2. Luca
Luca
The sound of her heels clicking against the polished floor is the only thing that fills the heavy silence between us.
I follow just a step behind her, watching the way her spine stiffens, her shoulders squared in defiance. She’s walking ahead of me, but we both know who’s leading this moment.
I let her think she has a choice.
For now.
She hasn’t spoken much since Claire told her I was here. No demand for me to leave. No desperate attempt to deny that she knows exactly why I came.
She already knows she’s lost.
The air shifts as we move deeper into the building.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her. To grab her arm, pull her against me, remind her exactly who she belongs to. But I wait.
I wait because this is already inevitable.
The door to her office swings open, and she steps inside, a half-second hesitation before she moves behind her desk. A barrier.
I step in, and the moment I do, the air thickens.
Tension coils in the space between us.
I don’t turn to close the door—I just reach back and shove it shut with a soft click.
A warning.
A promise.
Gilly swallows hard, but she doesn’t look away. She stands straight, hands pressed against the desk behind her, her chin tilted up like she’s daring me to say something first.
She’s trying to be strong. Trying to pretend like I don’t already have her trapped.
I smirk.
“Three years,” I murmur, letting the weight of my voice sink in. I take my time, letting my gaze drag over her, studying every inch of the woman who thought she could run from me. The woman who failed.
She doesn’t speak.
That’s fine. She doesn’t have to.
I step forward, reaching into the pocket of my suit jacket, pulling out the folded photo.
Her eyes flick to it, just for a fraction of a second. But I catch it.
I always catch it.
I flick the photo onto her desk with my fingers, the paper skidding across the smooth surface before stopping just in front of her.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t blink.
But her breath hitches, the barest change in rhythm.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on the desk, caging her in without touching her. My voice drops, dark and low.
“Where is he?”
She doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t move.
Just stands there, rigid, hands still pressed against the desk behind her like she’s bracing for impact. Like she knows there’s no way out of this.
I watch her closely, every tiny shift in her body, every flicker of emotion that crosses her face. Gilly’s always been good at hiding—at pretending. But I learned how to read her a long time ago.
And right now?
She’s terrified.
“Luca,” she finally says, her voice tight. “I don’t—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, my patience hanging by a thread. “Don’t lie to me.”
Her jaw tightens, her lips parting slightly like she wants to argue.
Like she thinks she can still fight me.
I push off the desk, standing to my full height, crowding her without touching her. My voice is quiet, calm—but laced with steel.
“I know, Gilly.”
A single breath. A hesitation.
She tries to school her features into something unreadable, but it’s too late. I already saw it. The flash of panic. The way her fingers twitch against the wood.
She knows exactly what I’m talking about.
Still, she lifts her chin, defiance flickering in her dark eyes. “I don’t know what you think you know—”
I laugh. A short, humorless sound that makes her flinch.
Then I move.
Not fast, not aggressive—just deliberate. I round the desk, stepping into her space, watching as she stiffens but doesn’t retreat. I don’t stop until I’m close enough to feel the heat of her body, close enough that she has to tilt her head to meet my gaze.
She’s shaking. It’s subtle, barely there, but I see it.
And that?
That fucking destroys me.
Because she shouldn’t be afraid of me. Not like this.
I reach down, drag my fingers over the edge of the photo still lying on the desk. Then, slow as hell, I lift it, holding it between us.
I don’t look at it. I don’t have to.
I’ve already memorized every detail.
The small frame. The dark curls. The tiny hands gripping the edge of a playground swing.
My son.
“My patience is running out, Gilly.” I keep my voice measured, but there’s a growl beneath the words, something dangerous. “So I’ll ask again. Where is he?”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “You’re making a mistake.”
I lift a brow. “Am I?”
She nods quickly, desperation creeping into her voice now. “You don’t understand, Luca. This isn’t—”
I snap.
Faster than she can react, I slam the photo onto the desk beside her, caging her in with my hands. She gasps, eyes widening as I lean in, my mouth just a breath away from hers.
“No,” I murmur, my voice sharp, possessive. “What I don’t understand is how you thought you could keep my son from me.”
She gasps softly, the sound barely audible—but it tells me everything.
Confirmation.
I knew the second I saw the damn picture, but hearing it? Feeling it in the air between us?
It hits different.
Something dark uncoils inside me. Something primal.
