Chapter 17
Princess
I ’m in a red satin dress, my hair in curls, a red lip and high heels. Of course, Lucio is at a bar in Manhattan at seven in the evening. I had to lie to my parents and brothers and tell them that I’m staying at my close friend Jade’s place just to follow him.
Sitting off to the side, I watch him down one drink after another.
I slip my phone out, attempting to take a couple of pictures, but of course I forget to turn the damn flash off.
The bright light that comes from my phone causes some people to turn and look at me, so I cover it and drop it on my thigh, fumbling to kill the light.
I look up frantically to see if Lucio has noticed the little debacle, but he’s too busy nursing his drink to notice anything.
Taking a deep breath, I go for another attempt. I double-check that my flash is off before quickly snapping three pictures of him. Then I slip off the bar stool and take a seat on the other end of the bar. In the shadows, watching him, I send him a text with the pictures attached.
Me
Drinking all alone, I see.
He lazily picks his phone off the bar’s countertop, swiping it open.
I can see the moment he realizes he’s being watched.
His head snaps from side to side, trying to find the person who took the pictures.
He’s looking in the wrong direction—well, it was the right place, but I’m on the other side of the bar now.
I avert my gaze discreetly when his eyes sweep over my section. I don’t think he sees me; otherwise, he would’ve known it’s me straight away. He suspected me at the charity ball, but he couldn’t prove it.
I run my finger over the rim of my wine glass as I look back at him, watching him. He’s still surveying the place.
I get the text he’s sent me, but I don’t look at my phone.
Instead, I pretend to focus my gaze on my glass, though I’m still watching him.
He’s being foolish, thinking he’ll be able to catch me in a crowded bar, where phones are pinging left and right.
He knows that. But I still don’t attempt to touch my phone. I take a sip out of my glass.
A young, twenty-something guy approaches me, giving me a grin. I don’t return it.
“Hi.” He slips into the seat across from me.
“Fuck off,” I tell him.
It’s harsh, but I don’t give a fuck. Boys like him don’t really understand a nice “no.” They need to be told to fuck right off from the get-go. Being nice only furthers their delusion.
He’s perplexed by my harsh tone, and he looks as if I’ve just slapped him. As he slips out of the seat, I hear him mutter “bitch” under his breath. Snorting, I finish my wine glass and look back at the bar, and my breath catches in my throat.
Lucio’s watching me.
Fuck .
I pretend not to notice him, and instead stay seated. Counting—one, two, three—I breathe in, slip out of my seat, and head to the ladies’ room. Pushing the door open, I overhear two girls gushing over each other’s dresses. I stand at the sink, staring at my reflection.
What the fuck am I doing? I don’t belong here.
I look back at the door, debating whether I should risk it. Then I turn to one of the girls.
“Hi. Um…I’m sorry to do this, but can I ask you something?”
She looks at me, her blue eyes wide. “Sure.”
“I have a crazy ex-boyfriend, and I think I just saw him.” Pulling out my phone, I show her a picture of Lucio. “This is what he looks like. Can you just check if he’s out there?”
“Oh, my God. Yes, I can check for you. Don’t worry,” she readily agrees and moves toward the door, opening it slowly and stepping out.
I wait for her to step back inside and watch as she hurries back, her lips pressed together.
“He’s right outside, girl. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “No, no, it’s not your fault. I just…”
“I can call security if you’d like?” she offers.
“No!” I wince before calmly saying, “No. It’s okay, thank you.”
My eyes drift over the entire place, and when they land on the easily openable window, I look back at the two girls, who are watching me.
“You want to…” the other girl, the brunette, drifts off.
I nod. “Yes.”
The blonde jumps in. “We’ll help you.”
That’s how I manage to get two normal girls to help me escape from the man I’ve been stalking for the past three years. My so-called “crazy ex-boyfriend.” I could almost laugh. Almost.
It takes a bit of an effort, but I manage to unlatch the window, and with the girls holding me up, I shimmy out. I stand in the dark alleyway that’s behind the bar; it’s closer to eight-thirty at night now.
“Thanks, girls.” I wave goodbye to them before quickly making my way down the alley.
This was a fucking mistake. I should not have followed him all the way here. But I’m not always the smartest when it comes to that man.
