Forbidden Flames

Chapter One

Emerson

T hrowing my cap in the air, watching the tassels flurry in the cool spring breeze, I could finally let go of the strenuous breath I’d been storing deep inside over the last three years. Caps of other students flew just as high, creating a flock of black mortarboards plummeting through the air, expelling the graveling pressure of Harvard Law School gliding with them. Even if only for a moment, the tension dissipated and left us feeling tranquility as we each relished our accomplishments. We made it. I made it. My graduation day.

The incessant ringing of cheers filled my ears, the waves of victory swept through me, the May sun beamed against my skin, shining brightly like the smile on my face. It was our proudest moment thus far. A day of celebration, reflection, and gratitude. The air buzzed with excitement, adrenaline driving through our veins, for a new beginning was right around the corner.

I turned around, noticing the friends and family jumping to their feet as they celebrated on behalf of their loved ones. The intensity of their cheerfulness was heartwarming, watching the guests beat their hands together as they applauded for their children. Proud parents, something I couldn’t know the feeling of, though I was never one to self-pity.

It was hard to spot Atlas at first, between the descending graduation caps and graduates jumping into the air but once I tilted my head to the side to see beyond the throng to find him, I saw his undercut, golden hair bristling in the wind in the distance.

His hands crowded around the edges of his mouth, amplifying his cheers as his blue eyes gleamed with pride. I shook my head, warmth filling my heart at his enthusiasm.

Our parents may no longer be with us, but Atlas rallied enough for the three of them, dulling the ache in my heart even if only for a split second. That, and I was momentarily stunned to see him out of his usual workwear, instead adorning a white fitted shirt and navy dress pants. A sight so rare I was tempted to check if pigs had started flying.

I weaved my way through the mass of students, my heels clicking against the concrete path as I ran toward my brother. The corners of his eyes crinkled, his grin growing, as he spotted me fighting my way through the herd to reach him. The second I did, he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me so tight against his chest that I lost my ability to breathe.

“Atlas,” I choked, tapping his back, though unable to stop the smile creeping at his grave display. “Can’t. Breathe.”

Barking out a laugh, he rested his hand on my shoulder as he set me down. “Sorry, kiddo.”

He took a moment to survey me, his lips twitching at the crimson gown I donned. He shook his head, his eyes brimming with pride. “My baby sister, a Harvard graduate. Who could believe you’re the smart one out of us both?”

“Everyone,” I teased, amused by the rolling of his eyes.

“Not everyone,” he countered.

“Aero doesn’t count.”

Aero was my brother’s dog and the pair of them were thick as thieves. Atlas took the German Shepherd with him everywhere, including his many trips away for work. Honestly, I was surprised Atlas hadn’t snuck Aero into the commencement ceremony.

He definitely considered it.

Ignoring my remark, he gripped the corners of my gown and straightened the creases along my arms. “They would have been so proud, Emmy.”

My heart constricted, my nose crinkling as I fought back the tears threatening to spill. Dammit, Atlas . I wasn’t supposed to cry today.

“I wish they were here.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to let the devastation of our parents’ deaths distract me from the delight I should be feeling.

“They’re watching,” he assured, wrapping his arm over my shoulder and turning me to face the crowd. “Along with someone else.”

“What are you-” I was cut off by a sea of golden hair rushing towards me with a brilliant smile.

Clover .

Without hesitation, I raced to my best friend, swinging my arms around her neck as we collided against each other.

Clover and I had been best friends since the second grade. With golden hair, emerald eyes, diamond-cutting cheekbones, and bronzed skin, Clover resembled something of a Disney princess. She had moved into the city two years ago when she qualified as a nurse, and this was the first time in seven years we would be living in the same ZIP code.

Her father had wanted her to take over the family publishing business, Blackwells . But in typical Clover fashion, she’d defied her father’s wishes and made a living doing what she wanted to do, despite Blackwells being a seven-figure business and the publishing house of all publishing houses.

Honestly, her father had probably gotten lucky.

Clover’s attention span lasted a whole five minutes before she was incessantly scrolling through Instagram and TikTok, completely oblivious to the world around her. The obsession with books unfortunately hadn’t passed through genetics to Clover, whose reading list started with Vogue and ended with Elle .

“You’re here!” I shrieked.

Clover wasn’t supposed to make it. Her boss had recently retired, and the hospital was understaffed, so she wasn’t supposed to take any time off.

It had been disappointing, but we had agreed to celebrate in New York once I moved back. That was two days ago, and I’d spoken to her at least six times since then.

We are pretty codependent.

