Lorenzo (hoarse voice)
— What the hell are you talking about, man? What do you mean I let my girl go out alone?
Fabio (surprised, with a small nervous laugh)
— Uh… we just saw her go out, you know. She was insanely hot. Honestly, bro, you've got a bomb at home.
Lorenzo's eyes widened slightly. His face tightened. Surprise quickly gave way to a cold anger that was already beginning to boil inside him. As far as he knew, Chloé was still in her bedroom. He had absolutely no idea she had dared to go out—especially without informing him. Just the day before, he had warned her.
Lorenzo (inner voice, jaw clenched)
She dared to go out without telling me. That girl really wants me to be hard on her. Fine. I'll grant her wish.
Marco, who had been observing his friend with a mocking smile, leaned back more comfortably, as if pouring oil on the fire.
Marco (smirk, provocative tone)
— So, how's your love life going? Already tasted the forbidden fruit, or are you still playing the tough guy with the little one?
At those words, the atmosphere shifted brutally. Lorenzo's gaze turned dark and sharp. His body straightened, imposing, as if he could crush Marco with the sheer intensity of his eyes. His face hardened, and even the silence around them seemed heavier.
Lorenzo (imposing voice, dark stare)
— For you, her name is Chloé. Not "the little one." Get that through your heads, both of you. My girl—no one calls her that except me. Is that clear?
Fabio let out a small, awkward laugh, raising his hands to calm things down, though his tone stayed playful.
Fabio (half-smile, teasing but cautious)
— Damn, that's intense, man. I thought it was a surprise marriage and that you weren't really into her. But okay, message received. Anyway, I know your temper—I'll avoid calling her "little." I don't feel like dying young.
A bitter smirk crossed Lorenzo's lips, but his tone remained icy.
Lorenzo (deep, authoritative voice)
— Yeah, that's better for you. And you—nosy bastard. You get what I just said?
Lorenzo locked eyes with Marco again. His stare was heavy, imposing, almost suffocating. Marco, far from intimidated, remained seated calmly, his provocative smile still on his lips. Amused by his friend's reaction, he simply nodded in agreement, as if all the tension entertained him more than anything.
Marco (smirk, slightly mocking)
— Chill, man, I got it. Relax… she's your girl and—
Lorenzo (imposing, harsh voice, narrowed eyes)
— Not my girl… my wife. She is my WIFE.
Marco and Fabio (smiling at the same time, almost in unison)
— Okay, okay, okay.
Lorenzo (a bit calmer, but still firm)
— Good. Anyway, the delivery is tomorrow at 4 a.m. at the usual spot. Get ready and inform our guys. I've already spoken with the client, so no stress. He knows exactly who he's dealing with—and more importantly, that I'm the one who sets the rules here.
Marco (sighing, arms crossed)
— Honestly, man, we could've wrapped this up yesterday. I don't get why you canceled at the last minute.
Fabio (curious, frowning)
— Yeah, bro, why'd you ask us to stop the plan?
Lorenzo (calm but sharp, his features hardening)
— Can you guys get off my back? I'm not obligated to hand you my private diary. I said tomorrow at 4 a.m., end of discussion. Now get out of my house.
Fabio (calmly, nodding)
— Okay, boss… as always, we follow your orders.
Marco (smirk, provocative)
— Yeah, like we really have a choice anyway.
A heavy silence settled in the room. The air was thick with tension. Lorenzo jumped to his feet, his muscles tight. He tried to contain his rage, but his dark eyes betrayed all the anger burning inside him because of Chloé.
Lorenzo (imposing, cutting voice)
— Guys… find me a cleaning lady. But not a woman in her thirties. I want a grandma—fifty, maybe sixty years old.
Marco and Fabio's eyes widened. They hadn't expected that request.
Marco (smirk, provocative)
— Wait, what? You want a grandmother as a maid? What about Lila—the hot forty-year-old you used to screw? She's not enough anymore? You decided to try grandma pussy now?
