The Wolf's Favorite Secret
1936 Words
The Wolf’s Favorite Secret
RAIN hammered the windows of the glass tower while the city below dissolved into blur. Inside the penthouse office, everything was still— except for the girl pacing in front of the desk.
Lucia Rossi didn’t belong in a world like this: black marble floors, framed art worth more than her college tuition, a view that could swallow the sky.
Yet here she was. Because he had chosen her.
Dante Moretti.
Mafia king.
Her mentor.
Her ruin.
She had been his protégé for eight months, first as a numbers assistant, then as a trusted shadow. He had taught her how to move money, how to listen, how to see danger before it came. He called her ‘ragazza,’ the way a wolf might call a lamb cute before eating it.
Tonight, he watched her pace.
He was seated behind his desk, dark suit jacket off, vest and shirt rolled up to the elbows. His forearms were inked, veins visible and strong. His tie lay abandoned, undone like he had grown tired of pretending to be civilized.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked.
Lucia stopped.
He always asked questions gently, like an invitation. Like he already knew the answer.
“I’m not nervous,” she lied.
Dante’s mouth curved.
“You are shaking.”
She looked down. Her fingers were trembling.
He rose.
Lucia already knew how he moved— silent, dangerous, controlled. But every time still stole her breath. He was taller than she remembered, broader, and the air changed when he stood.
As he came around the desk, she could smell him: cedar, smoke, something expensive and masculine.
He stopped in front of her.
“You have been avoiding me,” he said.
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to ruin things.”
He lifted a brow.
“What things?”
“Us. This. What we have.”
A low hum vibrated from his chest, like a warning.
“There is no us,” he murmured.
The words should have cut her.
But his eyes… those dark, heavy eyes said something else entirely. They devoured her. They had been devouring her for months.
Lucia whispered,
“That is the problem.”
He didn’t touch her.
He didn’t need to.
“Say it,” he ordered. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
“Because I want something I shouldn’t.”
The air thickened.
Lightning flashed behind him. Shadows crawled over his face.
“What do you want, Lucia?”
“You,” she breathed.
Silence, sharp as a blade.
Dante closed the small distance between them. His voice dropped, pure gravel and sin.
“You want your boss.”
Lucia nodded.
“You want the man who kills for a living.”
“Yes.”
“You want the man who could burn this whole city to protect you.”
Her pulse kicked.
“I do.”
He exhaled once, long, controlled.
“I warned you about my world,” he said. “It is not gentle.”
“I’m not gentle either.”
He smiled then.
It was slow. Dangerous. Like a gate swinging open and hell waiting behind it.
He lifted a hand, but stopped before touching her. His palm hovered just above her cheek, heat without contact.
“Lucia,” he whispered, “you are too young.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“And I am twice that.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
She stepped closer, until her breath brushed his throat.
“I care about you.”
His jaw clenched.
A muscle jumped.
“You shouldn’t say that,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I have been trying to stay away from you.”
He leaned in, mouth near her ear.
“And I am failing.”
Lucia shivered.
All the months of stolen glances, accidental touches, shared secrets in the back of black cars, it all pressed into this moment.
The hunger between them wasn’t new. It had been building, and it was inevitable.
“Tell me to leave,” she said. “And I will.”
Dante’s hand finally touched her.
His thumb traced her lower lip.
“I can’t.”
Her breath stopped.
He lowered his forehead to hers. Rain roared outside. The whole world felt far away.
“You’re the only thing I can’t control,” he said.
Lucia’s voice shook.
“What if you don’t have to?”
Dante’s mouth hovered a whisper above hers. Not touching.
Not yet.
“I will destroy everything for you,” he said, voice raw. “Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
He took her chin gently between his fingers.
“Then don’t make me start.”
Lightning flashed again, white and brutal, and in that split second she saw his eyes, they were hungry, exhausted, hopelessly lost in her.
Lucia’s lips parted.
The storm built.
The air burned.
Their mouths were almost touching.
Almost.
Then Dante stepped back.
It felt like the floor disappeared beneath her feet.
“I need you to leave,” he said, voice rough.
“Why?”
“Because if you stay another minute…”
His gaze fell to her mouth.
“…I will take what I have been trying not to.”
Her pulse thundered.
“And if I want you to?” she whispered.
His expression broke, just for a heartbeat. A man who had killed, commanded, conquered… looked almost undone.
“Go,” he breathed.
She didn’t move.
Lightning split the sky.
Dante swore under his breath, grabbed her wrist… then slowly, painfully released it.
“You are mine already,” he said quietly. “You just don’t know what that means.”
Lucia finally turned and walked to the door. Every step was agony.
