The Don’s temptation

The Don’s temptation

Dominic

The heavy oak doors of the DiLuca estate creaked open, and I walked in like I owned the place. Because after tonight, in many ways, I would.

I didn’t rush. Power didn’t need to announce itself. It soaked into the walls, saturated the air, wrapped itself around every set of eyes that snapped to me the second I entered.

The chandeliers overhead threw cold light across the black of my suit, stitched to precision. A second skin. I adjusted the cuffs of my jacket, the motion slow, deliberate. The steel Rolex at my wrist caught the light. Wealth. Status. Fear.

I saw the way the men shifted when they caught my eye. I read the calculation, the nerves, the respect laced with terror.

Good.

Fear meant loyalty.

I didn’t return the glances or acknowledge the whispers. None of them mattered. None of them ever had.

Except her.

Carmen DiLuca.

Christ.

She stood across the room in a gown that didn’t belong in this world of blood and smoke.

Soft blush pink, a color too innocent for a place like this, molded to a body that wasn’t innocent at all.

Sweet curves, the line of her waist disappearing into a river of silk. Diamonds dusted the bodice, catching light with every shift of her breath.

Her dark auburn hair was pinned up, loose curls falling against her delicate neck, begging for a man’s hand to bury itself there.

Full lips painted a muted rose, the kind of mouth a man could lose himself in.

Bright green eyes like emeralds slowly roomed around until they found mine across the room and flinched. Just a fraction,Just enough.

My blood thickened.

No one else existed. No one else mattered.

I started walking toward her, slow enough to let the pressure build in the room behind me.

Her father caught sight of me and nodded, a silent offering.

But Carmen...

She didn’t smile. Didn’t simper like the others.

She watched me come with a kind of reluctant challenge burning in her eyes.

Good.

I didn't want a simpering bride.

I wanted fire.

I stopped inches from her, close enough to catch the hint of roses and vanilla rising off her skin.

Close enough to imagine how her breath would hitch if I pressed her back against the wall.

"Carmen," I said, voice low, threading steel into her name. "Walk with me."

Not a request. A command.

She hesitated, just a beat too long.

Then, after a sharp glance at her father, she stepped toward me.

I didn’t offer her my arm. I placed my hand at the small of her back, my fingers spanning the curve of her spine. She tensed under my touch.

Good.

Let her feel the cage beginning to close around her.

Let her know she was mine before she even understood what that would mean.

We walked through the marble corridor adjoining the ballroom, her soft heels tapping beside the echo of my steps.

Silence hung between us, heavy.

When we were alone, I stopped. Turned her to face me.

She tilted her chin up, defiant, forcing herself to meet my gaze.

God, she was f*****g beautiful. A kind of beauty that shouldn't belong to this life.

Too soft for it.

Too perfect.

And yet here she was, about to become mine in every way that counted.

I let my gaze rake over her, slow and possessive.

"Bambolina," I said, letting the word roll off my tongue like a promise, "did you think you could stand there dressed like that and not drive me mad?"

Her lips parted slightly, breath catching.

The urge to kiss her then, to destroy the perfect pink gloss on her mouth, hit hard and fast.

She recovered fast though, spine straightening.

"I didn’t dress for you," she said, voice low but steady. "I dressed for the occasion."

I huffed a dark laugh.

She had claws under all that silk.

Good. She’d need them, married to a man like me.

"You’ll find," I murmured, my thumb brushing the inside of her delicate wrist where her pulse hammered wildly, "that from now on, everything you do is for me."

She stared up at me, anger and something hotter burning in her gaze.

I leaned in, close enough that my mouth nearly brushed the shell of her ear when I spoke.

"You’re mine now, bambolina. In every way that matters. Act the part."

I let the silence stretch between us, savoring the way her chest rose and fell in shallow, fast breaths.

Then, because I could, because I wanted to, I reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The backs of my fingers grazed her flushed cheek.

Soft. So f*****g soft.

She flinched—barely—but didn’t pull away.

Without another word, I slid my hand back to the curve of her lower back and steered her toward the grand ballroom where everyone waited.

The moment the doors swung open, the world surged around us again.

But I didn’t ease my grip.

Let them look.

Let every man in that room see what they’d never touch.

Carmen DiLuca was mine now.

And God help anyone stupid enough to forget it.