Hailing a cab, I give the driver the address to Jade’s apartment, and he drives off. I inhale a deep breath; this was a massive mistake, one that I won’t ever make again.
Don’t get too close .
I’ll have to maintain some distance, but I’ll indulge myself at events—the only place I’ll be able to blend into the wallpaper without him noticing me. Tonight was a close call.
Finally, I check my phone to see what he texted me back at the bar.
Lucio
Cute red dress.
Fuck me .
He knows what I look like. My name and who the fuck I am.
It’s done. All the work I’ve done the past three years has been for nothing. The cab comes to a screeching halt in front of my friend’s apartment; I pay the driver and get out. I take the steep stairs two at a time and finally reach the landing of the first floor of the apartment building.
I bang on the apartment door, the cold air biting at my skin. The wind sweeps down the empty street, carrying the scent of damp asphalt and distant cigarette smoke. Too quiet. Too still.
I bang on the apartment door again, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Nothing.
No lights flicker on from inside, no sound of rushed footsteps approaching.
I grit my teeth and pull out my phone, fingers flying over the screen as I send Jade a message.
Me
Hey, where are you?
Her reply comes back quickly, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
Jade
I’m at work. What’s up?
She’s not home. Fuck.
The cab’s already driven off, leaving me stranded in the cold, alone—or so I think.
I slowly descend the steps, and the moment I reach the last step, I turn my entire body back to face the apartment door, trying to figure out my next move when I feel it. The heat of a presence behind me. The weight of a stare. A prickle at the back of my neck.
I know who it is before I even look. I whirl around, breath catching in my throat, and there he is.
Lucio.
He stands a few feet away, shoulders relaxed, but his gaze is anything but that. It’s dark. Heavy. Unforgiving.
His hands are tucked into his coat pockets, his sharp jaw tight, his mouth a thin line. The dim street light casts golden shadows over his face, highlighting every sharp angle, every dark promise etched into his expression.
I take a step back. Big mistake. Because his eyes drop to my heels, to the way my breath heaves in my chest, and something flickers across his features. Something dangerous.
“Leaving so soon, Princess?” he murmurs, voice low, smooth, lethal.
I swallow, forcing my face into a mask of indifference even as heat licks at my spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His head tilts slightly, a slow, amused smirk creeping onto his lips. “You don’t? That’s funny, because you were just watching me from across the bar, weren’t you?”
Busted.
I lift my chin, feigning confusion. “Why would I do that?”
Lucio doesn’t answer right away. He steps closer, slow and deliberate, his presence overpowering in the dark alley.
“You tell me.”
The space between us tightens, the air crackling. My back hits the brick wall before I even realize I’ve been moving, and he closes in, pressing one hand flat against the wall beside my head.
The other? He lifts his phone, screen tilted toward me. My text.
Little Stalker
Drinking all alone, I see.
My throat goes dry when he sends a text and my phone lets out a small vibration.
Lucio chuckles, but it lacks any humor. “Not very careful, are you?”
I should be afraid. But I’m not. Because the moment he crowds me, the second his scent wraps around me—whiskey, smoke, leather—I know exactly what this is.
He’s testing me. Pushing me. Waiting to see if I’ll break.
So I don’t. Instead, I let my lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.
“What do you want, Lucio?” I murmur, tilting my head just slightly. Daring him.
His gaze drops to my mouth—the red stain of my lipstick, the slight part of my lips. His jaw tics, his breath coming a little heavier.
“Careful, Princess,” he warns, voice rough. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
I lick my lips slowly, watching as his eyes darken, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“And if I like danger?” I whisper.
Something in him snaps. He moves before I can process it, his hand gripping my jaw, tilting my head up as his mouth crashes against mine. The first kiss is hard, rough, and punishing, like he wants to punish me for watching. For following him. For wanting him.
I gasp, and he uses the moment to slip his tongue into my mouth—claiming, taking, consuming. I grab his coat, pulling him closer, feeling the unyielding hardness of his body, the heat between us blistering.
He grabs my thigh, hiking it up against his waist, and presses me into the wall.
“Tell me,” he growls against my lips, biting at them, then dragging his mouth down my throat. “How long have you been watching me?”
I gasp as his teeth graze my skin, my back arching against him.
