Owned By Massimo

Get Away From My Man!

Markus left with that stupid victorious smile still stuck on his face, and the silence that followed him was loud enough to choke me.

I stood there alone, one hand around my whiskey glass, swirling the amber liquid in slow circles. The ice clinked softly, mocking me. I stared at the smooth swirl like it held answers, like it could explain why the hell I—Massimo De Luca—had let a foolish, reckless girl stay in my home.

It shouldn’t matter. It should not concern me if Pablo wanted her.

It should not be my problem if he paid three million to own her, hurt her, ruin her.

That was none of my business.

I should have just let Markus take her out. Let Pablo claim her. Let whatever happened…happen.

But the moment Markus talked about her and Pablo in the same sentence, something in me twisted—tight, sharp, ugly. And the word “Wait” left my mouth before I even knew I’d said it.

I brought the glass to my lips, but I didn’t drink. I just stood there, staring at the floor like it might swallow me whole.

Why did I agree to let her stay?

The question kept rolling through my mind like thunder. I hated it. Hated how my thoughts kept circling back to her—tied to my bed upstairs, eyes bold, body trembling, legs open like she wanted me to ruin her.

Stupid. Reckless. Suicidal girl.

My shoulders tensed.

I needed silence. I needed space.

But the universe clearly hated me today, because right as I placed the glass on the bar and exhaled, a high-pitched, painfully familiar voice pierced the air like a knife.

“Massimo! I missed you!”

I closed my eyes.

Great.

Just what I needed.

Bianca.

I rolled my eyes before I even turned around. My entire body tensed in irritation. I hated her presence before she even stepped into the room—hated the sound of her voice, hated the perfume that traveled ten seconds before she did, hated the clinginess she carried like a weapon.

I opened my eyes just in time to see her barreling toward me with a bright, desperate smile. Before I could step back, she threw her arms around me.

Her touch made my skin crawl instantly.

The repulsion crawled up my spine so fast I almost shoved her off me with more force than necessary. Instead, I grabbed her wrists, peeled her off, and pushed her away.

She stumbled back, eyes wide, genuinely shocked like she didn’t know exactly who she was dealing with.

“How many times have I told you,” I said, my voice low and cold, “not to touch me?”

She blinked at me, disbelief twisting her face. “Massimo, I’m your fiancée. We’re going to get married. What kind of stupid rule is that?”

I sighed, long and tired, running a hand down my face. I didn’t have the patience for her today. Or any day.

Without another word, I downed the whiskey in one go, the alcohol burning down my throat before dropping the glass.

I walked past her, heading for the stairs.

Of course she followed me.

She always did.

Her heels clicked annoyingly fast behind me as she rushed to keep up, her voice rising and falling with fake frustration.

“I’m your fiancée, Massimo! Even if you don’t like being touched—which is insane by the way—you should make an exemption for me. I mean, come on! I’m your future wife!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard it almost hurt. I stopped halfway up the stairs and turned to face her. Her eyes lit like she thought I was about to say something romantic.

She was delusional.

“You know why I agreed to marry you, Bianca,” I said, tone flat. “Don’t test me. I can pick someone else.”

Her face twisted—shock, hurt, insult, all at once. She looked like I’d slapped her with a bag of bricks.

For one second, she seemed ready to argue. But then something clicked behind her eyes. She straightened her back, closed her mouth, and nodded quickly—like a good little fiancée desperate to keep the title.

“But we need to learn, Massimo,” she said, voice softening. “We can’t continue like this, baby…”

Baby.

I hated that word coming from her.

I opened my bedroom door and stepped inside, fully intending to slam it in her face so hard the walls shook.

But she slid inside the room before I could stop her.

I stared at her, deadpan. “Remind me why I’m engaged to you again?”

Then the answer slapped me in the face.

Yeah. Because as the Don, I needed a wife. An heir. A Don without a woman brought questions.

Suspicion. Whispers.

My men had started assuming the only reason I didn’t let women touch me…was because I preferred men.

Which was ridiculous. Infuriating. Annoyingly persistent.

Bianca helped silence those rumors.

A temporary fix. A band-aid over a gaping wound.

I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my temples.

Bianca’s eyes shifted—subtle, dark. Something flashed in them, something hungry, something calculating. She walked toward me slowly, her hips swaying like she thought she was irresistible. Like she was seducing me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t react.

She lowered herself to her knees in front of me, hands resting on my thighs, her breath shallow like she was about to accomplish the greatest task of her life.

My eyes turned icy. “What are you doing?”

She smiled—slow, sultry, fake. “Come on, Massimo…I know you don’t like being touched. But you know…we can learn.”

Her hand slid toward my belt.

My reaction was instant.

I caught her wrist so fast she gasped.

“Don’t,” I warned, voice deep and sharp enough to cut.

She pouted like a child denied a toy. “Massimo, you’re being dramatic—”

The door to my room suddenly burst open.

Both our heads snapped toward the sound.

And there she was.

The girl I brought home. The girl tied to the bed hours ago.The girl I should’ve sent away.

She stood in the doorway, eyes blazing with white-hot fury, her chest rising and falling like she’d run across the entire house. Rage poured off her like fire.

Her expression carved murder into her pretty face.

Bianca froze in front of me, still kneeling. She looked confused, offended, startled.

But the girl didn’t care.

Before either of us could move…before Bianca could stand…before I could even process what the hell was happening—

she charged.

Fast. Wild.

Screaming like a woman possessed.

“GET AWAY FROM MY MAN!”