“Well, it seems Atlas can be very persuasive when he wants to be.” Clover quirked a brow at my brother, her voice laced with amusement.

I deadpanned in his direction; Atlas’ persuasion usually came in the form of violence.

“Tell me you didn’t threaten her boss.”

It wouldn’t have been surprising if he had; Atlas’ determination knew no bounds. If he wanted something to happen, it was happening. Compromise wasn’t in his vocabulary.

Once, before our parents died, Atlas’ friend had mentioned his parents had taken him to Six Flags Magic Mountain during the summer. After hearing about the Batman ride and recently becoming obsessed with Kevin Conroy, Atlas begged our parents to take us. They’d said no, deciding I was too young to go on most of the rides. So, Atlas being Atlas, had gone on a hunger strike until they said yes. It lasted for three days before they gave in and took us to California the following weekend.

Atlas pressed his hand against his heart. “I would never,” he insisted, but the roguish glint in his eyes declared something entirely different.

Before I could call bullshit, his attention transferred to his ringing phone. His brows furrowed, a look of concern flashing across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’ve got to take this, it’s De Luca. Give me a minute and we’ll go for some drinks, yeah? ”

“Who’s De Luca?” Clover asked, nudging her shoulder into mine, her interest peaked.

I know the feeling.

“Orion.”

I’d met him once, ten years ago, when Atlas brought him home for Thanksgiving. They were roommates at Yale and had become inseparable since, hence the visit from Orion during the holidays.

He was the kind of man who had everyone on edge, even at just eighteen years old, with his ‘look at me the wrong way and I’ll put you in the hospital without blinking or breaking a sweat’ persona. Yet, you couldn’t help but be deeply enticed by him, because despite the quiet danger leaking out with every controlled movement he made, he was so devastatingly gorgeous that you couldn’t find it in yourself to listen to the alarm bells blaring in your head.

Even as a freshman, Orion De Luca was a force of nature who seemed to have the world bending at his feet and the ground flaring into ashes with every step he took.

He and Atlas were opposites, just like day and night.

Where Atlas was sociable and friendly, Orion seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face and his vocabulary only extended as far as several variations of a grunt. Thanksgiving was the first, and last, I’d seen him. Not that I imagined he’d changed much. I was positive he was still as doom and gloom as he was ten years ago.

Now, at twenty-eight years old, Orion De Luca was an enigma, never seen or heard, existing only in the shadows like an elusive phantom and dictating through his phone. No social media presence, only numerous news articles about his work, including Fortune naming him as part of the 1% club in the Fortune 500, one of the few billionaires under thirty-five years old.

I may have googled him a few times. Call it curiosity or whatever.

Clover pouted her bottom lip, shrugging. “Ah.” Then her eyes twinkled with delight. “Speaking of bosses, you need to see the dreamboat that is Killian Moretti,” she all but sang his name.

?

“Welcome home, kiddo.” Atlas’ voice reverberated through the narrow hallway of his apartment building. His arm reached above his head, holding the door to his apartment wide open with a warm smile. However, the smile rapidly melted into a frown when his sapphire eyes landed on the two suitcases behind me. His brow arched halfway up his forehead. “More, Emmy? You’ve already sent over at least five boxes.”

“That was only half of it,” I insisted. I’d already donated more than a third of my wardrobe to a local charity shop and if I donated any more, I’d hardly have anything to wear. Besides, Atlas lived in a four-bedroom apartment, it wasn’t as though he’d be running out of space any time soon. “And yes, I would love a hand. Thank you for asking. ”

My brother shook his head and ran a hand through his sandy undercut. “You and your clothes,” Atlas tsked, wrapping his hand around one of the suitcase handles. “A modern-day love story.”

The corners of my lips tugged into a victorious grin when he lugged one of my cases and led me inside his apartment. I’d be staying with him for a while, at least until I found a job and had managed to save enough for my own place. Albeit finding a junior lawyer position in New York was like trying to find a dollar in the Hudson River: extremely difficult, testing of your patience, almost hopeless, but nevertheless possible if you endured and searched hard enough.

I hadn’t lived with my brother for almost ten years, so it was perfectly possible this arrangement would be a disaster from the get-go. But Atlas was a contracted bodyguard, a role which often took him all over the world, so the chances of us getting on top of each other were slim. He could be away for only a few days, or he could be gone for months.

Atlas’ apartment was exactly how I remembered it.

Black marble floors, navy leather furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the New York City skyline. The house was a true representation of my brother: sleek, simple, and sophisticated in a cold but impersonal way.

There were no decorative features, pops of color, or plants, just Aero to liven up the place.

