12. Vincenzo
12
VINCENZO
M idnight at the compound always made me reflective. Three years since Giuliano had found me, fresh out of Vittorio's organization, carrying enough dirt to bring down half the East Coast. Instead of turning me in, he'd offered a choice: help build something better, or disappear with enough money. Simple as that.
I'd chosen to stay. Now, pacing the quiet hallway outside Pearl's room, that choice felt more complicated. When Giuliano first outlined this plan, I'd argued against using her as leverage. I'd seen enough of Vittorio's world to know what his control did to people. But watching Pearl these past few days, I'd realized she wasn't just another victim. There was steel under that polished exterior, that's if you knew where to look.
The sound of running water from her bathroom made me lose my train of thought. The frosted glass door offered only a suggestion of movement—a shadow here, a silhouette there. I should step away, come back when she was finished. That would be the professional thing to do. But something kept me rooted in place, my usual self-control wavering.
My mind wandered to dangerous places: the way water would trace down her curves, how her golden hair would darken when wet, what sounds she might make if... Christ. I needed to get a grip. This wasn't like me, letting desire cloud my judgment.
I'd spent years perfecting the art of observation without reaction. It was part of what made me good at my job—the ability to notice everything while remaining detached. But watching that shadowy figure move behind the glass, I felt that detachment slipping.
When the water finally stopped, I straightened, trying to reclaim my professional demeanor. Instead, I found myself holding my breath as the door opened.
Pearl stepped out through curtains of steam, wrapped in a white towel. Her hair, free from its usual careful styling, fell in waves of deep gold past her shoulders. Without Vittorio's prescribed makeup and designer clothes, she looked startlingly real.
"Oh!" She clutched the towel tighter, a blush creeping up her neck. "I didn't..."
"Different rotation tonight." I kept my voice steady despite the heat building under my skin. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. Vincenzo."
"The security specialist." She shifted slightly, and I caught the subtle catch in her breath when our eyes met. "I've seen you around."
"Let me give you a moment to change." I forced myself to turn away, though the image of her bare shoulders and slim legs was already burned into my memory.
"Thank you," she murmured, disappearing behind the dressing screen.
When she reemerged minutes later, I forgot how to breathe for a moment. She'd chosen a thin silk camisole and shorts that revealed miles of smooth skin. Her damp hair left water marks on the silk, but it was the notebook clutched in her hand that caught my attention—she'd been writing in the journal, not just primping. She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow.
"The hot water runs out after ten minutes," she said matter-of-factly. "You might want to fix that."
"Your hair's dripping," I managed, voice rougher than I'd meant.
"I know." She brushed the heavy golden mass over one shoulder, drawing my attention to the elegant line of her neck. "I'm not used to managing it myself. Vittorio's stylist usually..."
"Let me help." I gestured to the vanity chair. Through the mirror, I watched her hesitate for a moment before settling in. Her reflection looked almost shy as I gathered her hair with practiced movements, lifting it away from her neck. My fingers worked through the strands with careful efficiency, separating them into sections.
"You seem... experienced with this." Her eyes met mine in the mirror as I reached for a towel.
"My sister taught me." I began gently drying her hair, mesmerized by how it caught the light— pure gold shot through with darker honey tones. "Said I had good instincts for it."
"Your sister?" Her voice softened as I worked, tension visibly melting from her shoulders.
"Left home young, but she was the one good thing there." I concentrated on each section of hair, watching goosebumps rise on her skin where my fingers brushed her neck. "Had to learn a lot of things—cooking, laundry, hair care."
"She taught you well," she murmured, eyes half-closed as I worked.
"She had to be both sister and mother sometimes." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Her eyes found mine in the mirror. "That must have been hard."
"Life isn't always simple." I reached for her brush, noting how her breath hitched slightly at the first stroke. "Though your situation with Vittorio..."
"Is different." She leaned back slightly, eyes closing as I worked through a tangle. "Sometimes he was almost kind. Like he wanted to be a real father. Other times..."
I watched her pulse flutter at her throat, cataloging every reaction as I brushed. Each stroke seemed to relax her further, making her sink deeper into the chair. When my knuckles grazed her bare shoulder, she shivered.
