The silence in the estate was the kind that could drive a person mad elegant, oppressive, and tightly wound like the trigger of a loaded gun.
Valentina Moretti lay across her vast canopy bed, the cool silk sheets bunched around her thighs. Her skin still tingled from the ghost of Lupo's touch. The whisper of his breath on her lips. The way his rough fingers had grazed the edge of her waist, not by accident, but by calculated temptation.
She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her chest, as if that would still the wild thudding of her heart. It didn't.
There was something deeply carnal about him. Something wolfish raw, instinctual, barely restrained. And her body had responded to that hunger like it had been starved for years.
He'd saved her. Not because he was noble.
Because he was possessive.
And now, her pulse danced to the beat of that claim.
Below, deep in the security wing, Lupo was anything but calm. The surveillance feed cast a silver light across his brooding face. His eyes locked on the screen that displayed Valentina in her bedroom. She was sprawled across the bed, her robe slipping down one shoulder, her bare legs tangled in sheets.
He clenched his jaw, then his fists.
She was temptation wrapped in a silk bow. A walking defiance. A forbidden fruit. And he was the guard dog expected to protect her not want her.
Not want to ruin her.
But fuck, the things he wanted to do to her had nothing to do with protection.
If Matteo knew the things he imagined, he'd have Lupo's head on a silver platter. And still, Lupo wouldn't apologize for a single sinful thought.
Because Valentina wasn't innocent. Not anymore. Not after the way she'd looked at him. Not after the way she'd leaned into him.
She wanted to burn just as much as he did.
By morning, the air inside the Moretti villa buzzed with unsaid threats and planned performances. Valentina dressed for battle crimson silk that clung to her curves like a second skin, paired with a soft black shawl that slid off her shoulders with the laziest provocation.
A black diamond crucifix kissed the hollow of her throat. Not a symbol of faith no. A warning: I don't kneel for anyone but God. And even that's negotiable.
Matteo greeted her in the dining room with his perfect smile and cruel, calculating gaze.
"You look like a rose in bloom," he purred, kissing her cheeks.
"Be careful, Matteo," she whispered sweetly. "Roses bleed."
She took her seat across from Lupo, ignoring the head of the table Matteo had gestured toward. Power games were daily bread in the Moretti family.
Under the table, her leg brushed against Lupo's once. Then again.
He didn't move. He didn't blink.
He burned.
His fingers tightened around the handle of his coffee cup. If Matteo noticed the fire roaring beneath the surface, he didn't say a word.
But the entire room vibrated with tension.
Later, Valentina made her way to the stables, drawn there not by the horses, but by the scent of danger. Sure enough, Lupo was there bare-chested, sweat-slicked, feeding one of the black stallions. His tattoos peeked out from under his waistband. His muscles bunched with every slow movement.
He didn't look up when she entered.
"You always seem to be exactly where I need you," she said, voice like warm honey.
He threw a look over his shoulder, his eyes dragging over her like heat.
"And you always seem to be testing how close you can dance to the edge without falling."
Valentina stepped closer, her heels clicking against the hay covered floor.
"What if I want to fall?" she asked, gaze locked on his mouth.
Lupo dropped the bucket and turned, eyes flashing.
"You don't want what I am," he growled.
"I want exactly what you are," she said, stepping into his space. "Because you're the only real thing in this entire palace of lies."
He gripped her wrist suddenly, gently but firmly, backing her up against the stable wall. The cool wood pressed into her back. His body hovered hot, hard, dangerous.
"You have no idea what you're inviting, Valentina," he rasped, voice gravel and sex. "If I touch you again I won't stop."
"Then don't," she whispered, lips parted.
He leaned in, his breath on her mouth. "You'll regret it."
"I'd rather regret you than live untouched."
And for one blistering second, his mouth hovered over hers. One move, one second, and everything would fall apart.
But he didn't kiss her.
Not yet.
He stepped back, leaving her breathless, wild-eyed, and aching.
"We play by my rules now," he said, his voice thick. "And rule one? No one finds out what we're doing."
She laughed, dark and low. "What are we doing, Lupo?"
He looked at her like a man already marked.
"Starting a war."