Lyla Rose

________

I blink, my throat tight. "How... do you know what I like?" I repeat, my voice quiet, almost questioning. "You're my ex-husband's uncle. You shouldn't know about me... And what should I call you now?" I shrug my tiny shoulders.

His expression hardens, and his hand drops from my face. His jaw clenches as he takes a moment to process my words. "Call me Carter," he says firmly, his voice laced with a quiet intensity. "And don't fucking remind me that you were married to that piece of shit." His eyes narrow, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "I want to kill him every time I think about it."

I fall silent at his words, unsure what to say. The quiet that falls between us feels heavy, but his words... they almost make me feel like someone sees me, like someone feels the same fury I do. Still, the weight of everything, the betrayal, my loneliness sits in my chest like a stone.

"Vincent never deserved you," he says bluntly, his voice low and dangerous. He presses a soft kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. "You know that, right?"

I stay silent, unsure how to respond. My heart is still raw and his words, though comforting, feel distant. The pain of what I lost is too overwhelming. I don't have anything left to say, not when I'm still hurting this much.

__________

Carter Ricci

__________

I respect her silence and do not push for a response. Her quietness speaks volumes, and I'm not one to disturb that. Instead, I pick up her empty plate and set it aside, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders, wrapping her in a softness she hasn't known in far too long.

Then, I notice it, the ring still on her finger. Vincent's ring.

"You're still wearing his ring," I say quietly, trying not to sound accusatory.

She doesn't respond, her fingers tense as I gently slide it off her hand. Without hesitation, I throw it onto the floor.

The sound of the diamond wedding band hitting the floor is sharp, final. A satisfying clatter. I stare at it for a moment, my jaw clenching as I look at the symbol of betrayal. I bring my foot down hard, crushing it under the heel of my expensive dress shoe.

"Good fucking riddance," I mutter under my breath, my gaze flicking back to her finger, the skin raw from where that damn thing had bound it.

She stays silent. I can see it in her eyes; she finds me strange, but there's something in her that holds her back from saying anything.

After a long moment, she shifts uncomfortably, breaking the silence. "Uhh... Can I have a shower?" Her voice is awkward and uncertain.

I pause, my gaze snapping up to meet hers. "Shower?" I repeat, my tone controlled, the weight of the moment heavier than it should be.

I stand, moving toward the en-suite bathroom without waiting for a response, my steps deliberate. "You can have whatever you want, tesoro," I call over my shoulder, turning the water on, letting the steam fill the room.

_________

Lyla Rose

________

"What should I wear?" I ask, rising slowly, my body still weighed down. I walk toward the walk-in closet and pull the door open. My eyes widen as I look in the closet; lingerie, dresses, shorts, gowns, every piece in my size, stacked and hanging, filling the space. I frown, unsure what to make of it. These can't be for me, can they?

Carter's always been single. Vincent used to joke about his "virgin uncle" Carter. So whose clothes are these?

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat when I hear his footsteps behind me.

He leans against the doorframe, watching my confusion with amusement.

"Those are all for you," he says, circling his arms over his chest. "I might be single, but I'm not a fucking idiot. I knew you'd need clothes eventually."

My eyes widen and I turn slowly to face him. "You... bought it?" I ask in disbelief.

He laughs lightly, walking into the closet with me. His presence is commanding as he looks around, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"I bought it for you. It was delivered this morning. And I have excellent taste in women's clothing. You'll find everything you need in here, lingerie, dresses, jeans, swimwear..." His voice trails off as he stops in front of a rack of expensive lingerie sets.

I feel my face flush slightly, my mind racing. How does he know my size? Why would he even care?

He smirks at my blush, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he reaches out to touch a delicate sapphire blue lingerie set. The lace is soft and inviting, and I can't help but feel embarrassed.

"I have my ways," he says cryptically, his voice low and teasing. He looks back at me, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You can wear whatever you want, tesoro."

I swallow hard, suddenly self-conscious about choosing lingerie in front of him.

He notices my discomfort and chuckles darkly, stepping closer until he's towering over me, his presence overpowering.