Lorenzo's face flushed red. His fists clenched, veins bulging. Fabio burst out laughing, which only made things worse.
Lorenzo (furious, growling voice)
— You're my friend, otherwise I'd slap the shit out of you for that. Who do you think I am? You think I'm so desperate I'd sleep with an old woman? Bro, don't piss me off, okay? I fired Lila, and I don't want my girl getting jealous if I hire someone too sexy.
Marco (provocative, raising an eyebrow)
— Jealous? Wait… I thought your marriage was just for show. So why would she be jealous? Don't tell me she already loves you, man. With your shitty temper, your outbursts, and your need to dominate—I don't buy it.
Fabio (sighing, a slight smile on his lips)
— Man, you talk too much. After all, Lorenzo's well-built, solid as a wall. What girl could resist him? I'm sure she'll end up loving him, even if—
Lorenzo (firm, proud, imposing, straightening his shoulders)
— Correction. By "will end up loving me." My little one already loves me. So calm down. Our marriage might be a mess, but my girl has already fallen for my charm.
Marco (bursting out laughing)
— Damn, that's wild! You're proud of yourself, huh? Well played.
Fabio (smiling, teasing gaze)
— And you? Don't forget you're a bad boy, bro. Or… are you already in love?
Lorenzo (firmly, frowning)
— Me, in love? Are you crazy? Do I look like a guy in love? No, bro. I possess—that's it. I don't fall in love. That girl is mine, period. But that doesn't mean I love her.
Marco (provocative, tilting his head slightly)
— Yeah… and if another guy—
Lorenzo (cutting him off, icy voice)
— I kill him. If any guy dares to touch my girl—even a single strand of her hair—I'll take him down.
A brutal silence fell over the room. Lorenzo's words weren't empty threats. The determination in his dark gaze and the tone of his voice made it clear: this was real.
Fabio (a bit tense)
— Damn, man, calm down. No one's touching your girl. Relax your face—you look scary as hell.
Marco (smirk, mocking)
— So you don't love her, but she's yours. Hm… you sure you'll never fall in love with this… uh… Chloé?
Lorenzo remained silent. His black eyes fixed on his two friends with cold irritation. Then, without answering, he turned on his heels and headed toward the stairs. At the first step, he stopped, slowly turned back, hands in his pockets, and stared at them one last time.
Lorenzo (imposing, authoritative voice)
— I'm not going out tonight. So clear my house and be ready for tomorrow.
With those words, he turned around and went upstairs with heavy steps. His silhouette soon disappeared down the hallway, leaving behind a heavy silence. Marco and Fabio exchanged a look, a small smile on their lips—amused, almost fascinated, by their friend's unpredictable and intense behavior.
A few hours later — Night.
The night was already far gone, and Chloé still hadn't come back. The oppressive silence of the house made everything worse. Lorenzo, sitting on the living room couch, clenched a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. His dark, fixed gaze stared into nothingness while a deep anger simmered inside him, ready to explode. His clenched jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. Dressed only in black sweatpants, he had that raw, threatening aura that revealed all the rage he was holding back.
He had called Chloé several times—no answer. The phone rang endlessly, feeding his impatience. Doubt creeping in, he had even called her father to see if she was there, but the man denied it. Worse, Lorenzo had gone all the way to her university: they told him classes had ended long ago and that Chloé had left well before he arrived. All of it only fueled the fire eating him alive.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
Fuck, I'm two seconds away from losing my mind. If that girl walks through that door right now, I swear I could kill her with my own hands. Honestly, it's better for her to stay wherever she is, because if I see her like this, I'll go on a rampage. Just yesterday, I clearly forbade her from leaving this house without my permission. I wasn't ambiguous—I laid down my rules. But as usual, madam wants to play stubborn. She dared to defy me and sneak out without even telling me. I held myself back in front of my guys, but now it's over—I'm boiling. I called her, she didn't answer. I called her dad, he knows nothing. I went to her campus—still nothing. She's messing with me, it's not possible… Is she trying to play with my nerves? Test me? Bad idea. With me, you don't play rebel. I already warned her. And believe me—she's going to regret pushing me.
