I stared at him, frozen, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out the world.
Leandro Moretti.
I pinched the inside of my arm, hard enough to make myself flinch. But I didn’t wake up. I wasn’t dreaming.
"Leandro Moretti," he repeated smoothly, like he enjoyed watching my world collapse. The world tilted and my stomach churned. I can’t believe this.
I had slept with the enemy’s son. I had given him something no one else had touched.
Before I could process it, he crossed the kitchen in two strides. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him, and gave me a light, mocking peck on the lips. Fury exploded through my veins. I shoved him hard, glaring with everything I had.
“Don’t touch me,” I hissed. He smirked lazily, like he found me amusing instead of dangerous. I turned away, struggling to jam myself back into my ruined wedding dress. The zipper wouldn’t budge. My fingers trembled.
I heard the click of a knife flicking open and I spun. Leandro stood there, blade between two fingers, casual as anything.
"Don't," I warned.
He only grinned wider—and with a sharp, effortless motion, sliced the dress apart. The silk fell away, ruined beyond saving. I gasped, clutching the fabric to my chest. "You asshole."
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “That dress wasn’t doing you any favors.”
"You should have told me who you were!" I snapped. Leandro tilted his head, watching me like a cat might watch a mouse trying to pretend it was dangerous.
"Would it have changed what you wanted last night?" he asked, voice low and mocking. Heat climbed my cheeks and I looked away not wanting to admit it.
"You needed an escape," he said. "I was convenient."
"You.. you’re.. AH!," I spat, but my voice was thinner than I wanted. He chuckled — rough, rich. Like he knew every ugly truth inside me. Leandro crossed his arms lazily, crowding my space again, his voice low and lazy but sharp enough to cut.
"Must’ve been bad," he said. "For you to bolt like that."
I glared at him. He tilted his head, studying me the way a wolf might study a wounded deer.
"Let me guess," he said smoothly. "Daddy's golden boy? The perfect heir everyone pretends not to know cheats on his fiancée every chance he gets?" I stiffened so hard I almost stumbled. He caught it instantly. He laughed under his breath, a low dark sound.
"Smart girl," he said, voice almost admiring. "You'd have ended up another pretty punching bag wearing diamonds." His words sliced right through me — because they were true. I stayed silent, hugging the ruined dress tighter to my chest.
Leandro smirked wider. "No arguments? No screaming how much he loves you?"
I said nothing.
He shook his head slowly, that lazy, dangerous smile never fading. "I guess even spoiled little mafia princesses know when they're about to be fed to wolves."
I hated him. I hated how he could read me. I hated that he was right, but more than anything, I hated the sharp, vicious part of me that liked how he looked at me — not like a pawn or a prize, but like a wild thing that chose to survive.
"I’m not gonna out you," he said after a long moment. "Your secret’s safe, princess."
I didn’t trust him — but for some stupid reason, part of me wanted to.
Maybe because standing this close to him, I could smell him — soap and leather and danger. Maybe because when he looked at me, it wasn’t with pity. It was hunger. Amusement. Interest.
Anything but pity.
He pulled another hoodie off the back of the couch and shoved it into my hands.
"Put that on," he said. "You’re not walking out of here half-naked." I hesitated, hating that I always have to listen to him. .
He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you want to give the neighborhood a show." Scowling, I yanked the hoodie over my head. It smelled like him — warm and sinful.
He already had his phone out, texting. "You’re calling someone?" I asked sharply and suspiciously.
"My chauffeur," he said. "You’re not staying here."
I bristled. "I’m not getting into your car."
"You are," he said simply. "Or I’m going to carry you." I hated how real the threat sounded. I hated even more the tiny, traitorous part of me that didn't entirely mind. He gave me no time to argue. In a flash, he lifted me — effortlessly — into his arms again.
“Put me down!” I snarled, pounding against his chest.
He only laughed, a low sound rumbling in his throat. "You’re a hell of a lot more fun than most girls I meet," he said.
"I’m not your entertainment," I snapped.
"Could’ve fooled me," he murmured, brushing his mouth near my ear as he carried me outside. I stiffened, biting my tongue to keep from reacting. His car was waiting at the curb — sleek, black, gleaming under the early morning haze. He opened the door and dumped me inside like a sack of potatoes.
“Be good, runaway princess,” he said with a wicked smirk, then slammed the door shut. I sat there, fuming, hugging his hoodie tighter around me.
The chauffeur didn’t say a word as the car pulled away from the curb, the city blurring past. Five blocks from home, I barked at him to stop. The car slid to a halt, and I jumped out before he could even open the door properly. I walked the rest of the way, barefoot and furious, each step fueling my anger.
I was almost to the front gate when I saw him.
Elio.
Waiting for me with rms crossed, eyes dark and jaw tight.
I didn’t slow.
"Where the fuck have you been?" he snapped, stalking toward me. I stared at him, unimpressed. He grabbed my wrist roughly.
I yanked free — and without thinking, I slapped him.
Hard.
The crack echoed in the quiet street. Elio staggered, shocked. I stood there, breathing hard, hand stinging. And for the first time, I didn’t feel scared.
I felt free and alive.