Rose's POV:
The last 48 hours had been hell.
I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten.
Moga's threat rang in my ears like a curse: 72 hours or else.
I didn't know how I managed to get Luca Moretti's address. I didn't know if I'd survive stepping back into his space. But here I was—standing at the door of a man I swore I'd never see again.
But this wasn't about me.
This was about my mother. My family. My last chance.
When the guard opened the gate and told me Luca had agreed to see me, I almost dropped to my knees in gratitude.
Almost.
Because the moment I stepped into his lavish home, the air became heavier… like it knew I didn't belong here.
He was seated by the bar when I walked in—shirtless, flawless, with a glass of whiskey in hand and those haunting eyes scanning my soul.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear my own footsteps.
This was it.
No turning back.
I walked to the center of the room. I didn't say a word.
With trembling fingers, I reached behind me and unhooked the tiny clasp holding my dress together.
It fell.
Softly. Slowly.
Exposing everything.
My smooth skin, my soft curves, my b**bs rising and falling with every breath I dared to take.
Luca leaned back in his chair, still watching.
Expressionless.
Silent.
Why isn't he saying anything?
Then, like ice cracking beneath weight, I saw it—his lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk.
He was thinking. Judging.
And I was dying inside.
> "Just a few days ago this lady couldn't even allow me to touch her. And now she's stripping naked, without shame?"
> "What was I expecting anyway? All women are the same—cheap whores, selling their bodies just to get some money. How could I even think she'd be different?"
His thoughts weren't loud, but I could feel them. Each one cut deeper than a blade.
But I held it in.
No tears.
No weakness.
> "My mum needs this money more than I need my dignity. I have to do this."
That's what I told myself, over and over again, while clenching my jaw and standing still.
Then he rose.
Slowly.
No shirt on, only flawless white trousers hanging off his perfect waist. Every step he took made my heart slam harder against my ribs.
His muscles were sharp like sculpture—his abs carved from marble, his chest rising and falling like something wild barely being contained.
I swallowed again.
Tried not to run.
Tried not to cry.
But he kept coming closer… until my back met the cold wall behind me.
There was nowhere left to run.
He reached out—softly, slowly—and placed one strong hand behind my waist. His fingers didn't grope. They held. Possessive. Hot. Unreadable.
Then he pulled me forward… until my bare chest brushed against his warm skin.
He didn't say a word.
Neither did I.
We just stared at each other—me, in fear and shame; him, in cold silence, his eyes scanning me like a mystery he couldn't solve.
And still… something in his gaze softened. For just a second.
Something that looked like regret. Or restraint. Or maybe even a shadow of guilt.
But it was gone as fast as it came.
Because Luca Moretti was not a man of mercy.
He was a storm.
And I was just trying not to drown.
---
LUCA MORETTI'S POV:
I picked her up like she weighed nothing, laying her gently on the silk sheets of my bed. The moonlight spilled across her skin, making it gleam like golden velvet. Her body… it wasn't just beautiful. It was art. Smooth curves. Soft edges. She looked like everything a man would kill to possess.
And yet…
As I leaned in, my lips brushed against her neck—slowly. Purposefully. I tasted her breath as it hitched. Then I lowered my mouth, grazing her perky b**bs with the barest touch of heat.
Her skin was warm, soft, and trembling.
But I was the one losing control.
Why the hell am I taking my time with her?
Any other woman would be begging, used, tossed aside before the sheets even cooled.
But Rose?
Her scent. Her body. The way she looked at me earlier with defiance and fear all wrapped in one... it was different.
"No," I hissed to myself. "I can't be this soft. She's just a local wh*re. A cheap girl playing hard to get."
I roughly grabbed her by the waist, flipping her beneath me. She grunted softly in pain.
The sound sliced through my chest like a blade.
"Sh*t!" I flinched.
My hands paused. My breathing grew uneven.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I pulled back, blinking as her body trembled under me.
Goosebumps rose all over her, her hands clutching the sheets like she wasn't sure if she should run or surrender. Her eyes were wide. Scared. Vulnerable.
For a split second, I cared.
That's when I knew—I needed to stop.
This wasn't me.
I don't stop. I don't hesitate. I destroy.
So why couldn't I devour her like the others?
Why was she still under my skin?
Her eyes. That innocence beneath the fire. That pain she tries to hide. That fcking beautiful mouth that begs for mercy without speaking a word.*
I could have her. Right here. Right now.
But instead...
I rose from the bed, chest heaving in frustration. My hands went through my hair, fists clenching. The room suddenly felt like a cage.
I walked over to the drawer, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed it on the bed beside her.
"Take," I muttered. "Put on your clothes and leave… or I might hurt you."
My tone was cold. But my heart was still burning.
She froze for a moment, sitting there with her clothes in one hand, shame in the other.
Then she moved—slowly dressing without a word.
She reached for the money, hesitated… then picked it up.
Smart girl.
But just as she turned to leave, I looked away. Because if I didn't… I might pull her back and do something I'd regret.
Not to her.
To me.
She's in my bed, but I feel like she's under my skin.
Why do I care if she's hurt? Why do I give a damn what she thinks of me?
This isn't just lust. This is... something else.
No. No, Luca. You're not a man who falls. You're a man who rules. Get. It. Together.
---
When the door finally clicked shut behind her, the silence screamed at me.
I stood alone in my penthouse, the scent of her still in the sheets, her ghost still in my arms, my heart still... burning.
I slammed my fist into the wall.
"F**k!"