I can still taste him.
Three hours since the restaurant. Since he cornered me in that bathroom like a predator cornering prey. Since I let him kiss me. Since I kissed him back like I was starving for it. Since every carefully constructed wall I've spent years building came crashing down under the weight of his mouth on mine.
Since I proved to myself that my plan is working perfectly.
He came for me. Just like I knew he would. Just like I wanted him to. The moment I started being seen around campus with Emma, the moment I made him think someone else might have what he considers his - he snapped. Lost that careful control and showed me exactly what he's capable of. Showed me the monster that lurks beneath all that charm and sophistication.
And now I know. Now I've seen what Enzo Moretti becomes when someone threatens to take what he wants. I've felt it pressed against me, tasted it on his tongue, felt it burn through my veins like poison. This is what happens when Enzo Moretti stops playing games and starts taking what he believes belongs to him.
The walk back to my seat after he left was the longest thirty seconds of my life. My legs felt unsteady, like I was walking on the deck of a ship in rough seas. Everything around me seemed too bright, too sharp, too real. The noise of the restaurant hit my ears like physical blows - conversations, laughter, the clink of silverware on plates. All of it felt obscene somehow, like the world had no right to continue existing normally after what had just happened in that bathroom.
Emma - sweet, innocent Emma from my criminology class - was sitting there with concern written all over her face. She'd agreed to help me with our group project over dinner, nothing more. A study session disguised as a date to make Enzo think exactly what I wanted him to think. She was perfect for it - pretty enough to trigger his jealousy, innocent enough that I felt guilty using her, unconnected enough to our world that she'd never know what she'd walked into.
But when I slid back into my chair, everything had changed. I had changed. The boy who'd left that table was gone, replaced by something darker. Something that understood what it meant to want and be wanted in return. Something that craved violence and possession and all the things I'd spent years denying.
"You look pale," she said, reaching across to touch my forehead with gentle fingers. "Are you feeling alright?"
I flinched away from her hand like she'd burned me. Couldn't bear the touch of someone who wasn't him. Her skin felt wrong - too soft, too warm, too human. Not the controlled strength of fingers that knew exactly how to hold a throat. Not the heat of someone who'd just claimed me against a bathroom sink and walked away like he owned me.
The guilt of that reaction, of what I'd just done, of what I'd let him do to me, made my stomach turn. Emma didn't deserve to be used as a pawn in whatever sick game Enzo and I were playing. She was exactly the kind of person I should want - stable, kind, normal. Everything that made sense. Everything that was safe.
Everything that felt like settling for less than the fire burning in my chest.
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice hoarse from where his hand had been around my throat. "Just tired."
But I wasn't fine. I was falling apart. My lips were still swollen from his kiss, still tingling with the memory of how he'd devoured my mouth like he was starving for the taste of me. My throat still burned where his fingers had pressed, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make his point. To make me understand exactly who was in control.
And worse - so much worse - was the way my body was still humming with want for more. The way every nerve ending felt like it was on fire, craving his touch. The way I kept replaying those five minutes over and over, analyzing every word, every gesture, every breath. The way I wanted to go back and let him finish what he'd started.
"Did something happen?" Emma asked, tilting her head to study my face. "You were gone for a while. And you seem... different."
Different. That word kept following me around like a curse. Because I was different. Fundamentally, irrevocably changed by a kiss that shouldn't have happened and a want that shouldn't exist.
"No. Nothing happened."
Another lie. Everything had happened. Everything had changed. In the span of five minutes, Enzo Moretti had shattered every wall I'd built around myself and left me bleeding on a bathroom floor. He'd made me want things I shouldn't want. Made me crave things that would destroy everything I'd worked for.
Made me understand that I'd been sleepwalking through my life until he touched me.
I tried to focus on Emma's voice as she talked about our project, about the psychological profiles we needed to complete for class. Something about analyzing criminal behavior patterns and the environmental factors that created antisocial tendencies. The irony wasn't lost on me - here I was, discussing the psychology of criminals while my own mind was being systematically dismantled by one.
But all I could think about was the way Enzo had looked at me in that mirror. The way his golden-hazel eyes had gone dark with want and something that looked like triumph. The way he'd touched me like he had every right to do it. Like I belonged to him and we both knew it.
The way he'd promised that next time, I wouldn't tell him to stop.
Next time.
Christ, there couldn't be a next time. There couldn't be anything between us except the careful distance I'd maintained for weeks. Because next time, I might not be strong enough to push him away. Next time, I might give him exactly what he was asking for. Next time, I might let him take me apart completely and not care about the consequences.
"Noah?" Emma's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You're not listening to me, are you?"
"Sorry," I said, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "I'm just distracted."
"By what?"
By the taste of him still on my tongue. By the memory of his hand around my throat. By the way he'd looked at me like I was something to be conquered and claimed. By the sick realization that I wanted him to try.
