Damiano's pov
Her scent is still on my skin. That mix of sweat, perfume, and something purely Ava—it clings to me like a brand, and I don't want it gone.
I'm standing at the foot of my bed, shirtless, coffee in hand, watching her breathe. She's tangled in my sheets like she's trying to hide from the world. Last night's marks are on her neck, her thighs. My marks.
I'd told myself it would just be one taste. That I could take her apart, put her back together, and walk away. But one night didn't satisfy a damn thing—it's worse now. My body's already remembering the sound she made when I first pushed into her, the way her nails dug into my shoulders.
She shifts in her sleep, lips parting slightly. I feel my control bend.
It's dangerous, what I'm feeling. Not the lust—that's a constant. It's the fact I'm thinking about her little sister. About the debts. About how easy it would be to make sure they never have to worry about money again… if Ava just stays right where I want her.
She doesn't know she's already mine. I'm not about to tell her I've been watching her for months before last night. Not yet. The phone on the dresser buzzes. Business. Always business. But for once, I let it go to voicemail.
Because right now, the only thing I want to handle… is waking her up.
Her lashes flutter before she fully wakes, and for a moment, she just blinks at me, hair mussed, cheeks flushed from sleep. I lean over and press a kiss to her mouth—soft, meant to be nothing more than a good morning, but then she bites my lower lip.
Her hand slides over my chest, nails grazing, and before I can stop her, she's pushing me gently onto my back. My breath catches—not because she's bold, but because she's looking at me like I'm hers.
She disappears under the sheet, and my muscles lock tight. The warmth of her mouth wraps around me, slow, deliberate, tongue flicking just enough to make my hips twitch.
"Fuck…" The word slips out low, dangerous. My fingers thread into her hair, not to force her, but to feel the way she moves against me. She takes me deeper, swallowing me whole, and when she hums, my control snaps.
When I spill into her mouth, she swallows every drop—eyes glinting with something wicked when she comes back up. My chest rises and falls hard, but I can't let it end there. Not with her looking at me like that.
I pull her on top of me, guiding her down until I'm inside her again. This time, there's no rush, no rough edge—just a slow, perfect slide. Her palms rest on my chest, my hands gripping her hips as we move together, eyes locked like we're both afraid to look away.
Her breath stutters; I can feel her getting close. I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Come for me, Ava," I murmur, voice husky.
She does—her walls clenching around me, her mouth falling open on a soft moan that nearly undoes me. I follow her, groaning as I spill into her, my head falling back.
When we finally still, she collapses against my chest. I hold her there, fingers stroking lazily over her back. It's dangerous, how much I don't want to let go. How the thought of breakfast with her—coffee, eggs, sunlight—feels more intimate than the sex.
And that… that scares the hell out of me.
She sits cross-legged at my kitchen island, wearing one of my shirts, sleeves rolled past her hands. It's loose enough to almost hide the marks I left on her neck. Almost.
I'm behind the counter, pan in one hand, coffee mug in the other, watching her try to pretend she isn't aware of my eyes on her. She's failing—every time she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, she glances up, catches me staring.
"You cook?" she teases, smirking at the eggs sizzling in the pan.
I pour her coffee, black with a swirl of cream, sliding it across to her. "I do a lot of things people don't expect."
Her lips wrap around the mug, and my mind flashes back to the way they looked wrapped around me twenty minutes ago. My grip on the spatula tightens.
But there's more than just heat twisting in my gut. My phone's been lighting up on the counter, same number, over and over. Business. Problems. Trouble. I should answer, but right now I'm listening to the soft sound of her sipping coffee, the faint hum she makes at the taste.
It's a moment I don't get to have. A moment I know won't last.
Because last night wasn't just me taking what I wanted—it was me crossing a line. She's mine now, whether she understands that or not and that means everyone who wants to hurt me… will look for her.
I slide the plate of eggs in front of her, brushing my fingers along her wrist when she reaches for the fork. Her pulse jumps.
"You're staring again," she says.
"Get used to it," I tell her, my voice quiet but sure.
The phone buzzes again. This time, I grab it—because no matter how badly I want to stay in this kitchen with her, I know the outside world is already clawing its way in and I'll burn it all down before I let it take her.
The name flashing on my phone makes my jaw clench. Enzo. He wouldn't call me three times in a row unless something was wrong. I glance at Ava—she's focused on her breakfast, twirling the fork slowly like she's savoring every bite. Completely unaware that outside this room, my world is the kind that eats people like her alive.
I answer, voice sharp. "Talk."
Enzo doesn't waste time. "Luca Romano's men were spotted near one of our warehouses last night. And… someone's asking about a girl. A dancer. Fits her description."
My gaze flicks back to Ava. She's sipping her coffee, eyes soft, wearing my shirt like she belongs in it.
"Handle the warehouse," I say, my voice low, dangerous. "And find out exactly who's asking about her."
Enzo hesitates. "Boss… you think they already know?"
"They will," I reply, hanging up before he can say more.
Ava looks up at me, a little frown pulling between her brows. "Bad news?"
I cross the space between us, resting my hands on either side of her on the counter, caging her in. My body's still humming from earlier, but now there's steel under it—a warning even she can feel.
"Nothing you need to worry about," I murmur, brushing my thumb along her cheek.
She studies me like she's trying to read the truth in my eyes. "You're a bad liar, Damiano."
I smirk, even though my chest is tight. "And you're far too curious for your own good."
She laughs softly, but I don't miss the way her smile fades as I kiss her forehead. She doesn't know yet—but last night changed everything. And if Luca or anyone else thinks they can take her from me… They're already dead.
The phone buzzes again before I can pull away from her.
This time it's a different number. I answer with a clipped, "What?"
"Boss, it's Rafe," the voice on the other end says. "You told me to keep an eye on the kid, right? The sister?"
My muscles go rigid. "Ava's sister? What happened?"
A beat of silence. "Two guys were parked across from her school this morning. Didn't go inside, just… watching. When I circled back ten minutes later, they were gone."
Every nerve in my body snaps tight. I grip the phone so hard my knuckles go white.
"Get her somewhere safe. Now," I growl, already grabbing my keys from the counter.
"On it," Rafe says before the line goes dead.
Ava's watching me, fork paused halfway to her mouth, eyes narrowing. "Damiano… what's going on?"
I meet her gaze, and for a moment, I almost tell her. But the truth would unravel everything, and I need control.
"Finish your breakfast," I say, my voice calm but cold enough to shut down further questions. "I'll be back."
I kiss her once—deep enough to feel her breath catch—before I turn and head for the door. Inside, my blood's already boiling. Someone's making a move. And they just signed their death warrant.