3. CHAPTER 2 – ANTONIO
CHAPTER 2 – ANTONIO
T he club's music pounds through the air, each beat a visceral reminder of my heart still fucking thundering, despite everything.
Italy—land of exquisite pleasures and deadly secrets.
My home.
A place I clawed my way back to, covered in scars, with blood still crusted under my fingernails.
My blood. Others' blood. The kind that pooled around me while my former stepfather whispered how he was keeping me alive as an example. How betrayal has a price. How love makes you weak.
How I was paying for the sins of my mother, for my own sins, for tempting his daughter, too.
I lean against the bar, the cold surface a welcome contrast to the heat radiating from the two women clinging to me. Their laughter is high and sweet, tinged with a note of reverence. They watch my scars, like they're fascinated, turned on by the violence carved into my skin. Little do they know, I’m not the kind of man who makes scars beautiful. I’m the one who leaves them.
Rosa, the brunette with dark eyes full of promises she can’t possibly fulfill, presses against my side, her breath hot on my neck. She tilts her head, her perfume wrapping around me, thick and cloying. “Antonio,” she purrs, her voice a silken whisper, her accent drawing out every syllable like a caress. I feel her hand drift lower, nails dragging over my shirt, testing my patience.
Because she's not what I want. Never has been. My jaw tightens as the necklace around her throat catches the light. A delicate silver music note. Isabella had one like it.
Back when I first met her: she was sixteen, I was nineteen, and she was dancing barefoot on marble floors, her laughter loud and free.
Back when after playing piano for her, my fingers traced that damn necklace while she arched into my touch, both of us pretending we weren't playing with fire. Before she twisted a knife in my fucking back. Before my father made sure his message about loyalty was carved into my flesh permanently.
Before she became the princess who ruined everything.
She’s twenty-one now. And I feel like I’m a fucking thousand years old.
“Antonio,” Rosa repeats, her voice coy, desperate for my attention. I want to punish her for being here, for reminding me of Isabella, and I will. But not yet. My grip tightens around my glass, and I down the rest of the scotch, savoring the burn, pretending it’s enough to obliterate the past. Spoiler alert: it’s not.
The crowd shifts, parting as Franco approaches, his expression grave. Even in the chaos of the club, my second knows how to command respect. He leans in, his voice low. "Boss," he says, shooting the women a cold glance. They hesitate but eventually step back, their amusement fading. Good. "Isabella and her father will be in Naples in three days. They've already wired a significant amount for the auction. Looks like they're fully committed."
The scar tissue pulls tight across my face as I clench my jaw. Memories of screams still echo in my nightmares. Of begging. Of lessons about loyalty carved into flesh.
"Are you sure? They backed out the last three years at the last minute."
“I’m sure.”
Three days. Seventy-two hours until I see her again. My cock twitches at the thought of her being so close again. Her in flesh and blood, not these ghost memories I've been torturing myself with. Sick, isn't it? After everything, my body still betrays me—wanting to possess her even as I plot to destroy her.
No matter how many bodies I pile up between us, I can't seem to untangle desire from vengeance.
I turn to Rosa and her friend, Liliana, and let my gaze rake over them, calculating. It’s not them I crave, but they’ll have to do.
"Okay," I tell Franco, my voice a growl. "We'll be ready. I don't want to win—I want to fucking dominate. Make sure our men are placed strategically at every event. I want to know every breath she takes, every move her father makes. This isn't about winning an auction. It's about watching them realize, step by step, that they're trapped in a game they didn't know they were playing." Franco nods, understanding my meaning, and melts back into the crowd.
Rosa slinks back to me, emboldened, her lips brushing my ear.
“Take us upstairs, Antonio,” she murmurs, her hands already working at my belt. Liliana sidles up, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, nails raking over my abs. Their hunger is palpable, and I feed off it, even as my thoughts drift to Isabella. To punishing her. To taking what’s mine.
With a brutal smile, I grab Rosa by the hair, dragging her close. Her mouth parts in a gasp, and I take her lips, kissing her hard enough to bruise, my teeth nipping her bottom lip. “You think you can handle me?” I whisper, my voice rough. She nods eagerly, hips grinding against mine.
