Seduce the Mafia DADDY

Chapter four: Her Fire, My Undoing

Enzo’s POV

She thinks she’s clever.

That red dress.

That whisper.

That deliberate stumble.

Your son refuses to touch me. Will you?

The audacity.

I warned Matteo to control her. Warned him to keep her from playing with fire.

But that boy……….no, that child couldn't leash a flame even if it was already caged.

So now, I bear the burn.

She lingered in the dungeon for two nights.

Two long nights of silence, where I expected broken sobs, shrill accusations, perhaps even a tear-stained plea to be set free.

But Brianna said nothing.

Not a sound.

Not even when the guards told her she’d rot down there. Not even when they brought her meals, bread, water, stew she pushed them away with nothing but the lift of her chin.

I kept thinking she would break. That hunger would humble her.

But it didn’t.

She turned my punishment into a spectacle of martyrdom.

By the end of the second night, I relented not out of mercy, but because letting her die would have made me look weak. And I am many things, but never that.

When she emerged, she didn’t curse me. Didn’t scream. She walked past me like a queen passing through the smoke of a conquered kingdom.

And something inside me clenched.

Not guilt.

Hunger.

That hunger has followed me ever since.

She knows it.

She feeds on it.

She’s subtle now. Eyes that linger a second too long. Lips that part just before she speaks. Her laugh that curls in the air like silk, intoxicating and calculated.

I have seen assassins with less skill.

But tonight, she went further.

She entered my study without knocking, folder in hand, her expression the perfect blend of innocence and mischief. Where my f*****g secretary was, I had no idea.

“Documents from the estate manager,” she said, her voice like honey laced with poison.

I didn’t look at her. I knew if I did, I would lose my grip.

“Out,” I ordered, scribbling nonsense into my ledger.

She didn’t move.

Then came the soft sound of her steps. The slide of her heel against the floor.

And then, the touch.

She stumbled, again. Into my arms. Her hands catching my chest. Her scent invading my lungs. Her warmth soaking through my shirt like a brand.

My arm wrapped around her waist before I could think.

She looked up at me, lips parted, breath uneven, eyes wide with something that felt like both daring and invitation.

Time slowed. Her skin was soft beneath my hand. Her heartbeat, frantic. Or maybe it was mine.

For one second, I let myself feel it.

The pull.

The temptation.

The need.

Then I shoved her back.

Not roughly, but firmly.

Enough to make her stumble. Enough to remind myself who I am.

Her lips curled. Just slightly. Not surprise.

Satisfaction.

She left the folder on my desk and walked out with her hips swaying like a siren call.

And I hated myself for watching.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

And when it did, it wasn’t kind.

I dreamed of her.

Brianna.

Not Matteo’s wife. Not the girl I threw in the dungeon. But the woman whose body belonged in my bed and nowhere else.

In the dream, she’s on my sheets, bathed in golden light, her thighs wrapping around my waist like she was made to fit there.

She moans my name. She claws at my chest. She whispers things I can’t hear but feel in my blood, my bones, my soul.

She is molten.

And I burn.

But then, the dream shifts.

The warmth fades. The silk sheets turn to soil. The moan becomes silence. And I am back at the funeral.

My late wife lies still in a white casket, lilies all around her. The priest’s voice droning in the distance. My hands shaking as I lower the ring onto her still fingers one last time.

She was good. Pure. Gentle. Too good for this world, certainly too good for me.

And I killed her in my own way. With this life. This family. This throne made of blood and loyalty and unforgivable sins.

She died ten years ago.

And since then, I have never let myself feel. Not truly.

Not until now.

Not until her.

I wake with a start.

My shirt sticks to my chest. My hands are clenched into fists.

The ache in my body isn’t just from the memory. It’s from the desire I haven’t felt in years.

Desire I should bury.

I walk to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face.

But no amount of cold water will cool what she’s ignited in me.