"School stuff," I said lamely.
Emma frowned, clearly not buying it. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been acting strange all evening. Distant. Like your mind is somewhere else."
Somewhere else. That was one way to put it. My mind was back in that restaurant bathroom, pressed against a sink with Enzo Moretti's mouth on mine and his hand around my throat. My mind was cataloging every sensation, every word, every breath. My mind was trying to figure out how to make it happen again while simultaneously planning how to avoid him for the rest of my life.
"I should get you home," I said abruptly, cutting her off mid-sentence about criminal behavioral patterns and childhood trauma. "It's getting late."
"But we haven't finished discussing the project. We still need to—"
"We can work on it later. At the library. In public."
Where it would be safe. Where I couldn't do something stupid like let him kiss me again. Where there would be witnesses and rules and all the things that might keep me from making the same mistake twice.
Emma's face fell slightly, confusion and hurt flickering across her features. "Oh. Okay. I guess we can meet tomorrow if you want."
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
The drive back to campus was torture. Emma kept glancing at me from the passenger seat, probably wondering what had happened to the polite, distant boy she'd known from class. What had happened to the Noah who never let anyone close, who maintained careful boundaries, who never showed cracks in his control.
That Noah was gone. Destroyed by five minutes in a bathroom with a boy who looked at him like he was something worth claiming.
But I couldn't explain that to her. Couldn't tell her that every time I looked at her, all I could think about was how wrong she felt. How she wasn't golden-hazel eyes and dangerous smiles and hands that knew exactly how to break me apart. How being near her felt like wearing clothes that didn't fit, like trying to be someone I wasn't.
She was everything I should want and nothing I actually craved.
When I dropped her off at her dorm, she lingered by the passenger door like she was waiting for something. Maybe an explanation. Maybe an apology. Maybe a kiss goodnight that would never come because my mouth belonged to someone else now, even if I couldn't admit it.
"Noah?" Her voice was soft, uncertain. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem... I don't know. Like something's changed."
If only she knew how much had changed. If only she knew that the boy who'd picked her up for dinner was gone, replaced by something darker. Something that craved violence and possession and all the things normal people like her would never understand.
"I'm fine, Emma. I'll see you in class."
She nodded, but I could see the hurt in her eyes. The confusion. The knowledge that whatever friendship we might have been building was over before it really began. She was a good girl. Sweet. Normal. The kind of person who deserved someone who could appreciate her gentle nature and kind heart.
Someone who wasn't falling apart over a boy who whispered promises of ownership against bathroom mirrors.
I watched her walk into her building, then sat in my car for twenty minutes trying to get my breathing under control. Trying to forget the way Enzo had tasted like mint and danger and everything I'd ever wanted but been too afraid to ask for. Trying to stop replaying the moment when his tongue had touched mine and I'd realized that every kiss before him had been a lie.
The campus was quiet around me, most students already settled in for the night. Normal people living normal lives, going to normal parties, having normal relationships that didn't involve family warfare and bathroom encounters and the kind of want that felt like drowning.
I envied them. Envied their simplicity, their ability to want things that made sense. Their freedom to choose partners based on compatibility and shared interests instead of this twisted need for someone who represented everything dangerous about my world.
But envy didn't change the truth burning in my chest. The truth that Enzo Moretti had ruined me for anyone else with a single kiss. The truth that no matter how wrong it was, how dangerous it was, how completely it would destroy everything I'd worked for - I wanted him to do it again.
By the time I made it back to my dorm, I was vibrating with need and self-hatred in equal measure. My reflection in the bathroom mirror showed the evidence of what had happened - swollen lips, a faint red mark on my throat where his fingers had pressed, eyes that looked shell-shocked and hungry at the same time.
I looked like someone who'd been claimed. Someone who'd been marked. Someone who belonged to somebody else.
I looked like exactly what I'd become.
That's when my phone buzzed with a text from Mikhail. Family gathering at The Anchor. Some cousin's birthday celebration that I'd completely forgotten about in the chaos of the evening. Usually I'd find an excuse to avoid these things. Too loud, too many people, too many chances for someone to see cracks in my control.
But tonight, I needed them. Needed the noise to drown out the memory of Enzo's mouth on mine. Needed the distraction to stop replaying the way his hand had felt around my throat. Needed to pretend I was the same person I'd been this morning instead of whatever broken, wanting thing he'd turned me into.
Needed to remember who I was supposed to be before I forgot completely.
The Anchor was exactly what I needed after the disaster at Rosetti's. Dark, crowded, the kind of place where I could disappear into the background while my family handled their business. The kind of place where the lighting was dim enough to hide the evidence of what had happened to me. Where the noise was loud enough to drown out the voice in my head that kept whispering Enzo's name like a prayer.