"You're embarrassed to pick out underwear in front of me?" His voice drops to a low murmur. "Yet you just spent the last hour sitting on my cock."

I freeze, my heart racing as I process his words. The blush on my face deepens, and I feel the weight of his gaze on me, making my skin burn with heat. He's right. He made me sit on his lap earlier, and I was too weak to protest.

Before I can respond, he grabs a simple black silk set with delicate lace trim and hands it to me.

"Here. This one."

I can't help but almost snatch the lingerie from his hand. I hide it behind my back, trying to shield myself from his gaze.

He watches me hide the lingerie, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Go shower before I decide to join you and wash your back myself." His tone is teasing, but the underlying seriousness in his voice makes me blush even deeper. "And don't lock the bathroom door."

I stand there for a moment, unsure what to say. I just want to be alone, to clear my head. "Uh... a dress?" I ask softly, reaching for a tiny white spaghetti-strap dress hanging on a nearby rack.

He steps closer, his eyes fixed on me. "You can wear that," he growls. "It's fucking tiny."

The comment makes me feel self-conscious. I grab the dress and spin away, hurrying to the en-suite bathroom.

Inside, the warm water from the shower soothes my skin but does nothing for the ache in my chest. I close my eyes, trying to shut everything else out, but my thoughts are consumed by Vincent, how easily he discarded me, as if our six-month marriage meant nothing.

The pain is suffocating. How quickly he moved on, how easily he found someone new. How easily a woman can be thrown away just for being infertile. I can't stop the tears from falling, even as I try to push the thoughts away. The weight of it all; his betrayal, his lies, presses down on me, threatening to crush me completely.

Carter Ricci

_________

I sit on the bed, my massive bulge tightening in my boxers. I'm so close to finally claiming her, to making her mine in ways she can't even understand yet. But fuck, I don't want to hurt her. She's fragile and I know that.

She steps back into the room, and my smirk falters momentarily as I take in her appearance. The white dress hugs her petite, fair frame perfectly, highlighting every curve and leaving very little to the imagination. My breath catches, and I quickly compose myself, leaning against the bed, trying to keep my thoughts focused.

"Come here."

She walks toward me with the towel in her hand.

I reach out and take the towel from her, my fingers brushing against hers as I gently remove it. I fold it neatly, tossing it onto a nearby chair without looking at it. My eyes are still on her. "Turn around."

She does, her back facing me, and I step closer, letting my hands rest on her waist. The soft fabric of the dress contrasts against her smooth skin and I notice the low dip of the dress at her back, exposing the delicate lace of the black lingerie she's wearing underneath.

"Fucking perfect," I murmur under my breath. My thumbs trace the bare skin of her lower back as I lean in closer. "Now, sit on the bed."

I watch her, a little taken aback by the way she moves, almost hesitant. She sits on the bed and I grab another towel and dry her hair. There's something about this moment that feels different, something that makes me want to take my time, to care for her in ways I've never done for anyone else.

"You're quiet," I comment, my hands gently working through her damp hair. She's tense, but I can tell she's not fighting me. I continue drying her hair slowly, feeling the softness of her strands slip through my fingers. I want her to relax, to trust me, even if she doesn't fully understand why I'm doing this.

I finish drying her hair, my fingers lingering in the strands one last time. A sharp knock at the door interrupts me. My men stand there, serious and alert. One of them clears his throat. "Boss, the meeting starts in ten minutes."

"Sarò lì tra cinque minuti," I reply sharply, my tone leaving no room for argument. (I'll be there in five minutes.) Once they leave, I turn back to her, dropping the towel on the bed, stepping back. "Stay here. Don't leave this room."

She looks at me, almost like she's not sure if she should be locked away or free. "Can't I explore the penthouse? I need something to get my mind off everything," she asks, her voice quiet, tentative.

I pause for a moment, considering. I know she's probably going stir-crazy being cooped up in this room. But there's a limit to what I can allow. "Fine," I say finally, with a little more leniency than I wanted to show. "But stick to the public areas only. Kitchen, living room, dining room. And don't open any locked doors."

