Chapter 5 Simeone
Simeone
The sound of a woman’s voice echoes through my estate, cutting through the afternoon quiet like a blade through silk.
I don’t look up from reviewing intelligence reports—after twenty years of building an empire, interruptions have become routine.
What makes me pause, pen suspended over documents detailing territory disputes and revenue streams, is the sheer defiance in her tone despite being here at my invitation.
“Sir, she refuses to wait in the sitting room as instructed. She insists on seeing you immediately.”
“Then let her through.”
I sent the car for her an hour ago, expecting compliance with my security protocols.
Instead, she’s clearly turned a simple escort into a standoff with my men.
This is undoubtedly the woman Tiziano described from the Viper’s Den.
Brave, reckless, and apparently immune to intimidation, even when walking voluntarily into the lion’s den.
The sound of the heels clicking against marble grows louder, each step echoing with determination. I set down my pen and lean back in my leather chair, genuinely curious about what kind of woman turns my invitation into her own personal conquest.
Two taps on my office door, and then it bursts open without waiting to be asked in.
Suddenly, I realize why my men couldn’t contain her.
She’s a force of nature cloaked in a petite brunette—full of fire and fury in a black dress that hugs curves I shouldn't be noticing.
Her dark eyes burn with the kind of righteous anger that has toppled kingdoms.
“Simeone Codella?” She plants herself in front of my desk like she owns the room, chin lifted in defiance that should be suicide, but somehow looks magnificent. “We need to talk.”
Behind her, Tiziano appears in the doorway with three guards, all looking like they’ve been caught in a tornado. My lieutenant’s winter-pale eyes meet mine, and I see both apology and admiration in his gaze.
“Boss, we tried to follow protocol, but she—”
I raise one finger, silencing him without taking my eyes off the woman who just invaded my sanctuary. She’s breathing hard from her march through my estate, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that draws my attention to places it shouldn’t go.
“Leave us,” I say quietly.
Tiziano hesitates. “Sir, we haven’t searched her for—”
“Did I stutter?” The edge in my voice sends all four men scrambling for the exit. The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone with this beautiful, dangerous creature who clearly has no idea how close she just came to dying.
I study her for a long moment, cataloging every detail. The way she stands like she’s ready for battle. The slight tremor in her hands that betrays nerves beneath the bravado. The expensive quality of her dress that suggests she’s not some desperate street girl looking for money.
“Impressive,” I say finally, rising from my chair with deliberate slowness. “Most people follow instructions when I send a car for them. The few who don’t usually end up as cautionary tales.”
“I tried following your man’s instructions. He wanted me to wait in some stuffy sitting room like a supplicant.” She doesn’t back down as I round the desk, doesn’t flinch when I move close enough to catch her scent—jasmine and determination. “I decided to bypass the protocol.”
“By refusing my security measures?”
“By treating this like what it is. A meeting between two adults.” A smile plays at her lips, sharp as a knife. “Unless you prefer your guests to grovel?”
Despite myself, I’m impressed. The combination of intelligence, courage, and stunning recklessness is intoxicating. It’s been years since anyone surprised me, and decades since a woman made me want to simultaneously protect and possess her.
“What’s your name?”
“Loriana Parlato.”
The name confirms what I already gleaned from Tiziano’s report. The bar owner with the Flavio problem. I’d planned to handle the situation quietly, efficiently, without ever meeting the woman who’d walked into hell asking for an audience with the devil.
Now I understand why Tiziano looked intrigued when he returned and insisted that I meet her.
“Would you care for a drink, Miss Parlato?” I gesture toward the crystal decanters on my sidebar. “You’ve had quite an eventful couple of weeks.”
“It’s barely past noon.”
“In my world, the day ends with the sunrise.” I pour two glasses of whiskey from a twenty-five-year-old single malt that’s expensive as fuck. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”
She accepts the glass with steady hands, but I notice she doesn’t drink. Smart girl. Never accept refreshments from a known killer unless you’re sure they’re not poisoned.
“So,” I settle back against my desk, close enough to catch the way her pupils dilate when I invade her personal space. “You’re here about my nephew.”
“Your nephew,” she says, and there’s venom in her voice, “is a stalking, harassing piece of shit who thinks his last name gives him the right to torment whoever he pleases.”
The crude language sounds odd coming from her refined voice, but the anger behind it is real. Most people who come to me with complaints about my family want money or territory that was wrongly taken from them. But this woman seeks justice.
“Strong words,” I say, sipping on my drink.
“Accurate words.” She finally takes a sip of whiskey, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. “He’s been terrorizing me and my business for weeks. There’s been vandalism, threats, and stalking. Just this week, he was on my fire escape taking pictures.”
Something dark and violent unfurls in my chest. The thought of Flavio watching her sleep, violating her privacy, threatening her safety—it makes me want to break things. Starting with my nephew’s bones.
“Why come to me?” I ask, keeping my voice level despite the rage building behind my ribs. “Why not the police?”
“I tried the police. They gave me a restraining order that’s about as effective as tissue paper against a hurricane.
” She moves closer, and suddenly I can see gold flecks in her brown eyes.
“The reason why I’m really here is because I’m tired of being a victim.
Because sometimes you have to fight monsters with bigger monsters. ”
“And you think I’m a monster?”
“I’ve heard you’re the kind of man who gets whatever results he wants.” She tilts her head back to meet my gaze, and the challenge in her eyes makes my blood heat. “The question is whether you’re the kind of man who lets your family members terrorize innocent women.”
“Innocent.” I taste the word like wine, rolling it around my tongue. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
“You don’t think I’m innocent?”
“I think you are dangerous.” There it is, a word that I have never attributed to anyone other than myself. It comes out before I can stop it. “You’re the kind of dangerous that starts wars and topples empires.”
