Chapter 12
I step into the room and freeze. Fuck me.
Melania sits on the bed, working a towel through her wet hair. A stretch of her skin is exposed that looks soft as silk. My shirt swims on her pert frame, making her look more vulnerable and more bewitching at the same time.
Something primal and possessive claws through my chest. The sight of her wearing my clothes sears through me like a cowboy’s brand. Mine. The word pierces my consciousness before I can shut it down.
She looks up, her eyes catching mine. Neither of us moves. Water droplets slide down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of my shirt. I follow their path, imagining where they end up.
Cazzo . What the fuck is wrong with me? Have I forgotten she's Antonio Lombardi's daughter?
But seeing her wrapped in fabric that belongs to me, that must carry my scent, triggers something I've never felt before—a visceral need to keep her this way. In my clothes. In my space. She can't be allowed to wear anything else from now on.
The thought is so ridiculous, so unlike me, that I nearly laugh. But there's nothing funny about the heat coursing through my veins.
Melania clambers off the bed, looking for a spot to hang the towel. My T-shirt clings to the back of her lightly damp body, allowing her ass to show up like the protagonist in this entire fucking room.
My mouth goes dry. The fabric hugs her in ways that make it impossible not to look, not to imagine my hands replacing the cotton.
I clear my throat, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "We need to start."
She turns to me and nods, hanging the towel over a chair back before moving to the bed. She takes the laptop from my hand and settles back against the headboard, bare legs stretched out in front of her.
"I'm going to make some coffee," I say. "Do you need one?"
"I'd love one, yes." She tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "If I don't have caffeine soon, I’m likely to fall asleep."
I nod stiffly and turn toward the door, desperate to get away to the sanctuary of the kitchen.
I step into the hallway and pull the door firmly shut behind me. The air is cool and I realize how hot the bedroom has become. Or maybe it's just me burning up from the inside out.
I take the stairs down to the kitchen two at a time, putting distance between myself and the woman who's doing something to me in ways no one ever has before. My body feels like a live wire, electricity running through every muscle, every nerve ending.
I brace my hands against the kitchen counter and drop my head, dragging in deep breaths. This is fucking insane. She's a job. The last woman on earth I should be thinking about this way.
I push off the counter and move to the coffee maker with determined steps. The routine of measuring grounds, filling the water reservoir, and setting up cups gives my hands something to do besides imagining the feel of her skin.
The coffee maker hisses to life and I lean against the counter, waiting. I need to get my shit together before I go back upstairs. This isn't me. I don't lose control. I don't let women affect me this way.
But as the rich aroma of brewing coffee fills the kitchen, all I can think about is how she'll look taking that first sip, the way her lips will part, the moaning sound she might emit—like she made while eating.
Merda . This is going to be a long night.
I return to the bedroom, two steaming mugs in hand. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air as I push the door open with my shoulder.
Melania doesn't look up when I enter. She's hunched over the laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. The glow from the screen illuminates her features in the dimming light.
I place her coffee on the nightstand, careful not to spill it.
"Thanks," she murmurs, but her eyes never leave the screen. Her fingers continue their relentless dance across the keys, typing lines of code I don't understand. She's completely absorbed in her work, lost in a world of numbers and commands that might as well be a foreign language to me.
I settle into the chair across from the bed, stretching my legs out in front of me. From this angle, I can watch her without being obvious. The intensity in her eyes as she works is something to behold.
I take a sip of coffee, letting the warmth spread through my chest. I put the coffee on the floor beside me.
The chair is surprisingly comfortable as I lean back. The soft clicking of keys becomes almost hypnotic, a rhythm that fills the quiet room.
My eyelids grow heavy despite the caffeine. I fight it at first, determined to keep watch. But the warmth of the room and the steady sound of Melania's typing lulls me toward sleep.
I'll rest my eyes for just a moment. The weight of the day settles over me like a blanket and before I can stop it, my eyes close completely.
The steady rhythm of Alessio's breathing fills the room as I work. I glance up from my laptop, my eyes tired from staring at the screen for so long. Two hours have passed since he first dozed off in that chair.
I can't help but smile at the sight of him. His head tilted to one side, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the armrest. The fearsome right-hand man of Damiano Feretti, completely defenseless in sleep.
A quiet laugh nearly escapes my lips. It's almost comical—this man who radiates danger when awake looks so... normal now. If someone walked in and saw him like this, they might mistake him for a teacher exhausted after grading papers, or maybe a veterinarian who worked a long rescue mission.