“Get settled, and then we’ll order takeout,” Atlas said, pushing open my new bedroom door before ultimately leaving me to it.

The moody ambiance continued through to the bedrooms with plush navy carpets, ebony wooden furniture, integrated wardrobes, and dimly lit sconces.

The boxes I’d sent over from my dorm room at Harvard sat in the far-left corner, and a languorous feeling settled in my stomach at the sight.

Where to begin…

An hour later, I had managed to rope Clover into helping me unpack when she finished her shift at the hospital.

“Remind me to stop answering your calls,” she grumbled, glaring heated daggers my way as she stacked my bookshelf with an obvious reluctance.

“Then who would put up with you?”

“Someone who doesn’t have an entire bookcase filled with true crime novels.”

She wasn’t wrong about the full bookcase. True crime had my heart in a chokehold.

“Maybe, but then they wouldn’t know what to do if you called asking for help to get rid of a body.”

“If I needed to get rid of a body, I’d bet my last dollar it would be because you managed to rope me into another one of your ‘brilliant ideas’.”

“Have I mentioned you’re my favorite friend?” I told her in the sweetest voice I could muster.

Those jade eyes bored into mine, and it took all my effort not to laugh at the seriousness of her. “I’m your best friend.”

“I hope you don’t use that tone with your patients. ”

“I save it especially for you.”

“Aren’t you kind?” I said sardonically.

A subtle knock on the door interrupted her response. “Chinese is here,” Atlas said, motioning his head back towards the kitchen. Clover practically sprinted out of the room, knocking the bookshelf in the process and undoing the little work she’d done.

I followed after her, laughing to myself when I heard a delayed ‘Ow!’ echo down the hall. Atlas’ kitchen, like the rest of the house, seemed as though he’d pulled it straight out of a catalog, with matte navy units and black marble countertops.

The space was uncluttered, void of any sign of use, just like the breakfast bar sat two meters away.

Sitting on one of the black leather stools, the scent of various fragrant spices, caramelized sugars, and steamed rice had my stomach rumbling and my mouth watering. Chinese had been our go-to takeout growing up, and we continued the tradition even after our parents had died.

“So, what’s the plan?” Atlas questioned, setting a plate in front of Clover and me.

“I’ve narrowed down the practices I’m interested in,” I explained while peeling back the white film of the foil trays. “I’m going to get my applications in this week. There’s one firm in particular that I have my heart set on, but I’d be lucky if I got an interview for any of them.”

Atlas nodded, piling noodles on his plate. “I’m heading out of town in the morning, so you’ll have the place to yourself to focus.” His attention turned to Clover. “No parties.”

She didn’t dignify him with a response, instead rolling her eyes and stuffing her mouth with a prawn cracker.

“Where this time?” The news wasn’t a surprise. Honestly, I was more shocked when he told me he’d be around on my arrival.

Besides, I worked best in silence, so it kind of worked out perfectly. I needed to focus on writing my personal statements for my applications and if I missed out on this year’s round of junior-level positions because of Atlas storming around the apartment with his big-foot-like stomps, I’d have killed him.

“Montenegro,” he shared. “Some CEO has managed to piss off all the shareholders. Seems a few of them aren’t above setting an example using dirty tactics, so we’ve been commissioned until his regulars return. Needs to go well, too. De Luca wants to lock them in as a permanent client.”

For the next two hours, Atlas went through everything I needed to know about the apartment while he’d be away, and when he started rambling on about not disrupting the “cleanliness” of the apartment, Clover had taken that as her cue to leave.

It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that he’d stopped listing off his rules for while he was absent, namely bringing strangers back to the apartment and not letting Clover convince me to throw any parties.

Atlas assumed the trouble Clover and I got into was from her influencing me in the wrong direction; little did he know the encouragement was equal on both sides.

Last year, when Clover and I had accidentally gotten arrested for breaking and entering, Atlas assumed it was Clover who’d come up with the idea for us to go for a midnight swim in Harvard’s Blodgett’s Pool.

It wasn’t.

“You know I’m twenty-five, right?” I countered, washing our used dishes. “And I’ve lived alone for the last seven years.”

His response was simple as he opened the front door. “You’ll always be my baby sister.”

His tone was flat, final. Naturally, I wanted to challenge the “baby” label but observing the stunned look on his face as he opened the apartment door, the object of my attention had shifted gears.

“De Luca,” Atlas greeted the person standing on the other side of the door. The shocked expression quickly morphed into a grin. De Luca? As in Orion De Luca?

