The Mafia’s Forbidden Heiress

Chapter Six: Control Is a Lie

Luciano’s POV

I should not be thinking about her. She is everything I detested, but I found myself doing that after our last s****l encounter.

The rain had stopped, but the sound of her moaning still lived inside my head. So did she.

I stood alone in my bedroom, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, hands braced against the edge of my desk. The lamp cast a low amber glow across the room, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in me.

Her mouth. How they form a perfect curve, the way she had kissed me back.

Not timid. Not afraid.

Hungry.

I exhaled sharply and straightened, dragging a hand through my hair. This was a weakness. A distraction. She was Simone Ginne’s daughter. Blood of a man who had betrayed my father. Someone I should detest for the rest of my life.

A girl who should mean nothing. Nothing.

Yet my body betrayed me.

Every time the memory replayed, her breath hitching, her fingers clutching the sheets while I thrust into her deeply, the way she arched beneath me, I felt it again. Heat. Tight and demanding.

“Damn it.”

My fist slammed into the wooden table. The sharp crack echoed through the room. The lamp trembled. So did I.

This was why men like me did not touch women like her.

Emotion clouds judgment. Desire creates attachment. Attachment creates vulnerability.

She would not become that.

If I kept her close, it would be on my terms.

She would be nothing more than my s*x toy. At least I own her body... A reminder that I controlled everything under this roof.

Even her.

By evening, I needed noise. I needed something louder than my thoughts.

Sebastian, one of the men called.

“Private room at Azul Roja,” he said. “You’ve been locked in that mansion too long.”

I didn’t argue.

The drive through Mexico City was fast and reckless. Streetlights blurred past the windshield. The city breathed differently at night, alive, electric, unforgiving.

Inside Azul Roja strip club, bass pounded through the walls. Women moved under red lights, bodies swaying to music that vibrated through bone. Laughter. Smoke. Whiskey.

Sebastian poured me a drink before I even sat down.

“You look like hell,” he muttered.

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

A dancer slid onto my lap without invitation. Her perfume was heavy. Her lips grazed my ear. Her hands roamed boldly.

I felt nothing.

Instead, I saw Aria.

Those pitiful eyes that look teary, not painted in glitter. Not smiling for attention.

But in my study. Quiet. Watching. Calculating.

And later… On my bed.

Her skin warm under my hands. The way her breath broke when I touched her. The way she looked at me afterward, not ashamed, nor scared. Just… steady.

The dancer whispered something obscene in my ear.

I pushed her away.

Sebastian raised a brow. “That’s new.”

I downed another drink. Then another.

The music grew louder. Or maybe the alcohol made it louder.

I tried to focus on business. Shipments. Routes. Santino’s next move.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her again. The curve of her neck. The soft line of her waist. The quiet defiance in her eyes when she challenged Carmen.

She wasn’t afraid of me.

That was the problem.

By the time Sebastian pulled the glass from my hand, I was already unsteady.

“You’re done,” he said.

“I’m not drunk.”

“You can’t even look straight.”

I didn’t argue this time.

The ride back to the estate was a blur of headlights and silence that filled the path.

When the car stopped, I stepped out without waiting for the door to be opened. The ground tilted slightly beneath me, but I refused assistance.

The guards straightened immediately.

No one moved to help.

No one ever did because they were so scared of my presence.

I stumbled once on the marble steps, caught myself against the wall, then kept walking. The corridor felt longer tonight. Too quiet. Too still.

My room.

I pushed the door open.

Darkness.

For a moment, I thought I was alone.

Then lightning flashed through the window, illuminating the bed.

A figure.

Small. Curled beneath pale fabric.

My heart slammed once against my ribs.

Aria. What is she doing in my room?

She was asleep on top of the covers, her dark hair spilled across the pillow, nightgown slipping slightly from one shoulder. The storm must have returned. Thunder rolled faintly in the distance.

She shifted.

Her eyes opened.

She saw only a shadow in the doorway.

She gasped sharply and sat upright.

“Who’s there?” she demanded.

I stepped forward.

The light caught my face.

The recognition of who it was flooded her expression, then something else. Something unreadable.

The door clicked shut behind me.

And for the first time since my father died…

I wasn’t sure who was in control.