OBSIDIAN HEIR

Chapter 3 - File

The knock came just after midnight.

Rocco didn’t rush to answer. He stood at the bar in his penthouse, pouring himself a glass of whiskey, shirtless and still warm from the gym. The room was dim, quiet except for the low hum of the city lights bleeding in through the windows.

He pressed a button on the security panel. The door unlocked.

Siena stepped in.

She wore a black coat and heels that clicked softly against the marble floor. She didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Her eyes flicked across the room, stopping on him—but not staring. She knew how to read a room, how to let silence stretch just enough without becoming awkward.

“Close the door,” Rocco said, voice low.

She did.

“Coat.”

She slipped it off slowly, revealing a sheer black bodysuit underneath, high-cut at the hips, low enough at the front to expose just enough curve. Her skin glowed faintly in the low light, anD he could tell she was holding her breath.

She laid the coat neatly over the back of the couch.

Rocco didn’t move from where he stood. He watched her for a moment—unblinking, expression unreadable. His whiskey glass hung loosely in his hand.

He took a slow sip. The liquor burned his throat.

“Come here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room with careful steps until she stood in front of him. Her perfume was faint. He didn’t reach for her. Not yet. He just let the tension fill the space between them.

His gaze dragged over her, slow and unkind. She looked back at him briefly, then away like she was trying not to show how his silence affected her.

He set the glass down on the counter and finally moved.

He stepped behind her, close enough for her breath to catch, then brushed her hair off one shoulder with the back of his fingers. She didn’t move. Didn’t tense. But her skin prickled beneath his touch.

His hand slid down the side of her neck, then lower, fingertips grazing the line of her spine, stopping just at the small of her back.

“You should do what I want,” he murmured.

“Yes, sir.”

Her voice sent shivers down his spine.

Without a word, she leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the edge of the marble counter. Offering herself.

Rocco didn’t rush. He moved his hand over her backside, squeezing once, firm. She arched slightly, the first sound escaping her, a tiny breath, just enough to give her away.

He smirked faintly. Not amusement. Satisfaction.

He leaned in close to her ear, voice low and sharp. “You’re already shaking.”

She exhaled slowly, trying to control it.

His hand slid between her thighs, fingers brushing her inner thigh, teasing without giving her anything yet. She sucked in a breath, quiet, but not invisible.

And it was in that second, watching her try so hard to stay composed, lips parted, chest rising, that Rocco realized this wasn’t about just release anymore.

He pressed two fingers against her, through the sheer lace. She was already wet.

His mouth hovered near her ear again. “You're too easy for a virgin.”

She whimpered. Tried to hold it in. Failed.

He didn’t push further, not yet. Instead, he stepped back.

“Take it off. All of it. Slowly.”

Her fingers trembled as they reached for the straps.

And Rocco just watched, cold and quiet, like a man who wanted to ruin something beautiful… without ever letting it touch him in return.

The fabric peeled down her sides, catching at her hips before falling to the floor with a soft whisper. Her body was bare now, soft curves bathed in low light, her chest rising and falling in quiet, controlled breaths.

Rocco didn’t move.

His eyes swept over her with the calm of a man used to getting exactly what he wanted and never needing to ask twice.

“Hands on the counter,” he said in a low voice.

She obeyed, fingers pressing into the cold marble. Her back arched slightly. She wasn’t shaking, but she was close. He could see it in the way she held herself too still. Like her body knew what was coming, and her pride wouldn’t let her show it.

He stepped behind her again. Close enough for his breath to brush her spine.

He didn’t touch her yet. Just stood there, letting the tension wrap around her like a noose.

“You always this wet for a man you don’t know?” he murmured near her ear.

Siena inhaled softly. Didn’t answer.

He brought his hand between her thighs and found her soaked. His fingers slid through her folds, low, teasing, cruel.

“I asked you a question.”

Her voice came out unsteady. “N-N-No.”

He slid two fingers inside her without warning.

She gasped, hips jerking against his hand.

He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her in place.

“No one’s touched you here before,” he muttered. “That’s not good for a w***e like you.”

She moaned quietly, biting her lip to stop it from getting louder.

He moved his fingers slowly, deliberately. Curling them deep. Stretching her open. His other hand slid up her chest, palming one breast roughly before pinching her n****e hard between his fingers.