“Why do you think I have?” I taunt breathlessly.
Lucio groans, dragging his hand up my thigh, his thumb brushing the edge of my dress.
“Because you’re a little liar,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot, his grip firm.
He grinds against me, and I feel it: the hard press of his cock against my hip. Something thick. Heavy. Pierced. A sharp, distinct press of metal—unexpected, but unmistakable.
A piercing.
The realization sends a jolt through me—dark, electrifying, hungry. Lucio feels me tense and smirks against my throat.
“Surprised?” he murmurs, rolling his hips and letting me feel every inch of him.
I swallow, pressing my nails into his back. “A little.”
He chuckles, low and rough, his grip tightening.
“Trust me, Princess,” he rasps, dragging his lips back up my jaw. “You’ll like it.”
I shiver, but I don’t back down. Instead, I press closer, dragging my nails down his chest and letting my fingers graze the belt at his waist.
“And what makes you think I won’t find out for myself?” I breathe.
Lucio groans, biting at my bottom lip—a sharp warning—before he grinds against me again, the metal pressing exactly where I need it.
“One more word and I’ll fuck you right here in this alley, Princess.” His voice is nothing but pure, dark sin.
A challenge. A threat.
I breathe him in, drunk on the moment, on the power between us. But I don’t answer. I just smirk, slow and dangerous. His gaze darkens.
And then he kisses me again.
Lucio’s mouth is hot, demanding, and punishing. His kiss is an intoxicating mix of possession and restraint. I don’t know which is worse: the way he takes or the way he holds back.
Because he’s holding back. I can feel it in the way his grip tightens on my waist. In the way his hips roll against mine, letting me feel every inch of his cock—thick, hot, hard—before pulling away just enough to keep me aching for more.
I whimper against his lips, frustrated, burning, my nails digging into his back.
“Lucio.” I moan. It’s a plea. A challenge. An offering.
His answer? A low, guttural groan, his fingers bruising against my hips as he grinds into me again, the sharp press of metal against my core making me gasp. I feel it. The weight of his arousal. The cruel, teasing drag of his piercing against my clit through the layers of fabric between us.
It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. I arch against him, my breath hitching, my body demanding more, more, more.
But then he pulls back. Too fast. Too suddenly.
I blink, my chest heaving, lips swollen from his kisses, as he takes a slow step away from me.
“What the fuck?” I rasp, panting, heat coiling, throbbing, desperate for relief.
Lucio smirks, but his eyes are darker now, unreadable. He lifts a hand, tracing his thumb over my bottom lip—soft, slow, teasing—before dragging it down my throat and letting his fingers linger at the dip of my collarbone. His touch is light. Cruel.
“You’re a fucking menace,” he murmurs, almost like a compliment. “You know that, don’t you?”
I swallow hard, my pulse racing, but I don’t answer. Because I don’t have to. We both know the truth.
Lucio chuckles—low, rough, edged with something darker. Then his hand drops, his gaze sharpening as he takes a slow step back.
“As much as I’d love to fuck you against this wall…” he muses, rolling his shoulders, his voice deliberately taunting. “You’ve made things… complicated.”
My breath hitches, but not from arousal this time. Not from the ache between my thighs. From his tone. From the weight behind his words.
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.
Lucio exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration breaking through his controlled exterior for a split second. Then, just as fast, it’s gone.
“Because of you…” he murmurs, stepping back into the shadows—a ghost slipping into the night, leaving only chaos behind. “The Camorra is in hot water.”
My stomach twists.
The Camorra. Him. His family.
I part my lips to demand more, to ask him what the fuck that means, but Lucio just smirks, his gaze dropping one last time to my swollen lips and heaving chest.
“You want this, Princess?” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, tempting.
I glare, my body still throbbing and aching for him. “You know I do.”
He chuckles. A slow, dark thing that makes my spine prickle.
“Then be patient.” He backs away, leaving me standing there wrecked, frustrated, and desperate. “When the time is right, I’ll fuck you. Long, hard, and until you understand exactly what it means to be hunted, little stalker.”
His gaze burns as it locks onto mine one last time—a promise, a warning, a claim. “But only on my terms.”
And then he’s gone. Leaving me alone in the dark.
Wanting. Needing. Cursing his fucking name.