The dish in my hands slipped out of my hold and clattered in the sink when the velvety tips of butterfly wings fluttered around my heart. The sound of the ceramic crashing rattled in my ears, only putting me further on edge and earning me a questioning glance from Atlas.

Quickly gripping the dishcloth, I dried my hands before smoothing out my hair, and shuffling on my feet as though a movie star was about to poke their head around the corner.

Get it together, Fields.

“You weren’t answering your phone.” I heard the deep, smoky voice of a man behind the door.

Definitely Orion. I would never forget the slight Italian accent buried deep that only surfaced on certain sounds. “The plans changed; you’re leaving tonight.”

“I’m what?” Atlas’ voice echoed around me, but all I could focus on was willing him to edge the door open just a little further.

Anticipation wound my muscles taut, and it was only when a constricted pain burst in my chest, I realized I’d been holding my breath.

My fingers drummed against the countertop in suspense. Just a little further.

He brought his thumb to his brow, rubbing the area as if riding a headache. “Emmy’s just got here, I can’t leave.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Atlas swung the door wide open before turning his back on the visitor to join me in the kitchen.

He started searching for his phone, but all I could do was focus on the figure to whom the overbearing shadow belonged. His footsteps thumped against the marble floor, the rhythm matching the beat of my heart, and his lofty hand gripped the handle, the dim kitchen lights reflecting off his gold signet ring worn on his pointer finger.

My eyes traveled up his body, my mouth drying as I took in every inch of his powerful build.

His body was lethal, a weapon gifted by Hercules himself. His broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist, accentuated by the well-fitted clothes that draped his form with an effortless sensuality .

Dressed in a classic black Tom Ford shirt paired with Armani-tailored trousers and loafers, he screamed wealth.

His burly chest was partially exposed with the top two buttons undone, revealing the edges of an ebony tattoo branding his skin and the yellow-gold, Miami Cuban chain hanging around his beefy neck.

Greedily, my eyes proceeded to his face. A prominent jaw, sharp enough to cut diamonds, and full lips, complemented by his olive skin tone. A straight, aristocratic nose and sunburst, hazel-gray eyes framed by long, thick lashes. A hint of stubble dusted his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his polished appearance.

His hair was trimmed shorter on the back and sides while his fringe was ever so slightly coiffed up in that messy just woken-up kind of way. Though it was short, it was still long enough to run your hands through in the morning. Or at night…

Holy shit.

The last ten years had been exceptionally kind to him. He was so painfully handsome that it almost hurt to look at him, so much so that my chest physically squeezed at the sight.

Standing tall at around 6’6’’, the room felt tiny with him in it.

His presence was nothing short of overwhelming, stealing all the space in the room the moment he entered, commanding attention without any effort.

He was monstrous in size, even his shadow was daunting.

But what caught me the most off guard wasn’t his powerful build or his unrivaled beauty, it was how dangerous and deadly he looked. Even more so than I remembered.

It was as if someone tried to slice his face from his skull, with a fierce scar starting at the left side of his forehead and slashing down through his eyebrow. There’s no way that was always there.

I watched him, almost hypnotized, as his lips curved into that all-familiar scowl. And then, like magnets helplessly pulled to each other, our eyes locked.

A second, two seconds, three seconds.

If I wasn’t holding the edge of the sink, I’m certain I would have tipped over.

His eyes raked over my body, cascading up and down my figure leaving pinpricks of heat where they trailed before they returned to my face. And they didn’t leave. His expression was impassive and dour, devoid of any emotion as he watched me.

As I watched him.

He didn’t give anything away, not a twitch of a brow or a tug of the lips. He just stared. And I stared back. Locked in a battle of wills. It was like he was testing me, taunting me, willing me to look away.

But I didn’t .

He was challenging me, pushing me to surrender to the intensity of his gaze like I was sure he was used to.

Like I did ten years ago.

But I wasn’t a timid fifteen-year-old anymore, and all I could do was provoke him with a defiant lift of my chin, inviting the devil to play a round at his own game.

The anticipation of his next move held the tension thick and heavy in the air, and my throat became painfully dry. It clung to my skin, my mouth, to every part of my body. Unknown to the tension, Atlas was muttering in the background, but all I could hear was the thundering of my heart doing double-time in my chest.

Then, he quirked his brow. And if that wasn’t surprising enough, I almost had an aneurysm when there was the tiniest movement in his lips. Almost as if to… smile. As though he knew how to do such a thing.

Silently forfeiting, Orion sliced a knife down the tortuous tension between us with his sarcastic tone. “I’m sure Emmy will be fine, won’t you, Tesoro ?” He smirked, enunciating my name as though he was tasting the sound of it on his tongue.