CHAPTER 29
MARCELLO
I stood under the cold shower, letting it numb the ache that pulsed between my legs. Not just desire—need. The kind that coils in your gut and refuses to leave. My hands trembled but from restraint.
She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t pushed me away. Instead, she’d whispered my name like she was still mine. And that name—spoken like a prayer, like a wound—split me open. It wasn’t just recognition. It was permission. And I took it.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What the fuck had I done? I slammed my palm repeatedly against the wet shower wall.
I knew she would be here. I’d heard it over the phone.
I told myself I’d keep my distance. But when I saw her dancing—free, flushed, laughing—my body went to war with itself.
Her closeness with Sahil, the leering eyes of men watching her, something in me snapped.
I needed to know she was still mine. And when she spoke my name, I knew.
I stepped out of the shower, poured a drink sinking into the armchair of my penthouse suite, staring out at the Guangzhou skyline. The whiskey burned, but not enough. I lit a cigarette. The first drag scorched my throat. I welcomed it. My fingers twitched—a habit returning too easily.
The city pulsed with fervour even at night. But inside me—silence. The kind that comes before a storm.
I could still feel her breath on my palm. Her pulse under my fingers. The taste of her lips—a mix of alcohol and strawberry. I could still hear the soft groan she’d tried to swallow.
I was lucky that Cheung owned the place. I got an extra keycard to her room, just to leave the necklace on the bed. A quiet reminder that I hadn’t forgotten. That I still felt everything she did.
But the moment she unlocked the door, I had to hold her. To know she was real. That what we felt was real.
I touched her not to claim or possess—but to remember. To feel the echo of what we were. To remember the way she trembled beneath my hands. The way her silence spoke louder than any confession. The way her body answered questions her mouth couldn’t.
I missed her. Her scent. Her touch. The way her body responded to mine like it had never belonged to anyone else.
I couldn’t resist kissing those plump, parted lips.
And I wanted to do so much more. To make her feel loved.
Seen. To tell her she wasn’t just a blip in my life.
She was the rupture. The silence. The ache.
That I was devastated when she left. That I hadn’t slept.
Hadn’t touched another woman—couldn’t. Hadn’t stopped replaying the ten days we spent together.
I wanted to show her what she did to me. To worship her body. To remind her of the effect she had on mine. But I held back. With everything I had.
I wanted to fall into her. To lose myself in the woman who made me forget every rule I’d ever written. But I didn’t.
Because loving her meant protecting her. Even from myself.
But I should’ve said something. Should’ve told her I missed her. That I was still hers. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
I pulled out the letter. Read it again. Every word. Every line.
You said I was real. And I was.
And then she spoke my name. And I snapped out of the daze. I had to go before things got out of hand.
But now I regret it. Not because I don’t want her—because I know what this meant. She’s in danger now because of me. Again.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t drag her into my world again. But I’d already failed. And now, every breath she took might cost her.
The next morning, I sat across from Cheung in a private meeting room tucked behind the Velvet Room’s upper lounge.
The walls were panelled in dark teak, the air thick with cigar smoke and quiet tension.
A long mahogany table stretched between us, polished to a shine that reflected nothing but shadows.
Two men flanked Cheung—his son, and a fixer from Macau known only as Lin, with a scar that ran from temple to jaw. Two others I didn’t recognise sat to the left of the table. One was short, round-bellied, with a gold chain tucked beneath his collar. His name was Wong.
I lit a cigarette. My voice was low, calm.
“Lorenzo,” I said, voice flat. “I want him.”
“That’s why I called you here,” Cheung said, fingers steepled. “We have a common enemy.”
“He’s been interfering with our Macau routes,” Lin added. “Skimming off the top. Moving teens.”
“That’s not how we do business,” said Ronnie, Cheung’s son. “The women who work our clubs sell their bodies because they choose to. No one is forced.”
“Good to know we share the same sentiments,” I said.
“Lorenzo’s moving a shipment,” Wong spoke up.
“He’s arrogant. Thinks he’s untouchable. Some Triads from other provinces may support him, but we don’t want that here. It’ll come back to bite us.”
“We need to stop the shipment,” Cheung said.
“I can give you the arms,” I said. “Do you have the men?”
“Everything’s arranged,” Wong replied.
“The women will be rescued. The rest of the cargo—burned.”
“He’s hiding behind a shell company in Shenzhen,” Ronnie added. “We’ve traced an account to a woman in Naples.”
I exhaled smoke. “Isabella. She’ll be taken care of.”
“Shipment enters Chinese waters in three days,” Ronnie said.
“We need to move before that.”
“I’ll get some of my men in too. They’ll touch base with you by tomorrow,” I said.
Cheung leaned in. “Things will get busy. I hope you don’t have any liabilities. You know how important trafficking is to him. It’s his main source. He’ll come at you with everything.”
“Just what I want,” I said. “This time, I’ll finish him for good.”
Cheung smiled. “Good. Then let’s begin.”
I knew exactly what Cheung meant by liability.
Mine was Roxanne.
I was supposed to stay away. But inside—I wasn’t sure. I’d felt her pulse. Touched her lips. Heard her whisper my name like I still belonged to her.
And now, every move I made felt like betrayal—to her or to myself, I couldn’t tell.
I had to end this fast. For her. For me. For whatever chance we had left. Before Lorenzo turned Roxanne into collateral.