Lorenzo’s POV

The day dragged like a knife through flesh, every meeting and deal soaking up hours, my mind half on the blood and business, half on her. Isabella. That fire in her hazel eyes, the way she’d kissed me back, all defiance and heat, even as she hated me. Luca’s interruption had saved her or maybe it had saved me. I wasn’t myself around her, my control fraying like cheap thread. By the time I got back to the mansion, night had settled, thick and heavy, the air sharp with the promise of rain. My boots echoed on the marble floor as I headed to my room, my leather jacket creaking with every step, my body tense from the day’s work and the thought of her waiting.

I pushed the door open, expecting her to be pacing, spitting venom, ready to throw another slap my way. Instead, she was curled up on my bed, asleep, her small frame swallowed by the black silk sheets. Her chestnut hair spilled across the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek like a damn child, peaceful in a way that didn’t belong in my world. Her lips parted slightly, her breathing soft, and for a moment, I just stood there, my chest tight, watching her. She didn’t look like a captive, didn’t look like the woman who’d cracked my jaw with her palm. She looked fragile, breakable, and it pissed me off how much that pulled at me.

I circled the bed, my gaze tracing her—the curve of her hip under the wrinkled blouse, the faint red marks on her wrists from the ropes I’d had Luca cut. My fingers itched to touch her again, to see if she’d burn as hot as she had this morning. But this wasn’t me. The real Lorenzo Vito didn’t stand around mooning over a woman, didn’t let some barmaid with a death wish unravel him. I was the man who broke people, who built an empire on fear, not the idiot who got hard just thinking about her defiance.

Her eyes fluttered open, catching the dim light from the chandelier, and the peace vanished. She sat up, her gaze locking on mine, sharp and unyielding, like she’d caught me stealing something.

“What are you staring at?” she snapped, her voice rough with sleep but already laced with that fire I couldn’t shake. She pulled her knees to her chest, her fragile frame tensing, like a cornered animal ready to claw its way out.

“You’re in my bed,” I said, keeping my voice low, controlled, even as my blood heated under her glare. I stepped closer, letting my shadow fall over her, testing her resolve. “You don’t belong here, Isabella. You don’t belong in my world.”

“Then let me go,” she shot back, her chin lifting, her hazel eyes blazing. “You’re the one who dragged me here. If you don’t want me in your bed, open the damn door.” Her words were a challenge, each one a spark that made me want to pin her down, see how much fight she had left.

I smirked, leaning closer, my hands braced on the bed, caging her in. “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, my voice dropping to a growl. “You’re mine now. That slap you gave me? That bought you a one-way ticket into my life. You don’t get to walk away.” Her breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Her defiance was a drug, hot and dangerous, and it was messing with my head.

“You don’t own me,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her hands clenched the sheets. “I’m not some toy you can lock up and play with when you’re bored.” Her lips trembled, just for a second, and I saw it—the crack in her armor, the fear she was fighting to hide. It made me want to break her and protect her all at once, and that contradiction was driving me insane.

Before I could answer, a soft knock came at the door. Gloria, the maid, stepped in, her stout frame filling the doorway, her graying hair pulled back tight. She carried a tray with a glass of water, her eyes flicking between me and Isabella, careful but not timid. “Sir,” she said, her voice calm, like she was used to walking into my chaos. “For the girl.” She set the tray on the nightstand, her movements slow, deliberate, and I caught the way she looked at Isabella not pity, but something softer, like she saw a person, not a prisoner.

Isabella’s gaze softened for a split second, her fingers brushing the glass as Gloria handed it to her. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost human. She sipped the water, her throat moving, and I couldn’t look away, my mind flashing to this morning—her moan, the way her body had arched under my hands. Damn it, she was a problem I didn’t need.

“Get up,” I snapped, my voice harsher than I meant, my eyes catching the rumpled sheets where she’d slept. The bed looked like a war zone, and it hit me like a punch—she’d been here, in my space, leaving her mark. It was too much, too close.

“You messed up my bed,” I said, stepping back, my hands curling into fists to keep from reaching for her. “You don’t get to sleep here like you own the place.”

Her eyes narrowed, the glass pausing at her lips. “You’re mad about the bed?” she said, incredulous, setting the glass down with a sharp clink. “You kidnap me, tie me up, and you’re pissed about some wrinkles?” She stood, her small frame vibrating with anger, and damn if it didn’t make her more beautiful, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe I am,” I said, closing the distance between us, my voice low, dangerous. “But you’re not helping, with your smart mouth and your damn eyes.” I wanted to shake her, kiss her, do something to stop the way she was crawling under my skin. Her beauty, her defiance, it was too much, like a flame I couldn’t stop reaching for, even knowing it’d burn me.

“Gloria,” I said, not taking my eyes off Isabella. “Take her to the maid quarters. Get her cleaned up, fed, whatever she needs. Just get her out of here.” I needed her gone, needed space to think straight, because right now, all I could see was her—those lips, that fire, the way she’d felt under my hands.

Gloria nodded, her face unreadable, and gestured for Isabella to follow. “Come on, love,” she said, her voice gentle, like she was coaxing a stray. Isabella hesitated, her gaze locked on mine, and for a moment, I thought she’d fight me again, throw another spark. But she just lifted her chin, grabbed the glass of water like it was a weapon, and followed Gloria, her steps defiant even in surrender.

As the door closed behind them, I sank onto the bed, the sheets still warm from her body, her scent—something soft, like lavender and rebellion lingering in the air. I ran a hand through my hair, my jacket creaking as I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. She was a problem, a complication I hadn’t planned for. I’d built my life on control—every deal, every kill, every woman I’d taken to bed but Isabella was different. She wasn’t just a body or a bargaining chip. She was a challenge, a mirror showing me parts of myself I’d buried long ago. Her defiance was hot, her innocence a lure, and I was already too deep, wanting her in ways that weren’t just physical.

I stood, pacing the room, my boots heavy on the floor. She was in the maid quarters now, out of my sight, but not out of my head. I could still feel her lips under mine, the way her body had responded, eager despite her hate. I needed to figure out what to do with her, how to keep her without losing myself. Because if I wasn’t careful, Isabella Conti would be the one thing I couldn’t control and that was a risk I couldn’t afford.