CHAPTER 18
Santino
The door clicked shut. She’d locked the door. A barrier she’d built between us, solid and unmistakable, one I wasn’t meant to cross. Because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have let her walk away.
For a moment I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood there staring at the space she’d left behind, like the echo of her might still be lingering in it.
It wasn’t. But I felt it anyway.
Her.
Still on my mouth. Still in my lungs. Still under my skin.
My lips tingled, chest tight, like she hadn’t left at all. The way she leaned into my touch instead of pushing me away. She’d felt the exact second my restraint snapped. And she’d answered it as though she’d been waiting for me to lose control.
I dragged a hand slowly down my face and exhaled, once, then again, like that might settle the turmoil clawing through my chest. It didn’t.
The cottage felt different now. Like something had been knocked out of place and refused to fit back together.
A mistake.
That’s what she’d called it. A dry laugh left me low and humourless.
A mistake was leaving. A mistake was letting myself feel anything for the one woman who was never supposed to be mine.
A mistake was walking away from her two years ago and pretending it hadn’t carved me out. Standing on the sidelines while she built a life with Marcello and convincing myself it didn’t matter. A mistake was believing distance would fix what I felt.
But that—
The way her body reacted to me before she could make sense of it. The way she melted against me like she too had been waiting for the shoe to drop.
And the kiss—
That wasn’t a mistake. That was inevitable. A bomb that had been sitting between us for years. Just waiting for someone to light the fuse. A line I’d drawn years ago that we’d finally crossed.
I leaned back against the counter, the same one I’d had her on minutes ago, and shut my eyes.
Bad idea. She came back instantly. The way she’d gasped into my mouth. Her hands fisting into my hair like she needed me to steady her. Her body moving against mine—instinctive, unguarded—for that one reckless second. And the maddening scent of her arousal—
“Fuck.”
I pushed off the counter, restless energy crawling under my skin, refusing to settle. I ran both hands through my hair, trying to regain control when I already knew it was gone.
I’d kept the leash tight for two years.
Fights. Women. Work. Violence.
I buried her beneath all of it.
Two years of distance. Of watching her from afar, making sure she was safe and telling myself that was enough.
It wasn’t. It was never going to be.
Because the second I touched her—really touched her—everything I’d buried came back like it had been waiting.
And she’d felt it. I knew she had. The way her body responded, leaning into me—it wasn’t imagined. As though some part of her already knew what to do with me.
My jaw tightened at the thought.
“Dangerous game, Rossi,” I muttered under my breath.
It wasn’t a warning to myself. It was the truth.
Because this wasn’t just attraction. This wasn’t an impulse I could switch off and walk away from again.
I’d tried. But the minute I decided that I needed to be around to protect her, the carefully placed dominoes started falling.
This was years of restraint snapping in one moment.
My moment of weakness. And Roxanne had felt the collapse too.
She was a drug that got under my skin and carved herself into my bones. And now that drug was in my bloodstream, burning through me.
My gaze drifted down the hallway. Toward the closed bedroom door. The locked door was probably the smartest thing she’d done tonight. Because if it wasn’t—I wouldn’t still be standing here. That truth sat heavier than I liked.
I turned away before I could think about it too long and walked into the bathroom.
The light came on too bright, too sharp.
I just stepped under the shower and turned the tap all the way cold.
The water pelted my back, like a volley of icy bullets, as if trying to blast away the memory of her touch and the guilt of the kiss.
I wanted to kill the pressure lodged behind my ribs.
I was still hard, the cold water biting at me, but it did nothing for the ache in my balls. It should’ve helped, but didn’t.
She’d left me wrecked.
I braced my hands against the tile, head bowed, letting it run over me, down my face, my neck, my chest—but all I could feel was her. The way she’d said my name—half anger, half something else I didn’t want to name.
“Stop,” I muttered, more to myself than anything.
The second I closed my eyes, it was worse.
Her mouth. Her breath. The soft weight of her breast against my palm. The way she’d opened for me—not fully, but not resisting either. The hesitation. The second she could’ve pulled away—and didn’t.
My hands curled into fists against the tile.
I’d spent long enough telling myself I knew where the line was. That I wouldn’t cross it. That I didn’t want to.
That had been a lie.
At first, I thought it was rebellion. Some sick joke fate played on me.
The Don’s woman.
My best friend’s woman.
The forbidden fruit hanging low enough to torture me.
I told myself that was all it was. Defiance. A phase. An ugliness that lived in my chest because I wasn’t built right. But it wasn’t.
Because we never had anything. No kisses. No secrets. No stolen nights.
Nothing.