But we were barely through the door when everything went wrong.
The moment I stepped inside, I felt it. That electric tension that means danger is near. That primal awareness that tells me I'm being hunted. The same feeling I'd had in that restaurant bathroom, right before everything changed.
I scanned the crowd automatically, looking for threats, exits, places to hide. It was a habit I couldn't break, a survival instinct that had kept me alive in a world where showing weakness meant death.
And that's when I found him.
Enzo. Sitting at a corner table with Matteo, Valentina, and several others, but his eyes were already locked on mine like he'd been waiting for me to arrive. Like he'd known I would come. Like he'd planned this whole thing.
Those golden-hazel eyes held something dark and dangerous. Something that said he was done playing games. Done pretending this was anything other than what it was - a hunt that could only end one way.
The moment our gazes met across the crowded bar, he stood. Started moving toward us with the kind of predatory intent that made every instinct I had scream at me to run.
But I didn't run. Couldn't run. Because part of me - the part that had kissed him back in that bathroom, the part that had let him put his hand around my throat and call me beautiful - wanted to see what would happen next.
"Fuck," Luka muttered beside me, following my gaze. "What's he doing here?"
But I already knew. He was here because his head was as fucked up as mine. Because that kiss in the bathroom had broken something in both of us, shattered whatever careful distance we'd been maintaining. Because despite everything I'd said, despite walking away, despite trying to pretend none of it mattered - we were both drowning in the same obsession.
He was here because neither of us could stay away anymore.
The rational part of my brain, the part that had been trained since childhood to think strategically, to consider consequences, to always put family first, was screaming at me to leave. To turn around and walk out before this escalated into something that would draw our fathers' attention. Before this became about more than just the two of us.
But I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except watch Enzo approach like a force of nature, beautiful and terrible and completely unstoppable.
"Noah," Mikhail said quietly, his voice deadly calm in that way that meant someone was about to die. "Did something else happen between you two? I thought you were staying away from him."
"I am staying away from him," I lied, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Are you? Because he's looking at you like he wants to tear you apart. Or fuck you. Maybe both."
Heat crawled up my spine at Mikhail's words, because he wasn't wrong. Enzo was looking at me like he wanted to devour me. Like he wanted to finish what he'd started in that bathroom. Like he wanted to take me apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but want and need and the kind of surrender I'd never given anyone.
Luka stepped closer, positioning himself protectively between me and the approaching threat. "This doesn't look like someone who's being avoided."
But there was no time to explain. No time to come up with a believable lie about why Enzo Moretti was crossing the bar toward us with violence in his eyes and possession written all over his face. No time to pretend this was anything other than what it was - two predators circling each other, testing boundaries, seeing who would break first.
Because he was already here.
He stopped three feet away from us. Close enough to be a threat. Far enough to avoid an immediate physical confrontation. Close enough that I could smell his cologne and something that was uniquely him. Far enough that I couldn't reach out and touch him, even though my fingers itched to trace the line of his jaw.
His eyes never left mine. Even with my cousins flanking me, even with the weight of family loyalty and years of conditioning telling me to look away, I couldn't break that connection. Couldn't stop drowning in those golden-hazel depths that held promises of violence and pleasure in equal measure.
"Noah."
Just my name. But the way he said it made it sound like a claim. Like a promise. Like a threat. Like something sacred and profane at the same time. My name had never sounded like that before - like it belonged in his mouth, like he had the right to say it.
The entire bar seemed to hold its breath. Conversations died around us as people sensed the tension, the violence hanging in the air like smoke. The kind of violence that came from wanting something you couldn't have and being willing to destroy everything to get it.
I should have been terrified. Should have been planning escape routes and calling for backup and doing all the things I'd been trained to do when faced with a threat. But all I could think about was how beautiful he looked like this - dangerous and unhinged and completely focused on me. How the careful mask he usually wore had slipped completely, revealing the monster underneath.
The monster that called to the monster in me.
Luka moved faster than I expected. One second he was beside me, the next he was standing between Enzo and our group, shoulders squared for a fight that had been inevitable since the moment we'd walked through that door.
"I fucking warned you to stay the hell away from my cousin."
Enzo's smile was all teeth. All predator. The kind of smile that said he'd been hoping for exactly this kind of confrontation. "Did you?"
"Back off, Moretti. This is your last warning."
"Is it?" Enzo tilted his head, studying Luka like he was an interesting specimen. Like he was trying to decide whether my cousin was worth the effort of destroying. "And what happens if I don't?"
The tension in the air thickened until it felt like breathing through molasses. I could feel other patrons starting to notice, starting to back away from our little circle of violence. Could see Mikhail positioning himself for a fight, his hand moving to the concealed weapon I knew he carried. Could sense the way this was about to spiral completely out of control.
