Three days had passed since Luca's desperate visit and the hidden burner phone had become Liora's guilty secret. She kept it powered off most of the time, tucked deep beneath the mattress in a spot she checked obsessively whenever Vittorio left the penthouse. The message from her brother burned in her mind like a brand: Create a distraction on the 15th.
Today was the 12th. Only three days left.
Liora stood in the rooftop garden, the crisp autumn wind whipping her dark wavy hair around her face. Olive trees in large terracotta pots rustled softly, their leaves a small piece of Sicily transplanted into the heart of New York. Vittorio had brought her here every afternoon since the Sicilian call, as if the fresh air and sunlight could somehow make her forget she was still a prisoner.
He watched her now from a few feet away, leaning against the stone balustrade in a tailored black coat that made him look every inch the untouchable mafia king. His steel-gray eyes never strayed far from her.
"You're quiet today," he observed, voice low and smooth. He closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her back against his chest. The heat of his body cut through the chill. "Still thinking about your brother?"
Liora leaned into him despite the guilt twisting in her stomach. His scent — cologne, gun oil, and something uniquely him — had become dangerously comforting. "How could I not? He risked everything to see me."
Vittorio's arms tightened possessively. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "And I let him leave breathing. That mercy was for you, Liora. No one else gets it. If he comes again, or if those Sicilian dogs try to use him as a pawn, I won't hesitate."
She turned in his embrace, looking up at him. The intensity in his gaze made her knees weak — that dark, obsessive hunger mixed with something softer, almost tender. "You keep saying I'm yours. But what does that mean when your world is about to explode? Will I just be collateral damage?"
His hand cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her lower lip. "You will never be collateral. You are the center now. My empire is expanding, but you… you are what I protect above all else."
He kissed her then — slow, deep, and claiming. Liora melted into it, her hands fisting in his coat as heat pooled low in her belly. Every kiss from him felt like both punishment and reward. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire.
"Come back inside," he murmured. "I have a meeting in an hour, but until then… I want you."
Liora's pulse raced. Part of her wanted to lose herself in him again, to let the pleasure drown out the guilt and the looming choice. But the burner phone waited like a live wire beneath the mattress.
They barely made it to the master bedroom. Vittorio's hands were everywhere — peeling away her sweater, unbuttoning her pants with practiced efficiency. He laid her on the black silk sheets and worshipped her body with mouth and fingers until she was writhing and gasping his name.
When he finally sank into her, slow and deep as promised, Liora arched beneath him, nails raking down his back. Their rhythm built with raw intensity — his thrusts powerful and possessive, her moans filling the room. He watched her the entire time, steel-gray eyes locked on her face as if memorizing every expression of pleasure.
"Come for me, little flame," he growled against her neck. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."
She shattered hard, crying out as waves of ecstasy crashed through her. Vittorio followed moments later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, his body shuddering against hers.
Afterward, he held her close, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her sweat-dampened skin. "You're getting better at surrendering," he teased softly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Liora smiled weakly, but inside, conflict raged. The pleasure was addictive. The safety in his arms felt real. Yet Luca's message echoed: You don't have to live like his whore.
Vittorio eventually rose to prepare for his meeting. "Stay in the penthouse. Maria will bring lunch. I'll be back by evening."
As soon as the door locked behind him, Liora sprang into action. She retrieved the burner phone, powered it on with trembling hands, and typed a quick reply to the only saved number:
"I'm safe for now. But security is tighter than ever. Distraction on the 15th might work if it's big enough. Be careful, Luca. He's watching everything."
She hit send, heart hammering, then immediately deleted the message and powered the phone off. Hiding it again, she collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
What was she doing? Betraying the man who had just made her see stars? Or reclaiming her freedom before it was too late?
The rest of the day dragged in tense silence. Maria brought food and chatted lightly, but Liora barely tasted anything. When Vittorio returned that evening, he seemed tenser than usual. He pulled her into his lap on the sectional sofa overlooking the city lights.
"The Sicilians are pushing harder," he admitted, his hand resting possessively on her thigh. "They're offering your father protection in exchange for alliance against me. Your brother is the messenger boy."
Liora's stomach dropped. She forced her expression to stay neutral. "What will you do?"
Vittorio's eyes darkened. "Whatever it takes to protect what's mine." He tilted her chin up, searching her face. "You seem distracted again. Is there something you're not telling me, Liora?"
For a split second, she considered confessing everything — the phone, the message, the planned distraction. The words hovered on her tongue. But fear and loyalty to her blood held them back.
"Nothing," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him instead. "Just… overwhelmed by all of this. By you."
He accepted the kiss, but she felt the slight tension in his body. He wasn't fully convinced.
That night, as they lay together once more — slower this time, more intimate — Liora clung to him tighter than usual. Vittorio whispered Sicilian endearments against her skin, calling her his flame, his queen, his obsession.
But in the darkness, after he fell asleep, Liora stared at the ceiling again.
The 15th was approaching fast. A distraction could mean escape… or it could mean war that destroyed them all.
She was no longer sure which outcome she truly feared more.