Something flickers in her expression—surprise, maybe even pleasure at the description. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an observation?”
“It’s an observation.” I take a step closer, close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat. “But the real question is what you plan to do with that kind of danger.”
“Right now? I plan to use it to make you understand that your nephew needs to be stopped.”
“Before what? Before he escalates further? Before he does something that can’t be undone?” I lean forward, invading her space until she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Or before I decide that anyone who threatens what I want to make mine needs to be eliminated permanently?”
“I’m not yours.”
The words pulse in the air between us, daring me to respond. She’s right, of course—she’s not mine, but something primal and possessive in my chest disagrees with that assessment.
“No,” I agree softly. “You’re not. But you’re under my protection now, which makes Flavio’s behavior a direct challenge to my authority.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“I’ll handle it.” The promise carries the weight of absolute certainty. “Flavio won’t bother you again.”
Relief floods her features, so pure and grateful that it makes my chest tight. When was the last time someone looked at me like I was their salvation instead of their potential doom?
“Thank you.” She takes another step forward, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. “I know this probably seems like a small problem to someone like you, but—”
“Nothing about you seems small to me, Loriana.”
The use of her first name makes her breath catch. We’re standing so close now that I can see the tiny scar above her left eyebrow, can count her eyelashes if I wanted to, can smell the faint scent of her shampoo beneath the jasmine perfume.
“How can you say that when you don’t even know me?”
“I know enough.” My voice drops to a whisper that somehow carries more weight than shouting. “I know you own a bar called Crimson. I know you live alone above it. I know you’re stronger than you look and braver than you should be.”
“How do you—”
“I know everything that happens in my territory, stellina.”
The endearment makes her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she seems drawn closer, like a moth to a flame that will consume her.
“Well, it seems the men in your family enjoy using endearments.”
“What did Flavio call you?”
“Bambina. Like I was a kid.” She shakes her head, disgust clear in her expression. “I should have known it was a red flag.”
The rage that’s been simmering in my chest since she walked in finally boils over. The thought of Flavio using force to claim ownership over this magnificent woman makes me want to paint the walls with his blood.
“He had no right to try to force you into getting back with him.”
“No,” she agrees. “He doesn’t.
“Why did you end it?”
The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and needy in a way that reveals too much. She stares at me for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to answer.
“I caught him with my best friend. In my bed. On his birthday.”
Each word is clipped, precise, and designed to cut. “Turns out he’d been fucking her for months while I was saving myself for someone special.”
The realization hits me like a punch. She’s sexually innocent and untouched. Everything about her suddenly clicks, the way she carries herself, the mix of innocence and passion. No wonder Flavio is so eager to have her.
“Bastardo.”
“Yeah, well. Live and learn.” She drains the rest of her whiskey in one burning gulp. “The point is, I’m done with him, and I need him to be done with me.”
“He will be.”
“Just like that?” She studies my face, looking for lies or false promises. “You say the word and he backs off?”
“I say the word and he’ll disappear completely.” The threat is quiet, matter-of-fact, carrying the weight of twenty years of absolute authority. “The question is whether you can live with the consequences of asking me to say it.”
Something in my tone makes her take a step back, and I see the moment she truly understands who she’s dealing with. Not just a powerful man who can solve her problems, but a killer who solves all his problems the same way.
“What consequences?”
“Once I handle Flavio, you become my responsibility. No man will want to play around you. You will become my territory to protect.” I move forward as she retreats, a slow dance that ends with her back pressed against my mahogany desk. “That’s how this world works, stellina. Nothing comes free.”
“Don’t.” But the word lacks conviction, and I can see her pulse jumping in her throat as I cage her between my arms and the desk.
“Don’t what? Don’t protect you? Don’t eliminate the threat to your safety?” I lean closer, until my breath ghosts across her lips. “Or don’t call you little star?”
“Any of it. All of it.” Her hands come up to press against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away. “This isn’t why I came here. I didn’t come here to be kissed.”
“No? Then why are you looking at me like you want me to kiss you?”
The accusation sits between us, stark and undeniable. Well, she could try to deny it, could slap me, could run screaming from the room. Instead, her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and the simple gesture nearly breaks my control.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not—”
I silence her protest with my mouth, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s meant to prove a point but becomes something else entirely. She tastes like whiskey and rebellion, like the warmth I’ve denied myself in twenty years of building an empire from ash, sand, and blood.
For a heartbeat, she melts against me, her hands fisting in my shirt as she kisses me back with a passion that threatens to consume us both. Her body molds to mine like she was made for this, made for me, and the possessive beast in my chest roars its approval.
Then reality crashes over her like cold water, and she’s pushing me away with hands that shake with more than fear.
“No.” She scrambles away from the desk, putting distance between us like I’m a loaded weapon. “No, this isn’t—It shouldn’t.”
“Loriana.” I cut her off.
“This was a mistake.” She’s backing toward the door, her eyes wide with something that might be panic or desire or both. “We should never have done that.”
She turns and flees, her heels clicking against marble as she runs from the truth we both felt in that kiss. I let her go, knowing that chasing her would only spook her further, that some prey needs to be hunted slowly, and carefully.
But as I watch her disappear through my office door, I know with absolute certainty that Loriana Parlato is mine now, whether she admits it or not. The kiss sealed something between us, marked her as surely as if I’d branded my name on her skin.
Flavio won’t be a problem much longer. And once his threat is eliminated, nothing will stand between me and claiming what that kiss promised.
I pick up my phone and dial Tiziano’s number.
“Handle the nephew problem,” I say when he answers. “Make sure he falls in line.”
“What about the girl?”
I touch my lips, still tasting jasmine and whiskey and the promise of something I haven’t wanted in decades.
“The girl is mine to handle.”