And somehow that made it worse. Because whatever existed between us had never needed touching. It had been there from the beginning. From the moment she walked up to me in that ridiculous dress with sunflowers and asked for a ride.
I knew she was doing it to piss Marcello off. The little menace. But something sparked that day. Something neither of us understood. And instead of dying, it only grew teeth.
Every argument. Every time she fought me when I was trying to keep her safe. Every insult, every laugh. Every time she looked at me like she wanted to murder me.
Every goodbye that lasted too long. Every time she walked away and I watched anyway.
Fuel.
All of it just fuel for the fire simmering underneath. And I was too stupid to see it.
I thought obsession looked like madness. Like violence. Like lust. Turns out it looked like memorising how she liked her chai. Remembering her favourite chocolate.
Knowing she bit the back of her finger when she was anxious.Watching her from a distance because being near her hurt too much. And still thinking that was enough.
Fool.
But it wasn’t until she slapped me that the truth finally hit.
Not because she touched me. But because she was furious. Terrified. Shaking. And all I could think about was the fact she’d thought I’d left her again. Thought I’d disappeared. Thought I’d abandoned her.
Again.
Because she wasn’t angry about yesterday. She was angry about two years ago. And I’d been too blind to understand the difference. And somehow—some pathetic bastard inside me still noticed how warm her hand felt against my face. That she was touching me.
Because somewhere along the way, Roxanne Talati stopped being temptation. Stopped being forbidden. Stopped being the fantasy I punished myself with. And became something much worse.
Home.
And I left it.
I left her.
No wonder she looked at me like I was something to survive. I deserved that look. Because while I spent two years convincing myself I was protecting her, I never stopped to ask what leaving had done to her.
And now that I had crossed the already blurred line, there was no going back. Years telling myself she was off limits.Marcello’s.Untouchable.
But did that stop me from wanting her? No. Neither did it stop me from memorising every little thing about her like it was a problem I couldn’t solve.
Distance wasn’t control. It was denial.
And now I knew exactly what she felt like. There’d be no pretending again. No control that would ever feel like enough again.
And what was worse—now that I kissed her, tasted her, felt her—I wanted more. Because I wasn’t the kind of man who tasted her once and pretended it was enough.
No. I was the kind of man who ruined himself over it.
The water kept running, cold enough to bite, not enough to erase anything. I was still hard, cock unwilling to calm itself down. The cold water hadn’t done a damn thing. My body remained tight and restless, reacting as though she were standing in front of me.
My mind dragged back to the previous day—the road, the chase, the way her body had aligned with mine on the bike like she belonged there. Like she trusted me enough to protect her.
They’d come for me. That was nothing new.
But the second they looked at her—
The second they thought they could use her—my resolve snapped.
I’d gone back for them. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to. One of them spoke about her like it meant nothing. Like she was leverage. I’d broken his jaw for that. The other one didn’t get far enough to try anything stupid. Message delivered.
No one touches—
I stilled.
The thought came, uninvited and clean.
Mine.
I didn’t fight it. Didn’t correct it. Just stood there and let it settle, heavy and permanent, like it had always been waiting for me to admit it. And it didn’t feel wrong.
Maybe that was the problem. Or maybe the problem had started when I convinced myself leaving her was the same thing as saving her. Maybe I’d been lying to myself ever since.
Because the truth was simple. I wasn’t afraid of what I felt. I was afraid of what it would cost. And now that I’d crossed the line—there was no pretending otherwise.
I shut the water off and stepped back, grabbing a towel and dragging it over my face without much care. My muscles were still locked tight, pulse uneven, my body refusing to come down from whatever the hell that had been. From her.
My gaze drifted once more toward the hallway.Toward the locked door. Staying here, thinking about what was behind that door, wasn’t going to end well.
For either of us.
I dressed and grabbed my jacket, stepping out into the night without another thought. The cold air hit harder than the water had, sharp against my skin, but it didn’t settle what was already there.
Because the truth had already landed.
Everything had changed. The balance. The rules. The distance I’d spent two years holding onto. Gone.
And Marcello wasn’t just my boss—don. He was my blood.My family. My friend. I’d taken bullets for him. Buried men for him. Built half my life around loyalty to him. And somehow none of that had been enough to stop me from wanting her.
Which meant this wasn’t just wrong. It was unforgivable.
Maybe this would destroy me. Maybe I deserved that.I’d rather burn beside her than survive another day pretending I could stay away. And now that I’d finally had a taste of her, hell itself wouldn’t be enough to make me walk away again.
But one thing I knew for sure: I was done standing on the sidelines. And the next time—I wasn’t stopping at a kiss.