While Lorenzo battled his thoughts, drinking his whiskey as if it could extinguish the fire burning inside him, outside, the rain was pouring down relentlessly. So hard that the city seemed drowned. Thunder rumbled in the distance, rain violently striking rooftops and streets. And she… Chloé had just entered the courtyard of the villa.
Unlike this morning, she no longer had her boyfriend outfit. No—she wore only a T-shirt that barely covered half her thighs. Barefoot, soaked, her white T-shirt had turned red, stained with blood. Her hands, her body—everything was smeared with blood. Her messy hair told the story of the violence she had just endured. Her eyes were drowned in tears, and the rain only intensified them.
With difficulty, she made her way to the door, trembling hands gripping the handle. She opened it and stepped inside, every movement betraying her exhaustion and pain. Instinctively, Lorenzo lifted his head at the sound of the door creaking.
Their eyes met. Lorenzo sprang from the couch, eyes wide, his heart missing a beat. His glass of whiskey slipped from his hand and shattered on the rug, the alcohol spilling like an echo of his panic.
Lorenzo (shocked)
— Chloé??? What the hell is this?
Without waiting for an answer, he rushed toward her, his long strides closing the distance in an instant. His hands instinctively cupped her cheeks, lifting her face as his eyes took in her condition.
Lorenzo (trembling voice, anger mixed with worry)
— What happened to you? Why… why are you like this? Who touched you? What's all this blood on your shirt? And why are you just in a T-shirt? Where are your clothes? Fuck, answer me!
Completely overwhelmed, Chloé collapsed into his arms as if they were the only refuge she had left. She buried her tear-soaked face against his chest, her trembling hands gripping his waist.
Lorenzo froze for a second, stunned. Then his muscles tightened instinctively as he wrapped her in a stronger embrace, protecting her. His powerful arms encircled her fragile body while his mind spiraled.
Lorenzo (inner voice)
I don't understand anything. Why is she like this? What the hell happened? Shit… how do I handle this without hurting her even more?
Despite his brute nature, his harsh attitude, and the anger that had consumed him for hours, at that moment he was completely lost. Her vulnerability in his arms awakened something deep within him—the fear of seeing her broken.
Lorenzo (softly)
— Can you tell me what happened? Why are you like this? Who hurt you?
Chloé stayed silent. She pressed herself even closer to him, wrapped in his muscular arms, her head resting against his chest. Her eyes were closed, tears still flowing, mixed with the rainwater dripping from her soaked hair, leaving trails on Lorenzo's body.
Lorenzo remained still for a moment, his heart pounding. He didn't know what to do. Should he insist, ask more questions to understand what had happened? Or simply protect her, calm her, and let her recover at her own pace?
After a moment of silence, he decided. Slowly, carefully, he lifted her by the waist as if she weighed nothing. Instinctively, Chloé wrapped her legs around his waist and her trembling arms around his neck. Her head rested on his shoulder, eyes closed, tears still falling silently, mingling with the rainwater dripping onto Lorenzo.
Lorenzo tightened his arms even more around her waist, pressing her against him, holding her as if his entire world depended on that single gesture. Without a word, he headed toward the stairs, each step slow and careful. He didn't want to break this fragile silence.
The anger that had consumed him for hours vanished as quickly as it had appeared. In its place came deep worry, a dull fear, and a burning curiosity about what had happened. But for now, he knew one thing: he had to be there for her—to be the gentle, protective husband, at least until she regained some strength.
Each step on the stairs was measured, every movement thoughtful, as if the slightest misstep could frighten her even more. And as Chloé completely surrendered to him, Lorenzo felt all his bad-boy pride crumble under the urgency to protect her.
To be continued…