I am the king of this family. The one who doesn’t flinch when bodies drop. The one who signs deals with a glance and buries enemies with a word.

Yet here I am, unraveling like a boy because of a woman who shouldn’t even look my way.

And yet...

I see her.

Everywhere.

Her smile at the breakfast table when she pours Matteo's coffee like she owns him. The way she brushes past the maids and makes them smile like she’s not just another prisoner in this house. The fire in her that refuses to be extinguished.

She's dangerous.

She knows what I am.

And she still taunts the lion in his own den.

I shouldn't want her.

She's Matteo's.

But Matteo doesn’t deserve her.

He treats her like a prop. Like a punishment. Like a cage he was forced to wear. Yes I forced him to marry her, because his lazy ass was always out there just partying.

But I see the truth.

Matteo resents her because she exposes his weakness.

I want her because she reminds me of my own.

I step out onto the balcony, the air is sharp, laced with rain.

Down in the courtyard, I see her.

Standing alone beneath the moonlight, her arms wrapped around herself, head tilted back as if trying to taste the night.

There’s something about the way she moves. Unbroken. Unbowed.

Even now.

Even after everything.

I grip the railing.

This will not end well.

Not for her. Not for me. Not for anyone.

But I am starting to wonder...

If it’s already too late.

***

Brianna’s POV

The night is cool, but not cold enough to chase me indoors.

Moonlight spills across the courtyard like silver ink, painting shadows beneath my bare feet. The stone beneath me is cold, grounding. The silence wraps around me like a shroud quiet, but never peace.

It’s a little past midnight.

I know I should be asleep, tucked into the silk prison upstairs, but I can’t. Not when he’s in that house, and I must lay next to Matteo after his f****d his lover. Not when my future is tangled between desire and damnation.

I tilt my face to the sky.

Breathe.

What are you doing, Brianna?

I wish I knew.

When I poured his wine days ago, when I touched him tonight, and my body pressed against his chest, I expected rage. I expected rejection. I expected exactly what I got.

But what I didn’t expect... was the look in his eyes.

That split-second before he kicked me out of his office or threw me into the dungeon nights ago.

Desire.

Undeniable.

Hot and wrong and dangerous.

And that’s what makes it useful.

He wants me.

He can deny it all he wants, but his body betrayed him.

And if I am going to survive in this family, this pit of serpents, then I need leverage. Power. Security.

An heir.

Matteo won’t give me one. He barely acknowledges me as human, let alone a wife.

But Enzo...

I close my eyes, shame curling like smoke through my chest.

He’s my husband’s father. A man built from steel and scars and silent threats. The head of the De Luca empire.

The man who holds every life in this house in the palm of his hand.

I shouldn’t want him.

It’s wrong. It’s twisted. It breaks every rule of decency and family and loyalty.

But wanting him is not the problem.

Needing him is.

I need him to protect me from this world’s venom. I need him to grant me a place at the table that isn’t ornamental. I need to give this family what it demands.

A child.

And what if he gives it to me?

My stomach twists.

Would I really go that far?

Would I seduce a man who has already warned me, caged me, punished me?

Yes.

If that’s what it takes.

Because I will not go quietly.

I have seen what happens to women who fold inside this house. They become ghosts in their own skin, wives in name only, controlled, dismissed, erased.

But I wasn’t made to disappear.

I was made to endure. To outlive. To conquer.

And if I have to tempt the devil himself to do it?

So be it.

A door opens somewhere upstairs. I glance up toward the balcony and see the shadow of him, Enzo, watching.

Our eyes meet. Neither of us moves.

For a moment, the night holds its breath between us.

And then he turns away.

Still, I feel it.

The pull. The gravity.

I step back into the shadows of the courtyard, hand curled over my heart.

I have made my decision.

Tomorrow, I will try again.

But not with wine and whispers.

This time, I will come armed with something stronger.

My hunger.

My fire.

And my silence.

Let him cage me again if he must.

But I promise him this,

Next time...He won’t be able to look away.