Blood on White Sheets
Selene's POV
I woke up, and there it was—a stranger’s hand on my waist.
For a split second, I wondered if I was just dreaming. Then my head exploded with pain, sharp and brutal, like someone had smashed glass behind my eyes. I sucked in a breath. Bad idea. The room reeked of whiskey, smoke, expensive cologne, and s*x.
Not the nice kind, either. This was the messy, reckless kind that made my stomach clench.
I pried my eyes open, slow and careful. Black ceiling. Gold chandelier. Dark silk sheets twisted around my legs. None of it was familiar. It's definitely not my place.
My heart started pounding. The arm around me tensed as I tried to wiggle free.
Oh god.
I turned my head, just enough to see him.
He looked dangerous, even half-buried in sleep. Dark hair. Sharpened jaw. Tattoos slid over one solid arm, disappearing under the sheets. His face looked peaceful, weirdly, but you could feel the violence in him. Like he could snap awake and start a fight without warning.
That’s when I noticed the bedside table. Guns—three of them—sitting out in the open next to an expensive watch and half-empty whiskey glasses, like that was a normal thing to do.
Every part of my brain screamed—get out.
I jerked back, and a flash of pain shot up my back. I couldn’t help the hiss that escaped.
His eyes snapped open—wide, sharp, and way too alert for someone who’d just woken up. Cold, dark eyes staring right at me. He scanned me once. he was not embarrassed. Not shy. Just—assessing, like he wanted to see what damage had been done.
I clutched the sheet to my chest. “What the f**k?”
My voice was all rough edges. He leaned against the headboard, moving with a kind of lazy confidence that got my nerves buzzing. “You tell me.”
I stared back. “You don’t know?”
One side of his mouth tugged up, just a little. “No.”
Something about that tiny smirk made me want to slap him.
I started looking for my stuff. Black heels by the couch. Dress half-off a chair. Jewelry tossed on the floor. My underwear—hanging from a lamp.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I wanted to vanish, or murder someone, anything to escape how exposed I felt. Flashes of last night started darting through my mind. Champagne. Music. My sister laughing. The engagement party. Someone’s hand on my waist—
Then nothing. Just a bunch of white noise and empty gaps.
Panic crawled up my throat.
“What happened last night?” I said, voice tight.
He watched me. “You really don’t remember?”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I meant it.
His face shifted—he looked interested for the first time. Not worried. Just amused by how messy I’d gotten.
He threw the sheets off and stood. I looked down before I could stop myself.
He was all hard muscle, tattoos, scars, and—God, bruises. Not on him. On me. Finger-shaped marks burned into the skin of my thighs.
My blood iced over.
“You drugged me.”
His face turned to stone. “No.”
He said it so fast, so firm, that I almost believed him. Almost.
“So I’m just supposed to believe this?” I gestured around the room, the sheet still clutched stupidly to my chest. “I just forgot everything, naturally?”
“Your memory loss isn’t my problem.”
What an absolute bastard.
I tried to stand and the room lurched sideways. Before I could hit the floor, he caught me, arms strong and steady. His chest pressed against my back, hot and solid. My stupid body shivered, which just pissed me off even more. I shoved him away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His eyes narrowed, but he backed off. Fine. I yanked my dress from the floor. The zipper was busted. Why not?
I started hunting for my phone. “Where’s my bag?” He nodded towards a chair. I snatched it and checked my phone.
Three missed calls from my father.
Eight from my sister.
A heavy, sick feeling settled in my chest.
Something was wrong.
Not just bad—disaster kind of wrong.
I dialed Valentina’s number, heartbeat racing. She answered on the second ring.
“Selene?” She sounded freaked out. Scared.
“What did you do to me?”
Silence. Long enough that I just got angrier.
“Selene, listen—”
“No, you listen. I woke up in a stranger’s bed with zero memory of last night.”
Another pause. Then she said, quietly, “He’s not a stranger.”
My whole body went cold.
I turned back and looked at the man by the bed—the one who’d just watched all this unfold without a flicker of emotion.
The words scraped out of me. “Who are you?”
The room got painfully quiet.
He didn’t hesitate. “Dante De Luca.”
Everything inside me froze. Not him. No. Everybody in Rome recognized that name.
Dante De Luca.
The Black Devil.
The man people whispered about at parties, then crossed themselves after. The guy the smart ones avoided. The one you didn’t cross if you wanted to live.
And somehow—somehow—I’d woken up in his bed.
My legs almost gave out.
“Oh my God.”
Valentina’s voice went rapid-fire in my ear. “Selene, Dad is furious. The Vescovi family knows—”
“How?” My voice shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.
She hesitated. “Someone saw you leaving the hotel.”
I couldn’t breathe for a second. I said it slowly, a whisper of dread. “You set me up.”
“Selene—”
“You drugged me.”
“Keep your voice down!” she snapped. “You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”
I let out a laugh—flat, bitter. “Dangerous? You threw me to Dante De Luca. For what? Family politics?”
“Because Matteo was going to destroy us after the engagement,” she blurted.
I just stared at the floor, trying to process. “What?”
“Father was going to give you to him anyway.” Like I was an offering. Like I wasn’t even a person.
I glanced at Dante again. Still calm. Still reading me like a boring business report. I hated him for it.
Valentina kept whispering in a panic. “You need to leave before the press gets there.”
Too late. Shouts echoed from outside the suite—footsteps, camera clicks, chaos. I whipped my head toward the window.
Dante wandered over, looked down, totally unfazed. “They’re already here,” he said.
I started to panic for real. “No, no, no—”
Valentina cursed. “Selene, listen to me—don’t let them photograph you upset.”
I stared at the phone, wondering if she’d lost her mind. “I’m standing here, basically undressed, in a mafia boss’s suite, and your advice is to not look upset?”
Before she could answer, the bedroom doors burst open. I jumped a mile and three men rushed in, armed, professional, deadly.
.
One nodded at Dante. “Boss.”
God, I felt naked in every way. “The lobby’s packed,” another guard said. “Someone leaked the room number.”
Dante’s jaw tightened—the first real crack in that icy mask.
“Clear the hallway,” he ordered.
“We’re working on it.”
Awesome. Just awesome.
I clutched my bag for dear life. “I need to leave.”
He looked me in the eye, calm as ever. “No.”
The word landed like a punch. He didn’t even raise his voice.
“Right now, princess, leaving is the most dangerous thing you can do.”
