Chapter 7 Simeone
Simeone
The blood on my knuckles is still wet when Tiziano hands me the towel, his winter-pale eyes carefully neutral as I clean the evidence of tonight’s interrogation from my hands.
The warehouse around us echoes with the aftermath of necessary violence—chains creaking from where we suspended our guest, concrete stained with the kind of secrets that disappear with bleach and time.
“The Muccio shipment?” I ask, flexing my fingers to work out the ache.
“Recovered, and every gram accounted for.” Tiziano’s voice carries the satisfaction of a job well done. “And our friend here provided some very interesting information about who’s been feeding the DEA intelligence on our operations.”
I glance at the broken man now slumped in the chair, unconscious but breathing. He’ll live, though he’ll carry scars and lessons about the price of betrayal for the rest of his miserable existence.
“Good. Clean this up. Make sure he understands that his family’s safety depends on his continued silence.”
“Yes boss.”
This is my world—blood and shadows and the kind of power that comes from making hard choices other men can’t stomach. For twenty years, I’ve built an empire from necessary evil, turning grief into strength and loss into unbreakable resolve.
But lately, all I can think about is jasmine perfume and defiant dark brown eyes.
Loriana.
It’s been a week since I cornered her in her bar, since I tasted the promise on her lips and walked away before I could claim what that kiss offered.
Seven days of obsessing over the memory of her body pressed against mine, her fingers fisting in my shirt like she was drowning and I was her only salvation.
Seven nights haunted by memories of her taste, her scent, the way she’d melted against me—dreams that felt more real than the cold reality of my empty bed.
“Sir?” Tiziano’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “The car’s ready when you are.”
I nod, straightening my cuffs with mechanical precision. The Armani jacket hides the blood spatter, the expensive fabric a barrier between the monster I am and the world I move through with careful civility.
But as I slide into the back of my Bentley, I know exactly where I’m going. Not home to my empty mansion, not to another business meeting disguised as dinner. I’m going to her, drawn like a moth to a flame that will either consume me or transform me entirely.
The drive to her neighborhood feels longer tonight, every red light an eternity that gives me too much time to think.
About the way she kissed me back despite knowing exactly who I am.
About the fear and desire warring in her eyes when I called her stellina.
About the fact that she’s pure, untouched, everything I have no right to claim.
But wanting her and deserving her are two different things, and I’ve never been a man who lets deserve dictate my actions.
The street outside Crimson is quiet at this hour, the bar’s neon sign dark behind boarded windows that remind me why she sought my protection in the first place.
My nephew’s harassment campaign ended with a single conversation that left Flavio enlightened about the consequences of touching what belongs to me now.
I should leave. Should drive home and content myself with the knowledge that she’s safe, and that my intervention solved her problems without dragging her deeper into my world.
Instead, I find myself climbing the stairs to her apartment, my footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway like a death knell for my better judgment.
I pause outside her door, hand raised to knock, but suddenly unsure. What am I doing here? What do I expect from this woman who challenges everything I believed about desire, need, and the careful control I’ve maintained for decades?
The door opens before I can decide whether to knock or turn around. And she’s suddenly standing before me with her hair tumbling around her shoulders, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that ends at mid-thigh, exposing legs that make my mouth water with hunger I’ve been denying for too long.
“I wondered when you’d show up,” she says quietly, not moving aside to let me in but not closing the door either.
“Did you?” I study her face, looking for signs of fear or regret, finding instead a heat that mirrors my own obsession.
“Clay mentioned seeing your car circling the block three times last Tuesday. Tiziano was in here for coffee yesterday, asking my girls if everything was quiet.” Her smile is sharp, knowing. “You’ve been watching me.”
“I’ve been protecting you.”
“Is that what this is?” She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, see the pulse hammering in her throat. “Protection?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
The question hangs between us, sharp like a knife. I could lie, could pretend this is just a safety call. But we both know that would be bullshit of the highest order.
“You know why I’m here, stellina.”