She frowns slightly but nods, and I see the curiosity in her eyes. I know she doesn't understand why I'm restricting her, but there's no way I can explain it. Not yet.

I step closer to her, tilting her chin up with my finger, my eyes locking with hers. "I mean it, tesoro." My voice lowers, turning serious. "Some things are none of your business. Understand?"

Her eyes flicker with a mix of confusion and reluctance, but she nods.

I release her chin and put on my black suit, adjusting my jacket as I straighten it out. "I have to go," I say, my voice softening just a little. "Stay out of trouble."

As I walk toward the door, my mind drifts to the one thing I've been hiding, the parts of me she can never know. The man I truly am, the dark secrets buried deep. Too much is at stake now, too much she could never understand. I can't let her in. Not fully.

My little Rose, still so naive. She doesn't know how dangerous this world can be. Daddy keeps dirty little secrets, and he doesn't want his little princess finding out.

I chuckle darkly, stepping out of the room and heading toward the waiting limo.

My men stand at attention, Nikolai and the others, all greet me with respectful bows.

"Sire," they say in unison, their eyes lowered as I walk past them, my presence dominating the air like a storm about to break.

I climb into the backseat of the limo, the small bar within arm's reach. I pour myself a drink, savoring the taste of whiskey as the car starts moving, the driver taking me to the Ricci firm. My thoughts wander to Rose, as they always do. I need to keep it together. But god, I can't stop thinking about her. She's got me fucked in the head.

The limo pulls up outside the firm and I step out, walking through the entrance. My staff bows in respect as I pass, their gazes fixed on the floor. I couldn't care less about their attention. The only set of eyes I want on me is hers.

I stop in my tracks, the faint shuffle of heels behind me catching my attention. Cordelia, my business partner's wife, steps forward, her voice sultry as she greets me.

"Mr Ricci," she purrs, tilting her head, "how are you today?"

I nod, barely acknowledging her, my eyes fixed ahead.

"I was wondering about the deal with my husband," she continues, her tone playful but probing.

I glance at her briefly, my voice low and sharp. "Confidential."

She smiles, not backing down. "Surely, you can give me something? Just a hint?"

I give her a small, almost imperceptible shrug, letting the tension hang in the air. Without another word, I turn and stride past her, my coat brushing her arm as I make my way to the elevators.

The doors slide open and I step inside. I press the button for the hundredth floor. My mind shifts back to business, but Rose lingers at the edge of every thought, pulling at me like a silent storm.

Carter Ricci

_____

I stride into the meeting room with the calm precision of someone who owns the world. The Russian capo stands the moment I walk in, nodding sharply in respect, his crew following suit. I take the head of the table without a word, the authority I exude making it clear that I don't need to say anything to command their obedience. They all sit after me, not a sound in the room except for the soft rustle of suits. I wave for them to begin speaking.

The talk turns quickly to business, shipments, weapons, drugs, and the control of territory in Sicily. They want more. They want to control everything, spread their influence into my city. Greedy fucks.

"No," I say, my voice like ice, cutting through the room with ease. "Sicily is mine. No territory will be sold or shared with the Russians. Not now, not ever. You think you can move in here and take what's mine, like some street-level punks?" I lean forward, the cold fury in my eyes making their leader falter. "I run this city. And no one fucks with that. Not you, not anyone."

The leader speaks up, his Russian accent thick, his tone defensive, like he's trying to backpedal now that he sees where this is going. "We could make a deal, Ricci," he says, his voice unsteady. "You don't need all of Sicily. We can share the territory. We..."

I don't let him finish. I stand up in one smooth motion, pull out my gun, and in a flash, I fire, the bullet slamming into the Russian leader's forehead. His body crumples to the floor with a sickening thud, blood splattering across the table like a painter's mistake. The room falls silent, every fucking man there frozen in shock. I stand still, watching as the blood pools beneath the leader's body, making sure they know who's in charge here.

The other men take a step back, eyes wide, fear replacing their cocky grins. Their bravado is gone now, replaced by a quiet understanding that I'm not fucking around.

