Chapter 9

CHIARA

W hen I woke the following day, the sun poured into the room like every other day in Naples. It was golden and bright, promising warmth.

Reality hit, and an awful awareness pressed on my chest.

The fear was back, a relentless force gnawing at me, making everything feel wrong.

I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

It was just another day. Another sunny, typical day. Except it didn’t give the impression of one.

The house was quiet, too hushed—until I tagged a noise.

The unmistakable sound of coffee beans being ground in the kitchen.

My heart seized.

I lived alone.

No one else had a key.

I shot up in bed, a cold sweat breaking out along my spine.

For a few panicked seconds, my mind spun in a thousand directions.

Reaching for my robe, I grabbed the first defense weapon I found.

A walking cane I’d once used to steady my legs post-rehab when my body had been too emaciated to remain standing without drugs.

Clutching it tight, I crept downstairs, my nightgown brushing against my legs.

Despite my creeping, each step landed heavy, my heart pounding louder with every creak of the floor beneath me.

By the time I reached the kitchen, I’d psyched myself up, prepared for anything—or at least, I thought I was.

Bursting through the doorway, I raised the walking stick in front of me, brandishing it, ready to fight off my intruder, enraged at the balls of someone to dare break into my home.

The sight that met my eyes stopped me cold.

At my marble Carrerra countertop was a man.

Without thinking, I rushed him, raising the cane.

I brought it down, aiming for his head.

That’s when he swiveled so fast I gasped.

A muscled, sinewed hand shot out, taking hold of the accidental weapon and jerking me close.

One hand banded behind me, the other, scorching, brutal, gripping over both my hands as they clutched the cane high above my head.

Plastering me in my night shorts and tee-wearing self to his muscled front.

My tits pressed against a ripped chest. My waist pushed pressed into lean hips and a burgeoning, unmistakably hard, male length, my legs kicking against a pair of thick thighs.

I glanced up with a sharp toss of my hair, heart wild.

To lock eyes with pale ice-blue babies.

Framed by the fuckin’ longest lashes I’d ever seen on a man.

My soul lurched, and my limbs trembled, adrenaline pumping through me.

‘ Tu !’

His lips curled at my indignant cry.

‘Chiara.’

His timbred lazy drawl sent shards of traitorous delight through even as his cerulean eyes gleamed.

‘ Figlio di puttana ,’ I growled, resisting, attempting to escape his tight hold. ‘Get off me!’

‘Keep struggling, Chiara,’ he rasped. ‘I like it. If you really wanna fight, we can take it upstairs. If you want to scream, it’ll be my pleasure to make you. I’ll give you the best duel you’ve ever had.’

‘ Cazzo! Merda! Stronzo !’ I snarled, launching into a series of profanities as I strained to free myself.

He laughed as my twisting body bumped against him.

It took another few beats before my logical mind came to its senses. I didn’t have the strength to wriggle from the hold.

I sagged in his clasp.

He grunted in triumph. ‘Wasn’t so hard now?’ he grated into my ear.

His eyes raked over my face, narrowing as they slipped lower.

‘Who did that to you?’

His voice dropped to a dangerous guttural utterance.

‘What?’

‘That nasty bruise on your neck, belleza . Who the hell hurt you?’

‘Just some fucker,’ I murmured, tearing my eyes at him, not wanting to get into my family drama.

He cursed under his breath, then released me.

But not without twisting the cane from my hands and tossing it into a kitchen corner.

His face was clouded with dark emotion as he pushed off, turning from me, a storm brewing in his eyes.

On my stove, I spotted the moka pot burbling.

I stared as if in a dream as steam began to hiss from its spout.

He adjusted the temperature to medium.

‘Too hot, and it’ll burn,’ he muttered, half to himself.

The rich scent of coffee filled the space, the bubbling sound signaling the brew’s final moments.

As the liquid trickled out with a dark honey-like hue, Rio removed the vessel from the heat, keeping the lid closed.

‘It’s all about timing,’ he said with a glance in my direction, his burr deep and calm. He nabbed two cups, the steam curling between us. ‘Will you join me?’

He prowled to my dining table with the pot in his other hand.

I placed my hand over my beating chest, attempting to catch my breath. ‘How dare you?’

He sat, too much at ease, as if he’d always belonged in my kitchen and eating area.