“You like being watched?” he said, dragging his mouth along her neck, not kissing, just close. “Because right now, all I’m thinking about is how f*****g annoying you look falling apart.”

She whimpered. Her knees started to buckle, but he held her up.

“Don’t come yet,” he ordered.

“I—I'm close,” she whispered, voice trembling.

His mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “Not. Yet.”

He pulled his hand away. She whined from the loss, hips shifting back like she was trying to chase him.

But he stepped away completely.

Siena turned her head, eyes wide with confusion, cheeks flushed and lips parted.

Rocco was already unzipping his pants, calm as ever.

“I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to come,” he said coldly.

She nodded shakily.

He pushed his slacks down just enough, stroking himself once as he watched her, still bent over, thighs glistening, chest heaving. Completely undone and still trying to follow orders.

“Like a good w***e,” he murmured.

Then he lined himself up behind her and thrust in with no warning.

Her gasp was sharp, nearly a cry, but she took it.

Took all of him.

He moved deep, steady, relentless. His hand slid into her hair, yanking her head back so he could see the way her mouth fell open, her brows knit together, her whole body burning beneath him.

And Rocco?

He didn’t moan. Didn’t grunt.

Just breathed rough and heavy through his nose. His hand gripped her hip tighter.

The sound of skin on skin, her breathy whimpers, and the low thud of the marble counter under their bodies filled the room.

Still, he didn’t stop. Didn’t soften. Didn’t feel.

Until her voice cracked beneath him. “Please… I—can I—?”

His grip on her hair tightened. “Now.”

She came hard, biting her lip, moaning against her own arm, body trembling under his weight.

And only after he knew she was finished, only after he had taken every drop of her control—

He came too.

Silently.

Burying himself inside her with one final, sharp thrust.

He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath then pulled out and stepped back without a word.

Siena leaned on the counter, body still shaking, her legs barely holding her up.

Rocco grabbed his whiskey and took a slow sip, not even looking at her.

“Leave,” he said quietly.

She moved slowly, limbs unsteady as she reached for her coat.

At the door, she paused. “Same time next week?”

He didn’t answer.

Just turned his back to her and lit a cigarette.

She left in silence.

He stared out at the city and told himself again that this was nothing. Just s*x. Just control.

But something about her moan still echoed in his head… and he hated it.

THE next morning, Rocco sat in the back room of the Montenegro estate. He dove back into the files. The mission, the only thing that was supposed to matter. And this time, he told himself he’d strip away the noise, the distractions, the woman who suddenly mattered too much.

Fifteen years has gone and based on the data, he’s the general’s only daughter left. She vanished the night their house burned. But Rocco knew better than to believe in clean exits. Especially not in this business. No one disappeared without help.

He flipped open the top folder.

Intel had been pulled from multiple countries. Old records. Movement logs from corrupted transport officers who'd been paid off.

There wasn’t much actually.

Born to General Mateo Alivio and Leona Cruz-Alivio. Youngest of three siblings. Her two older sisters, Ana and Aliah, both confirmed dead in the fire fifteen years ago. Their bodies burned, verified through dental records. Their mother died when they were young and their father died in a car crash, where he knew that Alejandro did.

Clean work.

But details of that Ariana? Nothing.

“Too clean,” Rocco muttered to himself, flipping a page.

There were photos, old ones. A girl no older than ten or maybe eleven, standing between her sisters, wide-eyed and innocent in a pressed white dress.

He stared at that one longer than he meant to.

Something about her eyes felt… familiar.

But it didn’t matter. That girl was gone.

She’d be twenty-six now.

The only potential lead came from an intercepted document dated six years ago. One private school enrollment under the name "A. Cruz-Alivio." Enrolled in a university in Boston, then quietly dropped out a year later. Disappeared again.

Rocco leaned back, tossing the folder onto the desk.

America.

It would’ve made sense. Probably someone helped her in there. But the trail also ended there.

“She doesn’t want to be found,” he said under his breath.

The room was silent. He looked back at the image of the ten-year-old girl.

He reached for his lighter, flicking it open and shut in his palm, the image of Siena Reyes flashed through his mind again.

He had dreams about her. And there’s something in her eyes that seems mesmerizing. He shook it off.

He shut the file.