"Cold?" I asked, though we both knew that wasn't it.
"No," she whispered, opening her eyes to meet mine in the mirror. Something dark and wanting flickered in their blue depths. "The others... they're not what I expected. None of you are."
"And what did you expect?" I let my free hand rest on her shoulder, thumb tracing small circles on bare skin.
"Men like Vittorio's." Her voice had gone breathy. "Cold. Cruel. But Giuliano is... different. And Nico..." She hesitated.
"And me?" I couldn't stop my hand from sliding up to her neck, feeling her pulse race under my fingers.
She turned in the chair then, face tilted up to mine. This close, I could see every gold fleck in her eyes, count each damp eyelash.
"You're the most different of all," she whispered, and something in her voice made my careful control slip.
The brush fell forgotten as I cradled the back of her head, feeling the contrast between cool, damp strands and the warmth of her skin. When she leaned into my touch, the small movement undid me.
I tilted her face up, studying her reaction. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat, matching my own racing heartbeat. She rose slowly from the chair, bringing us chest to chest. My free hand found her waist, steadying her. Through the thin silk, I could feel how she trembled slightly.
My thumb traced her bottom lip, and her breath caught beautifully. Just as I'd imagined it would. I brushed my lips against her temple first, testing, tasting. Salt and steam from her shower still clung to her skin. When I reached her jaw, she tilted her head, offering better access.
"I knew you'd be responsive," I breathed against her neck, feeling her shiver. I nipped gently at her pulse point, drawing a surprised moan that sent heat through my veins.
Her hands found my shoulders as I explored the sensitive spot behind her ear. Each sound she made, each tiny reaction, I filed away. When she breathed my name, I pulled back just enough to watch her eyes flutter open; dark now, pupils blown wide.
I traced patterns on her lower back through the silk, letting the tension build between us. She swayed closer, pressing herself against me with a soft "please."
The first taste of her mouth was addictive. She melted into me as the kiss deepened, making these little sounds that drove me crazy. I backed her against the vanity, lifting her easily to sit on its edge. Her legs parted, letting me step between them as I explored her mouth.
"Perfect," I murmured against her lips, running my fingers down her spine to make her arch. She was everything I'd imagined during those long nights of watching her from afar.
Her hands found their way under my shirt, nails scraping lightly across my skin. I growled, breaking the kiss to attack her neck again. When she gasped "more," I knew I was lost.
Her skin was like silk under my hands as I explored lower, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. She arched into my touch, head falling back to expose more of her throat. I took full advantage, trailing open-mouthed kisses down that elegant column while my fingers found the thin strap of her camisole.
"Is this okay?" I murmured against her skin. Her breathless nod was all I needed.
The strap slipped easily off her shoulder, revealing more creamy skin that begged to be tasted. Each kiss drew new sounds from her throat, little gasps and moans that made my blood burn hotter. When I found a particularly sensitive spot at the curve of her shoulder, her whole body trembled.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me back up for another desperate kiss. The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet and addictive. I slid my hand up her thigh, feeling goosebumps rise in my wake. The silk of her shorts had ridden up, revealing more skin that I traced with careful fingers.
"You're trembling," I breathed against her mouth, feeling how she shook under my touch. Her only response was to kiss me harder, pulling me closer between her parted legs.
The feel of her pressed against me, all soft curves and needy sounds, was almost too much. I wanted to take my time, learn every inch of her body, find every spot that made her gasp and shudder. But the way she moved against me, desperate and wanting...
The compound's alarm cut through everything like a knife, red lights flooding the room. We froze, both breathing hard, as my radio crackled: "Multiple hostiles approaching from the west perimeter! Heavy weapons spotted!"
Pearl's eyes snapped to mine, all trace of desire replaced by raw fear. She slid off the vanity, fingers fumbling with her displaced clothing.
"Go to the safe room behind your closet," I said quickly, already shifting to alert. "Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone without the correct code."
She nodded, but hesitated for a moment. I pulled her in for one last fierce kiss before pushing her toward safety.
The compound erupted into chaos as I ran. Her kiss still burned on my lips, but there was no time to think about what we'd started. Not with gunfire lighting up the night.