And some sick part of me wanted it to happen. Wanted to see what Enzo looked like when he stopped pretending to be civilized. Wanted to watch him tear through my family's defenses to get to me. Wanted to know if he would really risk everything for this thing between us.
That's when Luka snapped.
His fist connected with Enzo's jaw in a blur of motion, the crack echoing through the suddenly silent bar like a gunshot. Blood sprayed from Enzo's split lip, but instead of staggering backward, instead of backing down, he just smiled wider. Like pain was exactly what he'd been hoping for.
"Keep your nasty hands off him," Marco Romano snarled, launching himself at Luka with the kind of fury that said this had been personal long before tonight.
And then everything exploded.
Suddenly the carefully maintained civility of the bar dissolved into raw, brutal violence. Fists flew, chairs crashed, and the kind of primal aggression that lived in the bones of men like us took over completely.
Luka and Marco went down hard, rolling across the floor in a tangle of fists and fury, each trying to kill the other with their bare hands. Mikhail had Matteo in a chokehold, but Matteo broke free and drove his elbow into Mikhail's ribs with enough force to crack bone. Someone was bleeding. Someone was screaming. The sound of flesh hitting flesh mixed with curses in three different languages.
And through it all, Enzo never took his eyes off me.
Even as chaos erupted around us, even as his family fought mine, even as blood spattered the floor and furniture crashed around us, he was watching me. Studying my reaction. Waiting to see what I would do. Waiting to see if I would run or fight or stand there like a statue while the world burned down around us.
This is what he looked like when he stopped pretending. When all that careful control finally snapped and the monster he kept leashed broke free. He moved through the violence like he was born for it, ducking punches with fluid grace, landing hits with surgical precision. Every movement calculated, controlled, deadly.
Beautiful and terrible and completely lethal.
And I couldn't look away.
Because this was who he really was. Not the charming heir who sat behind me in class, making my skin crawl with awareness. Not the smooth talker who'd cornered me in the library, testing my boundaries. This was Enzo Moretti unleashed. This was the monster that called to the monster in me. This was what I'd been craving without knowing it - violence and passion and the kind of raw honesty that only came when everything else was stripped away.
The smart thing would have been to de-escalate. To step between them and stop this before it escalated beyond a simple confrontation. To use the diplomatic training I'd been given since childhood to defuse the situation before blood was spilled.
But I didn't move.
Because I was seeing him finally. The real him. The monster he kept hidden beneath charm and good looks and careful words. This was what Enzo Moretti looked like when he stopped playing games and decided to take what he wanted. When he decided that wanting me was worth starting a war.
And it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
It was terrifying and violent and completely wrong, but it was beautiful. Like watching a wildfire consume a forest. Like watching a predator bring down prey. Destructive and deadly and absolutely magnetic. The kind of beauty that came from pure, undiluted truth.
A chair flew past my head, crashed into the wall behind me with enough force to splinter wood. The bartender was shouting something about calling the police, but his voice was lost in the chaos of violence and rage. Other patrons fled for the exits, stumbling over each other in their haste to escape the war zone the bar had become.
"Sir!" The bartender's voice finally cut through the chaos, sharp with authority and fear. "I'm going to have to ask you to take this outside! Now!"
But no one was listening. The fight had escalated beyond words now, beyond the possibility of de-escalation. Blood painted the floor in abstract patterns. Furniture lay overturned and broken. The careful civility that separated us from animals had been stripped away, leaving only the raw truth of what we really were.
And what we were was violent. What we were was dangerous. What we were was exactly the kind of monsters our fathers had raised us to be.
That's when I heard her.
Valentina Moretti, standing near the bar with her phone pressed to her ear, her voice sharp and urgent as it cut through the noise of the brawl like a knife through silk.
"I need you here. Now. Bring your brothers. All of them."
She was calling for backup. More family. More violence. More people who would turn this from a simple fight into something that would echo through both our families for years to come.
This wasn't going to end with bruised knuckles and hurt feelings. This was going to escalate into something bigger, something that would draw our fathers' attention and make this about more than just Enzo's obsession with me. This was going to become the kind of incident that started wars.
I should have been terrified. Should have been calling my own reinforcements, making my own threats, doing everything in my power to stop this before it spiraled completely out of control and destroyed everything both our families had worked for.
But I wasn't.
Instead, I was watching Enzo move through the chaos like a force of nature, like violence incarnate, like everything I'd ever wanted but been too afraid to ask for. Watching him fight for the right to claim me. Watching him prove exactly what he was willing to risk for this thing between us.
And realizing that I'd never wanted anything more in my life than to let him catch me.
Even if it destroyed us both.
Even if it brought down everything our families had built.
Even if it meant becoming exactly the kind of monster my father had always feared I might be.
Because maybe being a monster wasn't so bad, if it meant being Enzo's monster.