Chapter 3:The Man Who Didn’t Touch Her
1355 Words
The doors closed behind her with a soft click.
Too soft.
Seraphina hated soft sounds in rooms with dangerous men.
The private suite smelled different from the rest of Velvet Eden.
No perfume-heavy air.
No cigarettes soaked into velvet curtains.
No sweat or cheap lust hidden beneath expensive cologne.
This room smelled like leather, whiskey, and rain drifting through cracked balcony doors.
Quiet filled the space heavily.
Luciano De Luca sat near the far window beneath dim amber lighting, one ankle resting over his knee as city lights flickered behind him through the glass. His black suit jacket hung perfectly across broad shoulders, untouched by wrinkles despite the late hour. A silver watch glinted faintly near the cuff of his sleeve every time he moved his hand.
Which wasn’t often.
A crystal glass rested between his fingers.
Untouched whiskey.
Seraphina noticed that first.
Men usually drank before they touched her.
Luciano only watched her.
The sound of rain tapping softly against the balcony doors stretched the silence longer.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Seraphina forced herself to move deeper into the suite.
Her heels sank quietly into thick dark carpet while golden light warmed her skin. The room itself looked less like a brothel suite and more like a private penthouse.
Black marble fireplace.
Dark leather furniture.
Fresh lilies arranged near the bar.
Nothing red.
Velvet Eden covered everything in red.
This room felt colder than that.
Luciano’s gaze followed her calmly.
Not hurried.
Not hungry.
That unsettled her more than lust ever could.
She stopped several feet away and slipped automatically into the version of herself men preferred.
Soft smile.
Relaxed shoulders.
Lowered eyes.
“Good evening.”
Her voice sounded smooth enough.
Practiced.
Luciano didn’t answer immediately.
The rain outside thickened against the windows while somewhere far below, muffled bass from the club trembled faintly through the floorboards.
Finally, he spoke.
“You’re afraid.”
His voice was deep without trying to be intimidating.
Which somehow made it worse.
Seraphina kept her smile in place. “Should I be?”
A corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
“You tell me.”
Silence stretched again.
Most men filled silence quickly.
They talked too much.
Laughed too loudly.
Needed constant attention.
Luciano seemed comfortable inside silence.
Like he lived there.
Seraphina slowly crossed toward the bar cart near the fireplace. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes.”
Relief almost slipped through her.
Something normal.
Something she understood.
She reached for the crystal decanter carefully, pouring amber liquid into a clean glass while trying not to notice how intensely Luciano watched her every movement.
The silk of her dress brushed softly against her thighs when she moved.
She could feel his eyes there too.
Not lingering.
Observing.
Like he was memorizing details instead of admiring them.
It made her skin prickle.
She carried the drink toward him slowly.
Luciano finally sat forward slightly to take the glass.
Their fingers brushed.
Seraphina nearly flinched.
Not because he touched her.
Because he didn’t squeeze.
Didn’t linger.
Didn’t immediately drag her onto his lap the way most men would’ve by now.
Luciano simply took the whiskey from her hand and placed it beside him untouched again.
Then he looked at her.
Directly.
“Sit.”
She lowered herself carefully into the chair across from him.
The distance between them remained safe enough to breathe.
Still, her pulse felt uneven.
Rain rolled heavier against the balcony now while thunder rumbled softly somewhere far away across the city.
Luciano loosened one button near the collar of his black shirt.
His tie had already disappeared.
Without the rigid formality, he somehow looked even more dangerous.
Seraphina folded her hands carefully in her lap to stop herself from fidgeting.
Luciano noticed anyway.
He noticed everything.
“How long have you worked here?”
The question caught her off guard slightly.
Men rarely asked questions they didn’t already know the answers to.
“A while.”
“How long?”
She looked toward the fireplace briefly. “Since I was sixteen.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened almost invisibly.
The fire cracked softly between them.
Luciano finally picked up his whiskey glass, turning it once in his hand without drinking. “And Katarina owns you?”
The word hit strangely.
Owns.
Not works for.
Not protects.
Not employs.
Owns.
Seraphina forced another smile. “Velvet Eden takes care of me.”
Luciano looked unimpressed by the lie.
“You speak like someone listening through walls would punish honesty.”
Her stomach tightened.
The room suddenly felt too warm.
“You ask unusual questions.”
“So do you.”
The corner of his mouth shifted again.
This time closer to amusement.
Seraphina studied him quietly while he looked away toward the rain-soaked windows.
The scar near his jaw became more visible from this angle. Thin. Pale. Old enough to have faded slightly.
She wondered who’d been brave enough to hurt him.
Or stupid enough.
Luciano leaned back slowly.
“You’re not what I expected.”
A soft laugh nearly escaped her before she stopped it.
“What did you expect?”
“A girl pretending she enjoys this.”
The honesty startled her.
Most powerful men preferred fantasy.
Luciano seemed allergic to it.
Seraphina crossed one leg slowly over the other, silk sliding higher against her thigh. “Maybe I’m very good at pretending.”
His eyes dropped there briefly.
Not lustfully.
Calculating.
Then his gaze returned to her face.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Something inside her chest shifted uncomfortably.
She looked away first.
The rain outside intensified, rattling harder against the glass now.
Luciano finally took a sip of whiskey.
The first one since she entered.
Seraphina realized he’d barely touched alcohol all night downstairs either.
Men usually drank to lose control.
Luciano looked like a man terrified of losing control.
“You haven’t asked why I’m here,” he said suddenly.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?”
He studied her for a second before answering.
“Business.”
Katarina used the same word earlier.
But from Luciano’s mouth, it sounded colder.
Deadlier.
Seraphina rested her elbow lightly against the chair arm. “That doesn’t sound very interesting.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then why does everyone downstairs look terrified of you?”
The question slipped out before caution could stop it.
Luciano went quiet.
For one second, she thought she’d crossed a line.
Then thunder rolled across the city again, deep enough to shake the windows slightly.
Finally, he answered.
“Fear keeps people honest.”
Seraphina almost smiled at that.
“No,” she murmured softly. “Fear makes people liars.”
Luciano stared at her.
Really stared this time.
The room felt smaller suddenly.
Heat crawled slowly beneath her skin.
Not desire.
Awareness.
Dangerous awareness.
His eyes moved over her face carefully, pausing briefly at her mouth before drifting lower.
To her throat.
Her bare shoulders.
Her arms resting against the chair.
Then his expression changed.
Slightly.
Not enough for most people to notice.
But Seraphina did.
His gaze stopped on her wrist.
The sleeve of her dress had shifted when she moved.
Just enough to expose fading purple bruises beneath pale skin.
Katarina’s fingerprints.
Seraphina immediately pulled the fabric down.
Too late.
The silence that followed felt sharp.
Luciano sat completely still now.
No movement.
No whiskey.
No distraction.
Only those cold gray eyes fixed on her wrist.
Seraphina’s heartbeat turned uneven.
Most men ignored bruises.
Some caused them.
Others enjoyed them.
Luciano looked furious.
Not loud fury.
Worse.
The controlled kind.
The kind that sat quietly before becoming violence.
He slowly placed the whiskey glass onto the table beside him.
Crystal touched wood with a soft click.
Outside, lightning flashed white across the windows.
For the first time since entering the suite, Seraphina felt genuinely nervous.
Luciano leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees.
His voice lowered.
Dangerously calm.
“Who put those marks on you?”
- Writer