Exasperated, I took a moment to assess him, from his patent leather shoes to his thick, long legs encased in dark pants.

His upper body was a work of art in an impeccable white shirt with a snaking hint of ink on his honeyed skin under it.

His rolled-up sleeves showed off muscular, tanned, inked forearms. He poured and then held one steaming cup of coffee in one hand, sipping as if this were the most normal morning in the world.

He had a look in his pale eyes, gazing at me with wary sentiment, his lips quirking, amused by my ridiculous attempt to defend myself.

‘Let’s reset. Buongiorno ,’ he rasped with a relaxed smile.

I blinked, gripping the countertop tighter. ‘Rio, what the hell are you doing here?’

My voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air between us.

‘Relax,’ he said, leaning back in the chair he was catching up with an old friend. ‘I’m only making sure you don’t start your day hungry. Breakfast?’

He gestured to the table where a plate of fresh pastries sat, gleaming like they’d just come from the best bakery in Naples.

I stared at him, thrown off, a trail of goosebumps glissading over my skin.

My body thrummed with desire, and my pelvis throbbed with the memory of his scorching cock and its searing press against me moments ago.

Along with the fear, the confusion, the anger—it all swirled together until I wasn’t sure how to react.

‘You broke into my house again,’ I clipped, narrowing my eyes. ‘Now you’re offering me breakfast?’

He took another sip of his beverage, the corners of his lips twitching upward. ‘I didn’t break in. I found your back door unlocked, and to be honest, I made the coffee for both of us.’

‘My back gate was shut with a digital padlock,’ I grumbled.

‘Your hedges are too low,’ he shot back, mouth curling, eyes gleaming. ‘Sit, woman, eat.’

I glanced at the pastries again.

Croissants, sfogliatelle , all still warm.

Their buttery scent filled my nostrils, and my stomach growled involuntarily, but I wasn’t about to let that distract me.

‘I’m not interested in breakfast with a stranger,’ I snapped, stepping closer but still keeping a reasonable distance between us.

He raised an eyebrow, amused by my reaction. ‘Stranger? After all we’ve been through? You wound me.’

He placed a hand over his heart in mock offense, and despite myself, a slight twitch touched the corner of my lips.

‘Look,’ he continued. ‘I get it. You’re freaked out. Who wouldn’t be? But I’m not here to hurt you. If I were, we wouldn’t be having this charming conversation over pastries.’

I let out an exasperated sigh.

Something about his demeanor—his calmness, the way he didn’t seem phased by my aggression—took the edge off my panic.

‘You expect me to sit down and eat croissants with you after you’ve violated my privacy?’ I asked, hands on hips.

He shrugged, giving me a lopsided grin. ‘Hey, it’s Naples. This town has worse things than an unexpected breakfast guest.’

I glared at him, my annoyance slowly yielding way to something else.

The whole situation was ridiculous. I was scared out of my mind a minute ago, and now this infuriating man had somehow stilled my anxiety. I wasn’t quite calm, but neither was I terrified.

‘Fine,’ I said, conceding. ‘But if you try anything, I’ll—’

‘Hit me with the cane? Got it,’ Rio said, smiling wider. ‘Now, how do you like your coffee?’

Without waiting for my answer, he turned to pour another cup from the pot, his movements slow and deliberate.

His suave confidence irritated me almost as much as it intrigued me.

It also infuriated me that at our last encounter, he’d shown such sensual mastery, making me come, and was now acting like it’d never happened.

I sat in the chair across from him. ‘Black, hot, scalding. In case I decide to throw it in your face.’

‘ Cazzo , she’s on fire this morning,’ he rasped, pushing the mug towards me.

I reached for it and clutched it, seeking comfort from the heat radiating through its surface. I angled it in front of my face to hide my flaming cheeks.

Because the man still had the ability to turn me on, evidenced by my tightening nipples and the ache between my thighs.

‘What the hell do you want?’ I murmured, taking a much-needed sip, hoping to ward off the migraine threatening behind my eyes.

‘What do you desire, belleza ?’ he countered. ‘Turns out I’m a genie and can grant your wishes. All of them.’

His brow arched, and his eyes glittered. The fucker was taunting me about how easily he’d undone me.

I blushed harder but fought off the embarrassment with a scowl.

I tilted my head, eyes glaring at him. ‘You’re here because you think I need your services.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t you?’

