Page 18 of Forbidden

I slide off the desk, shaky, pushing my skirt down. My legs wobble like they’re not mine—he’s seen me naked, stripped me bare, and I’m still on his tongue.

Adriano Vieri, my oldest, dirtiest crush, just devoured me, and reality crashes in hard. I can’t meet his eyes, heat creeping up my neck.

“You’re dismissed,” he says softly, before slipping into his bathroom, because of course he’s the damn boss, and I’ve just leaped over a line there’s no un-crossing.

Heaven, hell, and every twisted shade between—I’m kidding myself if I think I regret it.

Chapter 6

Adriano

It’s been three days and I can’t shake her from my mind. Penelope Rosetti is like damn cocaine.

Her curves, the heat of her, that scent like jasmine and sin tangled together have been calling at me for days and sinking its teeth into every quiet moment. I want her bad. But I can’t have her. I’ve already messed up too many times and crossed lines I swore I’d never touch.

There’s a deal hanging over me too—a pact with a man I can’t cross, a noose tightening every time she crosses my thoughts. One wrong move, and it’s not just my neck on the line.

A sudden knock jolts me out of it. Tommy, one of my men strictly handling logistics, barges in with his face tight and eyes darting like he’s expecting a bullet.

“Boss, we got trouble. The docks got hit. Three of us—Vinny, Paulie, and that new kid got caught in the crossfire. Paulie and the new kid got cleaned out.”

I slam my fist on the desk and the wood groans under the impact. “Who?”

“Not sure but they left a message. Said they’re coming for you until you comply. Says you know what.” He shifts, uneasy. “They torched the new crates too. All of it.”

Rage burns through me. My docks. My men. I’ve built this whole damn empire on shadows, making sure nobody knows my face and nobody gets close. That’s how I stay alive, how I keep control. And now some bastard thinks he can poke holes in it? I lean back trying to force the fury down and let it simmer.

“Find out who. I want every last fucking name.”

Tommy nods and bolts. I’m already plotting my next move, mind racing. I’ll rip them apart—piece by piece, root and stem. Nobody threatens what’s mine and walks away breathing.

Hours later, I’m hunched over maps and burner phones when another of my men, Sal, slides in with his greasy hair slicked back and voice uneven.

“We got something, boss. It’s Ricci’s crew. The old man’s been quiet too long since you sided with the senator. Guess he’s itching now. Tommy and the others have been on his tail, but word is, his son’s running point.”

“Ricci?” I growl, cracking my knuckles. That slimy fuck’s been sniffing around my territory for years. “What else?”

Sal hesitates, then spits it out. “The son—Theodore—he’s been spotted with Penelope recently. They’ve been hanging out, actually. He’s been chatting her up at that café she likes to visit during her work break. Shows up almost every day under the guise of work and even brings flowers and everything.”

A slow, coiling heat twists inside me. Theodore Ricci. With her. I don’t know if it’s a joke which would mean they’ve clocked her as my weakness or if the kid’s just dumb enough to want her for real.

Either way, it’s too coincidental to be by chance. She’s been seen with me. They must know she’s working for me. Her family’s tied to mine. They probably made their findings and got information dating back to before Sophia’s death. They must believe she’ll be a crack in my armor, a way to pull me apart.

“You sure?” My voice is ice but underneath, it’s boiling.

“Yeah. I saw it myself. They looked pretty cozy.” Sal shrugs, oblivious to the storm he’s kicked up.

I shove past him and grab my keys. I’m out the door before I can think. Her place isn’t far—ten minutes away if I floor it. The whole drive, I tell myself it’s for her. To keep her safe. Ricci’s crew could hit her next and use her to draw me out. But that’sbullshit, and I know it. I want her under my thumb, where I can see her, feel her, even if it’s just through a screen.

Her house is dark when I get there, the same as always. That flimsy lock—God I have told her a thousand times to change it—gives way with two twists of my pick, and I am in. The space is thick with her scent, so soft and maddening and curling into my lungs like it is daring me to lose control. I move quickly and start planting cameras in the corners: living room, kitchen, hallway. Tiny black eyes to track her every breath and every step. I have memorized her routines: coffee at 7:12, barefoot pacing by 8, and getting ready for work before she leaves at 9, so these lenses are just an extension of me, showing me the visual of what I’ve already claimed.

I stop at her bedroom door. My hand hovers and my fingertips graze the wood. I do not go in. But the image hits me hard, of her sprawled out in her nightwear with the sheets tangled around her bare skin, completely oblivious to me standing here and watching.

I agree, it is sick, the way it makes my blood pound and the way I am straining against my jeans just thinking about it. But I do not care. She is in my head all the time anyway, her laugh, her lips, and the way she tucks her hair behind her ear like she knows I am staring. I have got a whole gallery of her in my mind, little snapshots I have stolen from shadows and glances, and it is still not enough.

It is the middle of the night, and here I am, a ghost in her house, wiring her life to mine. Some lunatic with no boundaries? Sure. But I stopped pretending this was anything else when I first saw her at the wedding and felt that jolt like she had reached out and grabbed me herself.

I need to see her, know her, have her. Everything in me screams to push that door open and slip inside, to let her wake up to my weight on the mattress and my breath on her neck. Shewould freeze and maybe scream, but then she would feel it, the pull I know she has got buried somewhere. I would not force her, not outright. I would just be there, so close she could not say no, so close she would wonder why she ever wanted to.

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