empire of sin

Florence, Italy 11:08 p.m. The marble floors of the gallery gleamed under the soft golden lights. Art lovers had long since gone, their laughter and champagne flutes leaving only echoes behind. Sofia Moretti stood in silence, barefoot, her heels discarded beneath the counter. The night was hers again, finally. She reached for the last display light, ready to switch it off. The bell above the door chimed. Sofia's breath caught in her throat. No one should be here. She turned, spine stiffening, instinct bracing. And then she saw him. Tall. Midnight black suit. Collar of his shirt open just enough to reveal the curve of his throat. His dark eyes-sharp, shadowed-took in the room like a hunter examining a snare. Leonardo Romano. The Don. And he was watching her like she was prey. "I thought the gallery was closed," he said, voice low and laced with something dangerous. Sofia didn't move. "It is. You need to leave." He stepped closer, slow and silent like a man used to people getting out of his way. "I'll only be a moment," he murmured. "I've come to see something... rare." Her heart beat too fast, too loud. "There's nothing here for men like you." "I disagree." His eyes dropped briefly, tracing the curve of her hips in the silky black dress she wore. "I see something priceless." She swallowed hard, face still composed, but her fingers curled slightly on the edge of the desk. He took another step, then paused in front of a painting-the Veronese piece from the 16th century. Its subject: a woman bound in silk and gold, surrounded by fire. "'Il Desiderio,'" he murmured. "'Desire.' How fitting." Sofia's lips tightened. "This isn't one of your clubs. I don't care how many men kiss your ring, Romano." His head tilted, amused. "Do you always bite strangers?" "Only the ones who pretend they don't know exactly what they are." That drew a smirk from him-cold and smug and far too sexy. "I do know what I am. And I always take what's mine, Sofia." She stiffened. "How do you know my name?" "I've always known your name," he said simply, and something in his voice made her blood chill and heat at once. He stepped closer. This time, she didn't retreat. They stood inches apart now, his scent flooding her senses-rich, like dark leather and smoke. Her skin prickled with the nearness of him. "Why are you really here?" she asked, voice quiet but firm. Leo lifted a hand. She didn't stop him as he brushed a single knuckle along her jaw. "I wanted to see if the rumors were true," he said. "That you were untouchable. That no one had been inside this gallery after hours in years." His mouth curved. "Tell me, Sofia. Do you always spend your nights alone?" Her throat tightened. She should've slapped him. Should've told him to leave. Instead, her voice dropped. "What if I do?" Leo's hand curled slowly around the side of her neck, his thumb brushing the hollow of her throat. Her pulse jumped beneath it. "Then that's a f*****g tragedy," he murmured. Sofia's breath hitched. Her body betrayed her-her n*****s hardened under the soft silk of her dress, and her thighs clenched. She hated the way her body reacted to him. Hated it-and wanted more. "You think you can just walk in here and own me?" "No," Leo said, voice dark and velvet-smooth. "I think you want me to." Her eyes flashed. "I should call the police." "You won't," he whispered. "Because you feel it, too." Then, slowly, he leaned in-and kissed her. It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was possession. He pressed her back against the desk, lips devouring hers with a hunger that made her knees buckle. She grabbed his suit jacket out of instinct-not to push him away, but to keep herself from falling. His hands roamed low, one sliding along her waist, the other fisting in her hair. The kiss deepened, filthy and electric, and when he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. "I'll see you again," he said. It wasn't a question. And just like that, he turned and walked out, the sound of his heels echoing through the gallery like a countdown. Sofia stood frozen, lips tingling, throat burning. She should've felt scared. But all she felt... was want.