The harsh lines of his face have softened. His perpetual scowl replaced by a peaceful countenance. Even the stubble that usually makes him look formidable makes him appear more vulnerable now.
I shake my head, returning my attention to the screen.
My fingers resume their dance across the keyboard. The second layer of Raymond's security system is proving even more complex than I anticipated. Military-grade encryption wasn't an exaggeration—whoever designed this system knew what they were doing.
I've been mapping the authentication protocols, looking for weaknesses in the system architecture. There's always a backdoor, always a vulnerability. I just need to find it.
I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness. Hours of hunching over a laptop have left my neck and back aching. I stretch my arms above my head, careful not to make noise that might wake my sleeping captor.
The coffee Alessio brought me sits empty. I could use another one but I'm not about to risk waking him by trying to sneak downstairs. Besides, I'm making progress. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
I stretch my neck again, fighting through the dull ache that's settled between my shoulder blades. The code on the screen blurs slightly as I stare at it too long. Something feels... off.
I exhale loudly, a frustrated sigh escaping before I can stop it.
Alessio jerks awake instantly, his body snapping to attention before his eyes are even fully open. His hand reaches instinctively toward his waistband—before his gaze focuses on me.
"What? What's going on?" His voice is rough with sleep but alert, eyes scanning the room for threats.
"Nothing urgent. I just... I think I'm seeing some anomalies in the code, but I can't tell if I'm being paranoid or not."
He pushes himself up from the chair, rubbing a hand over his face before stepping closer. "What the hell do you mean by anomalies? It's all the same fucking gibberish to me."
A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected and genuine. "Apparently not the same, since you've been asleep for the past two hours while I've been working through it."
He stops directly beside me, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath and the faint scent of his cologne. Too close. The mattress dips as he supports himself to lean over to look at my screen.
"Show me," he demands.
I turn to face him properly, suddenly aware of how little space exists between us. His eyes—dark and intense—lock with mine. The laughter dies in my throat as a chemical combustion passes between us.
His gaze slides down to my mouth, lingering there with an intensity that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. I can't help but glance at his lips too—full, with a defined cupid's bow, the bottom one much fuller than the top.
Is he leaning closer? The space between us seems to shrink by millimeters. My breath catches as I realize he's definitely moving toward me, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable except for the unmistakable heat—I know he’s going to?—
A shrill alarm cuts through the tension, making us both jump. Alessio jerks back like he's been scalded, his expression shifting instantly from whatever that was to cold, professional alertness.
" Cazzo !"
"What is this? What's happening?" My heart slams against my lungs as the blaring continues.
Alessio doesn't answer. Instead he grabs the laptop, yanking the charger from the wall. His movements are fluid, precise—a man who's practiced emergency exits too many times to count. He seizes my hand, his grip hard but not painful.
"Someone's fucking come for us. We need to move. NOW."
The urgency in his voice sends ice through my veins. I don't question him, don't hesitate. I'm on my feet instantly, as he pulls me toward the door.
In another room he releases my hand only long enough to grab a duffel bag from under the bed.
He shoves the laptop and charger into my arms, then pulls out another gun—larger than the one at his waist—checking it with mechanical efficiency before tucking it too into his waistband.
Car keys jingle as he snatches them from a hook by the door.
"Follow my lead," he instructs, voice deadly calm despite the chaos. "We don't have time for questions or mistakes. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Understand?"
I nod, unable to find my voice. Terror claws at my throat but I force it down. Panic is a luxury I can't afford right now.
Alessio's hand finds mine, guiding me toward the spiral staircase. We descend quickly, my bare feet silent on the steps. The alarm continues its relentless screech, making it impossible to hear if anyone else is in the building.
When we reach the kitchen Alessio positions himself between me and the door, his body a human shield. He moves with predatory grace, checking sight lines before motioning me forward.
"Stay close," he murmurs, barely audible above the alarm.
We slip through the back door into the humid night air. A sleek black car waits in the shadows. Alessio opens the passenger door, practically lifting me inside before rounding the hood and sliding behind the wheel.
"Put on your seatbelt and hold onto something," he orders, jamming the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, a deep, powerful sound that vibrates through the entire vehicle.
I fumble with the seatbelt, my fingers clumsy with adrenaline, finally managing to click it into place. My right hand grips the door handle tight. My left hand clasps the laptop to my chest.