“Say it anyway.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the challenge in it makes my blood heat. “I want to hear you admit what this is.”
“I’m here because you belong to me now.” The declaration tastes like power and victory in equal measure. “You’ve been haunting my thoughts for weeks, and I’m tired of not claiming what I want above anything else.”
She bites her lip. “Do you want to come in?”
I should be a gentleman for once in my fucking life and say no. Should walk away and let her find some nice, normal man who works in an office and comes home to her every night without blood on his hands. Some man who deserves the gift of her innocence, her trust, her heart.
“Are you sure?” I ask instead, giving her one last chance to preserve whatever illusions she has left.
“Are you?”
“I’m sure that if I cross that threshold, there’s no going back.” My voice drops to that whisper that makes her pupils dilate. “I’m sure that if I get in, I won’t be able to leave you untouched. And I’m sure that once I have you, it quite possibly won’t be the last time.”
For a heartbeat, she wavers, and I see the smart, sensible woman warring with the passionate creature I’ve awakened. Then her hand comes up, fisting in my tie with decisive force.
“Good,” she breathes, and pulls me into her apartment. “Because I don’t think one taste of you will be enough to satisfy this hunger.”
The door slams shut behind us as she drags me down for a kiss that tastes like desperation and promises I’m not sure either of us should be making.
Her mouth is hungry, demanding, everything I remembered and more.
When her teeth catch my lower lip, I groan against her mouth and press her back against the door with enough force to rattle the frame.
“Stellina,” I growl, but the protest dies when she wraps one leg around my hip, bringing the heat between her thighs against my rapidly hardening length.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she pants against my mouth. “I’m sick and tired of waiting for boys. Show me what it means to be with a real man.”
The demand breaks the last of my control. I hoist her up, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her deeper into the apartment, our mouths never separating, our hands desperate and grasping.
I take a wrong turn to the bathroom instead of the bedroom and curse against her lips as I backtrack, earning a breathless laugh that makes my cock twitch in excitement.
“Kitchen,” she gasps as I turn the wrong way again, and I realize I’m so drunk on the taste of her that I can’t think straight, can’t navigate her small apartment without her guidance.
Finally, finally, we reach her bedroom, and I set her down beside the bed with hands that shake like I’m a fucking teenager instead of a man who’s killed more people than he can count.
The lamplight catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes as she stares up at me, breathing hard, her lips swollen from our kisses. She’s never looked more beautiful or more dangerous to everything I thought I knew about myself.
“Last chance,” I whisper, cupping her face with hands that have spilled blood tonight but somehow feel clean when they touch her skin.
“I’m a man who won’t be denied, but there are things I don’t take without permission.
Tell me to leave, stellina. Tell me you want to wait for someone better, someone who deserves you. ”
Her smile is sharp, knowing, absolutely devastating. “I tried the waiting thing,” she says quietly. “Turns out it was overrated. I’m done with all that bullshit now, Simeone. I’m attracted to you. You’re attracted to me. We have chemistry, so why not act on it?”
The words shatter every noble intention I had left. She reaches for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion, and the sight of her, all smooth skin and perfect curves, wearing nothing but black lace makes my mouth water, and nearly brings me to my knees.
“Dio mio,” I breathe, reaching for her with reverent hands. “You’re perfect.”
“Be gentle,” she whispers as I pull her close, and there’s a hesitation in her voice that I haven’t heard before. “Don’t forget that it’s—”
“Your first time.”
Her confirmation and consent don’t calm the beast in me, instead, it feeds it, and changes its nature entirely. It’s no longer just hunger, but ownership. No longer just want, but the absolute certainty that she’s about to become as addicted to me as I already am to her.
I’ll be her first. I’ll show her pleasure and passion; take her to new heights she never knew existed.
“I’ll be gentle, little star,” I promise. “But only the first time. Once I’ve made you mine, I’ll break you with pleasure over and over again.”
“You talk too much,” she complains, but her voice shakes, and I know my words have ignited something molten between her legs.
“Let’s see how I can put my mouth to better use, shall we?”