At the threshold she looked back.
Dante stood absolutely still, hands clenched, jaw tight, staring at her like she was both salvation and ruin.
Their eyes locked.
The storm inside them didn’t end.
It only waited.
***
Lucia didn’t sleep when she got home.
Not really.
She lay in her tiny apartment above the bakery, staring at the ceiling while thunder rolled outside like an echo of the office. Every flash of lightning brought back the look on Dante’s face when she left:
A man losing a war he never wanted.
Morning came heavy and gray.
Her phone buzzed at 6:11 a.m.
**Dante:**
*Meeting. 8 sharp. Wear black.*
She stared at the message, heart thudding.
He didn’t say hello. He never did.
But the words meant something anyway.
And instantly, she scrambled off her bed to get prepared.
***
When the car arrived, the driver said nothing. Dante never sent texts without reasons. And today, the reason sat next to her in the backseat.
For a moment, the car smelled like his cologne.
She closed her eyes.
Don’t think about his mouth. Don’t think about last night.
But it was impossible.
She reached the penthouse office early, files clutched in her arms. The hallway was silent. The entire floor was empty except for his door, standing open.
He was inside.
Waiting.
Dante stood at the window, suit sharp, jaw tense. Hands in pockets. Watching the city like a king deciding what to destroy first.
He didn’t turn when she entered.
“You disobeyed me,” he said quietly.
Lucia froze.
“How?”
“I told you to stay away.”
Her pulse kicked.
“You texted me to come.”
“That was business,” he murmured. “You make it something else.”
She stepped forward.
“You make it something else too.”
He finally turned.
His gaze dragged over her, slow and devastating. His voice was a whisper of smoke.
“Not helping.”
Lucia inhaled.
“Then tell me what you want from me.”
Dante moved. One moment he was across the room; the next he was in front of her, close enough that she could feel heat radiating from him.
He didn’t touch her.
He only looked.
“What I want,” he said, “is dangerous.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
“I’m not.”
Lightning flickered somewhere far away.
Dante’s eyes searched hers.
“You confuse hunger for love.”
“No,” she whispered. “I know the difference.”
“And what is this?”
“It’s both.”
That broke him.
His hand came up, slow, deliberate, like he was fighting himself. Fingers brushed her jaw. Soft and reverent.
“I think about you,” he confessed.
“More than I should.”
Every word was a sin.
“I dream about you,” Lucia breathed.
His thumb stroked along her cheek.
“I have no right to you.”
“You do,” she whispered. “You are the one who taught me to want.”
He went very still.
Then— too gentle, he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Last night,” he said, “I almost forgot who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“A man who shouldn’t touch you.”
Lucia lifted her chin.
“Then stop standing so close.”
His breath roughened.
“I can’t.”
She reached out.
Her fingers traced his vest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric. Dante exhaled like the touch burned.
“Lucia,” he warned.
“Dante,” she answered.
The space between them snapped.
He backed her against the desk, the world shrinking to heartbeats and heat. His hands were beside her hips, caging her without contact. His voice was strained, broken.
“You are temptation,” he said.
“You are the one who taught me how to tempt.”
He swallowed hard.
Lightning flared.
Rain hammered the glass.
His forehead lowered to hers.
“Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“You don’t understand what I would do for you.”
“Then show me.”
He drew back an inch, gaze locked to hers, hunger exposed.
“I would burn down every man who touches you.”
Lucia’s breath hitched.
“I don’t want other men.”
“Good,” he rasped.
Silence settled, a heavy and charged one.
Then he whispered, “You drive me insane.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I want to walk away…”
His thumb brushed her lower lip.
“…you make me stay.”
Lucia’s voice shook.
“And now?”
“Now I want to taste you.”
Her pulse thundered.
“Then taste me.”
His hand tightened on the desk. His jaw clenched, a tremor running through him. He leaned in, slow, torturous, stopping a breath away from her mouth.
“I promised myself I would not cross this line.”
Lucia’s lips brushed his without touching.
“And yet…”
And yet.
His resolve bled through his voice.
“If I kiss you, we will not be able to go back.”
She whispered:
“I don’t want to go back.”
Dante inhaled her, like air after drowning. His mouth hovered. Hungry and ready.
Thunder cracked.
Their lips were about to meet—
A knock shattered the moment.
Dante went rigid.
Lucia jolted.
A voice outside the door:
“Boss? We need you downstairs. Now.”
Dante’s eyes stayed on her.
Not the door. Not the world. Just her.
“We are not finished,” he said.
Then he stepped back. The storm hadn’t passed. It had only been delayed.
- Writer