I drag my knuckles down the side of her face, slow and deliberate, watching as her breath stutters. “You ran from me,” I say, almost thoughtful. “You lied to me.”
Her pulse is wild against the delicate skin of her throat.
“I had to,” she whispers.
Wrong answer.
I grip her chin, tilting her face up until there’s no escape from my gaze. “You think that justifies it?” I murmur. “You think that means I’ll let you keep hiding?”
She trembles. “Luca—”
“You don’t get to make that choice, Gilly.” My fingers tighten just slightly, my thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Not anymore.”
She inhales sharply, her body betraying her.
She still wants me. Even now. Even with fear tightening her spine and guilt swimming in her eyes.
And that?
That makes me fucking crazy.
I tilt her chin up further, my grip firm but careful. “You should’ve known better,” I whisper, voice thick with something dangerous.
She gasps.
And then?
I kiss her.
She gasps against my mouth, but I don’t give her a chance to push me away.
Not this time.
I take her lips the way I’ve wanted to for three fucking years—hard, demanding, staking my claim. She still tastes the same. Still feels the same. Like something I’ve been starving for, like something that was mine before she decided to rip it away.
She shoves at my chest, a weak attempt to break free, but I feel the way her body betrays her. The way she melts for a fraction of a second before she catches herself, stiffens, tries to fight it.
I don’t let her.
My fingers slide into her hair, tilting her head back so she has no choice but to take it—to feel it. The heat, the anger, the unspoken words between us.
She claws at my suit jacket, but it isn’t resistance. It’s frustration. Because she knows.
She knows that this pull between us hasn’t faded.
That it never could.
Her lips part with a shaky breath, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue against hers, swallowing the soft, desperate sound that escapes her throat.
She shoves at my chest, nails digging into my suit, her breath coming too fast. But it isn’t real resistance—it’s frustration, defiance, the last flickering embers of a fight she knows she’s already lost.
I don’t let up.
I fist a hand in her hair, tilting her head back, forcing her to take the brutal press of my mouth. She gasps against me, and I feel the exact moment her resolve starts to crack.
She trembles.
Not from fear. From need.
From the way my grip tightens. From the way my body presses against hers, trapping her against the desk.
She should know better than to provoke me.
But Gilly has always been reckless.
“You think you can keep my son from me?” I growl against her lips, my breath hot, my patience razor-thin. “You think you can keep yourself from me?”
She sucks in a sharp breath, her body stiff beneath me. “Luca—don’t.”
I ignore her.
Because we both know she doesn’t mean it.
My hands are already moving, fingers sliding up her thighs, yanking at the hem of her skirt until it’s bunched high around her waist.
She gasps, her nails biting into my skin, but I catch the flicker of heat in her dark eyes. That helpless, traitorous need.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my fingers tracing the lace of her panties, teasing along the soaked fabric. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
She says nothing.
Her breath is ragged, her pulse a frantic drum beneath my touch.
I grip her chin, forcing her gaze up to mine. “Say it, Gilly.”
She clenches her jaw, shaking her head. Fighting herself.
I smirk.
Then I snap.
I tear the lace away in one sharp motion, the fabric ripping between my fingers.
She gasps, her hands flying to my wrists, but it’s too late. She’s already spread open for me, bare, trembling, heat radiating from between her thighs.
“You were going to lie to me,” I rasp, dragging my fingers through her slick folds, groaning when I feel how fucking wet she is. “You were going to tell me you didn’t want this. But your body doesn’t know how to lie, does it?”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head, a whimper stuck in her throat as I work her harder, faster.
Her hands scramble at my chest, like she wants to push me away, but all she does is fist my shirt, holding on for dear life.
Her hips move involuntarily, her body grinding down, chasing the pleasure even as she fights me.
I feel her getting close.
The tension in her muscles. The way her breaths come faster, shallower. The way she bites down on a moan like she’s trying to deny me the sound.
Wrong move.
I want to hear her break.
I wrench my fingers from her, stepping back, leaving her panting, trembling.
She gasps, her eyes snapping open. “Luca—”
I don’t let her finish.
I grip her by the hips and spin her around, pressing her chest flat against the desk.
She barely has time to catch her breath before I kick her legs apart, my hands gripping her thighs, dragging her back against me.
“You want to pretend you’re still in control?” I taunt, my voice dark, rough. “Then why are you dripping for me, Gilly?”
She lets out a strangled sound, her fingers flexing against the wood.