ZYLA

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"Clothes off. Now," he says.

Rough. Low. Sinful.

And something inside me unravels.

My breath catches, knowing I'm wearing nothing underneath.

A tremble starts at the base of my spine. A shiver that slithers between my thighs and makes my knees weak.

I don’t move. I can’t.

Not with him standing there like that. Jacket gone, gloves off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, steam curling around him like sin.

His jaws are chiseled, forearms are sculpted, veins flexing as he moves. His shirt clings to his chest, soaked in heat and power. Those blue-grey eyes hold a storm I’m afraid I may drown in.

"Clothes off," he says again, softer this time, but no less firm.

I still don’t move.

He takes a deep breath, then steps closer.

One breath between us, his fingers reach for my dress’s strap. Slowly and carefully, he pulls it down my arm.

The fabric drags against my skin, falling off and baring my shoulder. Heat licks beneath my surface.

He's gentle. Like I’m a puzzle he’s afraid to break.

The blood has dried at the edge of my neck. He notices. His fingers graze my collarbone.

I flinch.

Not from pain. From heat.

Every cell in my body buzzes like he’s set it on fire.

He lowers his gaze, his jaw tightening.

Is he… feeling this too?

His phone vibrates behind him. A call.

But he doesn’t look away. He ignores it.

I try to breathe, but my lungs feel too full.

“Aren't you going to take that…” My voice melts into a whisper.

I say his name, but not the one he gave me.

The one that slipped from the mouth of that man. The name that still tastes foreign.

“Tarino?”

He freezes.

The air between us tenses even more.

“Don’t—” His voice is low, yet sharp. “Don’t call me that.”

His voice comes again, softer. “You still think I’m a monster?”

I don't answer, too lost in the buzz building up in my body.

His eyes narrow. “Do you?"

I shake my head slowly. "No. But… you’re, you're dangerous."

He exhales like I touched something raw. “To others,” he says. “Not to you.”

I believe him. I don’t know why. I just do.

So I nod.

He moves again, pulling down the strap of my other shoulder.

My chest rises and falls breathlessly.

The fabric peels off my skin. Slow. Deliberate. Stopping at my waist and exposing my upper half to him.

It’s an instinctive reaction. I clutch my arms over my breasts.

His eyes stay on mine.

I see his Adam’s apple bob. Or perhaps I’ve imagined it.

His hands go to my waist next.

A sharp breath scrapes my throat. I breathe so fast, it feels like drowning.

His fingers curl around the fabric at my waist and draw it down. Inch by inch.

The silk falls. Pools around my ankles.

His hands are warm and steady. He doesn’t touch me more than he needs to.

Still, my body aches.

The bathwater steams behind me. The room smells like lavender and musk.

And him.

He kneels. One hand holds mine. The other rests beside the tub as he helps me step in.

His head is down, but when he looks up…

His eyes.

Those blue-grey irises. They don’t worship.

They devour.

And I forget how to breathe.

~~~

The water kisses my skin with heat.

I sink in slowly, trying not to gasp at how good it feels. My heart is a mess inside my chest.

He rolls his sleeves again. Picks up a sponge.

Then he enters the tub, behind me. Still clothed, yet close.

So close.

I try to act normal. Calm. But my thighs keep rubbing against each other under the water.

The sponge touches my back. Gently. Lower. Then up again.

His fingers trail behind it, lingering like whispers.

Blood melts into the water.

He brushes behind my ear.

My lips part. I almost moan.

I bite it back.

I close my eyes to distract myself from the fact that I’ve never been this close or naked with a man before. Never even kissed.

But now, shamefully, like a starved doe, I crave the very wolf I was warned to avoid.

Trying desperately to distract myself, I whisper, "You’ve done this before?"

He doesn’t answer.

Just moves to my neck, silent and slow.

I grip the edge of the tub with white knuckles. I can’t look at him. I can’t think.

Because if I do…

My body hums with something I’ve never known. I want his hands. I want his mouth. I want his—

No.

I open my eyes, grip tighter.

His thumb brushes a wet strand of hair off my cheek.

I almost lean in. Almost.

It shouldn’t feel like this. This heat. This need.

Not when I’m naked in front of a man who buries bodies.

He’s a Ferretti. A killer. A monster.

But when his fingers trail down my spine, I feel something I’ve never felt before.

His hands are large. But his touch is soft.

I try not to look at his forearms. I fail.

They’re tense. Wet. Glowing in the steam.

He leans in. His breath brushes my cheek.

My eyes flutter closed.

How does a man who commands death wash me like I’m precious?

His hand moves lower. Just under the waterline.

His knuckles graze the curve of my breast. Just a graze.

But it’s enough.

I gasp.

Air stutters in my chest. My thighs clench.

Heat floods my center, pooling where I’ve never been touched.

I feel him freeze. Hear his breath catch.

But he jerks back like I burned him.

Then gets out suddenly.

"We’re done," he snaps. "Rinse and towel off. There's a towel and a robe on that shelf. I’ll be at the front balcony.”

“Wha—”

My voice is cut off as the door shuts behind him.

I sit in the tub, water up to my shoulders, liquid fire coursing through my body like a slow, sinful curse.

~~~

Tarino

I slam the balcony door behind me, water dripping off my clothes.

Air hits my lungs too hard.

I got a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on my way out.

So with shaking fingers, I light a cigar.

I inhale.

Smoke burns down my throat.

But nothing douses the fire.

Head against the wall, I lean back.

If I had stayed one more second… I’d have pressed her to the tub and let her feel exactly what kind of monster I am.

Claimed her mouth. Her moans. Her innocence.

Cazzo!

I grip the edge of the railing until my knuckles burn.

It took so much restraint for me not to pin her to the bathroom walls and fuck her right there and then.

To hear my name on her lips as she moaned in pleasure.

I picture her again. Dripping. Flushed. Naked in my tub. Steam curling around her lips. My hands on her skin.

She’s untouched.

I’d bet my life… heck, the entire Ferretti fortune she’s never even been kissed.

And I want to be her first.

Her first sin.

Not just to kiss her.

To ruin her for anyone else.

My father’s voice roars in my head like a whip: “Softness makes you weak. You want to die like those spineless worms? Then fall in love. Let it rot your spine.”

But this girl…

Merda, she’s not weakness.

She’s a trigger.

And I’m already halfway pulled.

Fuuuuck!

I rake my fingers through my hair.

Footsteps. And a silk robe rustling.

I look up.

Zyla steps out. Her black hair is damp. Her cheeks flushed and hazel eyes lowered. The black robe, with its white embroidery around the neck, clings to her curves.

Even more beautiful.

“Cazzo,” I curse under my breath.

My fingers curl tight on the railing beside me.

She meets my gaze. Slowly.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I nod.

She has no idea…

She has no idea what she’s doing to me.

No idea how close I am to becoming everything my father warned me not to be.

Soft. A ruined man.

My phone buzzes.

Another call from my cousin, Dario.

I finally answer.

“The Don wants to see you. Now. He’s very pissed.”

The words stir something dark inside me.

My jaw locks and my spine stiffens.

I drop the cigarette. Grind it under my foot.

Paradise feels like her.

Hell is my father.

And it’s summoning me.