Liliana laughs, but I cut her off, twisting her wrist behind her back. Her eyes widen, but there’s nothing but arousal there, and I lean in, my breath hot on her ear. “Both of you,” I command. “Now.”
We stumble into the hallway leading to my private suite, their giggles echoing around us. The door slams shut, and I waste no time, undressing myself, touching them, teasing their nipples with my fingers through the fabric, with my teeth.
But it’s not enough. It never is. Isabella’s necklace haunts me, taunting me, reminding me of the one woman who’s truly mine to break.
With a snarl, I yank the silver charm off Rosa’s neck and fling it aside. She yelps, but I silence her with another punishing kiss, my fingers digging into her hips.
“Forget everything,” I mutter, more to myself than to them, as Rosa’s gaze travels lower, and when Liliana’s fingers wrap around me, thick and heavy, her breath catches.
“Dio mio,” Rosa breathes, her voice husky with awe. My lips curve into a dark, knowing smirk. They’re mesmerized, but that isn’t what I crave. Their admiration, their hunger—none of it fills the hollow ache inside me. This is about using them, losing myself in raw, punishing pleasure to drown out the venom that pulses through my veins.
Liliana sinks to her knees, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. I reach into the drawer and rip open a condom, rolling it on with a swift, controlled motion. Her lips part in a playful grin, impressed by my careful precision, but she doesn’t question it. She leans forward, taking me into her mouth, her tongue swirling over the sensitive head before sinking deeper. I groan, low and rough, the sound pulled from my chest as she works me over, her mouth hot and relentless.
I fist her hair, controlling the rhythm, forcing her to take more of me. Her eyes water as she struggles to accommodate my size, and I watch, heat flaring in my gaze. Rosa presses against me from behind, her hands exploring my chest, her lips leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along my neck. When her fingers drift toward a scar on my side, I grab her wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a warning.
“Hands off,” I growl, my voice edged with dominance. Rosa’s eyes widen, and she nods, her arousal only spiking at my command. My scars are mine—each one a mark of violence and survival, not to be touched by anyone.
Liliana’s mouth slides up and down, sucking harder, her moans vibrating around me. My control frays, the pleasure coiling tight in my gut, but I don’t give in. Not yet. I guide her with rough hands, making her work for every groan, every sharp breath. When I’m on the brink, I pull her back, slipping out of her swollen, glistening mouth. Her lips are red, her eyes wild, and she licks me one last time.
I discard the first condom and grab another, ripping it open and rolling it on with the same practiced efficiency. Rosa’s dress is already hiked up, her thighs bare, her skin flushed with desire. I lift her effortlessly, pinning her to the wall as she wraps her legs around my waist. Her panties tear under my grip, and I thrust into her, hard and deep, her cry of pleasure echoing through the room.
Her nails rake down my back, and I set a relentless pace, each thrust driving her higher. Liliana stands behind me, her lips brushing over my neck, her hands roaming, but I don’t let her touch the scars. I own this moment, every sound, every gasp, every shuddering moan. Rosa’s body clenches around me, her release hitting her fast and hard, but I don’t stop, pounding into her until I find my own pleasure, shattering through me like a storm.
Yet, none of it reaches the hollow place in my chest. I fuck them like I’m trying to prove something, but even as they moan my name, I’m somewhere else. I’m in another room, with another woman, her laughter soft as music, her touch like a brand against my skin.
And no matter how deep I bury myself in bodies and blood, I can’t escape her ghost.
I pull out, discarding the second condom, and step back, the emptiness already creeping in to replace the brief, mindless heat. Rosa and Liliana are panting, flushed, but I don’t let them linger.
My past, my pain, my scars—none of it belongs to them.
Tonight was a fleeting escape, nothing more.
I watch the door click shut behind them, the hollow ache settling back into my chest now that the brief distraction is over.
In three days, the real game begins. I’ll be ready. But as I stare at my reflection in the darkened glass, all I see is the boy who played piano while she danced.
The boy who thought he could save her.
Fuck that boy. Fuck hope.
This time, I won’t hesitate. I’ll take everything she has left—her trust, her love, her fucking soul.