His eyes flicked to my neck, where the burn from Claudio’s grip remained.

His eyes narrowed, and I saw them flicker with an emotion close to anger. ‘Appears you require someone who’s got your six, and I know you’ve been searching for me.’

‘How?’ I growled, my hackles rising.

A small smile played on those sensual lips, and I sucked my teeth. ‘You have eyes on me, somehow.’

‘I wouldn’t be a good security expert if I didn’t have a channel to you, Miss Tirone. How better to demonstrate my skillset?’

‘You’re the one who broke into my house and hacked my data too, it seems, which makes you a fucking felon.’

‘You’re one to talk,’ he drawled.

I blanched. ‘What?’ I whispered.

‘Your family’s sins are infamous, leonessa .’

My eyes widened. ‘What the fuck did you call me?’

‘What you are. A lioness, fierce as hell,’ he chuckled, winking at me in yet another reminder of his sexual prowess over me.

‘And you’re a freak, a mostro !’

‘Call me all the names you want, woman; you need me.’

I hated how he licked his upper lip, his eyes glittering with a gloating gleam. I also loathed how wet I still was, my clit pulsing in my shorts. I was screwed.

‘Why can’t I find you in search results? Are you even legit?’

‘I’m the freakin’ best in Europe. I’m happy to have some clients share their testimonials.’

‘Please do.’

He canted his muscled torso, leaning back in his chair. ‘Soon as we agree terms.’

His eyes flicked over me, moving lower to my chest.

With horror, I realized I was sitting before him in my skimpy night clothes and dressing gown.

Complete with the jutting swell of my tits and taut nipples showing through the thin silk top. I drew the robe closed over me to cover up.

My eyes flashed up to meet his amused glance; then my thighs trembled as I tagged the smolder in his pale eyes.

Damn him. This was the shit I had not prepared for.

‘I don’t know if I can even afford you,’ I muttered, eyes flicking to the expensive timepiece on his wrist.

His gaze followed mine, his timbre rumbling. ‘I have tiered fees. I’m sure you’ll fit into any of them. I’m very affordable.’

‘You carry? My enemies are ruthless.’

He slid a hand to his back and retracted it.

Revealing a sleek black and silver handgun that he’d concealed so far without me sighting it.

He set it on the table, almost with a caress.

I gave him a disbelieving look.

He indulged me. ‘It’s a single-action semi-auto Wilson Combat SFX9. Best in the market. The trigger is superb. The sights are excellent for fast defensive work and the action cycle with impeccable smoothness.’

‘Doesn’t mean a fuckin’ thing to me. Can you use it?’

He chuckled. ‘ Si , as many of goons who’ve fucked around with me have found out.’

I assessed him once more.

I’d met countless made men.

Over the years, hundreds of thugs cycled through my father’s offices. Run-of-the-mill thugs—overweight, sweaty enforcers, bumbling through life with more muscle than brains.

They were mobsters, crude and predictable, their intelligence capped by the barrel of a gun or the heftiness of a briefcase full of dirty cash.

But Rio? He was different.

Far removed from their brutishness, he was a smooth and precise operator who knew what he was doing.

Lethal, no doubt, but he’d an edge to him, a sharpness behind those calm, calculating eyes. Every gesture was measured, and each word was delivered with a quiet confidence that set my nerves on the verge.

His sinewed, muscled frame exuded strength but wasn’t only physical.

The kind of power came from insight, from knowing how to maneuver in a world of chaos without ever breaking a sweat.

He didn’t need to flaunt authority. It was evident in how he moved and spoke—like a predator, always ahead of his prey.

I’d seen enough to know the difference between brutes who relied on fear and men like Rio—dangerous, yes, but also savage because he was smart.

Ruthless, methodical, and terrifyingly in control.

The type of man I needed to watch my back.

I had no time to play the fool.

I had to move fast.

Because Claudio had already set the dogs on me, worse, he’d go ape shit if Olivio died and he found out he was not the successor to the throne.

I stared into my coffee cup as if willing the grounds to provide new revelation. Finally, a thought came to me.

‘I’ll hire you on one condition.’

‘Let’s hear it out,’ came the graveled, hoarse rasp.

I lifted my eyes to lock with his, my turn to smirk. ‘You have to become my fiancé.’