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Luciano's POV*
I drove through the quiet city streets, my fingers still stained with blood, my mind… a storm.
I didn't go back to the mansion. No, not tonight.
I took him to my penthouse.
A place no one knows about. Not even my father. Not Lucy. Not TK. It's mine. My escape. My shadows.
He was so light in my arms — like something fragile… breakable. I looked down at him while I carried him inside.
*"Does he even eat?"* I muttered to myself.
I reached the bedroom and laid him down gently on the black silk sheets. His lashes fluttered, but he didn't wake.
He looked too peaceful.
Too perfect.
The way his lips parted slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability, stirred something deep within me. I was tempted, oh so tempted, to lean in and press my lips against his, to explore the softness that beckoned me like a siren's call. The thought of kissing him until his lips were bruised sent a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire I hadn't realized was smoldering beneath the surface.
*Bruised lips would look good on him.*
I pulled back.
Not tonight, Luciano.
As I turned, something slipped from his pocket and hit the floor with a soft *clack*.
His phone.
I bent down, picked it up… and checked it. Out of instinct. Out of curiosity. Maybe even jealousy.
No missed calls. No messages.
Just one saved contact: *Mrs. Flora*.
*That's it?* No friends? No family? No lover?
A sick feeling curled in my gut. Anger. Not at him — at the world that let someone like him feel this alone.
Then I remembered.
TK's file.
I pulled out my phone, scanned my mail, and opened the document TK sent.
*Subject: Eliot Moore. Age: 18. Orphan. No criminal record. No known relatives. Employed at Flora's Flowers for 3 months. Lives alone. Medical records indicate mild anemia and a history of anxiety.*
I paused.
*He's delicate…*
And the world had no leash on him.
That made him mine.
I stood at the foot of the bed, staring at his sleeping body. My chest was tight — unfamiliar. Dangerous.
I wanted to touch him.
Mark him.
Own him.
But I didn't.
Instead, I pulled my shirt off, tossed it aside, and stepped into the shower. The water washed away the blood, but not the heat.
*That boy is going to be the end of me.*
And I couldn't wait.
---
After my shower, I settled into the dimly lit living room, laptop open, trying to focus on reports I should've finished days ago. But my mind wasn't cooperating.
Not when he was sleeping in the next room.
Eventually, sleep dragged me under, right there on the couch.
***
The soft warmth of morning light slipped through the floor- to ceiling window I blinked awake, disoriented for a moment.
I heard my phone buzzing on the table. I quickly check it.
*12 missed calls.*
From *Mom*, *Dad*, *Lucy*, and even *TK*.
I sighed, already knowing why—they were calling to know where I was.
I didn't return last night, and I didn't tell anyone where I was going.
I unlocked the phone and scanned through the messages.
Lucy's texts were all over the place:
*"Where the hell are you?"*
*"You didn't come home. Are you okay?"*
… until I remembered *him*.
I picked up my phone… and his.
Then I walked to the bedroom.
There he was — sitting up on the bed, small hands tugging at the sheets, eyes scanning the room frantically.
He was searching.
*For his phone.*
I leaned against the doorframe, watching him.
"Looking for this?" I asked, holding up the device.
His head snapped toward me — eyes wide, terrified.
"P-Please don't kill me… I didn't do anything," he stammered, voice shaking.
And damn — that *hurt*. Not the words. The fact that he *meant* them.
I swallowed the sting and forced my voice calm. "I wasn't trying to kill you."
But before I could say more, he snapped — his fear exploding into fire. "Helping me?! You stabbed a man to death — that's not help, that's murder!"
I felt it rise in me. That dark thing. That possessiveness.
My jaw tightened. "If I had the power to bring that man back just to kill him again… I would. Over and over again," I said slowly, dangerously. "Because he laid a finger on what's mine."
He froze. His chest rising and falling rapidly.
I stepped forward, slow, caging him between my arms, pressing him to the cold wall.
He looked up at me, defiant and vulnerable, all at once.
And then… our eyes locked.
His lips parted just slightly. Pink. Soft. Trembling.
*God, forgive me.*
He didn't move, didn't breathe. Just stared—eyes wide, unsure.
"You like what you see?" I asked, voice husky, my breath brushing his cheek.
He shook his head — but his eyes said otherwise.
I didn't wait.
I closed the gap.
He froze.
He didn't kiss me back—his lips soft, still, like he had no idea what to do.
And God… that made me want him even more.
He gasped into the kiss, and I didn't waste the opportunity. My tongue swept in, tasting him, claiming him.
He gripped the front of my shirt with shaky hands, unsure, overwhelmed.
I bit his lower lip — and he moaned.
*God, that sound.*
It shot straight down my cock, pooling heat where I could no longer ignore it. I kissed down his jaw, to his neck, breathing him in.
He was trembling,
He pushed against me, a mix of confusion and desire swirling in his eyes. I kissed down his neck, savoring the taste of his skin, the warmth radiating from his body. It was a tantalizing moment, one where I felt we were on the brink of something explosive.
He was intoxicating.
And I was drowning.
Then I walked out, needing space, needing to breathe to go control myself, … and I wasn't ready to ruin it.
Yet.
I returned to the room after draining a glass of red wine, letting the bitterness calm my thoughts. The moment I stepped inside, I saw him—Eliot—sitting at the edge of the bed like an obedient little lamb, eyes lowered, fingers twisting in his lap.
Good.
I checked the time. 7:20 a.m.
He had work. He needed to move.
"Go and bathe," I said calmly.
"I… I just want to go home," he replied, voice quiet but stubborn.
My eyes narrowed.
"I said—go and bathe." This time my voice came out sharp, controlled, with a tone that brokered no argument.
He stood up instantly. No more words. Just silent obedience. I liked that.
I moved to the walk-in closet and scanned the racks. Most of my clothes would drown him, but I knew I had a black shirt and some sweatpants from a smaller brand drop. Slim fit. They'd do.
I use the opportunity and call TK to let him know am fine.
"I'll be back at the territory in an hour. Have everything ready," I said in a cold, clipped tone.
"Yes, sir."
I hung up without another word, slipping the phone back into my pocket as I exhaled deeply
I laid them neatly on the bed just as the intercom buzzed. The food I'd ordered for him had arrived.
Perfect timing.
By the time I returned to the living room with the tray in hand, Eliot was walking down the stairs, fresh from the shower. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and the clothes hugged his figure just right. He looked soft. Touchable.
I placed the tray on the table and sat back, watching him.
"Eat," I said simply.
He hesitated but obeyed. Like he was starting to understand that resistance was pointless.
And yet, I could see the questions still swirling in his eyes.
Good.
Let him wonder.
Let him feel the weight of my presence.
Let him *know*—he was already mine.
—