Forbidden Never Felt This Good

~ 12

0012

~ Luca ~

I drove us back to the estate in silence, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight I could feel the tension radiating up into my temples. The car still reeked of s*x, her perfume mixed with sweat and the unmistakable musk of what we'd just done. My pants were damp, my shirt wrinkled beyond salvation, and I could feel the scratches she'd raked down my back burning beneath the fabric.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't afford to say a single goddamn word right now.

Because if I opened my mouth, I'd either apologize, which would be a lie since I wasn't sorry for a single second of what had just happened, or I'd tell her we were pulling over again so I could f**k her properly this time. Slower. Deeper. Until she understood that no other man would ever touch her again.

My c**k twitched at the thought, still half-hard despite having just emptied myself inside her twenty minutes ago. Cristo, she was destroying me. Unraveling every shred of control I'd spent fifteen years building.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, her jaw set in that stubborn line I was beginning to know too well. Her dress was rumpled, the navy fabric wrinkled and twisted around her thighs. Her hair, which had been perfectly styled when we'd left for the gallery, was a mess of tangled waves. Her lips were swollen, kiss-bruised, and I could see the faint red marks on her neck where I'd bitten down too hard.

She looked thoroughly f****d.

And absolutely furious.

Good. Let her be angry. At least anger I could handle. It was the other emotions, the vulnerability I sometimes glimpsed in her eyes, the way she'd whispered my name like a prayer when she came, those were the things that terrified me.

The estate gates loomed ahead, iron and stone and the weight of everything I was risking. I nodded to the guards as we passed through, my mind already cataloging the evening's disasters. The scene at the gallery. The witnesses. The phones that had been recording.

Merda.

Vittorio was going to hear about this. If he hadn't already.

I pulled the car to a stop in front of the main house, the gravel crunching under the tires too loud in the quiet night. Before I could even kill the engine, before I could come around to open her door like I was supposed to, Aria was already moving.

She shoved the door open with more force than necessary and climbed out, her movements sharp with anger. I watched her walk toward the house, her spine straight, head held high despite everything.

Despite the slight limp.

I noticed it immediately, the way she favored her right leg just barely, the careful way she placed her weight. The angle in the car had been brutal, her flexibility tested to its limits as I'd folded her nearly in half. And I hadn't been gentle. Hadn't been able to be gentle with the image of Lorenzo's hands on her still burning in my mind.

But Cristo, the way she walked with it. No wincing, no complaint, just pure stubborn pride carrying her up those stone steps like a queen who hadn't just been f****d senseless in the back of a car.

Something hot and possessive unfurled in my chest.

Mine. That limp was because of me. Those marks on her throat were mine. The c*m still dripping down her thighs was mine.

I sat in the car for a moment longer, forcing myself to breathe, to think. I needed to get inside, change my clothes, make myself presentable. But more than that, I needed to avoid Vittorio tonight. I wasn't in the mood for careful conversation, for pretending everything was fine, for lying about where I'd been and what I'd been doing.

I wasn't sure I could look him in the eye right now without my guilt written all over my face.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I finally climbed out of the car. I pulled it out, saw the notifications flooding in, messages from Marco, from Antonio, from half a dozen contacts in the organization. But it was the links that made my stomach drop.

Social media posts. Videos. Grainy footage shot on phones of me grabbing Lorenzo's wrist, stepping between him and Aria, the confrontation that had drawn every eye in that gallery.

Cazzo.

I scrolled through them quickly, my jaw tightening with each new angle, each new caption. Some were calling it a lovers' quarrel. Others were speculating about who I was, why the Santoro princess's bodyguard was so aggressive. One video had already gotten ten thousand views, the comments section filled with speculation and gossip.

Aria would hate this. The attention, the speculation, the way it made her look weak and controlled. And Vittorio... Cristo, Vittorio would see this as a massive security breach. A public display that drew attention to his daughter, to the family, to vulnerabilities that should never be exposed.

I needed to handle this. Now.

I pulled up Rico's number, pressed call, and started walking toward the side entrance of the estate — the one that led to the security offices rather than through the main hall where I might run into Vittorio.

"Pronto,” Rico answered on the second ring, his voice alert despite the late hour.

"Rico, it's me. I need you to handle something."

"What do you need?"

I could hear the slight shift in his tone, the way he straightened up, became all business. Rico had been with the family for twelve years, loyal and efficient. If anyone could make this problem disappear, it was him.

"There are videos circulating from an incident at a gallery tonight. The Santoro girl and I had a... situation with one of her dates. I need every single video scrubbed before morning. I don't care what it costs, who you need to pay off, or what strings you need to pull. By sunrise, I want every trace of it gone."

"Capisco. I saw some of them already coming through the feeds. I'll contact our people at the platforms, put pressure on the uploaders, threaten legal action if necessary."

"Do whatever you have to do. Vittorio cannot see this. And neither can she."

"Va bene. Before dawn, they'll be ghosts." There was a pause, then carefully: "This date... it didn't go well?"

I almost laughed. Didn't go well. That was putting it mildly.

"The date is irrelevant. Just handle the videos."

"Okay, boss," Rico said, slipping into Italian. "Ci penso io. I'll take care of it."

"Grazie.”

I ended the call and slipped through the side entrance, the familiar stone corridors of the estate cool and quiet around me. Most of the family would be in the main wing or already retired for the evening. If I was careful, I could make it to my rooms without—

My phone rang again, the sound sharp in the silence.

I glanced at the screen and felt every muscle in my body go rigid.

Joan.

The name stared back at me like an accusation, like a bomb about to detonate. My mood, which had already been barely controlled, plummeted into something dark and dangerous.

I stared at the screen, watching it ring once, twice, three times. Every instinct screamed at me not to answer. Nothing good ever came from Joan calling, especially not at this hour, especially not after what had happened with Isabella last time.

But I couldn't ignore her. Not when she had custody of my daughter. Not when she held that particular knife to my throat and knew exactly how to twist it.

I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear, already bracing for whatever fresh hell she was about to unleash.

"Che cosa vuoi?" What do you want?