towering over me, presence filling the bakery like he owned it. My knees weakened.

A slow, devilish smirk curved his lips.

"You?" My voice broke on the word.

"Call me Luca," he said smoothly.

The name slid over my skin like silk and flame. Luca. Even his voice carried command, low and demanding, wrapping around me until I forgot how to breathe.

In daylight, he looked even more dangerous. A fitted white shirt clung to his chest, tucked into gray tailored pants. His tie hung perfectly knotted, his suit jacket molded to his shoulders. He looked untouchable. Powerful. Devastatingly male.

I snapped out of my daze, shaking my head. "Are you stalking me?" I whispered harshly, not wanting anyone to overhear.

He smirked. "Just checking on you."

"How did you even know where to find me?"

"I have my ways."

Annoyance burned through my chest, giving me courage. "Well, I don't have time for this. I have customers."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a frown. As if he wasn't used to rejection. As if no one dared deny him.

Then, with infuriating calm, he pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and began handing hundred dollar bills to every single person in line behind him.

My jaw dropped. "Are you insane?" I hissed.

The customers took the money without complaint, smiling as they left. In less than a minute, the bakery was empty except for me, Kayla in the back, and him.

"They were my customers," I said sharply.

"Not anymore," he replied smoothly. "Looks like I'm your only one."

He leaned closer. "So... what will you serve me, amore?" (Love?)

Heat shot down my spine. He wasn't talking about food, and we both knew it.

I forced a laugh, sarcastic. "So what? You want to buy a croissant now?"

"I'll buy anything you offer me," he said, his words dripping with double meaning.

Goosebumps prickled over my skin. My heart pounded, traitorous.

I took a breath and straightened. "I know what you're trying, and you're not getting it from me. Stay away. If I see you again, I'll call the police."

His jaw tightened, but his eyes glittered like he was amused.

I turned quickly, spotting Kayla heading toward us. Relief washed over me. "Kayla, take his order," I said, grabbing her hand. "I need the restroom."

Before I could move, Luca's hand snapped around my wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding. He pulled me forward until I leaned over the counter, his face inches from mine.

His hazel eyes burned into me. His lips hovered close enough that I could taste his breath.

"Don't turn your back on me, amore,"(love) he whispered. "I'm not done with you yet."

I jerked my wrist free, my heart hammering. "Let me go," I snapped.

"Rosa?" Kayla's worried voice broke the tension.

We held each other's gaze for a moment longer, locked in a silent battle neither of us won. Then I spun on my heel and walked out, forcing myself not to look back.

In the restroom, I pressed my back to the door, my chest rising and falling too fast. My skin still tingled where his hand had been.

Through the crack of the door, I watched as he murmured something to Kayla, then walked out of the bakery without looking back.

But when he left, he took something with him.

I couldn't explain it. I hated it. And yet...

Some pathetic part of me wished he would come back, just to say something anything that would make me forgive him.

But he wasn't that kind of man.

And I wasn't that kind of woman.

***Your thoughts on this chapter loves***
Don't forget to vote and comment