Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
"It's not pathetic." I set the poetry book aside. "We all want our parents' approval. Even when we know we'll never get it."
"Is that why you stayed? With Vittorio? Even after..."
"After my mother's overdose?" I curled deeper into the chair. "Partly. But mostly I just... didn't know how to be anything else. He spent years shaping me into his perfect daughter. The right clothes, right manners, right everything. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I can't even remember what I looked like before."
"What would you change? If you could?"
The question startled me. "What?"
"If you could be anything, wear anything, do anything—what would you choose?"
"I..." I fidgeted with the book's worn spine, not quite meeting his eyes. "You'll laugh."
"Try me."
"I always wanted to wear ripped jeans—the kind Vittorio says make people look homeless. And those chunky sneakers everyone has. Maybe try a different hairstyle..." I touched my long locks self-consciously. "Vittorio monitors every appointment with his approved stylist. Every cut, every shade has to be 'naturally elegant.'"
"What else?"
"This is embarrassing, but... I always wanted to try those horrible sugary lattes everyone drinks. The ones with whipped cream and caramel and everything."
He actually smiled. "Anything else?"
"A million things. Read whatever I want. Go to a real concert. Learn to drive—can you believe I don't even know how? Order pizza at midnight. Wear sweatpants. Paint my room some ridiculous color..." I stopped, feeling my cheeks heat. "Sorry. I'm rambling."
"Don't apologize." He leaned forward, eyes intent on my face. "It's nice seeing the real you."
"Is it? Because sometimes I'm not even sure who that is anymore."
"I think," he said slowly, "she's right here. The girl who wants silly coffee and midnight pizza. Who gets excited about books and quotes Shakespeare. Who survived years of Vittorio's control without losing her soul." His hand found mine, thumb tracing patterns on my palm that made me shiver. "I think she's fucking magnificent."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at where his hand touched mine, sending electricity up my arm. "Giuliano..."
"Tell me to stop." His voice had dropped lower, making heat pool in my belly.
I should have. Should have pulled away, remembered who we were and why I was here. Instead, I found myself leaning closer, drawn by something I couldn't name.
The first brush of his lips was devastatingly gentle. Nothing like the brutal claiming I'd expected. His free hand came up to cradle my face as I melted into him, years of carefully constructed walls crumbling under his touch.
When he deepened the kiss, I heard myself make a sound that should have been embarrassing. But then his tongue swept into my mouth, and I stopped thinking entirely. My hands found his shoulders, his chest, anywhere I could touch. All those nights of watching him in this library, imagining this moment, hadn't prepared me for the reality.
A sharp knock at the library door made me jump. "Boss?" Angelo's voice shattered the moment. "We've got movement. Vittorio's men were spotted nearby."
Giuliano pulled back slightly but kept me close. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching my own ragged breathing. "How close?"
"Too close. They're searching systematically, working their way toward the coast." Angelo hesitated. "Should we move her to another location?"
"No." Giuliano's hand tightened possessively on the small of my back. "Increase patrols. Change the guard rotation. She stays here…where I can protect her."
Angelo lingered for a moment, and I caught the slight curve of his lips, a knowing look that made my cheeks burn. When they were both gone, I sank deeper into the chair, my heart still racing.
Something had shifted between us, something that went far deeper than simple attraction or whatever this game between captor and captive was supposed to be. For the first time since my father died, someone had seen past the perfect facade to the real me underneath.
The question was—what the hell was I going to do about it?
10
GIULIANO
Icouldn't sleep.
The memory of her in the library consumed me: the softness of her lips, the quiet gasp when I first touched her, how perfectly she fit against me. My body burned with unfulfilled desire, mind replaying every detail of our interrupted moment.
I glanced at the security feed showing her room, where she sat reading in that damn window seat. Always there, always just out of reach. When we'd first explained the cameras—a necessary security measure—she hadn't flinched. Just nodded and asked if the bathroom was private. That quiet dignity, so different from the usual games women played with me.
God knows I'd had my share of them. Socialites, heiresses, even the occasional model, all perfectly willing to warm my bed. The thrill of conquest had worn thin years ago. They were all the same: calculated moves, practiced moans, everything designed to secure a position in my world.
But Pearl...
She wasn't trying to seduce anyone. Didn't bat her eyes or push out her chest when I entered the room. If anything, she challenged me at every turn. Called me on my bullshit. Made me question things I'd accepted as gospel.