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.

Lyla Rose

_______

I roam around the penthouse, restless and unsure of what to do with myself. The quiet hum of the place only makes my thoughts louder. I move from one room to the next, but most of the doors are locked. I can't help but wonder what's behind them, what secrets Carter keeps hidden. Curiosity gnaws at me, but there's something in the back of my mind telling me not to press further.

I approach one of the locked doors cautiously, fingers grazing the cold, ornate handle. But I pull my hand back, my heart beating faster. What if I find something I shouldn't? The feeling of unease intensifies. I can't shake the thought that there are things in this penthouse I'm not meant to know. It's as if the house itself is hiding something, something I'm not ready to face.

Shaking my head, I turn away from the door and wander further into the penthouse, trying to distract myself. My footsteps echo softly against the marble floors, but the silence only makes me feel more anxious. The walls seem to close in, and I begin to feel like I'm trapped in a place that doesn't quite belong to me.

Suddenly, I hear a loud howl coming from the forest outside. My body freezes, the sound slicing through the air like a warning. Another howl follows, louder this time, and I realize with a rush of cold dread that there are wolves in the forest nearby. My skin prickles, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability washes over me. I rush to the bedroom window, my hands shaking as I slam it shut, locking it with trembling fingers.

The howls echo again, the noise growing nearer, and I can't help but feel like something, or someone, is watching me. I pull the curtains tight, but the feeling doesn't go away. My heart races as I stand there in the silence, trying to calm my breath. What is it about this place that makes everything feel so wrong?

I sit down on the bed, my thoughts spinning, but it's at that moment that I hear footsteps outside the door.

Carter returns and announces loudly.

"You're my date tonight," he says firmly, adjusting his bow tie in front of the mirror. "It's expected that I bring a woman. You'll be on my arm all night. Smile, nod, look pretty. That's all you have to do."

I sit on the bed in silence, feeling a lump form in my throat. I don't want to be his date.

"I don't have time for your mood, tesoro," Carter growls, his tone sharp as he steps toward me. He grabs my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. "You want to leave this penthouse? Attend events? Have any semblance of freedom? Then you'll do exactly as I say. Tonight, you're mine. Understood?"

His thumb strokes my cheek gently, but there's a coldness in his voice that makes it impossible to ignore.

I can't hold back the question that's been gnawing at me. "How am I yours?" I ask, frowning deeply. "Last I remember, your nephew divorced me. I'm not your family. I'm not your girlfriend."

His jaw tightens for a moment, and I think he's about to snap, but instead, he laughs, a humorless, almost bitter sound. "Family or not, you're under my roof, eating my food, wearing my clothes. Tonight, you're my date. End of discussion." He releases my chin roughly, his voice taking on an edge. "Now get dressed before I dress you myself."

I want to protest more, but the words get caught in my throat. "I don't feel like going," I finally say, my voice quieter now. "What if Vincent will be there with his wife? I don't want to see that." My eyes drop to the bed, as if looking away will hide the hurt I'm feeling. I'm not sure if I'm ready to face him, especially not with Maria by his side.

"I don't care if you feel like going or not," Carter responds coldly, his voice firm as he moves toward the closet. "You're going. End of discussion." He pulls out a stunning black gown that will hug my curves perfectly, the kind of dress I would've never imagined wearing. "This is what you're wearing," he says with finality, tossing it onto the bed.

"I said I don't want to go," I repeat, my voice gaining strength, but I don't reach for the dress. My heart feels heavy, the weight of Vincent's betrayal pressing down on me. I don't want to play this game. I don't want to see him tonight.

Carter slams the closet door shut and turns back to me, his eyes flashing with anger. "Listen carefully, princess. I don't give a fuck what you want. You're going to this gala with me, and you're going to look fucking stunning while you do it."

The sharpness in his words stings, but I don't have the strength to fight him. Not anymore.

"Why?" I finally ask, the sadness in my voice unmistakable. "If Vincent's going to be there with Maria... I don't think I can handle it."

Carter's expression softens for just a second before it hardens again. He walks toward me, closing the space between us until he's standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. "So what if he's there with her?" he says, his voice low but firm. "You're his ex-wife now. You have no claim on him anymore. Not after everything he did." He grabs my face, his touch rough but not unkind. "But you are coming with me tonight, and you will enjoy it. Understand?"

I meet his eyes, my heart aching at his words, but I can't deny the truth in them. "It'll hurt me, seeing him with Maria," I admit quietly, looking up at him. My voice cracks slightly. "It's hard to see him move on so easily."

Carter's eyes soften again, but only for a moment. "I know it will," he says softly, his thumb brushing my cheek as he lowers his face closer to mine. "But you need to see it. You need to move on. And tonight, you'll be on my arm instead of his." He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, his voice taking on a hint of warmth. "Trust me, tesoro."

I blink slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. I hadn't considered the idea of making Vincent feel the sting of my moving on, but the thought brings a small spark of defiance. "You're right," I say, my tone lighter now. "I should go. Make him feel like I've moved on, and make him jealous. You're his uncle. Of course, he'll be pissed that I moved on with you so quickly."

A smirk pulls at the corner of Carter's lips, clearly enjoying the thought of making Vincent jealous. "Exactly," he replies, his voice tinged with amusement. He steps back, his eyes raking over me as if imagining the scene already. "Now, get dressed. The car will be here in an hour. I want you looking like the fucking queen you are."