I lower the gun, my gaze never leaving them. "Sicily is mine," I repeat, my voice steady but cold, as if there's no question. "There's no negotiation here. This is my empire, and you don't get to play in my yard."

The tension is thick in the room. They hesitate, but they all know the same thing: they're out of options. It's not a question of if they'll bow to me, it's when. And it's now.

I nod to Nikolai, who immediately moves to the side and places the signed contracts in front of them. The Russians know better than to argue. They scribble their names on the papers without another word, eager to get the fuck out of there and away from me.

I watch them, smirking as they rush to leave, heads bowed, desperate to escape my wrath. I let them go, knowing full well they'll think twice before trying anything in my city again. The minute they step out, I return to my seat, the weight of my power settling comfortably over me.

I take a long sip of whiskey, watching the last man scurry out the door. The room is still, the air thick with the residue of power. I lean back in my chair, my gaze drifting over to the high window. I wonder if Rose is thinking about me right now. I can almost feel her presence lingering in the back of my mind, her scent, the way she looks at me with that quiet vulnerability.

I shake my head, clearing the thought. But it doesn't stop the gnawing feeling in my chest. I know one thing for sure: I'm keeping her, and no one's going to take her from me.

As I stare out over the city, I can't help but smirk again.

Sicily is mine, and so is she.

I turn away from the window, the weight of the meeting still lingering in my bones, and click on the monitor. The familiar security footage from the penthouse fills the screen, each angle perfectly visible. My eyes land on her immediately.

Rose.

She's exploring the living room downstairs, her small frame moving delicately through the space. Her curiosity is palpable, and I watch her carefully, intrigued by the way she runs her fingers over the furniture, the soft movements of her steps. The city lights outside reflect off the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting her in a glow that makes everything else fade into the background.

I watch as she approaches a heavy wooden door, her hand reaching out hesitantly. My finger twitches on the mouse, instinctively knowing she's about to touch something she shouldn't. I lean forward slightly, watching as her fingers trace the ornate handle. My gaze sharpens as she pauses, likely contemplating whether or not to defy the rules I set for her.

She pulls her hand back after a second, her expression unreadable, but I can see the curiosity burning behind her eyes. She wonders what's behind that door. What I'm keeping from her. She doesn't know that some things, some parts of me, are better left hidden.

She steps away, seemingly following my command to stay in the public areas of the penthouse. But I see the struggle in her, the way she can't help but wonder. She moves toward the library now, her fingers grazing the spines of the books. I smirk, knowing she's trying to distract herself, but also understanding the pull of the unknown that's consuming her.

Her fingers linger on a few leather-bound books. She's never been this close to them before, probably curious about the collection I keep there. She's tracing them, her eyes scanning the titles, probably wondering what's inside those books. It's all a game to her, isn't it? A game of finding the secrets I've tucked away.

I watch closely, leaning back in the chair, letting my thoughts drift for a moment. But then she steps closer to the locked door again. I see her hesitate, a flash of temptation in her eyes as she reaches out for the handle once more.

Don't touch it, Rose.

But she does anyway. Her fingers make contact with the cold brass again, the same look of rebellion flickering across her face. She's not going to listen, I can already tell. That curiosity is far too strong for her to ignore.

She wants to know what I'm hiding.

I sit back in my chair, a dark chuckle escaping me. It's almost adorable, the way she tries to fight the rules I set for her, even as she follows them. She's drawn to the danger, to the forbidden, just like I knew she would be.

But she won't find what she's looking for, not yet.

I watch as she pulls her hand back again, her face soft with frustration as she decides to leave the door behind. I shake my head, almost disappointed, but then again, I can't let her unravel too much, not all at once.

Not yet, Rose. Not yet.

She moves back toward the rest of the space, seemingly unaware that I'm still watching, her every move being absorbed by the lens. I make a mental note. Tonight, I'll take her somewhere else, somewhere that will keep her from thinking about the things she shouldn't. I need to keep her close, keep her curiosity tethered to me.

Because the more she seeks answers, the more she's bound to find herself drawn deeper into my world.